Tag Archives: vegan lifestyle

What lurks within my mind

the belgariadEvery author is an avid reader. If not, they should be.  I began writing because I read so fast the library couldn’t stock new books fast enough to keep up with my habit, and I certainly couldn’t afford to buy them in that quantity.  I was limited to one new paperback book a payday in those days.

Now I read up to 6 Kindle downloads a week, and I feel very fortunate to be in such a position to be able to read as much as I want, whenever I want.

It is that yearning for a good tale that fires my imagination, and gets me writing a new tale. Today I am thinking about NaNoWriMo in November, and  wondering what I will write.

Imago Chronicles Book One  Lorna SuzukiI have read many books this year, books about elves and dragons, books about vampires, books set in the future, in alternate realities–so many books.

Now I have to find the next book that lurks within my mind.

I ask myself, “What do I want to read today?” What story do I want to have told to me, what will take me to that amazing, wonderful place where my heart and mind belong to the book in my hand?

There is a seed growing in my mind…the kernel of an idea. I know it will be a tale of people striving to overcome forces greater than themselves…perhaps the fate of their world hangs in the balance.

Final_Fantasy_VII_Advent_Children_2004Perhaps they are not always the most well-behaved of people, but here is a hero lurking deep within them, waiting for  some catastrophe to bring out that heroic side of them. Perhaps the local slacker is about to save the world…

 

 

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Filed under Adventure, Books, Dragons, Fantasy, Final Fantasy, Literature, Vegan, writer, writing

Dad’s Leg

cover_art_Billy_39_s_RevengeWords are awesome. I love obscure, weird words.  J.K. Rowling uses the word ‘snogging’ in her Harry Potter series, to describe couples who were engaged in prolonged kissing, or as we sometimes say where I come from,  ‘canoodling.’ My friend Irene has a new favorite word: ‘kerfuffle,’  a Briticism for a  noisy disturbance or commotion. Americans would say a ‘dust-up.’ 

Words are the color palette an author uses to paint his image of the world.  In English, which is a mash-up language, we have so many wonderful, wild words it is impossible to use them all in one book.

Heck–William Shakespeare loved words so much that when he ran out of words to fit a particular sentence, he invented them!

To say my father was an interesting man would be an understatement.  Born September 22, 1923, he was a product of depression-era America. A farm-boy and big for his age, he enlisted in the US Army in 1938 at the age of 15. He thought he’d found his career, but he was injured in a motorcycle accident while riding dispatch in 1945, near the end of WWII. Nearly every bone in his body was broken, and in the hurry to save his life, his left leg was set crooked. A year later, they went in and re-broke it in order to reset it straight, but he developed osteomyelitis.

va logoDad spent the next 7 years after the war in and out of VA hospitals.   For 7 years, the army surgeons tried to save his leg but in 1954 he lost his left leg,.The US Army officially forced him to retire, at the age of 30.  Unfortunately, Dad was never able to wear the artificial leg the VA provided him with, although we children did find some creative uses for it. It stood in the hall closet in our house in Ballard, and we charged the neighbor kids  25 cents to look at it. In Olympia it was good for scaring our cousins. When I first married and left home, it stood in the corner of my living room holding plastic flowers, a conversation piece like no other.

There he was in 1952, a single guy with rather visible disability,  wearing a heavy leg-brace, living in a world that hid the disabled under a rug and pretended everything was perfect. It was 1952, after all.

For some people, that would have been the end of everything. But not my Dad. When things began going bad with his leg, he knew he would be forced in to early retirement. He was aware that dropping out of school in the 10th grade to join the army had limited his employment choices to logging or farming, all manual labor. Dad used that time he’d spent on extended medical leave getting his high-school diploma, and then going to college. He met my mother and the rest was history.

So what does Dad’s leg (or lack thereof) have to do with weird words?  Stick with me and you will see.

Dad was a voracious reader. He read everything from Tolkien to Tolstoy, and he remembered what he had read. Dad was a draftsman, and cartooning was his hobby. He played the guitar, played in a rockabilly band and partied with Les Paul and Mary Ford. Dad bought the Encyclopedia Britannica, the entire collection of Great Books of the Western World, Grolier’s Book of Knowledge, and a wonderful little collection of books called “Lands and Peoples.

Fred+Flintstone+FredFlintstoneDad was larger than life. He was loud, boisterous, opinionated, wide-open, a generous host, and he was always the center of attention. He made his own wine and brewed beer.  He was a ham radio operator (his call number was W7NEY) and had a First Class Radiotelephone Operator License. Every year his vegetable garden grew more food than we could possibly eat, no matter how much we canned.

Dad was Fred Flintstone on Steroids.

Dad Loved Words. Big words, small words, short words, long words–Dad loved them all. He spun hilarious yarns about the ‘Kamaloozi Indians’, a non-existent tribe whose beloved Chief, Rolling Rock had gone missing, The tribe was so distraught they posted signs in every mountain pass that read “Watch for Rolling Rock.”

Everything in his toolbox had a name that was his own invention: Screwdrivers were ‘Skeejabbers.

Dad loved words so much he mangled them just because he loved the way they sounded. Sometimes he became so frustrated he lost his words and resorted to creative cursing.

Dad’s birthday is coming up, September 22. He died in 1991 at the age of 66, from complications of Osteomyelitis. He would have been 90 years old this next Sunday. He is gone, but definitely he will never be forgotten. His love of words and of reading, art and music had an impact on me and my siblings we will never live long enough to outgrow.

What better environment for a future bender-of-words like me to grow up in than a home where any book was fair game, and reading was not only encouraged, it was required?

The word for the day is ‘querl’–which means to twist or curl. And that is what my family all loves to do with words!

rolling rocks sign

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flippin’ it

An elf markswoman from the Wesnoth fantasy setting, created by Kathrin "Kitty" Polikeit for the homepage of WTactics, the customizable card game project based on The Battle for Wesnoth via Wikimedia Commons

An elf markswoman from the Wesnoth fantasy setting, created by Kathrin “Kitty” Polikeit for the homepage of WTactics, the customizable card game project based on The Battle for Wesnoth via Wikimedia Commons

You know you’ve taken a dip into the realm of fantasy when you’re editing a manuscript and one of your comments in the sidebar reads:  ? maybe a word or two to signify it wasn’t a random customer? Does he mean the elf?  

For some reason when I found myself making that particular comment I laughed like a loon.

I  marvel at my  ‘fantasy life’.  I’m really talking about an elf, and the author whose book I am editing won’t think I’ve ‘flipped it’ again. She has ‘flipped it’ too.

Flippin’ it‘ is an occupational hazard for authors, judging from what I see on Facebook!

When I was young, in my twenties and thirties and even into my fifties, I thought sixty was old, and that I would probably be too decrepit to enjoy life once I devolved to such an old age. However, I’ve been pleasantly surprised to discover my childhood lasted through my forties, and now here I am, sixty years old and feeling like the queen of everything!

Young adulthood is a a time of living in limbo–you go to work, you get married and have kids. It’s your fertile years after all, and your biology insists you take advantage of it!Young Woman Sitting Looking at Laptop Screen In your twenties, thirties and even forties,  creativity is something you pursue only in your free time, feeling guilty for taking time away from your obligations and from your children. You enjoy life, yes and you do find ways to have a satisfying and creative existence, but it’s on hold, and something in the back of your mind asks, “Is this it? Is this all there is?” You feel guilty for even thinking such a heinous thought. How could a lovely family, a good job and all the trappings of modern life not be satisfying? Of course you’re going to write that book someday, but…Jackie has soccer, David has piano lessons,  and you’ve a briefcase full of work to do when dinner is done. That’s if they don’t need too much help with their homework. If you fall into bed by eleven you’re doing well!

These years are the foundation years, the years of your late childhood, preparing you for the real adulthood that only begins once you are free of those responsibilities.

220px-Sir_Galahad_(Watts)Life gets put on hold until that blessed day when the last child leaves the nest. On that day, your real life begins. Yes, you will still need to work, but your life has gained that one rare and beautiful commodity you never had before: free time. Time to spend doing what you want in the evening–time to paint, or time to write. Time to be selfish and no one to make you feel guilty.

Yeah, you’re glad to hear from the kids, that won’t change.  You love being with them and look forward to seeing them for family get-togethers and visits, but you don’t live only for them any more.

There will be separation anxiety. It surprises them that you don’t call every hour to check on them, but they will get used to it, and even learn to accept your independence.

Eventually they will stop fearing that your not calling every hour means you’ve fallen and can’t get up. Promise them that if that becomes a valid concern, you will get a life-alert and life will go on.

They’ll get used to you traveling on your own, and making decisions for yourself. One day they will experience this part of life for themselves. They will realize they can count on you to be there when they need you, and accept that when the crisis is over, you will load your suitcase into the car and let them get on with living the first half of their lives.

You discover that you have a meaning and a purpose in your life that goes far beyond parenthood and biological imperatives, even if it’s a purpose only you and a few friends in your writing group understand.

The first half of my life I spent working three jobs and raising kids, writing only when I could, and too embarrassed to show it to anyone. Now, here I am embarking on the second half of my life, the part where my life really begins and I not only have a career that absorbs me, I get to read all I want! 

Of course I’ve ‘flipped it’. I love the freedom of writing fantasy, and the pleasure of being involved in editing awesome books by amazing authors. It doesn’t get any better than that!

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Grandma’s Ferrari and Style

chicago manual of styleOh golly gee–it’s that time of year again. What do I use,  “that” or “which?”   And what the heck are those rules again? Good grief…where did I put that bookmark for the online Chicago Manual of Style….

What? Doesn’t everyone have a bookmark in their list of favorites so they can immediately access a FREE style manual when questions of  style arise? Good lord people–we aren’t talking shoes and handbags here! We’re talking RULES! Specifically, the rules fer writin’ and ropin’ in them thar clauses!

And always remember–for the indie author, free is good. If you don’t have the funds to buy Strunk and White’s Elements of Style, for the love of Dickens, use the internet, Tiny Tim!

Personally, I use both manuals.

The traditional approach to the question of “that versus which” is to use “that” with restrictive clauses and “which” with nonrestrictive clauses. While some writers seem to have abandoned the distinction entirely, no better rule has come along to replace the traditional rule. Moreover, the rule is easy to master.

But what, you ask, is a stinking restrictive clause and why do you need one?

799px-Handcuffs01_2003-06-021.   A restrictive clause is one that limits — or restricts –the identity of the subject in some way. When writing a restrictive clause, introduce it with the word “that” and no comma. (However, if the subject is or was a human being, use “who” to introduce the clause.) This is where “that” goes:

Correct Restrictive Use:

The photograph that was hanging in the hotel lobby was stolen.

The use of “that” in this sentence is correct if the reader intends to single out the one photograph that was in the hotel lobby as the stolen photograph. However, if there were several photographs hanging in the lobby, this use would be incorrect, since it would mislead the reader into believing that there had been only one photograph in the hotel lobby. The restriction here tells us that the one photograph that had been hanging in the hotel lobby was stolen — not the photograph in the cocktail lounge, or the one in the guest library, or any of those in the restaurant.

MH9004387282.  Use “which” with nonrestrictive clauses. A nonrestrictive clause may tell us something interesting or incidental about a subject, but it does not define that subject. When writing a nonrestrictive clause, introduce it with “which” and insert commas around the clause. (However, if the subject is or was a human being, use “who” to introduce the clause and insert commas around the clause.)

According to Wikipedia, the Fount of all Knowledge: non-restrictive clause is a clause in which a noun phrase that is used to avoid repetition (as the referent of an anaphor, meaning that it is substituted by another word but refers to the same noun) is determined by its antecedent where the dependent is peripheral (non-essential) in the secondary constituent, as opposed to a restrictive clause, where the dependent is central (essential) to its primary constituent. A non-restrictive clause does not identify the referent of its noun, but only provides information about it.

220px-Metropolitan_police_BMW_3_seriesRestrictive example:

The officer helped the civilians who had been shot.

or

The officer helped those civilians who had been shot.

In this example, there is no comma before “who”. Therefore, what follows is a restrictive clause (not all of the civilians had been shot).

Non-restrictive example:

The officer helped the civilians, who had been shot.

Here, there is a comma before “who”. Therefore, what follows is a non-restrictive clause. It changes the sentence to mean that all the civilians had been shot.[1]

Correct Nonrestrictive Use:

The photograph, which was hanging in the hotel lobby, was stolen.

Explanation: While this nonrestrictive use tells us that the photograph was hanging in the hotel lobby, it does not tell us which of the several photographs in the hotel lobby was the stolen photograph. It would be incorrect to use this nonrestrictive clause if there had been only one photograph in the hotel lobby, as the sentence leaves open the possibility that there were others.

  1. Combining Restrictive and Nonrestrictive Clauses. One can provide both limiting and nonlimiting information about a subject in a single sentence. Consider the following.

Correct Use of Both Restrictive and Nonrestrictive Clauses:

220px-Looking_across_lake_toward_mountains,_-Evening,_McDonald_Lake,_Glacier_National_Park,-_Montana.,_1933_-_1942_-_Ansel AdamsThe Ansel Adams photograph that was hanging in the hotel lobby, which was purchased in 1969 for $100,000, was stolen.

The restrictive clause beginning with “that” tells us that only one Ansel Adams photograph was hanging in the hotel lobby and that it was stolen. The nonrestrictive clause beginning with “which” tells us what the owner had paid for the photograph, but it does not tell us that the owner did not pay another $100,000 for another photograph in the same year. It does not limit the possibilities to the Ansel Adams photograph that was in the lobby.

Restrictive and Nonrestrictive Clauses beginning with “Who.” When writing about human beings, we use “who” rather than “that” or “which” to introduce a clause telling us something about that human being. Since “who” is the only option, we distinguish between a restrictive use and a nonrestrictive use by the use of commas.

 

Ferrari_AssetResizeImageOld Mrs. Jasperson, who drives a Ferrari, is going through her second childhood.

Yes, I am a dreamer. Indies are lucky to be able to afford bus passes.

Anyway, that “who clause” is nonrestrictive because the information in the clause doesn’t restrict or limit the noun it modifies (Old Mrs. Jasperson.) The commas signify that the adjective clause provides added, but not essential, information. Use a pair of commas to set off words, phrases, or clauses that interrupt a sentence, as in these quotes:

Rudyard Kipling said, “Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.”

Anthony Burgess said, “Literature is all, or mostly, about sex.”

But don’t use commas to set off words that directly affect the fundamental meaning of the sentence:

Samuel Johnson said, “Your manuscript is both good and original. But the part that is good is not original, and the part that is original is not good.”

400px-CH_cow_2See? I do understand the principles, and when it comes to theory, I can talk clauses and quarks ’til the cows come home.

But truthfully folks, when I am in the zone, I just bash out the words and trust that my editors will not only rein me in when  I get too free with my commas, they will weed out all the extraneous “thats” and “whiches” that creep into every author’s raw manuscript.

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Ah–sweet mysteries of life….

The Joy of Childhood  © Leah Reindl 2012

The Joy of Childhood
© Leah Reindl 2012

I’ve been babysitting The Boy this week.  This child has mad skills at keeping Grandma hopping.  We have played endless hours of hide-and-seek, we have watched “The Boy Who Cried Werewolf” five times, and we have scootered around the house until Grandma is dizzy.

Well, let’s be honest–Grandma was a bit dizzy when she got here, but you know what I mean.

And talk about fine cuisine–we walked down to the Java Haus for a pink cookie! The pink cookie was awesome, although Grandma makes the best ramen.

Yum!

Writing has been problematic, but you can’t have everything.

000510Being vegan sometimes conflicts with dining options, when I am not home.  A fully loaded pizza with three different meats and extra cheese is not really vegan. Sorry, son-in-law.

Yeah, I know it’s not a steak, but truthfully pizza is not a vegetable. Thanks for the thought anyway, dear. No worries, I have this lovely toast, made from Dave’s Killer Bread to go with my Amy’s Vegan Chili. Yay for portable processed food that not only tastes good, it’s good for you!

The wise vegan brings her own meals.

So now we are at the end of summer. School is about to begin and NaNoWriMo is just around the corner. I am not yet ready for NaNo, but I have my backup plan in place. I will get my 50,000 words, as always. I know what I have to do when my brain grinds to a halt and medieval warfare no longer rings my bells.

young frankensteinI Frankenstein it.

Yep! Some years at the end of November I have three different stories going in one manuscript. When I run out of ideas on one, I start another.  When it comes to getting your 50,000 words you have to do whatever you can. I stitch them together, using  a different colored font for each.

Using different colored fonts makes it easy at the end of NaNoWriMo to unzip the manuscript. Then when you are at a standstill on one work in progress you can easily move on to another.

Sigh.

The Boy starts first grade in only five days. I can’t believe summer is almost over.  It  feels like it only just began!

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What I’ve learned from Tad Williams and Neil Gaiman

Over the course of my vacation I read two books, besides working on my own. I love to read the works of other authors, immersing myself in the way they handle plot twists and show the mood of a tale.  Oddly enough, both tales are told from the first person point of view, something I usually don’t gravitate to.

the dirty streets of heaven, Tad WilliamsFirst up, I read Tad Williams’s  irreverent thriller, The Dirty Streets of Heaven, Book I of Bobby Dollar.  That was fun, a real trip down the sometimes mean streets of the afterlife.

Tad Williams’s style of writing in the Bobby Dollar series is a non-traditional take on the traditional in-your-face, hard-boiled detective novel. Bobby is an angel, but even angels have their problems.

With the first sentence on page one, Williams establishes the mood of the piece and the society Bobby Dollar lives in, and he remains true to that concept throughout the entire tale.

“I was just stepping out of the elevator on the 43rd floor of the Five Page Mill building when the alarms began going off–those nightmarish, clear the building kind like the screams of tortured robots–and I realized I’d pretty much lost any chance at the subtle approach.”

Tad Williams’s work encompasses an incredibly wide range of styles, from fairy tales, to epic fantasy, to this hard-boiled detective story with his own paranormal twist.  At no point in the manuscript does the author forget where he is, or whose point of view the tale is told from. He never loses control of the many threads interwoven into this plot. The atmosphere is dark and seedy, and the demons Bobby Dollar deals with are some of the nicest people he knows.  Every sentence, every paragraph remains true to the mood established in that first sentence.

The ocean at the end of the lane Neil GaimonThe second book I read this last week was a completely different kind of tale, but it too was told in the first person.  Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean at the End of the Lane.

Neil Gaiman’s prose is astonishingly beautiful. It is told in the style of an old-fashioned fairy-tale, and the protagonist is never named. Ordinarily, the fact the protagonist is never named would have irritated the heck out of me, but the tale captivated me at the first line and held me enthralled to the final page. This is a stunning, harsh tale, frightening and yet comforting in a strange way.

“It was only a duck pond, out back of the farm. It wasn’t very big.

Lettie Hempsteck said it was an ocean, but I knew that was silly. She said they’d come here across the ocean from the old country.”

I didn’t buy this book for the blurb or the cover– the blurb is nonexistent, and the cover is merely okay–I bought it for the title, and for Neil Gaiman.  I knew without a doubt his prose  would more than make up for the cover and I was not wrong. The protagonist is a man of late middle age on his way to the funeral for a loved one. He stops at his childhood home, and also visits the neighbor. While there he is transported in his memories back to a terrible time in his life.  There is magic, and there is mystery here, and he tells this tale from the point of view of a seven-year-old child viewing adult situations he has only a dim grasp of. The mood is dark, and yet magic.

MH900442497We indies must continually strive to produce this kind of variety and excellence in our own work.

Sometimes we are writing in a desert, a place where the words won’t come. We feel that our work is dry and uninspiring.

But I guarantee the most famous and well-loved authors have suffered the same dry-spells, suffered the same feelings of miserable failure we aspiring indies feel.

When I read their beautiful, harsh and diverse work I am inspired to believe I can do this crazy thing. I remind myself that, for me, it’s not about numbers and sales, because it can’t be. My sales are sort of dismal at best, as I don’t really push them through the traditional indie route of obsessively nagging people to death on Facebook and other social media. For me it has to be about improving the quality of my work and the telling of the tales I have locked in my brain, and getting them out there in book form to the best of my ability.

Reading and understanding how the great authors write is one of the keys to unlocking our own potential. We indies have to use every tool we have available in this rough business, and we have to know what we want to achieve. I want to achieve great sales, of course. But more than that I want to write compelling tales that move my readers. I may never achieve the first, but I think I can do the second.

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The art of procrastination

MH900341616I have mad skills at the fine art of procrastination.  I can conjure the most amazing reasons to avoid doing tasks that would be so much simpler if I just got off my *** and did them.

I was gone all week last week, and still my house is  trashed. A mountain of dirty laundry lurks in the hall by the washer. Every inch of counter-top in the kitchen has some item (non-perishable)  of food waiting to be put away.  Sand from the beach made the journey home in our clothes and now the carpet needs a good vacuuming and perhaps a shampooing, but that’s another story.

We got home late Saturday night, and we did manage to unload the car.

That was about it. Oh yeah, the food that had to be refrigerated got put away, but the rest of it? Not so much.

MH900383000Everything sits where it was dropped, and gradually the detritus of our holiday is finding its way to the proper place.

And I don’t really find myself too bothered by the chaos. That is odd, for me.

Recovering from being sick for most of the summer and not being allowed to lift more than 10 lbs has put a bit of a damper on the cleaning frenzy I usually indulged in following our past years’ vacations.

I sit and write, and then get up and do a bit of putting away, then I sit and write again.  While in Cannon Beach I made serious headway on one of the new sections of Lackland’s tale, and yesterday, instead of cleaning house, I finished it.

Sort of.

Now I just have to flesh-out the chapter I just finished, and then there are two chapters left to write. The problem is, I know what I have to write for those chapters, because I’ve outlined them, and they are really good, action-packed chapters. It will be simple, and for me, it’s a tale that practically writes itself.

MH900399384But I can’t make myself do it.

Some will die.

I will be letting go of people I love, saying goodbye forever.

I will do many crazy things to avoid that, even if it means I actually finally clean my house.

In fact, I probably should make hummus.  Clean the kitchen, do the laundry and make hummus…avoid the whole end of the book problem….

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Unplanned Obsolescence

220px-Odometer_rolloverI turned sixty in June. The very next day I started falling apart. I am not kidding, my internal organs began failing the next day. Well, at least my gallbladder gave out on me.

Who knew planned obsolescence applied to the human body? At 60,000 miles you need a new timing belt, and possibly a brake-job.

Several expensive tests and a trip to urgent care later, it turned out I didn’t have gallstones. My gallbladder simply was failing, or as the doctor put it, dysfunctional. If you only knew my family, you wouldn’t be surprised.  I’m sure it’s not the only dysfunctional internal organ in the family.

ad_chevy_vega_gt_orange_1974I felt rather like the 1974 Chevy Vega we once owned, the vehicle with the duct-tape interior.  We had proudly bought it new, but at 50,000 miles the armrests fell off, the dashboard began cracking, the seats came apart–the interior was nothing but duct tape; a vast sea of silver. And the car was only three years old.

Duct tape is also known as “hundred-mile-an-hour-tape” in my family. Uncle Jim had a purple 1962  Chrysler station-wagon with both the rear-view mirror and the back bumper duct-taped on and he drove it like that for two years while he worked in the woods, planting trees.

libby-gown-front_01So last Wednesday I had surgery.  It was just a bit of internal housecleaning–out with the debris cluttering up the place. Unlike Dr. Frankenstein’s monster I had nothing new to replace it with, but the gallbladder is apparently an internal organ we can do without.

Today I am hanging around the house, waiting for tomorrow when I will get the staples out.

I know! Staples–almost as classy as duct tape! My Father would have been proud!

300px-Duct-tape

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Hurricane Hilton

MH900175582Last week I attended a 4 day convention in Seattle where there were several glitches on the dietary front.

The kitchen at the hotel failed miserably on Thursday and Friday, but by Saturday they had figured it out at least for the final dinner.  In the meantime, there were a lot of starving authors sharpening their pens and busily writing culinary reviews that were less than glowing.

When we reserved our place in January, we were asked what dietary requirements we had, and were given many options.  The breakfast buffet was nothing but donuts, muffins and bagelsnone of which are vegan or gluten-free – options that were offered to registrants at the time of my original sign-up.

I am not gluten intolerant, but I am vegan, and not for moral reasons. I am vegan for health reasons, as I get horribly ill from eating even small amounts of meat and dairy. So, when I realized there was NOTHING for breakfast or lunch that I could eat, I figured I’d just go to the restaurant and order side dishes off the menu. I have usually found that to be an option that works for me. After all, hash browns and steamed veggies are usually easy for the kitchen to turn out.

MH900400553When faced with a simple request, such as, “Can I have veggies sautéed in olive oil instead of butter please?” or “May I have my toast with no butter, please?” the waiters and waitresses got the deer-in-the-headlights look.  

I know what it’s like to be faced with a horde of prima donnas who think they should have special treatment.  I worked in the food service industry as both a waitress and a dishwasher, and I was a hotel maid for 12 years, actually, during the Reagan and Bush Sr. years. That was one of my 3 jobs. I was also a free-lance bookkeeper and a darkroom technician during those years. Three part-time jobs kept the kids fed and the roof over their heads, right?

Trickle down economics didn’t always trickle down too far.

It’s amazing how many hotels and restaurants are not prepared for guests with strange dietary needs like those weirdo hippy-freak vegans.

I get it, and I understand it.  I left good tips in the VERY expensive coffee shop anyway, because everyone did their best, and why be more of a pain than you have to be? My fried spuds and steamed veg averaged $15.00 to $20.00 per meal for breakfast and lunch for 4 days. Hurricane Hilton blew through my wallet leaving behind a budgetary disaster.

curry and sweet potato soupBut in this case, I was not the only hungry author there.  There was little concession made for any of the other people who’d been offered diet options, including the carnivores.  In fact the first three days were total catering catastrophes, and hardly anyone was pleased with the pathetic offerings.

By Friday, things were looking up for me but the Carnivores were starving. The catering team had gotten the 3 vegans at the convention served, and the plate they put in front of me was lovely.

Yep. There I was alone, surrounded by starving authors, armed only with a plate of grilled asparagus.

The carnivores were all looking at my veggies covetously. Irene Roth Luvaul suffered worse than me. She was told that  A: they had run out of food, and B: they weren’t going to cook any more. 6 people at our table were yet to be served.

Irene is an editor. Did I mention that? Just in case I didn’t, I will just say it’s bad juju to cross an editor. And the room was full of them.

There was blood in the water.

The announcement that no food would be forthcoming didn’t fly well with the comma-Nazi. Irene said, “What do you mean, you aren’t going to cook any more food?” Her clipped Texas tones could have shaved the fur off a cat at fifteen feet, they were so sharp.

This was the voice of the woman who edited briefs for the Texas State Supreme Court. She wrangled lawyers for a living.

The server brought her a plate of cold ravioli in pale tomato sauce.

Faced with a resounding plea-bargain, Irene desperately wished she was a vegan, and eyed my asparagus with longing.

However, by Saturday night the catering staff had redeemed themselves beautifully with a lovely, well-prepared meal that even the gluten-free authors were pleased with, along with copious quantities of decent wine, proving that giddy, well-oiled authors are a bag of fun.

Despite near starvation, it was a fun week, and meeting Greg Bear was awesome. But making new friends and connections with both sides of the industry was the best part of this for me.

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Life Goes On, Maybe

Office Workers Clapping at Office PartySometimes you are going along just fine, flying like the wind and living the dream. Everyone loves you–you are riding high. Then the gods of perversity decide you’ve been having way too much fun and decide you need another one of those little reminders of your own mortality.  Perhaps you said something that offended someone, perhaps you didn’t say something you should have.

Perhaps you were less than kind when you should have been generous.

It appears to be an unfortunate fact of life in our society that when someone in the public spotlight appears to enjoying their success too much (Paula Deen, Frank Gifford), the carrion-eaters gather about them, waiting for them to stumble, plotting their downfall, desperate to be part of the feeding frenzy that is sure to follow.  That which passes for ‘news’ at 6:00 is frequently little more than juicy gossip and holier-than-thou finger-pointing by people with something to gain from the debacle. To me, the personal failings of public figures is not news, it is a terrible glimpse into someone else’s life that I wish I had never seen. People do wrong all the time–how can that be news? It reminds me of my mother and my Aunt Jo gossiping at the kitchen table about some neighbor caught with their pants down.

Eye on Flat Panel MonitorTo me, the real news isn’t that even famous people do cringe-worthy things.  The real news is on a more global scale. The real news never gets any airtime, because the real news-makers have the power to see to it that the populace is spoon-fed pap like who used the ‘N’ word (which is most certainly NOT cool) or who has been cheating on his wife (also not cool.) While I agree these are not good things for anyone, much less respected public figures, to do, I simply feel it is gossip and not news. This is the sort of thing that better belongs in scandal-rags like People or The National Enquirer.

In the US we have a free-press.  This means what you see on the television is what the big corporations want you to see, since they own the press, and it ‘s a free country, after all. We hear little of the real news, mentioned only in passing, such as the recent proposal for a  regulation by the European Parliament and of the Council. This proposal regulates the production and availability on the market of plant reproductive material (plant reproductive material law.) (Seeds.)

What this proposed law says (quoted from The Real Seed Catalogue):

The law starts from the premise that all vegetables, fruit and trees must be officially registered before they can be reproduced or distributed. This obviously is a major restriction on seed availability, as there are all sorts of costs in both time and money dealing with the bureaucracy of a central Plant Variety Agency. Then, after making that the basic rule, there are some exceptions made in limited cases:

  • Home gardeners will be permitted to save and swap unregistered seed without breaking the law.
  • Small organisations can grow and supply unregistered vegetable seed – but only if they have less than 10 employees
  • Seedbanks can grow unregistered seed without breaking the law (but they cannot give it to the public)
  • There might be easier (in an unspecified way) rules for large producers of seeds suitable for organic agriculture etc, in some (unspecified) future legislation – maybe.

There are also clauses that mean the above concessions could be removed or reduced at any time in the future without coming back to the Parliament for a vote.”

MH900438728Who benefits from this law? Only the ten largest seed companies in the world, who also just happen to be the largest pesticide producers in the world.

1.Monsanto (US)
2.DuPont (US)
3.Syngenta (Switzerland)
4.Groupe Limagrain (France)
5.Land O’ Lakes (US)
6.KWS AG (Germany)
7.Bayer Crop Science (Germany)
8.Sakata (Japan)
9.DLF-Trifolium (Denmark)
10.Takii (Japan)

Source: ETC Group

Variety in our seed crops is an absolute must, if we are to have strong, healthy sources of food. Genetically modifying crops so they are resistant to certain chemicals (patented, produced and sold only by these companies) and creating a monoculture food chain is not beneficial to the world, no matter how these companies proclaim their charitable desire to feed the world.  If they truly did care about that, they would not be trying to put the small farmer out of business. If their motives were truly as benevolent as their propaganda declares them to be they would be supporting and encouraging small farms, not putting them out of business and destroying entire cultures.

I leave you with this quote from the Daily Mirror–oddly enough I did find ‘news’ in a newspaper!

MH900438718“The social impacts of large-scale monocultures are often disastrous for communities who continue to grow local foods using sustainable practices. Small-scale farmers often cultivate local species which not only contain important minerals for the soils and for human health, but also have adapted to the local environment over many years.

When small-scale farmers are confronted with industrial large-scale monocultures in their area, they are faced with water and other resources shortages, contamination from pesticide spraying and from GMO crops.

The takeover of land by monocultures also causes rural depopulation, destroying local community life and local economies. Monoculture plantations usually provide only temporary labour, for which workers are often hired from outside the region. Land grabbing and forced evictions of local populations are strongly linked to the expansion of monocultures.”

This, to me, is the real news.

I leave the gossip to the corporate news giants who cultivate it as a way to divert our attention from the true threats to our existence, and to those who find pleasure in watching others fall from grace.

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