Because I Can.

     I went on Amazon today and bought a new keyboard. I did it not only because I needed one but because I could.  I am often surprised by the fact that I never have to ask anyone's permission to buy anything I want to buy. The keyboard I had was a good one still, but there were a few keys that seemed to stick, and though there were a limited amount of keys on the board itself, I didn't want to take the time to try and figure out which ones were sticking. All I knew was that I was forever making typing errors that caused me to use the backspace key repeatedly. It's annoying! I know; First-World problems!

    So, the new keyboard arrived two hours after I ordered it, which is faster than I would have expected. I'm not sure I really like it yet, but I'm almost sure I'll get used to it. I've taken a good hard look at it, and I think the keyboard is the same size as the old one, but the new one is smaller overall, without a bunch of extra keys and buttons on the sides that I never once used anyway. If I were hard-pressed to guess what all those buttons did, I think I could come up with one answer -- there was a "media" button that, though I never used it, I think I remember someone seeing it on my desk and telling me it was useful. I can't think of why I would use it, but apparently, enough people do, and the makers of the keyboards added them. 

    So, after I made the purchase, I decided to use it, and what better way than to look up something online that I love and write about it? That's right, that's what this is; it's an exercise for me to use my new keyboard, but before I could do that, I needed something to look at and write about - enter the chocolate donut! That's right, again...I love a good chocolate donut. It's not something new or innovative. The fact itself should not send shockwaves through you - if you know me, I am a huge fan of most chocolate things. Donuts were simply some of the first things I remember being attracted to - and because I can, I went onto Pinterest, looked up chocolate donuts, and caused myself to smile.

    I like the way they look. I like the color, in fact, again, if you know me, you know my very favorite color in the whole big wide world is in fact, Hershey's chocolate brown - the candy, not the wrapper; but that color is rather nice as well.  Brown is earthy; it's rich, wholesome, and honest. Brown never decieves you, it is itself perfect. Dogs are often brown, you know, as well as coffee, trees, dirt, and therefore mud when you add the rain to the dirt -- except now those of you who do know me know I come from Oklahoma where the dirt and mud can be rather a dull brackish red....ignore that for now, and remember that brown is always a good color for donuts.

    Because I can, I think about making donuts. I think about mixing the dry ingredients together before mixing them with the wet ingredients I'll end up mixing after I do the dry. I think about preheating the oven and how I have to lower the temps in the one that I have now because if I don't, the indoor fire alarms will sound off.  Because I can, I think about spray coating the silicone donut baking pan and how the silicone pan I use makes a deeper donut than the old metal pan I bought over thirty years ago and just recently retired.

    Because I can, I think about pulling out the bitter-sweet chocolate (again brown) morsels and mixing them with a little heavy cream and butter to make a top glaze for the virtual donuts I'm thinking about -- I use a double boiler to do it, but I don't actually boil anything; I use a medium heat. Once the donuts are ready, I let them cool. They're not really there you know, they're in my mind, not the oven. I'm only thinking about baking them.

    Once I've fake-mixed, fake-cooked, fake-cooled, and fake-iced my fake donuts, I am ready to smile as I pretend it was real enough, and because I can -- I decide to really do it. If you want the truth, and I know you do, it takes longer to actually make real donuts than it does to make them in my mind -- and I have to clean up my mess when I'm done, something I don't have to do when I think about it. 

    OK, I think the keyboard will work out. That was good - It's a good purchase, I like it, and I'm hungry -- I know just what to do.

    

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

http://www.judestringfellow.com

Legacy - Book 20

     If you know me, and you should by now, you know I'm an author. I auth. It's what I do. I am a writer and will write if I have nothing else to do, and I will write when I'm working, talking, thinking, walking, or just about any time really. I don't need a pen or keyboard to write. I create images and stories in my head. I am literally never alone. If I ever feel like I am becoming lonely, I simply start a conversation either with one of my characters or between a few of them so I can listen to them talk, and I take notes to put into future books.

    I am currently writing my 18th book. It is a dramatic novel, not a romance. It can't be considered a murder book or a romance because it's a dramatic fiction novel. There will be murder and romance, but the main focus isn't on either of those events but on the characters' suffering and survival. They win and fight, lose and wrestle with one another, and discover what friendship and kinship mean.

    My mind won't stall and think about one book at a time; it never has. While writing Book 18, I think of Books 19 and 20.  I am purposely writing notes into their respective notebooks or in their files on my computer. I'm fluffing them before I even start them. This way, I have an idea of what I want to say, where I want the book to start, and where I want it to end up eventually. Like a lot of writers,  I know the ending before I start the book itself. 

    Book 18, another dramatic fiction novel titled "Legacy," is being given special consideration because I'm about to hit the mid-point of Book 18 and will need Book 19 to be basically written in my head before I start outlining it and adding to its "bones." I have little tartan notebooks, one for each book; sometimes, they have to share a notebook already being filled. It has killing and romance in it as well - I mean, yeah, it's Scotland in the 13th Century. There will be bloodshed.

    To be honest, other books I have to write first have more notes than "Legacy," but that's because they are sequels to the other Nick Posh books, and I can easily add notes about them as they play off one another. Legacy is a period book, a historical fiction book set on the 13th-century West Coast and Ireland. The main character, Euan Tavish, makes his way across the Atlantic to find his father after many years of being separated.

    The storyline is not completely set, but basically, Euan's mother died in childbirth with him, and the baby was stolen by the midwife. She sold the child to a family that moved from Ayrshire, Scotland, to Ireland. At a young age, the boy was kidnapped by a man claiming to be his father, but he was not. He abused the lad for years, making him a slave aboard his merchant ship. The boy is told by the merchant that his father had given him up at birth. Though Tavish knows there is more to the story, he can't be certain about who he is until he returns to Scotland to find anyone who may know what happened.

    Along the way, he falls in love, but because he is not of any type of noble blood, her family refuses to allow him to marry the woman. He's convinced that he could have been of a good family and that his cruel beginnings should not stop him from becoming a good and honorable man. He faces incredible odds, both physical and mental, trying to understand his own limits, not knowing what he will say to his father if he is still living.  The journey is the story itself, the rite of passage, the fight within the man, the internal struggle that he must either fight or put to rest, and the reasons for the choice he must make.

    "Legacy" should be written during April and May and probably be available the first or second week of June. I'm hoping it will be fun to write and that I will not only learn a great deal but also have an entirely new set of friends to talk to when or if I find myself stranded without a book to read or the internet to keep me busy—I am never, and I do mean never, alone.

http://www.judestringfellow.com

PHOTO CREDIT: Me

Gummie /Gummy Life!

     I am not even gonna lie about it; I am the biggest Gummie (or is it gummy)  fan. I know it, and I don't mind if everyone in the world knows it. I will tell anyone who wants to listen that I love gummies.  I have gummy vitamins, probiotics, cinnamon, and other supplements, and yes, I have gummy fiber. I started buying the gummy fiber only because I like fiber, and if I can get it in the form of a gummy, I will do that. You got me.

    Well, here's how this works. The doctors out there will tell you that they don't recommend gummy supplements to most of their patients, and that could be because very few major pharmaceutical companies make gummy antibiotics or pain relievers, but if they did -- you know, I would be a fan.  The only gummies I think I haven't tried are the cannabis gummies, and that's only because I don't do cannabis. I really don't. I used to say I would if it was legal, but it's legal, and I just don't do it. I should.

    My favorite gummies, of course, are the old-fashioned and very welcoming Haribos bears that you remember from when you were last at the grocery store and saw them. I, too, have a very hard time not buying them. Because I have such a hard time not buying them, I supplement my need (my fix) with gummy supplements instead. I tell myself they're good for me. That's really how it works, whether it's the best practice or not. It is the actual practice; by practice, I mean it is what happens in real life.

    I have what I call "poopy pills," but they are in regular capsule form; one a day is all you need. It's psyllium husk, and they work very well. I don't know if the extra fiber that  I take is helping or not, but I do feel better because I've at least lied to myself to the point that I believe I am healthier than I would have been had I not supplemented my supplement. 

    The fiber gummies are relatively inexpensive (more expensive than a couple of bags of Haribos) and I do have the satisfaction of telling myself that I'm not one of those people who puts fiber into their morning coffee - nope, I don't do that. (I do put collagen into my morning coffee and MCT oil powder, but never extra fiber. I don't want my coffee to get thick.)

    This morning, during a Teams meeting at work, a claims adjuster who I had just met thought I was her mother's age. Her mother is 44 , and her grandmother is literally 3 weeks younger than I am. I told her it was the gummies, I don't know if she believes me, but she said, "Well, I didn't want to say you looked older than my mom, but I thought you were about 44-46 or something like that." I wanted to hug her, but she was on the screen, and my boss was watching; it would have been awkward.

    The smile she put on my face stayed there all day, and when she called me later in the day to talk about my practices at work, I had another opportunity to thank her for her kind words earlier. She said she would have thought I would want to retire at my age, but I told her I did. I did retire, and it was really not fun being poor and not busy. I'd rather be earning, talking to people, filling up my day with challenges and new adventures. I hope she thinks differently about old people now...that's my goal, you know. 

    Well, here we are at the bottom of my blog. I could choose to read a book, watch another YouTube video, or play with the dogs. I could also take a bath if I wanted to. That's another thing about being single; you can do whatever you want when you want, and you don't need to ask permission or wonder if you're taking someone else's hot water -- I'd say I can run around naked if I want, but I do have a daughter as a roomie and she wouldn't really cotton to that sort of nonsense. 

    Have a good one—enjoy your life, and pop a gummy! (It's your choice; I don't care either way.) 

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com 

http://www.judestringfellow.com

Power Down!

     Most of you know that I'm an author, but I have a "real" job, too. I don't know if you ever knew or if you thought that I had to in order to pay my bills; it's true. I am a working person! I have a real job. My job is that of a Claims Adjuster. I've been licensed for years, and I'm licensed in several states, my home state being Oklahoma. Why am I telling you all this? You'll see.

    My best friend Jeannie came over today, and we went places. I don't usually go anywhere, but when Jeannie came over I had errands to do, so we went together. While driving down one of the busier roads in my neighborhood, she pointed out all the downed tree limbs, leaning fences, and even a power pole literally cut in two! All this, we both knew, was caused by the damage caused by hurricane force winds from the day before. Oklahoma is quite known for its tornadoes, but this event was a "straight line squall" with sporadic wind speeds of up to 100 mph in some parts of the state. Oklahoma City had 50-90 mph winds for a large part of the day.

    My job as a Claims Adjuster deals primarily with underground property loss, not aerial and/or physical damage to the poles themselves, but with copper and fiber cables and strands beneath the ground. When someone (or a crew) digs and damages these lines (facilities), I step in and ask them to pay or indemnify the company who lost the line, loss of use to customers, and of course, we get the money back from these damages to cover all costs of labor and materials. We also try to get as much in the way of administrative costs as possible.

    When Jeannie pointed out the downed pole, I had to stop and take a few pictures of it. In a very strange and even odd way, it was considered a beautiful disaster. The potential for harm was extreme, and I hoped the authorities had been told. I decided to call to be sure, and I was happy to be told that it was reported. I knew it must have been, but you don't want to assume anything.

     I immediately took photos and sent them to my boss and another manager of my company as well as to two or three co-workers and other adjusters, who almost instantly all texted back wanting to know where it was! They wanted to go see it for themselves. This will be a keen loss; but it will also be considered an Act of God, therefore, no one will have to pay anyone back. The power company will simply file their own insurance claim.

    Before becoming a Claims Adjuster for an underground utility subrogation firm, I knew about powerlines, crossboxes, pedestals, and the like. Still, I had no true understanding of the "depth" (sorry) of just how deeply lines are to be buried, or how they are installed in the first place. It's all very fascinating actually - and there are in fact, many laws and regulations surrounding these installations as well as the methods used to maintain, repair, or replace power lines, gas lines, water lines, anything that will involve any sort of excavation including the installing of a private fence post or mailbox.

    You may or may not know all the rules, but know this; before you put a spade more than six inches into the ground, PLEASE call 811 to get a FREE locate telling you where the lines are, and what lines will be under the ground. You don't want to be the person banging around with your shovels and slicing into a working gas line! Communication lines are one thing, and power lines are too, but if you hit a gas line, it could mean much more than just loss of gas. Lives and property are at stake, and it is not a thing to gamble with. CALL 811....EVERY TIME.

    Now, when you call 811, and they have their 2 or 3 days to come out, locate (mark and flag) the area, it doesn't mean you can just plow your way through. You have to obey the standards of the industry as well as the safety laws; both state and federal. The good excavators know that. The same type of care is mandated for people trimming trees too; you can't just take your saws up into the trees and start hacking away! The winds (in this case) split the pole! Had it been an end pole it could have smashed into a roof!  CRAZY!

    Anyway, that's what I do. I call people, ask for their email address if I don't already have it, and I send them an invoice for the damage they caused for not being responsible; for not being law-abiding. Most of the time, thankfully, lives are not lost, and the only damage caused can be fixed by sending money into to pay for labor and materials, but sometimes it is my duty to inform them that they have broken the law(s) and could be charged. It's a great job - and I love it. Not many people do what I do, and I like that too. We talk to homeowners, professional people who own businesses, and to a lot of insurance adjusters. We find the people who did the damage and recover our clients' losses. Tis  a fair employment!

    I've been at this company for just a year now, and I wanted to announce where it is that I work after a year, but I've decided not to. I don't need to dox myself. I love it there....here...I work from home. I wake up, put on my pajamas, drink a hot cup of coffee after showering and playing with the dogs, and I work steadily from the moment I put my headset on at 7:30 til the moment I take them off at 4:00, but anytime I want a 10-15 minute break I can take it.  I can take two, three, four -- it's my time, as long as I get my job done.

    I never ask permission; I'm the only one hurting if I don't work that day. My pay depends on how much I put into it. It's not self-paced, but it is. No one micromanages me - that's the part I really like. My co-workers are fun and outgoing, and I love their job as much as I do. I talk to some really crazy, messed-up people who simply have no clue; that's the part of my day that I cherish. Those people make good fodder for the books I write. I will change their names; I promise.

Photo Credit: Me

http://www.judestringfellow.com

Ten! Done!

     Chapter Ten of "Dion" is done. Done....done....in the can. It is such a good feeling when you pass the 10th chapter because you feel like you're 1/3 of the way finished with the book. You've done most of the important introductions of the main characters, and you've established their backgrounds so that whatever happens in the next twenty or so chapters will make a great deal of sense.

    Chapters 11-15 will be written next weekend, followed by 16-20 or 21 on March 22. This means that the book should be finished by April 10th or so. I'll read through it, send it up, and have it printed so I can have a copy in my hands by April 20th or so. Maybe by the 22nd (my dad's birthday), it can be published. If it's not ready by then, we will all survive. It's not a mandate.

    So far, I've introduced a couple of bad events in each of the two main characters' lives. I'll build on those, make things creepy and bring it all to a head. This will be fun and allow me to send one or both of them into a frenzied state of mind; pushing them over the proverbial edge even. I haven't decided if someone dies; someone usually does die in my books, but there's always a first for everything. Maybe no one dies in "Dion" even though it takes place basically in a cemetery. I just haven't decided. I will. I will get around to it.

    I did write out the plot and plans a while back. I'll skim through those plans tomorrow and throughout the week to see that I am still on track. I need to rustle up some gruesome and grotesque moments; trying to be as creepy as possible. It's really not easy going from hopeless romantic to creepy -- just so you know. It is a stretch for me. I find myself trying to censor myself, and then trying my hardest not to. I fight internally since I don't typically rely on the cruder things in life to create copy.

    Oh well, I am having fun, and I will continue to have fun. I'm determined to write a good creepy book - and that's exactly what I'm going to do. There, I said it. I will be creepy! I will no doubt rely on AI to help me...Since I can't do creep on my own, I will find a way; this, too, will happen.  After this book, I need to carry some of the creep with me to "Cask" and certainly onto the sequel "Shadow" and now...now that I think about it, I was pretty creepy in "Pinball" so yeah, I can do it on my own. I may not even need AI to nudge me...ha! So there! I am creepy when I want or need to be. Ha!

    You'd think I'd ooze creep after all the cop and murder shows I watch. It started with Perry Mason and Quincy, you know, and from there it has only blossomed. Though Midsomer Murders is an older series, I have just recently found it, and let me tell you, some of the methods they use to murder can cause my eyes to pop right out of my head -- which too, is creepy -- I think I'll write about what I see and hear from one or two of those shows. They've been doin' it for years and years.

PHOTO CREDIT: ObsidianUrbex.com

http://www.judestringfellow.com

I Didn't Murder Him, but I Did Unlive Him. (in the book)

     Sometimes, the most unexpected things happen to me while I'm working. I usually mind my own business—if you know me, you know that's what I do. I was doing just that, working a claim, when the phone rang in my ears, and I answered it. I announced the name of my company, said my name, and waited for the other person to start speaking. 

    When he did, when Mr. Donald Wilson began speaking, he was rude. He must have gotten up on the wrong side of his bed, or maybe he had his pants on backward, I just couldn't know for sure, but he was not being very nice to me, and when that happens I make the active and very purposeful decision to remain quiet so that I can't be dragged into some awful and worthless conversation; usually on the defense.  This man was nothing more than a baiter and was pretty good at it, too.

    As he continued to berate me, and cut down my company, I waited for that perfect lull in the conversation, and I asked him point blankly, "Are you done?" I know, and you know, that when someone does that, it can only bring about the exact emotional response that it always brings about. He flew off into the sky of skies and continued to besmurch me, my company, the methods I used, my training, he wasn't satisfied with just being a rude fool, he had to go the extra distance and be sure that I would forever remember him; he called me a name.

    Now, in the past, as I have done, when someone calls me a bitch, I would come back with, "That's Dr. Bitch, I have earned my Ph.D. and you have probably not; so yes, it is Dr. Bitch, thank you."  That's my normal comeback, but I've been told I can't say that at work. That's why I simply remained quiet again, allowing Mr. Wilson to blow up the recorded telephone call with his ugly -- very ugly -- words.

    After he became a little calmer, I asked again if he was finished. Then I quickly, before he could say anything, let him know that due to his flagrantly unprofessional and crude language use, I would now terminate the call. I instructed him to call back when he felt he could do so, with grace and consideration. I let him know, before he could butt in again, that I would not accept his call within the next three business days. He could email me, or he could wait a while and call back when he had settled down a bit. Before I hung up, because I am a Southern woman, I did say "Bless your heart", just before I disconnected the call.

    Mr. Wilson did call back. He called back immediately, but I refused to answer. He wrote to me using pretty much the same language, and I copied the email and put it into his file. I noted the account, and when time passed, he decided to call again, and he was in no better mood than he had been. He was still yelling at me as if I was the problem, when he, and his crew, had dug a huge hole in the ground without a legal right or authority to do so. He cut a large conduit with hundreds of pairs of copper cables, dismantling communications for thousands of people and businesses, but yes, somehow, it was now all my fault - at least he was saying how unwilling he was to pay the fees my company was asking him to pay.

    Again, I explained how two-way communications would go from this point forward, but Mr. Wilson was adamant that the rest of the world could do sexually explicit things to themselves, while he relaxed and ruled or lorded over us. Again, I excused myself and terminated the call.  Before I did, however, I reminded him of his past name calling. I explained that, although I was not an excavator, I did hold a Ph.D. in administration. I would exercise my rights and training by terminating the call and then escalating the claim through the recommended legal review process. 

    Then, because I can, I killed Mr. Donald Wilson in my new book "Dion". He will not be identified to the point that anyone can say it was this particular Mr. Donald Wilson, but I may send him a copy of the book and then highlight that paragraph. I may do that. I will do that. I'm very nice like that. I will give you a free copy of my book if I write about you in it -- so kind.  Mr. Wilson (in the book) digs without a locate, and there is no legal authorization to do so. He cuts a 400 pair 24 gauge conduit and cable, which ends up electrocuting him, before throwing him from the excavator, up and over the arm, into the hole, and then the heavy 5000 pound bucket head of the excavator plows through him - cutting him in two pieces.  It's not murder, but it got done.

    Oh, how I love my job. I love my job, and I love to write, and when these types of opportunities pop up - well, I am so very pleased to take full advantage of them.

Photo Credit: Pinterest

http://www.judestringfellow.com

Blue Tea - Butterfly Pea Flower Tea. (Harney & Sons)

     There is another tea in my life, a very recent find on Amazon. I am now drinking (besides my two cups of lemon juice and ginger tea with honey) a cup or two of Butterfly Pea Flower tea, which if you've never seen it, is bluer than blue. You'll love it if you're into peacock colored drinks.  I know I am.

    I do like to be a little extra from time to time. I have reading glasses that look as if they came out of the 60s psychedelic times, and I love them.  I work from home, wear my pajamas all day, and most of the day I find myself drinking something hot; beginning with coffee in the morning and then switching to tea sometimes around 10:00 a.m., this lasts until around 5:00 p.m. when I switch again, this time to straight water, always bottled. I fear the tap.

    My tea and coffee water comes from the tap, but it's topped with a great filter and I end up boiling the tea water and putting the other through the hot coffee maker, so again, I'm scorching the heck out of any and all bad bacteria. At least, that's what I tell myself. I tend to believe myself most of the time.

    I found the Butterfly Pea Flower tea online while searching for something by Harney & Sons that wouldn't put my wallet into a frenzied fit.  I can run up to the Asian market and get their brands as well, and I love them, but I do find that the flavor in the brand of Harney & Sons to be good - I wanted something different; blue is certainly different.

    The tea is quite blue. It's not too strong, and it has been around for centuries apparently. The tea does have another name, but it sounds a little too sexual to say; well, I mean, I can say it, but I'm not going to.  Here's a fun fact about it (to get your mind off the sexual nature of its other name): when you add lemon to the tea, it turns purple. It's fun, right? Let's go over some of its known benefits. You knew there had to be a few, right?

    As are most teas, it's an antioxidant. It helps neutralize pesky free radicals that run rampant in our bodies at any time.  This keeps us all looking so young -- so very young.  It also helps to boost the brain cells, making us more likely to think clearly -- we all need that from time to time, don't we? It also has been credited with stabilizing one's blood sugar - and if that isn't exciting, I don't know what is!

    It's a stress reliever, helps with inflammation, and enhances the collagen in our skin, hair, and nails, making us so much more beautiful than we were before we began drinking it. If you think I'm wrong, just give it a try - and see for yourself. Even if you disagree with the benefits I've thrown out at you from what I read on the internet, you can't argue that the color is glorious.

    Somewhere in all the research I did about its benefits, I found that Butterfly Pea Flower tea assists with improving one's eyesight and night vision. Who knew? It also supports heart health, and your gut will love you after drinking it, because it also (yes, if you can believe it) helps with your digestion. One would think that all one must do is sit around drinking this tea to be healthy and gorgeous, but I wouldn't put that much stock into it...but it is blue. 

    I can't lie. I bought the tea because it is pretty - I do things like that. I may buy myself a clear tea glass just so I can really enjoy it.

Photo Credit:  Pinterest.com

http://www.judestringfellow.com

DION - A Name Change - A New Path

    I really didn't like the name "Grace" for the new book. I like the word, or course, but not for my new book. It didn't fit, it didn't feel right. In fact, it was too nice, too neat, too tidy, and the book will be anything but those things. I am hoping to use AI in a new way, giving it ideas and concepts to see what it spits at me. If I like it, I'll write around it, and if I don't, I'll excuse it. I thought about it, and "Grace" wasn't the word to use.

    If you know me, you know I love Scotland, its history, wealth of stories, etc. I couldn't see myself keeping the title "Grace" when very few of the characters demonstrate the concept of the word. No, I chose another word, a Scots Gaelic word that means to defend, to protect; the word is "Dion." The new title of the book is "Dion". I'm having fun researching it so that I may use it more intimately from one character to the next.

    I've written three full chapters of the book so far, and while I won't publish them here one chapter at a time, you can read the first chapter and get a hint of what to expect; it won't be your typical romance, and it won't be your typical dramatic story. I've decided to use edgy people, secrets, taboos, and other means to get my point(s) across in this one. The lead character herself isn't necessarily interested in much more than proving a point, so her dogmatic behavior, though irritating, will eventually win out, and because I love a good twist, there will be one or two of those as well.

    While the woman isn't a Scorpio or a witch, she will prove to be formidable, someone who should not be crossed. Revenge isn't always served cold. There are times when a good burn will suffice; you'll have to wait and see what she (Elle) can come up with for those who try to stop her from taking what is rightfully hers. (Hint: the words "scorched earth" could be a reality.) In military jargon, the term means to leave nothing of the enemy behind. Elle Finlay never actually served in combat, but she reads well enough to know her way around a good comeuppance.

    Chapters 4-7 will be written next weekend, and I will likely set the pattern at four chapters a week. At that rate, the book will be finished by the end of March and be reread-tweaked and prepped by April 7-10. I'll send it up around that time and have a copy sent back to myself so I can read it as a book. That will take another week, so around April 22 or so, I'll send it up for the final presentation.  When I have it published for printing, I'll also pay for the Kindle edition. They take another 3 weeks to prepare, but they're worth it.

    I sell more Kindle editions now than print books. At $4.99 a pop, it's so much cheaper! I always buy a copy of my own books to keep digitally as well. That way, I can meet with, converse with, and discuss life with the very people I know well enough to say that they'll agree with me if I need them to. What good is a character if you can't commune with them for years to come? One of the things I love about "Dion" is that it takes place in and around Stirlingshire, Scotland - actually between Stirlingshire and Glasgow. So much history. So much to see and so much to explore.

    The cities are every bit of what constitutes a character in the book. I could no more rewrite their history than be the proverbial Man on the Moon, but there's simply no way I would ever want to rewrite the stories of those places when their reality becomes the needed truth behind my fictional story.  Every good story has to have a little truth to carry it! Don't you agree?

    

Photo Credit: Me

http://www.judestringfellow.com

Dion - Chapter One is Done. (and yes, it's copyrighted because I just published it)

 Chapter One

 (* mistakes may still be lurking )

Elle Finlay’s dark eyes narrowed behind her stern gaze, scanning Judy Marchmont’s face for any signs of deceit. “A prop? That looks awfully real to me,” she remarked, her arms folded firmly over themselves. Elle’s voice was low but even, betraying no emotion except perhaps a hint of skepticism. The whole situation reeked of ingenuity; something was very wrong, and it wasn’t just the fact that the headless body of a yet-to-be-identified community play participant lay bleeding at stage left; its head being left exactly where it had rolled after being unceremoniously severed during what Judy Marchmont was calling a “freak accident.”

            Elle took a step closer to Judy, her tall frame towering over the stage manager. “And why on earth would anyone go to such drastic lengths to create a fake execution for a play? What kind of people do you have working for you, Judy? Where did you get the ‘prop,’ don’t tell me this was the first time someone decided to try it out to see if it really worked. You know they have lettuce for that sort of thing!” Elle’s voice rose slightly while emphasizing what she believed was necessary to point out. “How do we explain the blood? The body? Who the hell is he anyway? I don’t even recognize him. He’s too old to be one of the students, and the only teachers or school staff involved were women, so far as I knew anyway.” She asked.

            When Marchmont’s eyes met those of the Deputy Mayor, her silence filled the room instantly. Several pregnant seconds of dormancy passed before she answered. “He…he is my husband; my husband David.” She said. “You’re absolutely right; we had tested it on the foam rubber pumpkins we found in the back as well as with a head of cabbage, not lettuce. In every case, the blade remained in place, where it should be; it didn’t…it didn’t push past the safety nub. God knows why it did this time; I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea. He’s…you know how he is; he was insistent! He all but dared…he pushed me.  He told me it was safe, Elle; I believed him. He made it! He would know.”

            Elle’s hand unconsciously clenched into a fist at her side, her body tense and ready for action. She was far from the type who backed down easily and wouldn’t start now. “You called the police, haven’t you? I mean, you called me, of course, but please tell me you’ve called the police!” Her words biting, each syllable laced with disbelief and anger. Despite the chaos this would cause, she remained laser-focused on Judy, waiting for her answer, hoping it would make sense.

            At Judy’s revelation, Elle’s expression softened slightly. She could see the genuine fear and confusion, perhaps even regret, flooding over her old friend’s face, and her heart ached for her. However, she couldn’t let her guard down completely until she knew the full truth. Elle’s mind repeatedly rolled the words “my husband” as she processed the scene, instructing the woman not to touch anything. “Leave it exactly as it is. Don’t go near the head, don’t move. Stay exactly where you are until the police arrive.” Dialing 9-1-1, Elle’s fingers shook, but she managed to connect the digits and place a calm, if not too calm, report into her phone, addressing the very real need for both police and an ambulance forthwith. “The man is dead; there is no need for sirens; just hurry, please.” She stated as she ended the call.

            “I do understand your concern, Judy,” Elle said, her voice still strong enough to show courage at that most bizarre moment. “But we can’t rule anything out yet. When the police arrive, don’t lie, don’t try to make up something, don’t hide anything, nothing will do you more harm than to try and say it was unavoidable; tell the truth and trust the system.” She told her, thinking that it wasn’t necessarily the truth that she was doling out, but at least she could comfort herself in knowing she had seen Marchmont backstage when she heard the blade fall.

            Elle paused, taking in the sight of the destroyed stage and the panicked stagehands behind the curtains where she had purposely told them all to stay. “Lock that door, Michael! No one leaves! The police will probably come through the front door, but we don’t need anyone making an exit before they arrive.” She told one of the crew, a lack-lustered youth in his later teens. Glancing back toward her, Michael Bower informed her and everyone else that the door had been left open to let in some air. With the stage having been locked up for several months before their rehearsals, it needed an airing; he couldn’t be positive that someone or more than just one person had already left through the backstage door.

            Turning to address the group gathered on one side of the stage, her gaze hardened again. “I want everyone to stay exactly where they are. The police must take your statements even if you don’t think you have anything to say to them. If any of you know who did this, please don’t make up a story to be in the papers or something; just be as honest as you can be, and by God and all things Holy, do not go near that contraption again! It is absolutely off limits to everyone; it will likely be firewood by morning!” her words carried throughout the hall just as the sirens of the police cars could be heard approaching the hall's front entrance.

            Putting an older woman from the school in charge, asking her to stand in front of the others, not allowing anyone to move, Elle walked off the side of the stage, making her way through the auditorium to the hallway leading to the entrance of the hall to meet the police. As she strode off, her long legs ate up the distance, and she disappeared into the blackness of the entertainment hall. Before reaching the doors, she called back again to ask for the lights to be switched on; someone had to move to make it happen, but at least she would know where they were.

            Elle’s mind raced with possibilities. If this was indeed just an accident, she wanted to find out what caused the malfunction in the guillotine.  Perhaps it worked perfectly with stage props like lettuce and the foam pumpkins, but when David’s full weight was on the thing, it could have triggered the blade to bypass the safety nub and fall further than it ever had when he had tested it. This made physical sense to her, her mind turning rapidly during the few seconds it took to reach the uniformed officers waiting for her at the locked front doors. 

    “Good afternoon, officers; I am Deputy Mayor Rachelle Finlay, managing the community outlet. We’re putting on an original play written by one of our students, the winner, in fact, of the school’s yearly writing contest. It’s something we have done for years. Believe it or not, it saves the community thousands of dollars in royalty payments.” Her words faded quickly as she realized how stupid she must sound explaining the play’s financial valuation at this time. 

            “I’m sorry, I’m just not completely sure I’ve lost my head on….oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.” She stopped immediately, faced the two men before her, and asked them if they had been told what they would see. “Has anyone told you what happened? I don’t want you to get in there and be surprised. A man has been killed; we don’t know the mode, but we know the method. He has been beheaded by what was supposed to be a harmless prop, a prop he himself made for the play. We don’t know if he was testing it or if someone else was doing so. I’ve asked the crew and stage actors to remain exactly where they are. They are backstage behind the curtain at stage right.” Elle immediately realized she needed to explain that stage right was, in fact, on one’s left as they entered the room.

            As the first officers entered the hall, Elle melted inside herself. Noticing another set of police officers, both women, this time had made their way to the front doors as well. Giving the first responders instructions on where to go, she made her way back down the tiled floor and across the foyer to greet the new uniforms. “This way,” she said, not feeling the need to try and explain as much as she had, not wanting to make a fool of herself for a second time. “I’m Deputy Mayor Rachelle Finlay; I am usually called ‘Elle.’ The others are most likely at the edge of the stage where the man’s head will be; I don’t know if you’ll want me to bring the others through the stage door and into the hall so you can question them, us so you can question all of us.” She said, allowing herself to breathe while she spoke.

            Sitting in silence, Elle phoned her boss, Mayor Thomas Barnaby, apologizing for not having called him sooner, but as she explained, it was all rather desperate, and her first duty was, of course, to maintain the scene, keeping it as pristine as it could be for the police. “When I finally managed to get the actors and crew into the hall and seated, I noticed that two of them had already left. They either did so before everyone milled around to the right side of the stage by the stands and gears, or Michael could have let them out as I was greeting the police; I could tell he wasn’t as apt to keep the scene as he needed to be. He’s a kid; he probably doesn’t watch as many cop shows as we do, Tom.” She tried to make things a bit lighter despite the dire circumstances.

            “I hope I’m wrong about this, Tom. I hope it was an accident and that Judy Marchmont didn’t want her husband dead. They’ve not had the most amicable marriage; I think we both remember the Christmas party fiasco when David Marchmont decided ten or fifteen drinks wasn’t nearly enough.” Even while she said it, she regretted having done so. Her dark eyes closed; she was trying to find a moment of peace before admitting that Judy Marchmont wouldn’t have been the only one wanting to see David Marchmont dead. “I’m just being honest, Tom. I’m just being honest.” She told him.

Photo Credit: Mickey Rogan

http://www.judestringfellow.com

My Big Lots Special.

     If you know me, you know I love Big Lots. Surprisingly, it reminds me of TG&Y, the five-and-dime store I shopped at (and worked at briefly) as a kid. I absolutely remember the aisles and the place's layout; is that weird? Is that an odd thing to think about so many years later?  One of the strangest things I recall about going to TG&Y was going to TG&Y -- how I got there. I would walk (by myself) from 2212 N. Mueller to the "little store" about six blocks away, or if I was feeling exceptionally adventeous, I'd walk the 2.2 miles to the "big store".  So what, you say! People walk that far all the time. I did it, too, all the time. I was literally 7 years old.

    Walking places back in the '60s wasn't hard to do, nor was it uncommon to see kids doing it. When I was under five, just under, I walked from 2212 N. Mueller in Bethany, OK, to the 3500 block of N. Mueller to the city library. I did that almost daily. My love of books is very, very well-seeded. I'd take them home, not realizing I wasn't supposed to. We'd find them under chairs, beds, in the bushes, wherever, and return them. I wasn't so much of a thief as I was a cherished fan of the place.

    Anyway, back to Big Lots. It is literally one of my favorite little stores, and I will miss it terribly. I think Dollar General could be a good replacement, but it's not the same. It's like going to a petting zoo instead of one with big cats, polar bears, and gorillas. I mean, you still get the senses full, but it's just not the same, and it never will be. There is no replacement for TG&Y, and there will not be one for Big Lots either. (My mind is running through the days when I loved shopping at Tuesday Mornings!!)

    So, it was today, another ordinary Friday, when Laura and I made our way to our Big Lots, the one that is in the neighborhood. We love it. It's going away permanently, and we know we'll miss it terribly on a weekly basis. Today, I decided to buy as much of the Caribou coffee as I could get my hands on since it was literally more than 60% off.  I can't really express how happy I was to see a full 4o K-cup box for $7.80.  If they had 10 boxes, I would have bought them all. At 17.7 cents per cup, you bet I would. I found a 90" x 90" fluffy blue blanket that is normally $19.99 -- I got it for $6.70!

    Just as I was leaving, in fact, while I was going to check out, I found a really good sturdy dog chew toy that looked like it would withstand the jaws of a pitbull -- I bought it. It was only $2.00 (80% off), and that really put a smile on my face. I saw about 50 signs that said that February 27 is the last day the store will be open, so I may go back tomorrow just to score one or two more good deals. I'll think about putting them in my new "Christmas" box -- and hoard the items for 10 more months - that way, when I pull the box out and start wrapping the presents, I won't even remember what I bought! What a fun thing to do!

    I think going back for anything I need, such as pens, paper, cleaning products, socks, candles, and yes, more good dog toys, should be done one more time -- as a way to say goodbye to the store as well as being the frugal and sensible person I am. It's a sad day but a good day -- and I really do hope another store like it will crop up. Then again, with all the online shopping I do and others, I imagine, it's no wonder the brick-and-mortar stores are closing.  Life changes, times change, we all change -- some for good, some for worse. 

    Memories are made along the way.

Photo Credit: BigLots.com
http://www.judestringfellow.com