The Makeover – Literary Style

By Robin Weaver

All of us watch those shows (even if we don’t always ‘fess up).  You know the ones I mean.  A frumpy stay-at-home mom and a Goth-looking college student walk onto the set. An overly bubbly announcer introduces some wonderful product and an amazing makeup artist. Then, voila.  A curling iron and a bottle of hair gel later, Frumpy and Dumpy are now the hot momma who could play Mrs. Robinson and the fraternity girl most likely to get an STD.

I am, of course, talking about the infamous makeover. I can’t tamp down my skepticism enough to believe Frumpy and Dumpy really looked that bad prior to the makeover.  Surely the show’s producers intentionally frizzed hair for those hideous “before” images.  Maybe they even put gray paste on the To-Be-Made-Overs’ faces.  I’m also certain some production assistant scoured thrift stores in search of the worst clothing possible.  When the assistant finds her prize, she stomps on the shapeless dress or baggy jeans with combat boots prior to dressing the poor “volunteers.” When presented in cocktail dresses for the REVEAL, like any woman who goes from Goodwill to couture, the makeover models look one heck of a lot better. 

Seriously, though? Short of surgery or drastic liposuction, how much can you really do in a short period of time to improve your looks?

Fortunately, for us writers, fiction is different. Forget hair products. You, the great and powerful Wonder-author, have magic at your disposal. With a few strokes of your literary pen, you can take a bad manuscript and make the tale into a fascinating story.

Have a heroine you don’t like?  Kill her off on page one and promote the amazing sidekick to leading lady. Are you main characters boring? Just add equal parts tension and quirkiness, and Ozzie and Harriet morph into Morticia and Gomez Addams.

You can even reshape your basic plot into a totally different story. Believe it or not, you can do this with minimal rewrite.

In Forbidden Magic, my first novel, I created vampire-type characters living in a world without warm-blooded creatures.  My vamps existed on a mineral mimicking the properties of human blood. Naturally, the mineral was becoming depleted (aka external tension). Unfortunately, no one wanted yet another vamp story.

So, I instigated a makeover.  First, I made my characters Dökkálfar and —ancient elves.  Since my hero and heroine were no longer vampire, they no longer needed blood. Thus I needed another rare substance necessary to my characters’ survival. To keep my external conflict from disintegrating, I decided the sun on my fictional world wouldn’t have the spectrum of Earth’s solar unit.  Naturally, I made this missing spectrum necessary to elfin survival.

So what could emulate sunlight? What else? Crystals. And all the quartz had been mined.

I kept the same plot. My characters’ goals, motivation, and conflict didn’t change. Yet my novel had a completely different look. A makeover.

If your novel isn’t getting the attention it deserves, if your manuscript is dated, or if you just need more oomph, you too can perform the same type of literary makeover. No license required. Remember, a good story (regardless of genre) needs great characters, with great conflict, and a goal worth achieving. The rest is just…well, hair product and cocktail dresses.

How about you?  Performed any literary makeovers on your manuscripts?

A Contradiction of Thought

By Robin Weaver

 I love that RTG has a monthly theme. Having a single topic provides just the right amount of inspiration to fire up my disjointed brain. If you’ve read any of my blogs, you know the theme and the resulting post are typically miles apart. But doing the twist makes writing fun.

I try to take the expected and do something completely different. For the November theme, “Abundance,” I wrote about having too many Christmas decorations. And being unable to stop making more. That same thought-contradiction led to the development of the Christmas Tree Wars. I mean, the holidays are about peace on earth, right? So naturally I needed to start a fight.

I didn’t plan to write a novel about a Christmas competition, but one year, a friend vowed to “one up” my holiday tree. At the time, she was helping me with my Phantom of the Opera decorations. We were creating a couple dozen music notes from dough and glitter (there might have been some Baileys involved), when she declared she was doing her own theme.

And she did. The birds!

Her tree was actually quite fowl.  STOP! I’m joking. Her creation was truly beautiful, and I probably spent more time looking for bird ornaments than she did. I’d love to tell you the planning/decorating turned into a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie (or Stephen King for those of you who don’t remember Al—wait, even Stevie is old now. What I meant is Squid Games—yeah, that’s it). Anyway, any of the three would have been more interesting, but we had a lot of fun.

My friend’s faux posturing—“My tree is gonna kick your tree’s butt.”—inspired the Christmas Tree Wars. The novella details a Christmas Tree competition, which brings in tourism, and is a big deal in the small town. Like any Hallmark Movie, eh…I mean character-driven story, our heroine doesn’t want to enter. A little goading by the town socialite (aka busty bully), a big bet, and an even bigger entry fee paid by friends who can’t really afford the gesture, and Suzette has no choice but to come out swinging (swinging tinsel on tree branches, but still…).

As the story developed, I fell in love with the imagined town, Merryvale, so had to set another story there. Likewise, the busty bully needed to redeem herself, thus Full Contact Decorating came to life. The third novella, the Gingerbread Skirmish, was actually planned. Everyone knows you must have three books in a series. 😊

I had a lot of fun with these novellas, especially writing the chapter headings. I added a twist on Christmas Songs to describe the chapters. Some examples include: What Childishness Is This, 12 Days of Lying, and, Chestnuts Roasted. I was advised NOT to do that—that it would be cheesy, but hey, no one paid me to NOT have headings. So, my book, my chapter subtitles.  And what’s wrong with cheesy, anyway?

Have a ho-ho, very happy holiday, Everyone.

And please check out the Christmas Tree Wars, written under my pen name Genia Avers.

Click on the link above to get the eBook FREE today on Apple & Kobo!

An Abundance of Obsession

by Robin Weaver

I have an abundance of Christmas ornaments, but I’m making more. Why? That answer is simple. I’m
obsessed with Christmas trees.

I’m the first to admit, my obsession is debilitating. If I’d use my time to start a business instead of gluing, painting, and getting glitter out of my rugs/kitchen/hair/etc., I’d probably be rich.

Then I could buy more ornaments.

Wait!

That’s not what I meant to say. Really.

Last year, my theme was “Up, Up & Away.” Yes, sadly I have a theme. Every year. I plan. And plan some more. My goal is a new theme each year (even if it’s just a fancy term for pink and green baubles, i.e. Apple Blossom Special). I also try to come up with a tree idea that won’t look like every other tree. Which has gotten harder and harder. I mean seriously, have you seen the variety in Hobby Lobby?

Anyway, for this Up-Up thesis, I spent days (maybe weeks) making glittery paper airplanes, hot-air balloons from old ornaments, and even crazy sequined flying saucers. All that for a mere thirty-eight days of beauty. I think my grammar school didn’t have enough arts & crafts.

This year’s theme is Royal Brass, which is just a fancy way to say my decorations will be blue, copper, and gold. Starting in July, I began stuffing blue velvet into Styrofoam balls. While I watched Netflix—didn’t want to totally waste my time. 😊 A couple weekend’s ago, I sprayed leaves gold and copper, and, of course, added lots of glitter.

Even I know the results don’t justify the hours invested. Still, I can’t stop. Designing my tree is kinda my thing. It’s not like I’m robbing banks, or defrauding investors. (Yeah, I’m not even buying this justification myself).

On a positive note, one year, a friend vowed to “one up” my tree. No, the challenge is not the positive note. The positive outcome was the competition (although no one admits to any competing) provided the inspiration for the Christmas Tree Wars. And the birth of the fictional town of Merryvale.

The novella details a small-town Christmas Tree competition, which incidentally brings in tourism and props up the town’s economy. The characters are also “tree” obsessed, but underneath all that glitz, there’s more to having the best tree than Dresden ornaments, preserved magnolia leaves, and garland by the town.

In short, we’re all people doing the best we can. And hopefully not defrauding investors. I hope there’s something that adds a little glitter to your life. Even if it is a little obsessive.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Robin

As If By Magic

By Robin Weaver

This month's theme--My Writing Dreams Come True--instantly made me think of magic.  Because the fulfillment of any of my dreams: authoring a bestseller, having one of my books scripted for the big screen, or simply having a reader say, "I enjoyed the read," would indeed be magical.


Only... Do I believe in magic?  

Do you?

If you’re geekishly inclined (like moi), you might want to pause before you respond with a resounding “NO.” While we hardcore logical types tend to mistrust anything we can’t reduce to an equation, I ask you to consider the following:

Soundwaves: Most of us have some understanding of the principles of sound. We agree our cellphones can transmit data, voice and images across the country because of science. But exactly why do soundwaves (radio waves, microwaves, etc., etc.) exist? Why do they work the way they do? One could successfully argue that the existence of this phenomenon is, in itself, magical.

The Reproductive Process: An egg is fertilized, cells start to divide and grow. For humans, a new member of our species is delivered nine-plus months later.  Pure science, right? But exactly what drives that cell to divide? For that matter, what drives mankind to reproduce in the first place? We call it the “miracle of birth” for a reason.

Our Habitable Planet: We can explain, in scientific terms, what makes life possible on Earth, but think about the exact combination of factors that must exist for humanoid life:

            **  We must be the right distance from the sun.

            **  A magnet field is required to protect us from deadly radiation.

            **  Water (and carbon, and a host of other stuff) must be in plentiful supply.

            ** An atmosphere is essential.

            ** We need rock; not to mention our planet must be the right size, with a molten core, and tectonic plates.

            ** A moon, rotating at the appropriate distance from the planet.  The big, shiny object in the night sky is directly responsible for the Earth's orbital tilt angle, and thus responsible for our climate and tides.  Without the Moon, the Earth would wander in response to the gravitational pulls of the sun and Jupiter. Translation, no more life as we know it. In other words, we’d be Mars.

            **  Etc., etc., etc. While all the reasons for our planet’s habitability can be explained scientifically, the combination of unique factors that must coexist to constitute our living planet is mind-boggling. Perhaps our uniqueness id the reason we’ve found no other signs of humanoid life in this vast universe.

Falling in Love: Enough said.

Dictionary.com defines magic as:

“the art of producing a desired effect or result through the use of incantation or various other techniques that presumably assure human control of supernatural agencies or the forces of nature.” If you substitute “invention” or “industry” for the word “incantation,” isn’t that also a definition for science?

Until we magically get the answer (to this question and a plethora of other philosophical ones), I will simply "hope" your dreams come true.

Happy reading!

Robin

Snippets Overheard While Raising My Non-Domestic Goddess

By Robin Weaver

My daughter has matured into a delightful young woman and I’m extremely proud of her.  The journey to this delightfulness hasn’t always been so…pleasant.  Like most moms with rather—shall we say headstrong—teenagers, there were more teeth-grinding moments than smooth roller-blading. In hindsight, some of the interchanges with my daughter now seem a bit comical.

As part of this month’s potpourri, I thought I’d share some of the more amusing comments (even if they did result in me pulling out my hair when initially released. 😊) Here are some of my daughter’s comments from years past.

§  What? 2,227 text messages in one month is a lot?

§  Whaddya mean I’m outta money? I’ve still got a whole book of checks.

§  How many cups in a gallon? Isn’t that a song by N-Sync?

§  Why can’t I dry just one pair of socks and nothing else?

§  Brittney’s cousin Scott…that’s “who the hell” told me I didn’t have to file a tax return.

§  I was going to tell you about my report card…next semester when my grades are better.

§  For the millionth time… I cannot hear you knocking over my blow-dryer.

§  Said to my late husband… Of course, I haven’t forgotten what you said about wasting shampoo. I just need more than you. You wash your head with a facecloth.

§  I thought the guy at Jiffy Lube was supposed to tell me when I needed an inspection sticker. I can’t read those things.

§  As a matter of fact, I DO know several guys who would wear an orange jumpsuit in public.

§  Overdraft Protection? No I didn’t read the Debit Card Agreement, I specifically told that guy at the bank that I wanted an account that would tell ME when I was out of money.

§  Tons of my friends have three-hundred-dollar cellphone bills. You’re so old school.

§  They said they’ll turn my phone back on just as soon as I come up with the three hundred dollars…duh.

§  How am I supposed to get a job if my cellphone is shut-off…I mean how would they get in touch with me?

SIDE NOTE: God bless the unlimited text/data plans. 😊

Below all some all-too-rare occasions when Mom got the upper hand…

§  Said during the cramped time we lived in a tiny apartment while building our house: I’m well aware that we have only one bathroom. Are you aware that its only three blocks to the Texaco station?

§  No, I can’t turn my music down so you can pretend to do your homework.

§  No, you cannot eat Oreos for breakfast.  The elves said “no.”

Final score: Her-2,227, Me-3.

But I have the best consolation prize ever. No matter if it’s Christmas, Mother’s Day, or even St. Patrick’s Day, my card is always signed with those three little words that make everything else worthwhile: “Love you bunches.”

We’ll overlook the fact she still doesn’t know how many cups in a gallon. 😊

Wishing you a holiday filled with love and laughter.
Robin

I Should Write a Book, Redux

For our blog-o-versary, I've decided to repost one of my favorites pieces.  I hope you enjoy (or re-enjoy) the read, and perhaps have a chuckle or two.

Thanks!
Robin Weaver
---------------

I Should Write a Book, Too              

When people hear you’re writing a book, very often you get this response:  “You know, I should write a book.”  And of course, that profound statement is consistently followed by, “It’ll be a best seller.”

For those of you who have actually completed at least a first draft, or have made a serious attempt to do so, you know that writing a book is hard work.  In a prior life (last year), I tried to help these wayward souls reconnect with the mother-ship (translation: understand exactly what they are contemplating).  Below is a compilation of my attempts, or more precisely, my failures.

ME:  What will your book be about?

Clueless in Seattle:  It’s about a wizard.  He goes to Rome to save Catholicism by killing the Pope—who’s turned into a vampire.

Cole Kreme:  I don’t know but it’ll have lots of sex so it won’t be boring.

Ima Borin:  It’ll be my life story, starting with my advanced mastery of potty training and will continue on through my fourth marriage.

Nita Klue:  It’s about this mermaid.  Except she doesn’t have fins and she doesn’t live in the ocean.

Olive Miya Poopa:  I plan to write about how toilet paper is made.  It’ll be a kid’s book.

Future Bestsellers (Multiple People, with multiple personalities):  It’s about my mother (father/child/ex-husband/drill sergeant/psychiatrist).  My therapist says it’ll be good to get it down on paper. 

ME:  What genre do you plan to write?

Morrel, Marge R.T.: Oh, I don’t write that racy stuff.   I want something the entire family can read.

Drew A. Blanque:  There are no Johns in my book.

Clueless in Seattle:  My book will be written in English.

Ima Borin:  I thought I’d just use regular paper.

ME:  Have you taken any writing classes?  Attended any workshops?

Paige Turner:  I took four years of high school English.  Since my poem won first-place in the third period “Beauty of Spring” contest, I don’t need any more classes.

Otter Noah:  I don’t need any classes.  My book will write itself.

Clueless in Seattle:  You have to take a class to write a book?  That’s just not fair.

O. Mai:  Workshops?  Is that for binding the book once it’s written? Why do I need that? I’m writing an ebook.

ME:  Do you know anything about manuscript formatting?

Clueless in Seattle:  I’m not writing a manuscript, I’ll write the whole book.

Nita Klue:  My editor will take care of all that stuff.

Doug A. Hole:  I’ll just do a hardcover book.  I’m not too fond of those computer novels.

ME:  You know writing is hard work, right?

Chase N. Mattel:  Nah, it wouldn’t be hard.  I’ll just use the tape-recorder on my way to Myrtle Beach.  My wife can type my novel when we get home.

Heir, Hedda:  How hard can it be?  You think, you type, you put the book on Amazon.

Clueless in Seattle: Whaddya mean?  Like it’ll take more than a month?

Otter Noah:  Maybe for you, but my book will write itself.

ME:  Do you have a publisher in mind?

Doug A. Hole:  Once I finish with my book, I figure I’ll just look at the NYT Bestseller list and contact the company that has the most books on it.  They’ll jump at the chance to publish me.

Missy N. Link:  Well, once I go on the Today Show, that’ll take care of my publicity.

Heir, Hedda:  Facebook.

ME:  So have you actually started your novel?

Heir, Hedda:  No, but the entire book is in my head.

Chase N. Mattel:  I plan to write it over the Fourth of July weekend.

Noah Deia:  I haven’t started the book, but I’ve finished the forty-eight-page prologue.

Liam Malone:  No, but I plan to start as soon as my kid (spouse/lover/mother) starts first-grade (high school/college/drinking (okay, so no one said drinking, but they should have)).

Otter Noah:  I’m in no hurry, my book will write itself.

My conclusion: Don’t try to educate the non-committed masses who think writing a book is easy? Instead,  grin, nod, and say, "yeah, you really should write that book." 

NOTE:  Actual responses have varied, but are only slightly exaggerated; names have been changed to protect the ignorant, eh . . . I mean innocent.

Why Do We Love 'Em?

By Robin Weaver

This blog was intended to be about my favorite character. A.k.a. Castiel from the hit series Supernatural—a cross between Chris Helmsworth, a Maltese puppy, Sheldon Cooper, and Columbo. Only this addled brain started to ponder--exactly why did I like the quirky angel?

Likeable is subjective.  Determining what makes a heroine likeable is about as easy as figuring out why Kim Kardashian is famous. 

Let’s use Harry Potter as an example.  He’s a ten-year-old boy, a bit moody, wears thick glasses and sports a scar on his forehead.  He gets into fights easily and doesn’t listen to his mentors.  Seriously, if you didn’t know the story, would your first thought be: “Wow.  There’s a character who will make millions for his author?”  However, mention Harry is a boy wizard who is despised by his human guardians and we begin to relate.  Not because we’re into abracadabra, but because frustration is something we’ve all experienced.  Throw in his parents died fighting evil when Harry was just a baby and, then describe the dreaded Dursleys... We’re hooked.

Obviously, one key to a relate-able character is making sure she is an understandable character.  The advertising world frequently resorts to icons with universal appeal--puppies and babies (and angels--).  Beer commercials resort to the age-old appeal of sexuality (a.k.a. tatas).   Unfortunately, giving your heroine a boob job, a newborn twin on each hip, and a basset hound gnawing on her Louboutin heels probably won’t be enough to make contemporary women relate (although the shoes might help).  Again, likeable is subjective.

So how do we fix un-likeable characters? 

First, get feedback.  Lots of feedback.  Expand your critique group to non-writers.  Just because the main character gets a less than stellar rating from one group doesn’t mean she won’t appeal to another demographic.  Ask any author her opinion of Fifty Shades of Grey and you'll probably get very different results from the movie-go'er reviews. Still, If none of the readers find your heroine appealing, fageddaboutit.  If they hate her, don't give up. A character who gets strong reactions, both positive and negative, is not going to be boring.

If however, you get mostly negative, or worse, blasé feedback, ask the reader, “What makes you think my heroine’s a bitch?” (Okay, you’ll probably want to word that a bit better J).  Readers will be able to point out obvious flaws:  the heroine is too perfect (what woman has time to cure cancer, organically kill tomato worms and still have a flawless manicure?);  she’s unfair; the witch comes across as preachy; etc., etc.

What if readers don’t like your heroine, but can’t pinpoint why?  Don’t despair, dig deeper.  Humans can be very forgiving creatures, so often they simply don’t understand your heroine.  Is her motivation clear?  Does she have depth or is she one-dimensional?  Maybe her goals aren’t consistent with her actions.

The best approach may be to simply write characters you like.  Listen to criticism with an objective ear and make changes only if the modifications feel right.  If the character doesn’t work out, you can always start over.  After all, this is fiction. 

She says she didn't do it.

The evidence says otherwise.

Styrofoam Corpse is available at Amazon.com.

Equinox--a Time for Superstition

The equinox is a time for superstitions. Are you superstitious?  I’m not.  Okay, maybe I have a couple phobias, but only a couple.

·       I suppose I might be superstitious about walking under ladders.  Especially those two-foot step ladders.

·       And I have difficulty walking on cracks—which makes me kinda crazy since I work on a campus with brick sidewalks.

·       If I see a penny, I don’t pick it up.  First, if it’s so darn lucky, why did the other dude drop it?  Worse, coins are a virtually germ factory, so if the choice is good luck or avoiding Ebola virus… No contest. Besides, I’d have to pick up two-hundred pennies just to buy a lottery ticket.

·       I am NOT superstitious about black cats crossing my path.  No matter than I’ve tripped over my ebony feline 287 times—sometimes after walking under the step ladder.

·       I’m very suspicious of a rabbit’s foot, though.  Supposedly, that little piece of dead fur/bone/ewwww is good luck.  For the rabbit—not so much.

·       I never open my umbrella indoors.  Why would I? It doesn’t rain there.

·       I don't believe breaking a mirror leads to seven years of bad luck. Unless you cut yourself--then you'll be unlucky for at least seven minutes.

·       Four-leaf clovers bring good luck. Puhleez! Anyone sitting in the dirt looking for one of those botanical charms is already behind the proverbial eight-ball. Not only are you wasting time, you are—I repeat—sitting in the dirt. 

·       Garlic wards off vampires. Vampires? Really?  Who believes that crap? 

Besides, vampires live in Olive Gardens; they must love garlic.

·       Refusing to kiss someone under the mistletoe is supposedly unlucky. Doesn’t that depend on who’s under the mistletoe? If it's the Olive Garden Vampire, you're probably unlucky whether you pucker up or not.

·       I do not believe standing in a circle will keep the evil spirits away.  After all, the earth is a circle and I’ve been standing her for years and Congress is still here.

·       I do believe it's bad luck to sing at the table. With my voice, singing anywhere is bad luck.

·       I’m not superstitious about the number thirteen. Uh-oh.  I have thirteen bullets.  Gotta go find some salt to throw over my shoulder.

Maybe I need an entire bag of salt, because you know what I’m really superstitious about?  Writing down my superstitions. 

Oy vey.  

Happy Spring!

She says she didn't do it.

The evidence says otherwise.

Styrofoam Corpse is available at Amazon.com.

The Event that Most Changed My World

Obviously we all have events that define who we are as people—birth, death, the broken heart—but sometimes things happen on a global scale that change life as we know it. Waco, 9/11, and the War Between the States come to mind. As horrific as those incidents were, life eventually resumed its normality. Somewhat.

The internet, however, is a different beast. Life hasn’t been the same since we signed on to AOL to send our first Email. The worldwide web has dramatically changed our culture. However, one could argue another event actually spawned the technology necessary for the internet.

I am of course talking about the Apollo 11 mission that put mankind on the moon. Mr. Armstrong perhaps said it best when he quipped, “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” Without the research and development required for the space missions, the Intel Corporation might never have been founded. The processor giant certainly wouldn’t have made its Wall Street debut so soon. To quote Scott Hubbard: “Power consumption. Mass. Volume. Data rate. All the things that were important to making space flight feasible led to major changes in technology."

And you thought Tang was the only thing we got from planting the flag in a moon crater. Tsk, tsk. (BTW, Tang was not actually invented for the astronauts, but that’s a blog for another day).

We got much more from our space missions:

·       Systems on board the capsules were forerunners of credit card swiping machines.

·       The freeze dried foods used by the astronauts are today used by military personnel on maneuvers.

·       CAT scanning technology was first used to find imperfections in space components.

·       Cordless drills were used to dig for moon rocks.

·       Today’s home insulation incorporates the reflective technology that protected spacecraft from radiation.

We even see better (scratch-resistant lens use a coating developed for astronaut helmets), sleep better (memory foam was invented to soften the capsule seats during landing), and run better (shoe companies adopted moon boot design technology to lessen impact).

Other than the advent of fire, I challenge you to find a single event with a greater impact on technology. So here’s to you Neil, Buzz, and Michael… and to the thousands of scientists and technologies who made Apollo 11 possible.

The First Bucket List

By Robin Weaver

I’ve been chugging away at my bucket list and for the most part, I feel fortunate to have checked off many of the things within my power to accomplish. Don’t get me wrong, I still have a long list. For example, I’m still waiting on my hug from Jon Bon Jovi, hankering for dinner cooked by Bobby Flay, and my name has yet to appear on the NYT Best Seller list, but I have been to Hawaii, London, and Yankee Stadium. I’ve also been skiing in Alaska and dancing in Tokyo.

Fear not, I won’t bore you with my list of things done and yet to do (otherwise, “avoid listening to folks droning on and on about bucket lists” might make your top twenty).  I did wonder where the term originated, though.

Believe it or not, the term is relatively recent.  Merriam Webster defines the term as a list of things one has not done yet but wants to do before dying. Obviously, Bucket List was popularized by the 2007 movie with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman playing terminal cancer patients living it up while they still can. That, however, wasn’t the first time “bucket list” was uttered. Believe it or not, the actual terminology is related to computer programming. Naturally a geek like me would find that fascinating. Compilers reference a bucket list of objects.

The term is derived from the phrase kicking the bucket—aka, dying, an expression used since 1785, and perhaps even earlier. Although the derivation of bucket list is quite old, Merriam Webster indicates the first known use (with today’s meaning) was in 2006. But I’m not sure that’s the whole story. Based on my research, the term was used—perhaps for the first time?—in in the book Unfair & Unbalanced: The Lunatic Magniloquence of Henry E. Panky, by Patrick M. Carlisle. The novel includes the passage:

“So, anyway, a Great Man, in his querulous twilight years, who doesn’t want to go gently into that blacky black night. He wants to cut loose, dance on the razor’s edge, pry the lid off his bucket list!”

I’m sure you wondering how you’ve made it his far without knowing that! Well, here’s another totally useless fact. Did you know bucket list is also urban slang for a ugly females? People can be so cruel.

Here’s to your bucket list. Hope you check off many things in 2016.

Grateful for Gratitude

By Robin Weaver

You’ve just received a rejection—the third one this month. You click the trashcan icon and go back to your story, only your heroine has turned into a Kardashian-sized butt, the middle of the tale is sagging like Honey Boo-Boo’s belly, and your hero has become so whiny, you want to go Lizzy Borden on the dude. Your neck hurts, your fingers throb, and the ache in your head is threatening to make you sick to your stomach. You kick your desk, not only making your toe throb more than your fingers, but you also chip the polish from the pedicure you just got. Disgusted, you pick up your snail mail, only to discover you lost last month’s Visa bill and have received a $50 late fee.

Chocolate. The only thing that can help is gooey, chewy chocolate. Too bad you ate the last of your stash when you noticed the crack in your kitchen tile floor—fortunately, you found an errant M&M at the same time. You put on your least stained sweats, don a baseball cap to cover your three-days-overdue-for-a-wash-ponytail, and cover your face with the biggest sunglasses you have. Doesn’t matter the dims are the glaucoma glasses your father left when he insisted on fixing that “knocking” sound in your dryer—the same repair that cost you a trip to the appliance store when the machine quit working completely.

On the way to the grocery store, a dump-truck, sans mud-flaps, shoots a half-inch pebble your way creating a three-foot crack in your windshield. Then, when you finally get to the grocery store, the security guard—the hunky one you suspect is really some undercover detective—waves because he recognizes you from your last incident at the grocery store--when you backed into the fire hydrant. He walks up to your car, not to remove that cart that’s in the only slot within a block of the entrance, but to tell you your windshield’s cracked. Then he looks at his reflection in your sunglasses, staring the same way your mother did when your were fifteen and she thought you were on drugs

What possible reason could you have to be grateful?

You better find one. Recent studies suggest gratitude may be uniquely important to well-being and mental health. I won’t bore you by spouting my research sources, but trust me, my theory is well supported. According to these studies, grateful people are less stressed and less depressed. They cope with life better and are—get this—more satisfied.

So what’s a girl to do when life is throwing rotten lemons at you faster than a rock flying at your windshield? According to those same studies mentioned above, this is an especially “good” time to be grateful. Gratitude helps you see the situation in a way that makes coping easier and allows you to derive creative solutions.

Easier said than done, right? After all, people aren’t hardwired to be grateful.

Might be easier than you think. According to Dr. Robert Emmons, author of Thanks! How Practicing Gratitude Can Make You Happier, there are three steps:

1. Recognize what you have to be grateful for (i.e., that pedicure, a dad who wants to help, etc.).
2. Acknowledge it.
3. Appreciate it.

Simple, huh? So back to the grocery store parking lot…

You take a quick glance at the fire hydrant just to make sure you missed it this time. You breathe easier when it’s relatively undented. Then, you take off your dad’s glasses so Mr. Hunky can see your pupils aren’t pinpoints (or is it dilated? …I can never get that right).

Hunky says, “Wow, you have beautiful eyes.” Without even glancing at your cleavage, he offers to get you a shopping cart.

A—you don’t need a cart for a bag of candy, and B—you can’t get a jumbo bag of KitKats if Mr. Hunky is following you. You reply, “Thanks, but I just came for a cup of coffee,” grateful for your quick thinking. Then you say a little prayer because some ever-so-brilliant developer put a Starbucks in the complex. (See, you’re already getting the hang of this gratitude thing).

Hunky offers you a stick of Big Red, looks at his watch and says, "It’s about time for my morning break. Would you mind if I join you?”

Life is good.

A Tribute to Kiko

This month’s theme “If Animals Could Talk…” made me scratch my head. What do you mean if????

Okay, so Kiko the Magnificent couldn’t actually talk—actually she rarely meowed—but that little kitty communicated with me on a far more complex level. To show you what I mean…

Once, I was watching a movie with my husband, and got up, for apparently no reason. He asked, “Where’re you going?”

The question startled me. I wasn’t exactly sure. Without thinking, I replied, “The cat needs some water.”

Then I headed upstairs, almost trancelike (okay, maybe I exaggerate a bit about my zombie state).  There she sat. Patiently waiting by her water bowl.

During the seven wonderful years Kiko allowed me to live in her house, there were daily incidents similar to the one above. I seemed to “know” I needed to move a pillow off a chair because Kiko had decided to sit there instead of her usual spot. A thought would pop in my head and I’d go get a blanket. Kiko would snuggle beneath it, like she’d requested it. I’d stop writing and go remove that tee shirt that had somehow ended up covering her food.

How else, other than mental telepathy, could a cat learn to fetch? Yes, if I threw a toy small enough for her to carry, she’d retrieve the item and bring it back to me. Even more impressive, she liked to play hide-and-seek, always hiding before I got to ten and always tagging me before I found her.  I didn’t teach her that game. I never rewarded her with treats for behavior. Somehow, I just knew that’s what she wanted to do.

So it was very weird I didn’t know she was sick.  I got no sense of her disease, only noticing when she stopped eating.  I know what you’re thinking. Cats are very good at masking illness. Maybe, but that cat and I were synched—I should have known. Our mental connection sometimes freaked my husband out.

But you see, my husband was also very sick. Dying actually. I’m convinced my little kitty wanted to spare me more pain. When I took her to the vet, she said Kiko wouldn’t live more than a month. My cat stayed on this earth for another four months, hanging in there to get me through a horrific time. She spent most of that time in my lap, looking at me with those beautiful green eyes, projecting the same thought: it will be all right.

A year later, tears are welling in my eyes as I write this. But I’m also smiling.  I can still sense Kiko. And she’s saying, “See. It’s all right.”