I'll confess--one of the big reasons I haven't had any success cutting the cable and switching to streaming movies and TV shows is that I kind of like commercials. The good ones are like little miniature stories told in fifteen or thirty seconds, and from a storytelling perspective, it's fun to see what actually shows up on screen versus what my brain fills in. The bad ones can be just as entertaining, too, from a creative-mockery standpoint.
For example, who really thinks those two guys in the car are funny, Sonic? Not me. And why do I find Hannah and her horse the slightest bit watchable?
In addition, it can be fun thinking about why certain ads are run when they are. Okay, so I get the car and auto parts commercials during Top Gear, but the fourth "Enjoy the go" Charmin commercial in fifteen minutes during Rizzoli and Isles? Do they think those of us watching a female-centric crime drama have wiping issues?
It gets even more pronounced when Arizona and I watch programming On Demand, as our cable company (Commie-cast) sometimes takes one big sponsor per show. For Orphan Black, it was Subaru. Okay, I get that. But for The Last Ship, which we just recently got caught up on, it's Viagra.
All Viagra, all the time. If there's a commercial break, whoops, Viagra! Either the old Italian guy trying to chase down a pill while a much younger hottie waits for him back at the villa, or a different hottie telling us that half of men over fifty suffer from ED, blah, blah. Now, don't get me wrong--I'm all for the product. If you need it, have at it! But did the programming folks ever stop to think what kind of a message they were sending. To whit:
Me (groans): It's the Italian guy again. Bet he's going to lose his last pill down the drain, and the pharmacy will be closed.
Arizona: What does this say about the people watching this show?
Me: That they're missing the prized 18-49 demographic, maybe? Or hitting the upper end of it, at any rate.
Arizona: Or that watching it is the anti-aphrodesiac.
Later that afternoon.
Me: You want to watch another episode?
Arizona: Bring on the Boner Death Show!
Monday, July 13, 2015
Monday, July 6, 2015
To My Sixteen-Year-Old Self
Ermagherd! Last night, you totes got into see Def Leppard for free, and it was da bomb!
(Translation into 1989-speak for my back-then self: (in Boston-accented Valley-girl) Ohmigod, I, like, totally saw Def Lep live last night, freebie. It was wicked awesome pissah!)
Does anyone else out there do this? You get to a point in your life--maybe something happens, or maybe it's just a random Monday--and you look around and wish you could time travel, or send a note back or something, and talk to your younger self. Me? I do it lots.
Not so much to warn myself against doing something--I figure I've learned more from my mistakes than the things that came easy. I wouldn't go back and tell then-me not to date my ex, or to get out far sooner than I did, because while that might have saved me from some very dark times, those experiences made me who I am today.
Those dark days, though … I wish I could get a message through time to thirty-seven-year-old me. Back in July of 2010, my ex was suddenly an ex and I was clearing, repairing, repainting and landscaping an entire four-bedroom house for sale while keeping the horse farm going and trying to write a romance. I was sleeping a few hours a night, and had the TV playing Law and Order marathons damn near 24/7, trying not to think too much, and crying when I did--not so much for a relationship that hadn't been doing either of us any good for a while, but for the life I was saying goodbye to, and the background mantra that a woman is more likely to die in a plane crash than get married after thirty-five. I kept telling myself it was going to be okay, but in the wee hours, that sounded pretty hollow.
Now, I wish I could whisper back to that self of mine and say It's not just going to be okay, it's going to be amazing. Just hang in there.
Five years later, I'm a wife and a mommy. Mr. Right and I have a cute little house in the trees, an awesome baby, an eleven-year-old car, and a list of fun things we want to do together. And, last night, I got to see my teen-self's all-time-favorite band perform live!
It went like this:
RescueDeb (president of Beech Brook Farm Equine Rescue): Hey, volunteers! We've been selected by an organization called Rock To The Rescue. We're going to be featured at the upcoming Styxx concert at Mohegan Sun, where we'll be selling tickets to raffle off a signed Fender guitar. Our rescue gets a quarter of the proceeds directly and the rest goes to their foundation, to be given out as grants. No admin fees, all proceeds to charity, all good stuff. Who wants to sell raffle tickets? You can stay after and see the show.
Me (former hair band junkie, though not a huge Styxx fan): Sure, I'll go.
RescueDeb: We need bodies. The more the merrier!
Me: (emails two friends who have supported the rescue in the past, and who I think might go for a hair-band night at the casino)
RhondaFriend: Drat! I'm out of town!
GailFriend: Hubby and I are in! We were talking about going to the concert. Styxx rocks. Love DL, too.
Me (blinks): DL … DL … D … ERMAGHERD! Is Def Leppard going to be there????!!!??? SQUEEEEE!
See, back in the day, my then-bestie, KristinFriend and I were The Biggest Fangirls. We didn't just have every Def Leppard album ever made--on cassette first, then CD--we had VHS copies of every rockumentary, interview or video we could get our hands on, plus acid wash jeans and blue jean jackets lovingly decorated with their logos and lyrics in puffy washable paint, and we spent hours talking about … well, you get the picture.
So, yeah. Def Leppard. And, it turns out, Tesla, as the warmup act. Can you say Hair Band Heaven? It was a total blast. Not only did the Beech Brook Farm team kick ass selling raffle tickets, making lots of $$ for the rescue, we were then given access to a little section of seats slightly behind the stage, to watch the show! The sound quality wasn't the greatest because we were behind the speakers, but who cared? I knew all the words and my brain filled in the music.
And, because I was up way too late and am a little scattered, here are a few impressions, in no particular order:
-The crowd was older than it would've been when I was sixteen, and the panties that got thrown on stage were a lot bigger. (Though, in fairness, the pink ones might have been a slipcover.)
-Old rockers may have to take it down an octave now and then, but they sure know how to work a crowd.
-There's no better text to get from hubby in response to 'I'm thinking of staying longer, everything okay?' than 'All good. Dealt with giant sh*t. Baby asleep now. I'm watching sharks.'
-There was this one guy in the crowd I couldn't stop staring at. He was wearing all white, looked like Doc Brown from Back to the Future, and stood stock still the entire time, staring off into space. Everyone around him was moving and rocking and banging heads, and he just stood there. And no matter what the lighting, he seemed to glow. I don't know what his story was, but I was tempted to borrow a phone and take a picture to see if he would show up.
-If you would have asked me back when I was sixteen what it would take to get me to leave a Def Leppard concert before the last song, my answer would not have been: It's been six hours since I last nursed.
-Nothing says "boys' night at home" quite like looking this morning for the little mesh feeders that I'm using to introduce bits of banana or avocado into baby Wallaby's diet, and finding them under the coffee table, one lovingly filled with a teaspoon of enchilada, the other with the same amount of Hawaiian pizza.
And so, I wish you good music, ReaderFriends, a blast from the past, and maybe a whisper from your future self on a dark day, saying, It's not just going to be okay, it's going to be awesome … with a side of enchiladas and Hawaiian pizza!
(Translation into 1989-speak for my back-then self: (in Boston-accented Valley-girl) Ohmigod, I, like, totally saw Def Lep live last night, freebie. It was wicked awesome pissah!)
Does anyone else out there do this? You get to a point in your life--maybe something happens, or maybe it's just a random Monday--and you look around and wish you could time travel, or send a note back or something, and talk to your younger self. Me? I do it lots.
Not so much to warn myself against doing something--I figure I've learned more from my mistakes than the things that came easy. I wouldn't go back and tell then-me not to date my ex, or to get out far sooner than I did, because while that might have saved me from some very dark times, those experiences made me who I am today.
Those dark days, though … I wish I could get a message through time to thirty-seven-year-old me. Back in July of 2010, my ex was suddenly an ex and I was clearing, repairing, repainting and landscaping an entire four-bedroom house for sale while keeping the horse farm going and trying to write a romance. I was sleeping a few hours a night, and had the TV playing Law and Order marathons damn near 24/7, trying not to think too much, and crying when I did--not so much for a relationship that hadn't been doing either of us any good for a while, but for the life I was saying goodbye to, and the background mantra that a woman is more likely to die in a plane crash than get married after thirty-five. I kept telling myself it was going to be okay, but in the wee hours, that sounded pretty hollow.
Now, I wish I could whisper back to that self of mine and say It's not just going to be okay, it's going to be amazing. Just hang in there.
Five years later, I'm a wife and a mommy. Mr. Right and I have a cute little house in the trees, an awesome baby, an eleven-year-old car, and a list of fun things we want to do together. And, last night, I got to see my teen-self's all-time-favorite band perform live!
It went like this:
RescueDeb (president of Beech Brook Farm Equine Rescue): Hey, volunteers! We've been selected by an organization called Rock To The Rescue. We're going to be featured at the upcoming Styxx concert at Mohegan Sun, where we'll be selling tickets to raffle off a signed Fender guitar. Our rescue gets a quarter of the proceeds directly and the rest goes to their foundation, to be given out as grants. No admin fees, all proceeds to charity, all good stuff. Who wants to sell raffle tickets? You can stay after and see the show.
Me (former hair band junkie, though not a huge Styxx fan): Sure, I'll go.
RescueDeb: We need bodies. The more the merrier!
Me: (emails two friends who have supported the rescue in the past, and who I think might go for a hair-band night at the casino)
RhondaFriend: Drat! I'm out of town!
GailFriend: Hubby and I are in! We were talking about going to the concert. Styxx rocks. Love DL, too.
Me (blinks): DL … DL … D … ERMAGHERD! Is Def Leppard going to be there????!!!??? SQUEEEEE!
See, back in the day, my then-bestie, KristinFriend and I were The Biggest Fangirls. We didn't just have every Def Leppard album ever made--on cassette first, then CD--we had VHS copies of every rockumentary, interview or video we could get our hands on, plus acid wash jeans and blue jean jackets lovingly decorated with their logos and lyrics in puffy washable paint, and we spent hours talking about … well, you get the picture.
So, yeah. Def Leppard. And, it turns out, Tesla, as the warmup act. Can you say Hair Band Heaven? It was a total blast. Not only did the Beech Brook Farm team kick ass selling raffle tickets, making lots of $$ for the rescue, we were then given access to a little section of seats slightly behind the stage, to watch the show! The sound quality wasn't the greatest because we were behind the speakers, but who cared? I knew all the words and my brain filled in the music.
And, because I was up way too late and am a little scattered, here are a few impressions, in no particular order:
-The crowd was older than it would've been when I was sixteen, and the panties that got thrown on stage were a lot bigger. (Though, in fairness, the pink ones might have been a slipcover.)
-Old rockers may have to take it down an octave now and then, but they sure know how to work a crowd.
-There's no better text to get from hubby in response to 'I'm thinking of staying longer, everything okay?' than 'All good. Dealt with giant sh*t. Baby asleep now. I'm watching sharks.'
-There was this one guy in the crowd I couldn't stop staring at. He was wearing all white, looked like Doc Brown from Back to the Future, and stood stock still the entire time, staring off into space. Everyone around him was moving and rocking and banging heads, and he just stood there. And no matter what the lighting, he seemed to glow. I don't know what his story was, but I was tempted to borrow a phone and take a picture to see if he would show up.
-If you would have asked me back when I was sixteen what it would take to get me to leave a Def Leppard concert before the last song, my answer would not have been: It's been six hours since I last nursed.
-Nothing says "boys' night at home" quite like looking this morning for the little mesh feeders that I'm using to introduce bits of banana or avocado into baby Wallaby's diet, and finding them under the coffee table, one lovingly filled with a teaspoon of enchilada, the other with the same amount of Hawaiian pizza.
And so, I wish you good music, ReaderFriends, a blast from the past, and maybe a whisper from your future self on a dark day, saying, It's not just going to be okay, it's going to be awesome … with a side of enchiladas and Hawaiian pizza!
Monday, June 29, 2015
Is This Your Cat?
So the other evening it went like this:
(Me futzing around on the computer while Wallaby naps in his room and Arizona snoozes on the couch.)
(Car drives up Steepest Driveway Evah … moments later, a brisk knock sounds at the downstairs door.)
Me: Goes out onto upper porch to check out the situation. There's a strange man standing there, pretty big, looking kind of intense. However, the car is a minivan-ish thing, there are two kids in the back and a woman in the passenger side. Despite those episodes of Criminal Minds about serial killer families, I decide they're probably not an immediate threat, and go down the stairs. "Can I help you?"
Him: "We're Number Nine."
(There's probably a science fiction reference there, but I take it to mean that these are our neighbors a few houses down, who we know to wave at and occasionally return their dogs.)
Me: "Hi. Welcome to Nineteen."
Her: (Sticks arm out window.) "Is this your cat?"
Me: (Regards little black-and-white fluff ball with a mingled sensation of uh-oh, I'm in trouble and SQUEEEEE!) "Um, no."
Her: (Face falling.) "Darn. We were hoping … It just came into our yard. And we've got those two big dogs. It's really friendly … and there's that storm coming ..."
Me: (Puts on my "SUCKER" hat, steps forward and takes kitten.)
Kitten: (Correctly reading "SUCKER" sign.) Burrows under my chin and purrs.
Me: (Realizing that kitty is pretty much an animated skeleton beneath the fluff.) "I guess I can ask around, and find her a home. Or maybe she can stay."
Neighbors: (General relief, some small talk--they seem like really nice people, actually, and we've got some stuff in common. Arizona and I really need to have that block party we keep talking about. Anyway, they take off.)
Me: (Regards house.) "Okay, kitten. Be cute!"
(We go upstairs.)
Arizona: (Rouses. Blinks at kitten. Realizes it's not Pixel or Lucy. And then, because he's awesome, he says "Awww" and reaches out to take the kitten.) "Are you hungry, little one? You look hungry. Come on, we've got some squishy food in the other room."
[Later, after I put out some Facebook calls on the local forum, asking if anyone is missing a kitten, or wants one, and get a whole lot of "Congratulations on your new family member!" posts in return …]
Arizona: (Looks at me wearing purring kitten on my shoulder and the baby in my lap, while Pixel sits near my feet and Lucy hovers in the doorway, trying to look uninterested.) "I guess I should thank you for deciding to volunteer at the horse rescue. I thought you were kidding when you said you didn't dare work at a kitty rescue."
Me: "In my defense, it doesn't count as crazy until the cats outnumber the people. And, no, I'm not going to use that as logic for having another baby. I promise!"
Because three feels like the exact right number to me, in both people and pets. So please join us in welcoming Bunker to the fold!
(Me futzing around on the computer while Wallaby naps in his room and Arizona snoozes on the couch.)
(Car drives up Steepest Driveway Evah … moments later, a brisk knock sounds at the downstairs door.)
Me: Goes out onto upper porch to check out the situation. There's a strange man standing there, pretty big, looking kind of intense. However, the car is a minivan-ish thing, there are two kids in the back and a woman in the passenger side. Despite those episodes of Criminal Minds about serial killer families, I decide they're probably not an immediate threat, and go down the stairs. "Can I help you?"
Him: "We're Number Nine."
(There's probably a science fiction reference there, but I take it to mean that these are our neighbors a few houses down, who we know to wave at and occasionally return their dogs.)
Me: "Hi. Welcome to Nineteen."
Her: (Sticks arm out window.) "Is this your cat?"
Me: (Regards little black-and-white fluff ball with a mingled sensation of uh-oh, I'm in trouble and SQUEEEEE!) "Um, no."
Her: (Face falling.) "Darn. We were hoping … It just came into our yard. And we've got those two big dogs. It's really friendly … and there's that storm coming ..."
Me: (Puts on my "SUCKER" hat, steps forward and takes kitten.)
Kitten: (Correctly reading "SUCKER" sign.) Burrows under my chin and purrs.
Me: (Realizing that kitty is pretty much an animated skeleton beneath the fluff.) "I guess I can ask around, and find her a home. Or maybe she can stay."
Neighbors: (General relief, some small talk--they seem like really nice people, actually, and we've got some stuff in common. Arizona and I really need to have that block party we keep talking about. Anyway, they take off.)
Me: (Regards house.) "Okay, kitten. Be cute!"
(We go upstairs.)
Arizona: (Rouses. Blinks at kitten. Realizes it's not Pixel or Lucy. And then, because he's awesome, he says "Awww" and reaches out to take the kitten.) "Are you hungry, little one? You look hungry. Come on, we've got some squishy food in the other room."
[Later, after I put out some Facebook calls on the local forum, asking if anyone is missing a kitten, or wants one, and get a whole lot of "Congratulations on your new family member!" posts in return …]
Arizona: (Looks at me wearing purring kitten on my shoulder and the baby in my lap, while Pixel sits near my feet and Lucy hovers in the doorway, trying to look uninterested.) "I guess I should thank you for deciding to volunteer at the horse rescue. I thought you were kidding when you said you didn't dare work at a kitty rescue."
Me: "In my defense, it doesn't count as crazy until the cats outnumber the people. And, no, I'm not going to use that as logic for having another baby. I promise!"
Because three feels like the exact right number to me, in both people and pets. So please join us in welcoming Bunker to the fold!
Monday, June 22, 2015
Cutting Our Teeth and a NEW RELEASE!
Wallaby may look like the spitting image of his daddy at the same age, but he's very much my kid when it comes to responding to pain versus frustration. I dislocate my elbow biking? I pop it back into joint and walk a mile out of the woods to the car. The cable goes out in the middle of an episode of iZombie? I screech like a banshee.
Similarly, when Wallaby gets a shot, his response is to glare at the nurse, but if he's trying to master a new skill and can't make his body work the way he wants it to? Watch out, eardrums! So it perhaps shouldn't have been a surprise that his first two teeth came in last week without much in the way of fanfare.
(On his part, at least. I may have been rather more dramatic when he unexpectedly bit down on a tender part of my anatomy. We're working on that.)
 |
| Dude … I've got teeth … (and some styling pool noodles taped to the edges of … well, everything that has an edge). |
It's fitting, really, as kiddo's first two teeth coincided with the release of my first self-published e-book, a Mustang Ridge story about starting fresh. In fact, I'd like to share my Author's Note with you:
Dear ReaderFriend,
This story is dedicated to new beginnings because recently
so many things have begun anew in my life, including marriage, motherhood, and
my honest (and occasionally successful) attempts to live in the moment and find
something to love about every day, even the toughest ones.
That’s part of what makes Della and Max so interesting to
me—she can always find something to love about old clothes (even the most
shiny, flammable and shoulder-padded monstrosity), while he’s constantly looking
ahead to his next job and shiny new gadget. So I love watching the two of them
slow down and enjoy the time they have together … until poof! It’s over and they have to figure out what comes next.
For my part, I’m enjoying the moment, and am grateful to
you, my ReaderFriend, for choosing to read Starting
Over at Mustang Ridge. I hope that Max and Della’s story reminds you to find
something to love about each and every day … And if you can’t, that it reminds
you that sometimes a change of direction can be just what a girl needs!
***
Whether we're talking teeth or a new publishing venture, beginnings can be an exciting time! Thank you as always for sharing my weekly milestones, writerly and otherwise, and if you'd like to help out, please buy, read and review your own copy of Starting Over at Mustang Ridge for Kindle or Nook!
Monday, June 15, 2015
Spiders on Drugs
Howdy ReaderFriends! After a fun weekend with family, with science editing jobs piled up, the release of STARTING OVER AT MUSTANG RIDGE, and Wallaby cutting his first two lower teeth, I'm swamped!
So please accept one of my favorite Youtube sillinesses (that word has too many of some letter or another, doesn't it?) in lieu of an actual post today, and keep an eye out for a real post when I'm out of the weeds and/or the new story goes live!
So please accept one of my favorite Youtube sillinesses (that word has too many of some letter or another, doesn't it?) in lieu of an actual post today, and keep an eye out for a real post when I'm out of the weeds and/or the new story goes live!
Monday, June 8, 2015
Cover Reveal and Stay Tuned!
Howdy, ReaderFriends! I'll keep this short today, because Wallaby is napping and I need every second for the editing cave--mostly because when he's awake these days, he's alternating between "Whee! I can roll onto my tummy!" and "Aaahhh! I'm stuck on my tummy!" (He's working on what to do with that pesky arm that keeps getting in the way of the return trip. Presumably, it'll come.)
Anyway, without further ado … Heads up for a new Jesse Hayworth release, this week or next! Remember the vintage store where Krista found her wedding dress? Well, its owner, Della Fyne, has a story of her own!
Anyway, without further ado … Heads up for a new Jesse Hayworth release, this week or next! Remember the vintage store where Krista found her wedding dress? Well, its owner, Della Fyne, has a story of her own!
E-only, buy links coming soon. (AKA, as soon as I stop moving commas around and hit 'publish'.)
This was intended to be a novella, but wound up about twice that length, though shorter than my print books, so I'm calling it … er … a story? Whatever you want to call it, it'll be $2.99, and will be available on Kindle (at a minimum) this week or next-ish. We can say June 15, if you like :)
Here's the blurb:
In a town that loves
its Wild West past, a handsome newcomer is looking to shake things up …
When single mom Della Fyne finds herself empty nesting at
age thirty-seven, she knows its time to start a new life—or at least add a few
new layers to her old one. But it’s not easy for the owner of the only vintage
clothing store in the quaint town of Three Ridges, Wyoming to look forward
rather than back … especially when she’s determined not to repeat past
mistakes.
Contractor Max Ramsay likes things new and shiny. He and his
crew are in town for the two months it will take them to modernize the old
library, and this is his big chance to prove he’s got what it takes to move up
in the family business. He doesn’t have time for last-minute changes coming
from a busybody shopkeeper who’s got the mayor’s ear … even if she has a quick
wit and more curves than a mountain road.
When the two wind up helping with the library’s grand
reopening gala, their big debate—which is
better, old or new?—turns into a series of double-or-nothing dares. Then
dates. Then more. But as the library gala approaches, the bigger question
looms: can there be a future for this small-town shopkeeper and a high-tech
hunk from the city?
I'm super excited to share this story with you. So … stay tuned!
Monday, June 1, 2015
Tagline Wars
Taglines … We've all heard 'em (cue Booming Movie Voiceover Guy):
The longer you wait, the harder it gets. (The 40 Year Old Virgin)
Earth. It was fun while it lasted. (Armageddon)
Her life was in their hands. Now her toe is in the mail. (The Big Lebowski)
Snicker.
Why are we talking about taglines, you might ask? Well, as I'm coming into the home stretch of putting together my first self-published Mustang Ridge book (more on that coming very soon!), I'm faced with doing stuff that my publishers usually handle … like coming up with a tagline.
So, as one does, I enlisted some help--I gave my cover designer (and friend), Lena, a brief synopsis of the story, and asked for her suggestion. In doing so, however, I made a tactical error in forgetting that she once mocked up an Intrigue cover for me, entitled "The Shirtless Cowboy's Missing Cow," as a joke. (It was a very good cover, by the way. *fans self*) And so it shouldn't have come as any surprise when her first suggestion was:
She has issues … He has a truck.
Ha! Okay, so that's … accurate. Worse, it got stuck in my head. And nothing else I came up with sounded any better. So (second mistake) I asked my mom (who has read the story) what she thought. And she said:
"How about 'She has issues … He has a BIG truck'?"
Very helpful. Thanks, guys. Sigh.
But as I go back to the drawing board, I'd like to share a couple of taglines with you, courtesy of two new books by very good friends of mine (click on the covers for Amazon links):
A sexy singles auction that comes with the prize of a lifetime …
This is the debut novel from my GalPal, Gail, and it's a hoot! I've read it, loved it, and am prouder than punch to see it in the book-flesh! It'll be on the digital shelves on June 23, but is available for preorder now.
How to unravel your straight-laced lover ...
This sexy Blaze (paperback in stores, digital book launching today!) comes from my buddy Regina, and is the second in her 'Art of Seduction' series. I highly recommend both!
In the meantime …
(Doc Jess wanders off, muttering, "She has issues, he has a toolbelt?")
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