Who did what? Won where?

I, like many people in US if not the world, was following the Academy Awards, I couldn’t watch, but I followed the goings on on the i-net.

While reading about who did what down the red carpet, up the stairs, to the podium, behind the scenes, etc, etc, so on and so forth, I wondered, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, how does one get to the position where they can comment, rate, and chastise the celebrities et al, who come to participate in the grand ceremony? Which I believe is a farce, by the way.

I often wonder who gets to judge the awards, and what exactly do they judge for? I mean, is there some private screening area where a group of judges get together to watch all the movies, shows, programs, shorts, talls, longs… anyways, do they sit there with their number cards and hold up numbers, calculate what everyone decided, then whoever has the highest score wins? I mean, does anyone get this? And seriously, does anyone really care that much, ‘cause I, for one, watch movies for the ‘get me out of my life’ value. If my friends like a movie, I’ll probably see it. If it gets rave reviews, I probably won’t, ‘cause truthfully, in my opinion, most of the reviews are tainted.

Seriously, I think that the reviewers look at the sell value of a movie and rave on the ones they feel will do the worst, just so it can make back some of the money that some poor sot put out for it.

That’s how I see it anyway.

I suppose, if you really want to know, you can muddle through the website http://oscar.go.com/ and find the answers you’re looking for. As for me, I think I’ll stay obstinately ignorant.

Snow? Hail? What is it?


Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.org

 Let it snow, let it snow, let it… hail?

So, when is hail confused as snow? When you live in Phoenix and little white fluff balls cover the ground. Okay, okay; the hail was very, very slushy, it could have been snow right? And, if you can gather up the fluff balls and make a ‘snowman’ that should count. Who cares what anyone else says. Did you see that cactus? It’s covered in white so it has to be snow dadgumit!

I considered googling it to find out when falling white fluff balls morph from snow to hail, but who am I to burst anyone’s bubble, especially the news reporters standing out in the weather, all bundled up for the near freezing flurry.

Awe heck, I did it anyways;

 At http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Graupel, wikipedia is my favorite start for research, by the way, and I found my answer:

Under some atmospheric conditions, snow crystals may encounter supercooled water droplets. These droplets, which have a diameter of about 10 µm (0.00039 in), can exist in the liquid state at temperatures as low as −40 °C (−40 °F), far below the normal freezing point. Contact between a snow crystal and the supercooled droplets results in freezing of the liquid droplets onto the surface of the crystal. This process of crystal growth is known as accretion. Crystals that exhibit frozen droplets on their surfaces are referred to as rimed. When this process continues so that the shape of the original snow crystal is no longer identifiable, the resulting crystal is referred to as graupel. Graupel was formerly referred to by meteorologists as soft hail. However, graupel is easily distinguishable from hail in both the shape and strength of the pellet and the circumstances in which it falls. Ice from hail is formed in hard, relatively uniform layers and usually falls only during thunderstorms. Graupel forms fragile, oblong shapes and falls in place of typical snowflakes in wintry mix situations, often in concert with ice pellets. Graupel is also fragile enough that it will typically fall apart when touched.

There you have it.  It really and truly was snow… wait… it snowed? In Phoenix, it snowed?

Whoohoo! It snowed in Phoenix! It snowed in Phoenix! Did you see that white stuff on the cactus, it’s snow! Wow, I was like, totally driving in snow… in Phoenix. Holy crow, I’ll never forget that… did you see the picture on facebook, my nephew actually made a snowman from snow; that fell from the sky… in Phoenix.

Sigh, that… is amazing!


 Photo courtesy of Stuart Franklin\Getty images


Photo courtesy of kids.discovery.com

I love rainy days. Being a desert rat I suppose it’s inevitable that I would value any moisture that graces us from above, although I do know many that share my back ground who don’t appreciate the gift of life as much as I, but most do.

A couple of weeks ago, a comment was made by a passerby at work; with much disdain I paraphrase, for my memory refuses to disclose the exact wording, anywho, she said something like, ‘Just when we think we’ve gotten rid of the rain, it comes back’. I know it’s a lame rendition and would love to flower it up, but that was the gist of it and with no rain, there are no flowers.

I would love to have rebutted her chagrin for the life giving moisture that the desert never seems to have enough of, but not only is it not in my nature, I’m pretty sure the management would not have approved of my remarks. Besides, I don’t much care for the person, so I rarely engage in conversation with her anyways.

All that said, I wondered how one could live in the desert and not want it to rain? Even when we have too much rain, it’s a good thing, after all, isn’t everyone aware of how drastically low the reservoirs have gotten? And though I know that you’re miserable in the snowy areas of the country, it’s water, run-off, a source of renewal for the aquifers that get so very depleted that sinkholes are created; and seriously, who likes sinkholes? Certainly not anyone’s who’s driven into one.

What, you may ask is the point to my latest bit of ranting? Appreciation; you don’t have to like the moisture graced upon us, but everyone should at least appreciate it.

For more information on groundwater depletion visit http://ga.water.usgs.gov/edu/gwdepletion.html

For wicked photos of sinkholes visit http://thesinkhole.org/

Writer’s Conferences

One of the things on my bucket list (though honestly I didn’t know it was called that until the movie of the same name), right up there with seeing the aurora borealis is to attend a writer’s conference. I read interviews, statements, blogs, posts, notes, and articles about them and feel excited and willing to throw myself out into the world, learn, interview, and merge myself into the realm in which I undoubtedly feel a part.

Then what on God’s green earth is keeping me from packing my bags and attending?

Fear. Not the fear of being around people, nor the fear of wasting my time or money; but the fear of presenting myself to strangers, trying to sell my thoughts and ideas to someone I don’t know. It’s not even fear of rejection that paralyses me, but the fear of acceptance, of finding that one agent that is as excited as I am about the ramblings of my imagination.

Why? You may ask, and all I can think of is: what if I can’t live up to the responsibility? What if I don’t make my deadlines, what if I stay in bed all day and can’t find that perfect phrase, or just the right word to describe exactly what my character is feeling?

Yea, that for me is scarier than anything else. Though I know I can, I know my ability grows and develops as I grow and develop, I can’t seem to take that first step into the sunshine; exposing myself for what I truly am.


(photo curtesy of flickr.com)

Why Write

As I finish reading my latest literary conquest, I wonder why write? What do I have to offer anyone?

I’ve decided that the part of me that changes the story as I read should have a telling of its own. Except if I coalesce my ideas with what’s already there then it’s plagiary. But wait, is it plagiary if I never plan to publish it?

Never mind, it doesn’t work that way anyway, ’cause my character takes on a life of it’s own with his/her own personality and challenges and thus an idea is born. After all, Plato was one of Socrates’s greatest students, and Aristotle one of Plato’s. Great philosophers building on the ideas of the influences placed before them.

Not to compare myself with two of the greatest minds in history, but that’s how it works. We are all influenced by the world we live in, whether we build different universes, or alter our world in some realistically epic tale, or twist the world into a fantastic spin of the pen where reality is invented to suit our imaginary whim.

What we writer’s offer is not reality, but an escape from our mundane lives to live in a world of dreams where we can be who and what we want, where we can travel and explore where we may; and what better way to live, than to live the lives of our dreams.

The Power of Touch

I frequently trudge through my day wondering if we were a more touchy-feely type society, I don’t mean sexual touching, just a brush of a hand on a shoulder when we pass, or a touch on the wrist when we talk, would we have fewer people with social issues.

Is it that our society is so afraid of sending sexual messages that we withhold a basic need from each other. I’ve seen families have entire conversations without even the barest of acknowledgements through a simple brush of fingers. Why?

I have to admit, that even I, as a youth, was afraid to touch others. It was after an unfortunate turn of events that took our brother from us that my family began to talk, pay attention, hug, touch…

Unfortunately, there are predators out there, but we can still show that we care, to those we care about, even if it’s a brief touch of the hand, it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t even mean anything more than, ‘I acknowledge you, and desire your humanity.’

The Passage of Time

Tic-toc, tic-toc, tic-toc… The passage of time is relative;

Time is a mysterious thing. How many times do we look at the clock thinking that the hands just won’t move, or feel that time is slipping away and we don’t have time enough to get the things done that we want.

It always amazes me when I’m having one of those nights; you know the ones, where time seems to take twice as long to pass… anywho, it never fails, as I sit wondering what I can do to make the clock spin, that one of my co-workers will comment on how fast the time has passed. If they’re a friend of mine I tell them to get out of my face and don’t come near my desk again-I have rubber bands and I’m not afraid to use them! I can talk to my friends that way ’cause they know me and won’t take me seriously.

Sometimes there’s a cure for nights like that, other times, it doesn’t matter how busy you are, the clock moves at half speed-those are the absolute worst nights of all. You’re busy as all get out and the clock just refuses to move… Luckily the night does end, after all time doesn’t really stop, it just seems like it.

Then there are times, when life is glorious and you don’t want the time to pass, and the time faeries bless you with extra time for the same price. Yea, those times are rare, but nice, absolutely nice; but alas, that time also passes.

What’s the point? Aw heck, you should know by now that there ain’t no point to my ramblins, I just share bits of thoughts flying through my brain at a thousand miles an hour, bits that sometimes find their way out into the open; bits that are locked up so tight they have no chance of escaping. Sometimes they do… but that’s another post for another time.

Slowing down

I am slowing down my daily posts to weekly+. If I come up with something exciting prior to the post day I will still post it. Thanks to you, my followers. Hopefully this will give you more exciting things to enjoy. My new post day will be Tuesday. Yes, that means tomorrow for those of you who haven’t slept as of yet, and today for those of you who have.

Vamped out

I don’t know with absolution that vampires are not real. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I was never besotted by vampires until falling in love with the sulking Louis and the arrogant vampire Lestat from Ann Rice’s novel ‘Interview With A Vampire’. Though I never truly thought about wanting to actually meet a vampire, or particularly wanted to become one, I have been known to joke about being a vampire because of the strange hours I keep.

Lyn came into being shortly after watching ‘Queen of the Damned’ with one of my children. A movie based on the book with the same title by Ann Rice. I have mixed feelings about the movie, but soon after seeing the show Lyn trickled into my mind, flourished, and grew into a full blown novel.

I’ve written several books and really had no intentions of publishing this one until a friend of mine read some blurbs and encouraged me to work it into print-harder said than done. For one, to grow it into a novel there are guidelines to follow, thoughts and ideas to follow, situations to present, stress and tension to manage, and then there’s the all consuming ending which I am most inefficient at. After three or four books worth of story, and with several spin-off stories to boot (most of my characters want stories of their own), I trudged through a hopefully suitable ending for ‘Twisted Fate’.

Initially I wrote my story as if it were a research project. Being interested in the mechanics of the human body, I created a virus as the initial cause of becoming a vampire. I found that I was having too much fun with the how’s and why’s and neglected Lyn’s story – badly. I forced myself to pull back from all of the medical jargon and stuck with the how’s and the shock factor of a doctor facing the fact that vampires are real and she was one.

Eventually she decides to tell her friends and colleagues, but that is another story. You’ll have to wait to find out if she’s committed or not. Plus you’ll also find out what happens when she meets others of her kind after she’s drawn to the annual gathering, called by the master of her creator-a call that she cannot refuse.

Want more? I surely do hope so ’cause I’m having a great time discovering her story and hope that you have an equally great time reading it.