NIGHT THOUGHT OF A TORTOISE SUFFERING FROM INSOMNIA ON A LAWN
The world is very flat--
There is no doubt of that!
-E.V. Rieu
The above is one of my favorite poems. (That's it in its entirety - concise, isn't it?) What it highlights is how everything in your reality is determined by your perspective. Two people who look at the same point in space at the same time must - as determined by the laws of physics - be looking at that point from two different angles. They will not see the same thing. That does not change the thing at which they're looking, nor does it make it more than one point - but each viewer has a different experience. Your perspective is your reality.
Yesterday morning I woke up dreading the looming weekly three-hour commute. Not the commute to Summerville mind you, but the commute back to Greenville. (Those who may just be tuning in, I split my time between Greenville and Summerville, South Carolina - about three hours away from each other). I dread it because for the past nine and a half years I've been living in permanent shift. Everything I've done has been temporary. In the past year alone I've called three cities in two states my home, (you could almost add a city and state to that, but it only lasted three weeks) and each with the mindset that it was temporary. While in Rhode Island I thought we were eventually moving to Charleston. While in Summerville caring for my Dad I thought perhaps we would move to Savannah - and later Charleston - then later Greenville. And then I became single, and everything changed - again.
Prior to that I was in DC, thinking I would soon be back to Charleston (prior to moving to Rhode Island of course) and in Charleston I wanted to go to Atlanta or DC. In Summerville (for a brief while anyway) I wanted, and was even making plans, to move to St Thomas. And before that, I had hopes of returning to England for a while, and while in England I thought constantly of going home (until the end, when I wanted to stay).
It would suffice to say that I'm ready to settle. I'm ready to build my life in one place, and travel whenever possible. The travel would be temporary part, not my home. And I'm ready for that place to either be Summerville or Charleston, or somewhere in the half-hour drive in between. So I dread the early-morning back to my temporary Greenville home, and look forward to the return to my Summerville home, even though the home itself is temporary - at least it's closer to where I want to be.
So I woke up yesterday already thinking of the return commute, days ahead, to where I already was. I was even thinking about how innately silly that was, when I opened my laptop and saw the devastation of Port au Prince unfold before my eyes. Suddenly all thoughts of what I was missing had vanished. My stomach turned as I saw ruined square miles and people reporting bodies lining the streets.
Flashing back to 2005, I was annoyed with being in a basement room outside DC, in a job I hated, with a psychotic room mate, when I woke up to see New Orleans under water. Once again, my life seemed very much okay.
Back on September 11th 2001, I woke up aggravated that the dishes were piled in the sink, that my room mate had been getting on my last nerve for weeks, that I lived in a dodgy (at best) neighborhood, and I was managing a steakhouse and bar for restaurateurs who had only ever owned and operated a butcher shop (another blog some day maybe). That day I drove over to my restaurant to get my paycheck. I had no idea what was happening, and once I got to the restaurant, I even thought the kitchen staff was having a laugh at my expense. Once again, my worries were nullified by the realization of so much pain and suffering going on elsewhere. That afternoon and into the night I sat at a bar in downtown Charleston with my room mate (not the one who annoyed me) drinking beer and watching CNN.
I do not have it bad. In fact, I'm pretty damn lucky. My gratitude for what I do have is only fortified by the knowledge that disaster could strike at any time - right where I'm sitting, typing this blog. Charleston could be hit by another devastating earthquake while I'm down there. A landslide could happen in the mountains on one my drives while I'm in Greenville. A plane could crash into this neighborhood right now. Someone could bomb my hotel. My nieces, nephew, sister, Mom, Bio-Dad, friends, could all be stricken with severe illness. Those are my worst fears - and yet, right now, none of that is happening.
So here I am, in my room, typing on my laptop, on my bed, with warm air flowing through the vents. I cannot complain.
So this, the first of my Almost-Friday gratitude posts, is about the big things for which I'm grateful. It's about not being the tortoise on the lawn. It's about not waiting for the next calamity to remind me that I have so much.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Synchronicity And The Devil's Footprints
Sometime in the wee hours of the morning of February 9th 1855, in Devonshire, England, a set of hoof prints appeared in the snow. The prints extended from Exmouth, up to Topsham, and across the River Exe to Dawlish and Teignmouth. This was a track of over 100 miles. But that wasn't the unusual part. The trail of prints was reportedly unbroken. It went through gardens, up the walls of houses, over their rooftops, and back down again and on to the next property. The prints went to the banks of rivers, appearing on the other side. They literally went up the sides of fences and back down the other side. Apparently no other prints appeared near them. The phenomenon has become known as the Devil's Footprints, and was the inspiration for the title (and much of the plot) of my recently referred-to "Unborn Child," the story over which I've obsessed for over a decade. But that story was just the beginning. In fact, it wasn't the first story that got this ball rolling.
In 1930's Detroit, a man by the name of Joseph Figlock was walking by an apartment building when a baby fell out the window from above. Figlock caught the child, and both were unharmed. A year later, the same baby fell out the same window, and Figlock was again there to catch the child - and both were unharmed.
Nebraska, March 1st, 1950. Every member of a church choir was late to practice, all for different reasons. A gas explosion destroyed the church shortly before they arrived.
Jim Lewis and Jim Springer were twins, separated at birth, named by their adopted families independently. Both were trained in law enforcement. They each married a woman named Linda, and had a son each - James Alan and James Allen. They both had dogs named Toy, and before they were reunited, had divorced and remarried women named Betty.
London, November of 1971. A gifted architect, still recovering from a nervous breakdown, threw himself onto the tracks of an oncoming train. The train stopped before it could kill the man. This was not due to the conductor's quick timing - in fact, the conductor would not have had time to react in such a way. It turns out a passenger - on a complete whim and unsure why he did so - pulled the emergency cord, seconds before the architect took his leap.
Carl Jung wrote in The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche: “A young woman I was treating had, at a critical moment, a dream in which she was given a golden scarab. While she was telling me this dream I sat with my back to the closed window. Suddenly I heard a noise behind me, like a gentle tapping. I turned round and saw a flying insect knocking against the window-pane from outside. I opened the window and caught the creature in the air as it flew in. It was the nearest analogy to the golden scarab that one finds in our latitudes, a scarabaeid beetle, the common rose-chafer (Cetonia aurata) which contrary to its usual habits had evidently felt an urge to get into a dark room at this particular moment. I must admit that nothing like it ever happened to me before or since, and that the dream of the patient has remained unique in my experience.”
Google "synchronicity" and it's amazing what you can find. Of course, back in the late 90's, there was no Google (in today's form anyway) and I didn't have a computer - so I just kind of collected these stories. I found more and more of them, and was fascinated by each one. I understand that there are billions of people in this world, and the hundred monkeys will write a sonnet. But I was also looking into the theory of the cosmic trickster at this point.
Most major religions feature the trickster. Greek mythology's Prometheus always held fascination with me, stealing fire from the gods and giving it to humans. He, more than any other of the world's tricksters provided the most inspiration.
But what do the cosmic trickster, synchronicity and the Devil's Footprints all have in common? I happened on this one after the story had already taken shape and I was in England. I stumbled on the story of the Devil's Footprints while I was researching the Trickster in various religions. It was, one could say, a coincidence that I hit the wrong link on the search engine page. Before I could hit the back button I began reading on the incident in Devonshire, and a new cord was struck.
I immediately wondered what the consequences of such an event on these communities would have been at that time. Did a man, frightened back into religion suddenly start going to church and meet his future bride? If so, what became of his children and their children? Did an unknown journalist get a name for himself in writing about the hoof prints? Was a child forbidden to go outside and play the day after the events - thus keeping her from falling through thin ice on a nearby pond? What were all the effects of this one peculiar incident? There had to be many - every cause has an effect.
So I then began thinking about it in reverse. What are the causes of each event happening around us all the time? Think about where you work. Why do you work there? What prompted you to apply? Why did you go to school to work in this vocation? What was your inspiration? You can trace it all back to your birth, and your parents' conceiving of you - why did they do so on that night? How did they meet? Why did they live where they did?
Every event has a birth in a previous event. Such a massive network of events would eventually, following their leads, form larger and fewer branches. The branches converge at the base - the trunk - that itself can be traced to a seed, the birth of the universe itself.
And starting from the moment of the universe's creation - the instant the big bang began - each particle had a path written for it, based on its trajectory, itself written by the ambient temperature and the particles around it - themselves following the same rules. Each particle's path became the stuff that formed stars, and eventually - us. We are all made of the same thing, born of the same instant.
Is this an argument for preordained existence? I'm not really sure, as I go back and forth on that one. But it is an argument for the existence of a pattern in nature, and synchronicity as being part of a very real, unimaginably large-scale structure.
Everything you do - every action you take - affects the world. Every automobile accident that slows the travel of hundreds or thousands of individuals has somehow changed their lives. They were late for appointments, had time to ponder decisions. In fact, every time you take a step, the Earth itself moves - however immeasurably - in the opposite direction. It's the ripple of a small pebble in a lake that changes the shape of the entire surface.
A few people asked what this story I've obsessed over is about. Well, this is why it's so hard to explain. I'm trying to take the big picture and repaint a microcosmic version of it onto the canvass of a few lives.
The rotting wood in a forest, giving a home to millions of bacteria and hundreds of insects, was once a seed - itself possibly carried in the belly of the bird whose descendants will dine on those very insects and bacteria. I have no idea how to paint such an immeasurably large picture onto such a tiny canvass. There's no doubt that I cannot begin to capture its complexity and beauty. But I'm working on it anyway.
In 1930's Detroit, a man by the name of Joseph Figlock was walking by an apartment building when a baby fell out the window from above. Figlock caught the child, and both were unharmed. A year later, the same baby fell out the same window, and Figlock was again there to catch the child - and both were unharmed.
Nebraska, March 1st, 1950. Every member of a church choir was late to practice, all for different reasons. A gas explosion destroyed the church shortly before they arrived.
Jim Lewis and Jim Springer were twins, separated at birth, named by their adopted families independently. Both were trained in law enforcement. They each married a woman named Linda, and had a son each - James Alan and James Allen. They both had dogs named Toy, and before they were reunited, had divorced and remarried women named Betty.
London, November of 1971. A gifted architect, still recovering from a nervous breakdown, threw himself onto the tracks of an oncoming train. The train stopped before it could kill the man. This was not due to the conductor's quick timing - in fact, the conductor would not have had time to react in such a way. It turns out a passenger - on a complete whim and unsure why he did so - pulled the emergency cord, seconds before the architect took his leap.
Carl Jung wrote in The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche: “A young woman I was treating had, at a critical moment, a dream in which she was given a golden scarab. While she was telling me this dream I sat with my back to the closed window. Suddenly I heard a noise behind me, like a gentle tapping. I turned round and saw a flying insect knocking against the window-pane from outside. I opened the window and caught the creature in the air as it flew in. It was the nearest analogy to the golden scarab that one finds in our latitudes, a scarabaeid beetle, the common rose-chafer (Cetonia aurata) which contrary to its usual habits had evidently felt an urge to get into a dark room at this particular moment. I must admit that nothing like it ever happened to me before or since, and that the dream of the patient has remained unique in my experience.”
Google "synchronicity" and it's amazing what you can find. Of course, back in the late 90's, there was no Google (in today's form anyway) and I didn't have a computer - so I just kind of collected these stories. I found more and more of them, and was fascinated by each one. I understand that there are billions of people in this world, and the hundred monkeys will write a sonnet. But I was also looking into the theory of the cosmic trickster at this point.
Most major religions feature the trickster. Greek mythology's Prometheus always held fascination with me, stealing fire from the gods and giving it to humans. He, more than any other of the world's tricksters provided the most inspiration.
But what do the cosmic trickster, synchronicity and the Devil's Footprints all have in common? I happened on this one after the story had already taken shape and I was in England. I stumbled on the story of the Devil's Footprints while I was researching the Trickster in various religions. It was, one could say, a coincidence that I hit the wrong link on the search engine page. Before I could hit the back button I began reading on the incident in Devonshire, and a new cord was struck.
I immediately wondered what the consequences of such an event on these communities would have been at that time. Did a man, frightened back into religion suddenly start going to church and meet his future bride? If so, what became of his children and their children? Did an unknown journalist get a name for himself in writing about the hoof prints? Was a child forbidden to go outside and play the day after the events - thus keeping her from falling through thin ice on a nearby pond? What were all the effects of this one peculiar incident? There had to be many - every cause has an effect.
So I then began thinking about it in reverse. What are the causes of each event happening around us all the time? Think about where you work. Why do you work there? What prompted you to apply? Why did you go to school to work in this vocation? What was your inspiration? You can trace it all back to your birth, and your parents' conceiving of you - why did they do so on that night? How did they meet? Why did they live where they did?
Every event has a birth in a previous event. Such a massive network of events would eventually, following their leads, form larger and fewer branches. The branches converge at the base - the trunk - that itself can be traced to a seed, the birth of the universe itself.
And starting from the moment of the universe's creation - the instant the big bang began - each particle had a path written for it, based on its trajectory, itself written by the ambient temperature and the particles around it - themselves following the same rules. Each particle's path became the stuff that formed stars, and eventually - us. We are all made of the same thing, born of the same instant.
Is this an argument for preordained existence? I'm not really sure, as I go back and forth on that one. But it is an argument for the existence of a pattern in nature, and synchronicity as being part of a very real, unimaginably large-scale structure.
Everything you do - every action you take - affects the world. Every automobile accident that slows the travel of hundreds or thousands of individuals has somehow changed their lives. They were late for appointments, had time to ponder decisions. In fact, every time you take a step, the Earth itself moves - however immeasurably - in the opposite direction. It's the ripple of a small pebble in a lake that changes the shape of the entire surface.
A few people asked what this story I've obsessed over is about. Well, this is why it's so hard to explain. I'm trying to take the big picture and repaint a microcosmic version of it onto the canvass of a few lives.
The rotting wood in a forest, giving a home to millions of bacteria and hundreds of insects, was once a seed - itself possibly carried in the belly of the bird whose descendants will dine on those very insects and bacteria. I have no idea how to paint such an immeasurably large picture onto such a tiny canvass. There's no doubt that I cannot begin to capture its complexity and beauty. But I'm working on it anyway.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
I'm Not Qualified To Review - Pretty Much Anything, On Second Thought
The idea for Tuesdays (see Saturday's post) was to write a review - of anything, be it a restaurant, novel, film, anything at all.
Well, as much as I'd like to, I can't think of anything I'd like to review. The things I would like to review are books, movies, other creative work that I admire and respect. Well, that's such a subjective thing, and I don't imagine many (if any) people care to read once a week why Will Shealy likes something. (This is assuming of course this blog holds more than three peoples' interest - and that may be an overestimation). As far as what I don't like is concerned, I don't believe I'm nearly as skilled in the creative process of any medium to critique.
I like what I like, I don't like what I don't like. I'm happy to discuss these reasons among friends, but I don't feel qualified to write essays on them, at least not now.
So, I will spend the next week trying to think of something else with which to fill Tuesday's slot. Any ideas?
Well, as much as I'd like to, I can't think of anything I'd like to review. The things I would like to review are books, movies, other creative work that I admire and respect. Well, that's such a subjective thing, and I don't imagine many (if any) people care to read once a week why Will Shealy likes something. (This is assuming of course this blog holds more than three peoples' interest - and that may be an overestimation). As far as what I don't like is concerned, I don't believe I'm nearly as skilled in the creative process of any medium to critique.
I like what I like, I don't like what I don't like. I'm happy to discuss these reasons among friends, but I don't feel qualified to write essays on them, at least not now.
So, I will spend the next week trying to think of something else with which to fill Tuesday's slot. Any ideas?
Sunday, January 10, 2010
*Tahoe Area Bruin's Answer to Suburban Encroachment
It's common knowledge that as sprawling McMansion complexes and strip malls move further and further into what's left of "undeveloped" land, the locals can get a little restless.
Last Summer I was walking down a trail (later I discovered it was a private trail, but that wasn't the only reason I never came back) and happened upon a gazebo overlooking a lake. It perched just above the water, and I could see fish, minnows, turtles, quite clearly beneath the surface.
I was minding my business, enjoying the rare quiet, when a moccasin side-wound its way just beneath the surface of the water, a couple of feet from where I was standing. It slowed down as I backed away, and as I snapped a few shots with my phone, it coiled back - even as it swam. (I previously didn't know snakes were capable of this kind of multi-tasking). I backed away onto the gazebo deck, and it continued to stare at me from under the water. Had it struck,it would have had to aim at me from between two foot-thick pieces of wood that made up the rail - however, anything with no arms or legs that can simultaneously tread water and coil to strike should not be underestimated. Just as I was working out my next move, (as if I'd gotten that far), it swam toward the bank.
I have no idea if it made its way onto land or swam off. It would suffice to say I went to some effort to avoid that area as I left.
Walking back to Mom's that day I encountered a deer, and later saw an alligator meander by me in the river alongside the trail. It was only a ten-minute walk. I felt like Rudy Mancke. Only I wasn't about to approach any of these creatures, who were living right next to a budding new housing development.
I was left to wonder where these animals would go when the houses came. After all, they were there first, though that's hardly a reason in the corporate world to give wildlife their space.
In fact, I would imagine that the new property owners and the local species may happen upon more than a few chance meetings. There may even be a subtle territorial dispute. The animals will not win. They'll be trapped and relocated at best, and at worst killed unceremoniously so the manicured grass will be safe and nature-free.
Surely there is bound to be wildlife out there that doesn't go quite so quietly. (Ever seen "Over The Hedge?" If not, see it soon).
That evening I relayed the story to my Mom's neighbors. It was then they informed me this was private land, and to be careful - as I could be arrested for trespassing. The irony was not lost on me.
Sure you hear stories of animals learning to "coexist" with humans (with or without human cooperation) in large cities perched near the wilderness. But what about here in the US, where urban sprawl is spilling uncontrollably into the landscape that drew people there to begin with?
Such a story surfaced this week, and I am very much pulling for the wildlife in this case.
The San Francisco Chronicle has reported that a brown bear, estimated at 700 lbs, has figured out how to break into homes and raid the fridge.
While no one has reportedly been killed by a brown bear in the past 100 years, the locals are terrified. When animal control is called and actually manages to approach the beast, it casually walks off.
Some have reported shooting the bear, which does not seem to have had an effect. In fact, these tales are corroborated by apparent scarring on the animal's face.
The citizens of Incline Village have come to call him "Bubba."
Since Bubba is a brown bear, he does not hibernate, and will continue to feed year-round. He has figured out when garbage pick-up days are, and walks around traps as if they're nuisances to be casually avoided.
"I have a refrigerator in the garage. He opened it up, drank a gallon of orange juice, opened the freezer above and munched two frozen pizzas and snacked on frozen chicken," Philpott said. "He broke all the shelves and racks out of the refrigerator, bit into some fruit punch and squirted it all over everywhere, then dragged the trash can outside and took a crap the size of a basketball on the front lawn." The Chronicle reports local Bill Philpott as saying. Apparently Philpott replaced the garage door a few months ago, and Bubba has already made light work of it.
I want to make one thing clear - I realize that with a booming population comes the need for housing. The only way around our population growth is controlled reproduction, which will not be a fact of life in this country. However, there must be a means of coexistence in place if we're to continue to enjoy our environment. That's an easy thing to say, I know. But it makes it no less true.
I want our suburbs to be safe for children - if an alligator were within ten feet of my nieces or nephew and I thought it was aggressive, I'm sure I would be looking for a way to kill it (as much as I love those animals). But the alligator and its ancestors were there long before any of us. Who are we to impose property rights? There must be a solution somewhere, though I can't claim to know what it is.
As far as Bubba is concerned, I don't imagine his outlook is too bright. I'll be "rooting" for him. I'll follow this story and let you know how it turns out.
Last Summer I was walking down a trail (later I discovered it was a private trail, but that wasn't the only reason I never came back) and happened upon a gazebo overlooking a lake. It perched just above the water, and I could see fish, minnows, turtles, quite clearly beneath the surface.
I was minding my business, enjoying the rare quiet, when a moccasin side-wound its way just beneath the surface of the water, a couple of feet from where I was standing. It slowed down as I backed away, and as I snapped a few shots with my phone, it coiled back - even as it swam. (I previously didn't know snakes were capable of this kind of multi-tasking). I backed away onto the gazebo deck, and it continued to stare at me from under the water. Had it struck,it would have had to aim at me from between two foot-thick pieces of wood that made up the rail - however, anything with no arms or legs that can simultaneously tread water and coil to strike should not be underestimated. Just as I was working out my next move, (as if I'd gotten that far), it swam toward the bank.
I have no idea if it made its way onto land or swam off. It would suffice to say I went to some effort to avoid that area as I left.
Walking back to Mom's that day I encountered a deer, and later saw an alligator meander by me in the river alongside the trail. It was only a ten-minute walk. I felt like Rudy Mancke. Only I wasn't about to approach any of these creatures, who were living right next to a budding new housing development.
I was left to wonder where these animals would go when the houses came. After all, they were there first, though that's hardly a reason in the corporate world to give wildlife their space.
In fact, I would imagine that the new property owners and the local species may happen upon more than a few chance meetings. There may even be a subtle territorial dispute. The animals will not win. They'll be trapped and relocated at best, and at worst killed unceremoniously so the manicured grass will be safe and nature-free.
Surely there is bound to be wildlife out there that doesn't go quite so quietly. (Ever seen "Over The Hedge?" If not, see it soon).
That evening I relayed the story to my Mom's neighbors. It was then they informed me this was private land, and to be careful - as I could be arrested for trespassing. The irony was not lost on me.
Sure you hear stories of animals learning to "coexist" with humans (with or without human cooperation) in large cities perched near the wilderness. But what about here in the US, where urban sprawl is spilling uncontrollably into the landscape that drew people there to begin with?
Such a story surfaced this week, and I am very much pulling for the wildlife in this case.
The San Francisco Chronicle has reported that a brown bear, estimated at 700 lbs, has figured out how to break into homes and raid the fridge.
While no one has reportedly been killed by a brown bear in the past 100 years, the locals are terrified. When animal control is called and actually manages to approach the beast, it casually walks off.
Some have reported shooting the bear, which does not seem to have had an effect. In fact, these tales are corroborated by apparent scarring on the animal's face.
The citizens of Incline Village have come to call him "Bubba."
Since Bubba is a brown bear, he does not hibernate, and will continue to feed year-round. He has figured out when garbage pick-up days are, and walks around traps as if they're nuisances to be casually avoided.
"I have a refrigerator in the garage. He opened it up, drank a gallon of orange juice, opened the freezer above and munched two frozen pizzas and snacked on frozen chicken," Philpott said. "He broke all the shelves and racks out of the refrigerator, bit into some fruit punch and squirted it all over everywhere, then dragged the trash can outside and took a crap the size of a basketball on the front lawn." The Chronicle reports local Bill Philpott as saying. Apparently Philpott replaced the garage door a few months ago, and Bubba has already made light work of it.
I want to make one thing clear - I realize that with a booming population comes the need for housing. The only way around our population growth is controlled reproduction, which will not be a fact of life in this country. However, there must be a means of coexistence in place if we're to continue to enjoy our environment. That's an easy thing to say, I know. But it makes it no less true.
I want our suburbs to be safe for children - if an alligator were within ten feet of my nieces or nephew and I thought it was aggressive, I'm sure I would be looking for a way to kill it (as much as I love those animals). But the alligator and its ancestors were there long before any of us. Who are we to impose property rights? There must be a solution somewhere, though I can't claim to know what it is.
As far as Bubba is concerned, I don't imagine his outlook is too bright. I'll be "rooting" for him. I'll follow this story and let you know how it turns out.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Sometimes I Think I Can Cook - Baked Spinach And Artichoke Dip
To follow is the first of a series of recipes I'm hoping to put out every Saturday. This is one of those recipes that's almost always a hit. I've varied on this a few times, but this formula seems to work best.
Anybody who knows me well will tell you that goat cheese is just about my favorite thing on Planet Earth. I put it in quiche, frittata, salads and sauces. I put it on steaks, in chicken, on sandwiches. As far as I'm concerned, it will go with anything (I'm staring with an arched eyebrow at my coffee as I type this).
To follow is my version of classic spinach and artichoke dip. I find the goat cheese adds a bite and creaminess that parmesan can't muster, so I've cut the parmesan - and added more garlic. There is - I repeat - there is no such thing as too much garlic, (so long as you don't have any appointments the rest of the day, and everyone around you is consuming just as much, or otherwise too drunk to notice your breath). This is not a good date food.
You'll need:
Two Tablespoons of Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Four Cloves of Garlic
1 Bag of Chopped Fresh Spinach
1 14 oz. Can of Artichoke Hearts
2 16 oz. Packages of Sour Cream
1/2 pint of heavy cream
8 oz. Cream Cheese
Half-log of Goat Cheese
1 1/2 (ish) Tablespoons of whole grain mustard
1/4 Cup Grated Parmesan
1/4 cup grated sharp cheddar cheese (sharper the better)
1 1/2 cup Panko Crumbs
Salt (optional)
Preheat the oven to 350F.
Mince the garlic and sautee' it in olve oil until it starts to slightly brown. Add the spinach and satuee until rich green and wilted. Set aside.
In a separate bowl, mix together the sour cream, heavy cream, cream cheese, goat cheese and mustard. (No, this is not health food - but then, would you be eating spinach and artichoke dip if you were on a diet?). Salt if you think it needs it, but keep in mind the parmesan will be on top.
Add the artichokes and spinach, and mix well. Pour it into a casserole dish, and bake for about fifteen minutes, or until it's bubbly around the edges. While it's baking, mix the parmesan, cheddar and panko.
Once your dip is bubbly, take it out and switch to broiler. Dust the top of the dip with the panko and cheese mix, and broil until it browns over.
I like to serve this with baked pita wedges. If you use anything salty to dip with, the salt kind of takes over.
Let me know what you think - enjoy!
Anybody who knows me well will tell you that goat cheese is just about my favorite thing on Planet Earth. I put it in quiche, frittata, salads and sauces. I put it on steaks, in chicken, on sandwiches. As far as I'm concerned, it will go with anything (I'm staring with an arched eyebrow at my coffee as I type this).
To follow is my version of classic spinach and artichoke dip. I find the goat cheese adds a bite and creaminess that parmesan can't muster, so I've cut the parmesan - and added more garlic. There is - I repeat - there is no such thing as too much garlic, (so long as you don't have any appointments the rest of the day, and everyone around you is consuming just as much, or otherwise too drunk to notice your breath). This is not a good date food.
You'll need:
Two Tablespoons of Extra Virgin Olive Oil
Four Cloves of Garlic
1 Bag of Chopped Fresh Spinach
1 14 oz. Can of Artichoke Hearts
2 16 oz. Packages of Sour Cream
1/2 pint of heavy cream
8 oz. Cream Cheese
Half-log of Goat Cheese
1 1/2 (ish) Tablespoons of whole grain mustard
1/4 Cup Grated Parmesan
1/4 cup grated sharp cheddar cheese (sharper the better)
1 1/2 cup Panko Crumbs
Salt (optional)
Preheat the oven to 350F.
Mince the garlic and sautee' it in olve oil until it starts to slightly brown. Add the spinach and satuee until rich green and wilted. Set aside.
In a separate bowl, mix together the sour cream, heavy cream, cream cheese, goat cheese and mustard. (No, this is not health food - but then, would you be eating spinach and artichoke dip if you were on a diet?). Salt if you think it needs it, but keep in mind the parmesan will be on top.
Add the artichokes and spinach, and mix well. Pour it into a casserole dish, and bake for about fifteen minutes, or until it's bubbly around the edges. While it's baking, mix the parmesan, cheddar and panko.
Once your dip is bubbly, take it out and switch to broiler. Dust the top of the dip with the panko and cheese mix, and broil until it browns over.
I like to serve this with baked pita wedges. If you use anything salty to dip with, the salt kind of takes over.
Let me know what you think - enjoy!
Structure Might Be A Good Thing
So I've decided to give this blog a sort of fluid structure. Fluid in that I may change it after a few weeks, but structured so that I might write more frequently. I found that when I was doing my five rants of the new year, I made myself sit down at the end of the day and write.
If my unborn child ever sees the light of day, it will be because I'm in practice.
So, here's how I'm going to start - I've picked the five days I'm most likely to write, and five topics that I think I can actually stick to. ("To" being a preposition. I'm letting it go).
Tuesdays - "Not Qualified To Review This"
I'm going to review things. It could be a movie, a book, or a blog. Or it might be a city I've visited, or an airline. It might be a restaurant, or a wine. It could be anything - and likely I am not qualified to give a full review, though I'm going to do it anyway.
Wednesdays - "Wild Card"
Here is my "out" to write anything that doesn't fall into the other categories.
Thursdays - "Almost-Fridays." Remember what I said about being determined to be more positive in 2010? Well I will be, for at least one day a week. Or at least for the amount of time it will take me to conceive and write out Thursday's blog. This is going to essentially be something I'm happy about. I'm going to be very careful not to turn it into an exercise in sarcasm. It will be something for which I'm grateful, pleased, amused - something that brings a smile to my face, and hopefully yours.
Saturdays - "Sometimes I Think I Can Cook"
I'm going to attempt put out a recipe every Saturday. I'll start with the five or six things I do really well, family favorites (i.e. Spice Cake, Drunken Taramisu Cake, Spinach and Goat Cheese Quiche, etc...) These are established recipes into which I've put my own spin. These can be food or cocktail recipes, sauces and dressings, whatever. I love, love, love food, so this one should be really easy to keep up.
Sundays - "*"
This is going to be about something that caught my attention that I think deserves a closer look, maybe a buried news story or an peculiar website.
Okay, here we go. If one or more of these busts, I'll replace it with something else. I think the point is now just to make myself write and write some more. I hope to at the very least be some decent entertainment - a time-killer worthy of killing time.
Enjoy!
If my unborn child ever sees the light of day, it will be because I'm in practice.
So, here's how I'm going to start - I've picked the five days I'm most likely to write, and five topics that I think I can actually stick to. ("To" being a preposition. I'm letting it go).
Tuesdays - "Not Qualified To Review This"
I'm going to review things. It could be a movie, a book, or a blog. Or it might be a city I've visited, or an airline. It might be a restaurant, or a wine. It could be anything - and likely I am not qualified to give a full review, though I'm going to do it anyway.
Wednesdays - "Wild Card"
Here is my "out" to write anything that doesn't fall into the other categories.
Thursdays - "Almost-Fridays." Remember what I said about being determined to be more positive in 2010? Well I will be, for at least one day a week. Or at least for the amount of time it will take me to conceive and write out Thursday's blog. This is going to essentially be something I'm happy about. I'm going to be very careful not to turn it into an exercise in sarcasm. It will be something for which I'm grateful, pleased, amused - something that brings a smile to my face, and hopefully yours.
Saturdays - "Sometimes I Think I Can Cook"
I'm going to attempt put out a recipe every Saturday. I'll start with the five or six things I do really well, family favorites (i.e. Spice Cake, Drunken Taramisu Cake, Spinach and Goat Cheese Quiche, etc...) These are established recipes into which I've put my own spin. These can be food or cocktail recipes, sauces and dressings, whatever. I love, love, love food, so this one should be really easy to keep up.
Sundays - "*"
This is going to be about something that caught my attention that I think deserves a closer look, maybe a buried news story or an peculiar website.
Okay, here we go. If one or more of these busts, I'll replace it with something else. I think the point is now just to make myself write and write some more. I hope to at the very least be some decent entertainment - a time-killer worthy of killing time.
Enjoy!
Friday, January 8, 2010
Need Help!
Hello fellow bloggers (blogites? blogans? citizens of the blogosphere? blogospherians? - I digress, as I do).
I would very much like to clean up the look of my page - archive by relevance, maybe brighten it up a bit. I have some ideas, but can anybody recommend a good source of codes? Preferably free, and preferably something that will not require my posting a big giant link to them on my page, one that in turn gives tracking cookies to everybody who pops in for a parusal.
If such a place exists, please let me know. I think this page could use some sprucin' up.
Other ideas I have - I think I'm going to do the daily themes - they will keep me posting, and maybe I won't go from the five rants of New Year's Eve to climate change in 2.5. Or at least if I do, you'll have a warning - such as - Tuesday.
So, I'll be thinking up some weekly gems for you to dig through, if you guys and gals can point me in the right direction for improving the look.
Do we have a deal?
I would very much like to clean up the look of my page - archive by relevance, maybe brighten it up a bit. I have some ideas, but can anybody recommend a good source of codes? Preferably free, and preferably something that will not require my posting a big giant link to them on my page, one that in turn gives tracking cookies to everybody who pops in for a parusal.
If such a place exists, please let me know. I think this page could use some sprucin' up.
Other ideas I have - I think I'm going to do the daily themes - they will keep me posting, and maybe I won't go from the five rants of New Year's Eve to climate change in 2.5. Or at least if I do, you'll have a warning - such as - Tuesday.
So, I'll be thinking up some weekly gems for you to dig through, if you guys and gals can point me in the right direction for improving the look.
Do we have a deal?
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
An Inconvenient "?"
Then
"Geologists Think The World May Be Frozen Up Again"
- New York Times, 1895
""Climate - The Heat May Be Off"
-Fortune Magazine, 1954
"A Major Cooling Widely Considered To Be Inevitable"
-New York Times, 1975
"Colder Winters Held Dawn Of New Ice Age"
- Washington Post, 1970
"As for the present cooling trend, a number of leading climatologists have
concluded that it is very bad news indeed."
- Fortune Magazine, 1974
"The discoveries of changes in the sun's heat and the southward advance of glaciers in recent years have given rise to conjectures of the possible advent of a new ice age."
-Time Magazine, 1923
"Climatological Cassandras are becoming increasingly apprehensive, for the weather aberrations they are studying may be the harbinger of another ice age."
-Time Magazine, 1974
"How long the current cooling trend continues is one of the most important problems of our civilization...the Earth could be plunged into a new ice age."
- Science Magazine, 1969
"The cooling since 1940 has been large enough and consistent enough that it will not be soon reversed."
-Science Magazine, 1975
"Scientists Says Arctic Ice Could Wipe Out Canada"
-Chicago Tribune, 1923
Now
"Past Hot Times Hold Few Reasons to Relax About New Warming"
-New York Times, 2005
"[S]cientists no longer doubt that global warming is happening, and almost nobody questions the fact that humans are at least partly responsible."
-Time Magazine, 2001
"Polar ice caps are melting faster than ever...by any measure, Earth is at the tipping point...the climate is crashing, and global warming is to blame..."
-Time Magazine, 2006
-Science Magazine, 2006
"The polar ice caps are shrinking, as are glaciers and mountain snow pack around the world."
-Chicago Tribune, 2009
About a year ago my sister and I were having a glass of wine, and the topic of climate change was brought up. I mentioned how annoyed I was that any time a cold snap occurred, I inevitably heard people say "so much for global warming." I thought this was idiocy in the extreme. After all, climate and weather are two completely different things.
Well, Mandy made a comment about the fact that is wasn't proven. At this point I was pretty convinced that it all but had, and a few days later set out to find some articles to send her on the subject. I was astounded at what I found.
Well, I dropped it and never sent her the articles, as I got distracted (as I do) and forgot about it. However, I did find some compelling research supporting my argument - and some equally compelling evidence to the contrary.
What was fascinating to me was how convincing the argument was on both sides, and for the first time actually caused me to think about climate change as a question rather than a fact of life.
I am a liberal, on many issues. While reading up on this, especially over the past couple of days as I prepared to write this entry, it occurred to me that if “Dubya” had espoused the threat of global warming, I may have called some of the current conventional wisdom (no, that is not a redundancy) into question.
The fact is, conservatives read and follow conservative pundits. Liberals do the same on their end. So what we’re exposed to largely depends on, and is perpetuated by, our existing beliefs.
The more I dug, the bigger the question mark seemed to become. So many articles (if not most) that I found did in fact contain or reference raw data. But the facts that were backed up were intricately woven into the fabric of the article along with facts that were not.
Moreover, in multiple instances articles on both sides of the argument utilized the same raw data to support their respective arguments. In each case this happened, it practically nullified my confidence in the source study as a means to promote either stance.
What was really shown here, is that enough data can be effectively manipulated to accentuate whatever point it is you’re trying to make. In these cases, your perspective influences the outcome. This is much in the same way the perspective of a climate change denier (I use this term referencing CBS reporter Scott Pelley’s comparison of climate change skeptics to Holocaust deniers) reading more on the subject and picking out the articles that support their case.
Let’s say – for the sake of argument – (because I’m not taking a side here) that climate change is a very real, very imminent threat. What can we do about it? Many point to our failure to adhere to the Kyoto Protocol. Dr. James Hansen of NASA has estimated that the Kyoto Protocol would only affect temperatures by .13C by 2100, and that it would take 30 Kyotos to have an acceptable inpact on climate change.
Why so little impact? Well, one fun fact I turned up repeatedly is that 96.5% of all Carbon Dioxide emissions are from natural sources – water vapor, methane, (all mammals fart), volcanoes, even rotting vegetation, to name a very few sources. Mankind is directly responsible for about 3.5%. Only 0.6% of this comes from internal-combustion engines, meaning that if every car were to be plucked from the roads right now, it would have very little, if any substantive impact.
So why the impact in the other direction? Why have we seemingly caused so much of it? Well, here’s the question. If Carbon Dioxide levels cause global warming, then why did the Journal Science report recently that arctic ice cores record a shift in Carbon Dioxide after temperature fluxuations dating back thousands of years? Which is cause and which is effect?
By now you’re thinking that I could be attempting to make a case against climate change, and the human factor. That’s not the case.
I could reference the Oregon Petition, which boasts some 18,000 signatures from scientists around the world stating that there is no evidence to support man-made global warming theory. But then, I could also nitpick who those scientists are, and seek out motivation for signing such a petition.
All research is funded. Who pays the check can have a serious impact on the findings, or the interpretation of data. This is true on both sides of the argument. One has to think only a moment of the money that can be shifted one way or another to begin to doubt some findings.
One could say that the famous “hockey stick” graph, which “proved” carbon dioxide emissions were causing global warming, was erroneous – the use of proxies prior to 1850, the use of thermometers in city-centers that recorded urban heat island effects… Or, one could point out that the data has been scrutinized on both sides of the debate and both sides come up with their own predictable results.
It is practically indisputable that something is occurring. What that something is, and what is causing it, are still in question. Scientists who publicly protest the current climate change theory and its causes are systematically vilified.
So what is my conclusion? Well, I’m not going to conclude with my opinion. It wouldn’t change anything – most people who will read this have already formed their own opinion, which is not likely to change.
I challenge you though – if you believe climate change to be a real threat, research the arguments. Conversely, if you believe climate change to be a fear-mongering fad, research the case for it. The more you dig, the more interesting the debate becomes – in fact, the clearer it becomes that it is still a debate, it’s just more fashionable to accept the crisis.
Just please keep this in mind: nothing affects the emotional state of a populace or an individual (and therefore their actions) more potently and effectively than fear. I am not trying to persuade anyone in one direction or another, simply to point out the big neon question mark hanging over the issue. Try as we may to ignore it (on both sides of the argument), and as inconvenient as it may be to some – it’s still there. Let’s talk about it.
I Haven't Disappeared
As much as I might try, I'm unable to write an entry every day. That being said, I am trying to write more often, if for no other reason than practice. But it's been a busy week, and when I write I really need to be alone, so please bear with me, I'm just waiting for a quiet time and place.
I am working on something though, that has actually required some research. Suffice to say, my next post is likely to annoy my more liberal friends, and just as likely will annoy my conservative friends. However, I think it's a topic that requires some real debate, all preconceptions aside (if that's possible).
Oh, and to Doc and Wah - I don't know when or if I'll be brave enough to post some of my Unborn Child here - maybe eventually!
I'll try to get something posted tonight or tomorrow if I can finish reading up on a few things.
I am working on something though, that has actually required some research. Suffice to say, my next post is likely to annoy my more liberal friends, and just as likely will annoy my conservative friends. However, I think it's a topic that requires some real debate, all preconceptions aside (if that's possible).
Oh, and to Doc and Wah - I don't know when or if I'll be brave enough to post some of my Unborn Child here - maybe eventually!
I'll try to get something posted tonight or tomorrow if I can finish reading up on a few things.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
My Unborn Child
Eleven years ago I sat down in front of my room mate's computer and began conceiving a story. I even wrote about fifty pages, writing every night, only to forget about it when I moved to England. While I was there, my friend Mark let me borrow his old 386 after a drunk evening when I remembered the story, and told him about it. So once again I sat down to the story, and rewrote what I remembered of it, and added some things. It began to grow, to my surprise.
It was at this point that the story took on a name: The Devil's Footprints.
For the rest of my time in England I would go back to the story, drop it, then come back to it. The characters, though remaining the same in name, began to grow and take on lives of their own. It was while I was in England that for the first time something amazing and unexpected occurred - the story was changing as I was writing it. The characters almost seemed to act of their own accord.
It was at this point that I began reading the Dune series. I couldn't hep but think how wonderful it must have been for Frank Herbert to imagine, conceive, then give birth to his own universe. I enjoy the books surrounding the original series written by his son and a collaborator, but as entertaining as they are they lack the scope and vision of the originals. The depth they do contain was founded on the original idea. But I digress (as I do). The point is, I kept thinking of The Devil's Footprints as I read these books. So envious and enamored I was with Frank Herbert's sweeping vision, a world at once completely apart and exactly the same as ours. It was a funhouse mirror on our universe, one seen from a distance that puts our world in a new perspective by placing it 10,000 years in the future. I was then determined that one day I would let my own little universe out to let somebody else see it.
Fast forward a few years, and I was in Summerville, South Carolina working night audit at a plantation inn. The night audit would be done by midnight, leaving me with seven dark, quiet, lonely hours in the woods to essentially just be there if I were needed. I never was. So once again I picked up The Devil's Footprints right where I had left off. But this time I decided to begin outlining. I thought that by outlining, the synapses in my brain that represent each of these characters would stop veering off-path.
I began writing from the outline, and in each session the story seemed to take on its own life as I wrote it. More turmoil occurred in my life, and I set it down again, letting it collect dust in the back of my mind. I would never have suspected that it was still growing, becoming something of an unborn child.
Once I moved to DC, I began outlining again. I would walk around the monuments at night, go to the Smithsonian, wander, and think of the story - sometimes ending the day in a bar with a notebook and pen. Outlining was often the last thing I did before I went to sleep. At this point it was conceiving the story that became the fun part. It was as escapist as reading any novel ever had been.
So once again I set about writing it out. I've lost so many versions of the beginning of this story, that writing the first fifty pages had at this point been more clerical than creative. But here again, my life was uprooted and I found myself in Rhode Island.
In Rhode Island, Eric and I rented a house near Providence. This house had a back deck, and quickly I bought a table and some chairs, knowing that I had found a refuge for The Devil's Footprints to grow.
I spent so many hours those two and half years out there outlining, developing characters, creating maps (for my own use, to keep a consistent vision as this world grew). I made family trees, even wrote a few journal entries from the perspective of the main character. I have three notebooks in a box somewhere with the original outlines, and two or three binders still in Rhode Island with further outlines. (However, at this point I'm pretty much fine without them, I know the thing so well).
By my second year in Rhode Island I felt like it had become an obsession. I was writing as well as outlining, and probably wrote (if you include everything I ever deleted), around 350 pages, maybe more.
I find myself back in South Carolina now, dancing around the story, and still thinking about it all the time. I have ideas in mind for other stories, including one surrounding Summerville, stories that are not nearly as outlandish, and take place in the world as we know it, in the here and now. But as I sat down the other day to try to begin the story about Summerville, (after having done some light research), I realized that I couldn't write anything else until The Devil's Footprints is done.
It's become my favorite pet, this monkey sitting on my back. I hate it bitterly but love it. I can't write anything else until it's done, I realize that now.
As far as what I might do with it - who knows? At this point I don't care as much about that as I do completing this thing. I want to let it run its course and get the hell out of my system!
Sure, I have a few pipe dreams of publishing, but if I'm writing this for that, I think I might cheat myself, and the story. I need to let The Devil's Footprints unfold as it always has - on its own, my fingers the vessels.
Maybe I'll let my nephew Zach have it one day, (as my nieces are likely not as apt to enjoy this type of story. Aside from being a fantasy, it can at times get a little violent. Abby didn't even like the opening scene of Bolt). Maybe I should write it for him, and think only of his enjoyment when he gets older. In that I likely won't be as self-conscious and will love the process for what it is.
The Devil's Footprints is my unborn child. Only instead of nine months, I've been carrying this kicking, punching baby inside of me for eleven years. I think it's time to finally let it come on out.
I may ask some of you to help with the delivery. I might paste a few pages here from time to time and let you tell me what you think. Or I might ask your opinions, and maybe even ask for you to help in research. Though I don't think I need much in that respect, as I pretty much know the damn story from start to finish.
And it's grown. It's grown in scope, in number of characters, and in plot. I'm not even sure how I'm going to squeeze some of it in there, but there are things that must be squeezed in.
So here we go - here is my final new year's resolution - I am going to finish this damn thing, if for no other reason than so I can move onto other stories. It may give me the practice I need, and maybe I'll go back to it once and a while to polish it, help the child become an adult. And maybe then he will be ready for Zach.
As I close this post, I'm getting ready to start the process. No more hours and hours of outlining. It's time to start. Again. And finish.
Happy New Year everyone. Wish me luck.
It was at this point that the story took on a name: The Devil's Footprints.
For the rest of my time in England I would go back to the story, drop it, then come back to it. The characters, though remaining the same in name, began to grow and take on lives of their own. It was while I was in England that for the first time something amazing and unexpected occurred - the story was changing as I was writing it. The characters almost seemed to act of their own accord.
It was at this point that I began reading the Dune series. I couldn't hep but think how wonderful it must have been for Frank Herbert to imagine, conceive, then give birth to his own universe. I enjoy the books surrounding the original series written by his son and a collaborator, but as entertaining as they are they lack the scope and vision of the originals. The depth they do contain was founded on the original idea. But I digress (as I do). The point is, I kept thinking of The Devil's Footprints as I read these books. So envious and enamored I was with Frank Herbert's sweeping vision, a world at once completely apart and exactly the same as ours. It was a funhouse mirror on our universe, one seen from a distance that puts our world in a new perspective by placing it 10,000 years in the future. I was then determined that one day I would let my own little universe out to let somebody else see it.
Fast forward a few years, and I was in Summerville, South Carolina working night audit at a plantation inn. The night audit would be done by midnight, leaving me with seven dark, quiet, lonely hours in the woods to essentially just be there if I were needed. I never was. So once again I picked up The Devil's Footprints right where I had left off. But this time I decided to begin outlining. I thought that by outlining, the synapses in my brain that represent each of these characters would stop veering off-path.
I began writing from the outline, and in each session the story seemed to take on its own life as I wrote it. More turmoil occurred in my life, and I set it down again, letting it collect dust in the back of my mind. I would never have suspected that it was still growing, becoming something of an unborn child.
Once I moved to DC, I began outlining again. I would walk around the monuments at night, go to the Smithsonian, wander, and think of the story - sometimes ending the day in a bar with a notebook and pen. Outlining was often the last thing I did before I went to sleep. At this point it was conceiving the story that became the fun part. It was as escapist as reading any novel ever had been.
So once again I set about writing it out. I've lost so many versions of the beginning of this story, that writing the first fifty pages had at this point been more clerical than creative. But here again, my life was uprooted and I found myself in Rhode Island.
In Rhode Island, Eric and I rented a house near Providence. This house had a back deck, and quickly I bought a table and some chairs, knowing that I had found a refuge for The Devil's Footprints to grow.
I spent so many hours those two and half years out there outlining, developing characters, creating maps (for my own use, to keep a consistent vision as this world grew). I made family trees, even wrote a few journal entries from the perspective of the main character. I have three notebooks in a box somewhere with the original outlines, and two or three binders still in Rhode Island with further outlines. (However, at this point I'm pretty much fine without them, I know the thing so well).
By my second year in Rhode Island I felt like it had become an obsession. I was writing as well as outlining, and probably wrote (if you include everything I ever deleted), around 350 pages, maybe more.
I find myself back in South Carolina now, dancing around the story, and still thinking about it all the time. I have ideas in mind for other stories, including one surrounding Summerville, stories that are not nearly as outlandish, and take place in the world as we know it, in the here and now. But as I sat down the other day to try to begin the story about Summerville, (after having done some light research), I realized that I couldn't write anything else until The Devil's Footprints is done.
It's become my favorite pet, this monkey sitting on my back. I hate it bitterly but love it. I can't write anything else until it's done, I realize that now.
As far as what I might do with it - who knows? At this point I don't care as much about that as I do completing this thing. I want to let it run its course and get the hell out of my system!
Sure, I have a few pipe dreams of publishing, but if I'm writing this for that, I think I might cheat myself, and the story. I need to let The Devil's Footprints unfold as it always has - on its own, my fingers the vessels.
Maybe I'll let my nephew Zach have it one day, (as my nieces are likely not as apt to enjoy this type of story. Aside from being a fantasy, it can at times get a little violent. Abby didn't even like the opening scene of Bolt). Maybe I should write it for him, and think only of his enjoyment when he gets older. In that I likely won't be as self-conscious and will love the process for what it is.
The Devil's Footprints is my unborn child. Only instead of nine months, I've been carrying this kicking, punching baby inside of me for eleven years. I think it's time to finally let it come on out.
I may ask some of you to help with the delivery. I might paste a few pages here from time to time and let you tell me what you think. Or I might ask your opinions, and maybe even ask for you to help in research. Though I don't think I need much in that respect, as I pretty much know the damn story from start to finish.
And it's grown. It's grown in scope, in number of characters, and in plot. I'm not even sure how I'm going to squeeze some of it in there, but there are things that must be squeezed in.
So here we go - here is my final new year's resolution - I am going to finish this damn thing, if for no other reason than so I can move onto other stories. It may give me the practice I need, and maybe I'll go back to it once and a while to polish it, help the child become an adult. And maybe then he will be ready for Zach.
As I close this post, I'm getting ready to start the process. No more hours and hours of outlining. It's time to start. Again. And finish.
Happy New Year everyone. Wish me luck.
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