I Hate the Media, Part . . . Two? Five?

Everybody local knows there's been a lot of upheaval in the Tulsa Police Department in the past week or two. The Chief's been placed on administrative leave by the mayor, one of the deputy chiefs was named acting chief, the other deputy chiefs and a bunch of officers have been shifted around to other jobs . . . Huge headaches and troubles for a department already plagued by manpower problems.

Mayor Bill LaFortune put the Chief on leave for failing to pass on to him the report of an outside evaluation regarding Tulsa's SWAT team. LaFortune got up in front of the TV cameras – something he does every chance he gets – and adamantly insisted that he knew nothing — nothing! — about this report even being commissioned, and he was absolutely outraged!

It made for good television. There was just one small problem.

It wasn't true.

He personally signed off on the Chief's request for the report back on December 12, 2005. Yep, his very own John Hancock – er, Bill LaFortune – is right there in black on white, giving his okey-dokey to the expenditure of nearly $20,000 for a review by the National Tactical Officers Association of the team's training, policies, practices, and equipment.

When confronted with this proof that he knew nothing about, LaFortune's response: Oops. "I misspoke."

Hmm. So when you're a politician and you get caught in a bald-faced lie, you get to call it "misspeaking?" Is that the way it works? Does he sign off on so many requests for five-figure expenditures of taxpayers' money that he can't remember them all? Does he not read requests for money that cross his desk but just okays them and sends them on? No wonder the city has financial problems.

Okay, so he "misspoke." Did he apologize? Nope. Did he back down? Huh-uh. Did he even have to say anything more than that lame excuse? No way.

Because he said, "I misspoke," and the local TV reporters said, Oh. Okay. Honest mistake. Let's not bring it up again.

Yeah, sure, I forget about spending $20,000 all the time, especially when it's someone else's money.

(Chief Been's defense: this is an interim report. The final report's due in April, I think. The mayor's never been interested in other interim reports dealing with the police department, so Been didn't think he'd be interested in this one. When the mayor's office asked for it, it was delivered within hours. And as for the mayor's accusation that Been was "hiding" the report, the chief had already given copies to the various commanders involved. Instead of "hiding" it, he was distributing it. Hmm . . . maybe the mayor also "misheard.")

Anyway, on to the media . . . how many elected officials "misspeak" so arrogantly — and so wrongly — in an election year, no less, and get all of 5 seconds coverage for it on the local news? Could the local reporters show any more bias in favor of the mayor?

Actually, yes.

This past Sunday radio station KFAQ held a rally to show our gratitude to the TPD. (Held, ironically enough, at LaFortune Stadium. Yep, those LaFortunes.) First off, Channels 2, 6 and 8 – the local NBC, CBS, and ABC affiliates – refused to help get the word out about the rally, though they did show up to cover it. I didn't get to go because I was hard at work, but Robert went, and I watched the coverage on Fox, 2 and 6.

And it really brought home to me why what little news I deliberately watch is on Fox or 2.

KOTV-6's reporter stood there and said with an apparently straight face (I don't remember whether she was on-camera or off at the time) that it didn't take long for the pro-police rally to turn into a pro-Been rally (which they supported with footage of him in the audience and a snippet of an interview with a woman wearing an "I love Chief Been" T-shirt she'd made the night before).

Another out-and-out lie. Chief Been was there. Whether on leave or not, he's the police chief. He should have been there. The organizer of the rally introduced him. He stood, everyone applauded, he sat. End of his moment in the spotlight. In fact, one of the other stations commented on the fact that the focus was not on him.

Because Robert was there, and because I saw the other reports, I knew KOTV's report was in deliberate error. But what if Robert hadn't been there? What if I hadn't seen the other reports? What if I didn't already know better than to accept as fact everything KOTV says? Sadly, a lot of people do. Boy, are they getting a skewed view of the news.

By the way, the mayor was there, too. Made a lot of officers really unhappy. While the chief didn't seek out reporters to do an interview, surprise, surprise, the mayor certainly did.

It's almost enough to make me move to Tulsa so I can vote against him. Rachel1:21 PM

Me? Stubborn?

Earlier this year, Leah came up with a brainchild for our writers' group (the incomparable Romance Writers Ink): a goal-setting loop. Every Sunday we post our goals for the upcoming week, along with how well we did the previous week.

Every week, I've had a number of goals, involving writing, blogging, working out, judging contest entries, and every week but one, my actually-writing-the-book goal has remained the same: 75 pages.

And every week, though I've reached most of the others, I've missed that one.

A reasonable person might say I'm setting my sights too high. A normal person might say my life is too busy right now to aspire to such lofty heights.

Hey, I never claimd to be reasonable or normal. I'm a writer, for God's sake.

This week I came close -- I completed 72 pages. I feel as if I have accomplished something. Just not my goal.

Soon as I finish here, I'm going to post my old goals along with my new ones to the loop. I already know what the writing goal will be. Seventy-five pages.

I am nothing if not stubborn. Rachel4:41 PM

And now a word from our sponsors

Does it seem odd that these days, commercials are often the best part of an event on television? I've yet to see one full minute of Super Bowl play that compares to the worst minute of advertising during the game, and some of the commercials on the Olympics are much more interesting than the games themselves. My favorite -- the baby Clydesdale who goes into the barn, finds the big collar-thing hooked up to the wagon, sticks his head in and strains and strains until the wagon slowly starts moving. He prances outside, and as the wagon comes out of the barn, you see two grown Clydesdales at the back, pushing it with their heads. Too cute! And the Dan Jansen/delivery company ad, featuring footage of countless falls he's taken on the ice, is a good one, too. Again, too cute. (FYI, Dan's responsible for my interest in speed skating. I remember a snippet of an interview years ago -- I think with him -- following one of those falls, and the commentator said something about the rink being slick. Dan -- or whoever -- responded, "It's ice." 'Nuff said.)

In the Olympics in particular, it's partly the commentators who make the commercials seem such a relief. (Nope, I'm not going to smack the figure skating folks again.) Last night some ski event was on -- aerials, I think -- where they launch themselves into the air and do all kinds of cool acrobatic stuff.

Anyway, the first skier I saw did her stuff, and the guys commented on it, mentioned that she was in first, "but the top skiers are still to come." Th second woman did her thing, took over first, and the guys said, "Yes, but the top skiers are still to come." The third skier took over first, and the guys said, "But you have to keep in mind, the top competitors in this event are yet to come."

We turned it off and put a DVD in instead.

I know, I know -- it's really easy to pick up the phone, call the satellite people, and get a dish installed. But the problem is, if we get satellite with beau coup channels, I'll watch it.

That's the point, you say. No, I mean I'll watch. All day. All night. HGTV. The History Channel. USA Today. TNT. Anything. Everything. I'll never get anything done, because I'll be staring at the television, in awe of all the programming available. My editors and agents will hate me, my husband will hate me, my dogs will hate me, because we'll be homeless and hungry all because of that small satellite dish.

Besides, what would I complain about then? Rachel4:26 PM

Golden opportunities

Last night was another night watching the Olympics here (remember -- no cable, no satellite, limited viewing options). I came away bleary-eyed with one thing in mind:

Never miss a golden opportunity to keep your mouth shut.

A Marine Robert used to work with said that a lot (or something to that effect), and it's probably the best advice going. It kept echoing through my mind -- when Shani Davis whined because Chad Hedrick didn't congratulate him on winning the gold, when Hedrick rambled around trying to cover himself on that, when those blasted skating commentators continued their endless chatter. Good God, don't they need to breathe once in a while???

I don't care whether Hedrick was mature enough to congratulate Davis, and I certainly don't want to hear Davis complain about it to the press. (However, I thought it was pretty ballsy of him to complain about Hedrick, his own teammate, when he -- Davis -- has, by all accounts, gone to great lengths to distance himself from the team.) I don't care what a skater has planned for his/her routine, don't care what the commentators think of their outfits or their music, don't want to hear every excruciating detail of their lives. I want to watch them skate. I want to hear the music. I want to appreciate it without inane filler.

Never miss a golden opportunity to keep your mouth shut.

And now I'm going to take my own advice.

Later, gaters! Rachel5:22 PM

Fun and games at the Olympics

I'm not a huge Olympics fan, though there are events I watch -- speed skating, ice dancing, Super G, and some of the snowboard stuff. The things that stick with me most about these games, though . . .

-- for all the hype, Bode Miller not medaling in his first four (I think) events.

-- Shani Davis, the most ungracious gold medalist I've ever seen. I was actually rooting for the guys in the orange uniforms to knock him out of the gold and was disappointed when they didn't. (Though I'm glad Joey Cheek medaled.) In Davis's post-win interview, he came off like a petulant, spoiled child. Great role model.

-- the Canadian ice dancer, Marie France Something-or-other, taking that fall in the last move of their routine. She bruised her hip so badly that she wasn't able to compete in the final round of competetion the next night. And the routine had been so gorgeous up to then!

-- the Italian ice dancer diva, so p*ssed with her partner for dropping her on Sunday that the two of them weren't speaking to or even looking at each other before their final dance Monday. Come on, guys, you're not five years old!

-- the commentators for the ice dance. Pick, pick, pick, pointing out every single mistake -- and if they didn't make any mistakes, well, they could have done better. They actually criticized one couple for choosing the same music that Torvill and Dean skated to thirty-some years ago! You know what? Torvill and Dean don't own "Bolero" (I think that's the right one). And you know what else, guys? There are lots of people watching this competition who don't know who Torvill and Dean are and don't want to hear you whine about the dancers' nerve instead of commenting on the dance. In fact, in an ideal world, you'd be prohibited from speaking while the music's playing. You're annoying.

-- the Austrian trainer/raid/doping scandal. The carabinieri (I'm not even guessing if that's spelled right -- from here on, I'll adopt my Italy-residing son's "carbs") raids the Austrian skiers' quarters and finds all kinds of hypodermic needles and drugs, some apparently prescription, some not, and two Austrian skiers immediately flee the country. (One issued a statement that he wanted to leave before they could lock him up. Hmm . . . sounds like "guilty" to me.) Their trainer -- who had been banned from the Olympics but was there anyway -- also fled and in the process crashed into a carb or his vehicle or a carb roadblock -- details were still sketchy. He was arrested and taken to a hospital for a psych evaluation. From what I've heard about the carbs, he's lucky they didn't just shoot him. They do that sometimes. Just not during the Olympics, I guess. These guys need doping to do well on the slopes??? They're Austrians! If they didn't invent skiiing, they should have!

Oh, well . . . tonight's more speed skating and another chance to root against Shani Davis. Until he learns a little graciousness, he'll never make my list of favorites. Rachel8:11 AM

CBS's new drama: the CBS Evening News

Okay, so I'm not a big fan of the media, but CBS is taking things to a new low. I try not to watch the news, right? But living with Robert, it's sometimes unavoidable unless I want to leave the room while it's on, and frankly, once I'm comfy in my oversized chair with the puppers sprawled on/wrapped around me, who wants to get up?

So the other night, the CBS Evening My-God-Do-We-Have-An-Agenda News was on, and David Martin at the Pentagon was doing a story about some tapes of Saddam that had to do with weapons of mass destruction -- something about how Saddam appeared on the tapes to be discussing hiding the wmd from the UN inspectors, but in fact, says Martin, we all know now that he never had weapons of mass destruction and was simply trying to make people think he did.

Excuse me???

Let me see if I have this right: if you can't find something, then that in and of itself serves as proof that it doesn't exist. That's what CBS is saying, right?

A vial the size of my little finger filled with the proper chemicals/biologicals could kill hundreds of thousands of people. How many hiding places could you find for such a vial in a country the size of Iraq? A million? A billion?

I've lost much bigger things in my much, much smaller house, but now I don't have to worry about finding them because, according to David Martin's and CBS's logic, they don't exist!

Hmm . . . if I can't find the statement for my truck payment, does that mean I don't have to pay it?

Last night on the CBS MGDWHAA News, some reporter down in Florida did a lead-in to a story about the troubled kid sent to boot camp where he was punched by the guards, then later died. According to the autopsy, he died not from the beating but from a medical condition (though logic says the beating probably contributed to the death, but if the reports don't yet say so, you can't claim it as fact). But that little tidbit didn't stop CBS's fact-challenged reporter from sensationalizing the upcoming video as showing the guards "killing" the boy.

I never thought the day would come when I'd rank CBS News right down there with the likes of the Enquirer, but we're getting darn close. It's about time to change their name to Creative Broadcasting System. Rachel8:08 AM

Cool stuff in the mail!

Yesterday Robert came home from the post office with a long, square package, which I immediately began to open. The tape on one end came off fairly easily for packing tape -- or maybe I just showed no mercy! -- and tucked inside, on top of lots of paper, was a black belt. Nothing fancy, not my size, not interesting enough to do more than glance at it, then toss it aside. Under that was a small plastic package holding something I didn't recognize, and under that was something long and slender.

"Won't it be cool if this is a sword?" I asked Robert as I began unpeeling more tape. "And I get to play with it."

I unwrapped a few reams of paper to find a cardboard tube with a pale blue drawstring cloth bag at one end and a bit of gold sticking out of the bag. It was a sword, along with scabbard (and the thing I didn't recognize allows it to be worn on the belt that wasn't very interesting).

It's a lovely sword, all shiny and impressive and . . . dull. No edge at all. Couldn't cut through air. Other than the pointed tip, it's totally non-threatening. The first sword I get my hands on and it's strictly ceremonial.

Okay, I'm not really disappointed. After all, it's not even mine. The kiddo's getting married in April, and he's going to look so handsome in his dress blues, and he needed the sword for that. Still, for a moment there, before I realized it wasn't even supposed to be sharp, I was having lovely images of Selena revealing some heretofore unknown skill in sword-fighting.

Oh, well . . . This reminds me of the time I came out of the office to find a backhoe sitting under the trees near the garage. "You got me a gift!" I said excitedly to Robert. Turned out, it wasn't mine, either -- just left there for a few hours by the plumbers searching for our water leak. And I didn't even get to operate it. At least I can still play with the sword before the wedding. Rachel7:30 AM

Miami Vice

The other day there was nothing on TV -- not an uncommon occurrence around here since we are the only people in the world who don't have cable or satellite! -- so Robert pulled out some old videotapes of Miami Vice. (Yes, we have a DVD player -- got it last year -- but haven't traded up on all our tapes to DVD.)

I love that show. A lot of people get kind of snarky about it, but in its time, it was really something special. Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas were gorgeous, and the music is still the best TV-show music ever. (With the possible exception of the Hawaii 5-0 theme song. That still rocks, too.)

We have so many favorite episodes -- "Evan" and "Glades" are two of mine, along with the pilot. Excellent shows! And though I wouldn't want to see the men in pastel clothes with no socks today, the sight of Sonny's unshaven jaw still makes me tingle. Don Johnson was sooo fantasy-worthy!

Well, off to work now. Who knows? I may reward myself with an episode or two of MV when I'm done! Rachel7:54 AM

The media's idea of news

I try not to watch the news very often -- I just think test patterns tend to be more interesting -- but my husband loves news. He can't get enough, so I get exposed to more than I like.

One of the big stories lately is Vice President Cheney shooting his hunting partner. Is it news? Yeah, sure, why not? Is it as big a story as the media is making it? Uh . . . NO.

CBS did an entire report the other day about the fact that it was TWENTY-ONE HOURS after the fact before the American public learned what happened. Oh, dear God!!!! Twenty-one hours!!! Which mattered . . . how? Did it affect the quality of our lives or the security of our nation? Would knowing have changed the way any of us lived those twenty-one hours? Did not knowing hurt us in anyway? Of course not.

Hunting accidents happen. Come on -- you give a bunch of men guns and turn them loose in the woods, what do you expect? There's not a hunter around who's been surprised by the story because most of them have heard it before. And there's not a citizen around -- besides the guy who was shot -- whose life was affected by it, the way the media want us to believe.

You know what I think it is? CBS and all the others are ticked off that something happened involving the vice president without their knowing. I think their mouths are poked out because it took them twenty-one hours to find out, so they're treating it like some huge, significant conspiracy to keep the American people in the dark.

Sheesh! You guys are the press. You're supposed to cover the news events of the day -- not create major stories out of minor incidents.

I knew there was a reason I didn't trust the press.

I'm going back to the test pattern for a while. Rachel10:14 AM

Are we a nation of idiots?

I was watching a little TV last night -- correction: I was looking for something to watch on TV last night -- and saw a Toyota commercial for the Rav, I think. The vehicle's driving through a city and passes some big orange traffic cones, and suddenly they start chasing it, racing after it, blocking streets to force it to turn where they want it to.

And across the bottom in small print appears the line, "Closed course. Do not attempt." (Or something similar.)

Hmm. Okay. So if big orange traffic cones start chasing me through the streets, I shouldn't try to get away????

I was still puzzling over that one when another truck commercial came on. This one is filmed in a big hangar-sort of building, and they have a winch hooked up to a semi, and this pickup drives across the floor and winches the semi ten feet up into the air so the pickup can park underneath it.

And across the bottom appears the line, "Do not attempt."

Darn. There goes my Saturday afternoon's activity.

I know, I know, we are a nation of idiots. I heard some industry expert talking about the jillion warning labels that appear everywhere, and he said if there's a label warning against something on the product, then someone in this country has tried to do it. Anyone who has to be told not to stick his hands or feet under a lawn mower while it's running or not to use a hair dryer in the shower deserves whatever happens to him. (As long as it's not suing and getting rich for being stupid.)

I'm going back to work, where *I* control the world. I like it that way. Rachel7:56 AM

How little I know

At our RWI meeting Saturday, my very own TechnoDiva, Mary Walton, and her whiz-kid sidekick, Sandee Wagner, did a program on websites. It was very informative and fun, and I learned several things:

1 -- Mary and Sandee are waaaaaaay smarter than the rest of us.

2 -- I'm techno-challenged (though I've known that a long time)

3 -- I'm also known as "one of my clients whose name I won't mention." (That prefaces all the weird, strange, dumb things that I've done or have been done to me.)

4 -- As long as I have a website, Diva Mary will do it for me.

I like playing around with stuff like graphics, fonts, designs. In fact, I once bought a do-it-yourself web design program and had tons of fun with it . . . but never got even close to a site I would want to put up and have people actually see. I wasted hours (and enjoyed every second of it), but while I was doing that, I wasn't writing. No use having an author's website if you're too busy working on it to write and sell any books.

Besides, I know myself well. While it's all "new," I spend lots of time on it. But after the "new" wears off, I lose interest and it becomes a chore rather than fun. Kinda like online banking. It was so cool to be able to go online, click here, here and here, and voila! The bills were paid. Now it's just mostly a quicker way to give my money away to other people. (But it's still waay faster than writing out checks, and faster is always cool. Well . . . almost always, she says with a wicked grin.)

Anyway, back to Saturday . . . we only had a couple hours for Mary and Sandee to talk, but they could have easily done the whole afternoon, and even though some of it was technical stuff, they presented it in a way that was understandable and interesting. I don't think in the technical way Sandee does or the creative way Mary does, but it was fun getting a peek into things from their perspective.

So if you belong to a writers' group and have a little money in your treasury to bring in an outstanding team of speakers, they're the ones. They'll do an afternoon program that'll leave you itching to get your fingers on the keyboard to start work on your own site . . . or, if you're like me, itching to get an email off to the TechnoDiva to let her go to work on it.

And she will do a fabulous job. After all, look around here and at selenamccaffrey.com. She did us, and we're beautiful.

Grinning off to work . . . Rachel8:36 AM

No blog Friday

Yow, I missed two days in a row! I didn't expect to make it in here Saturday -- it was meeting day for the fabulous RWI, and I'm the new moderator for our monthly critique session, so I had to be dressed, made up, and in Tulsa by 11 a.m. -- oh, yeah, and awake. Plus, on top of that, it was colder than snot out there, so I knew the odds weren't good for me being ready with enough time (and inclination) to make the trek down here to the office just to blog.

Friday was a regrouping/tweaking day for me. When I finished writing a great Damon scene on Thursday, I had this nagging feeling that something was wrong. Let me rephrase that: I knew something was wrong. I mean, he was doing completely the opposite of what he should have been doing to reach the goal he'd set for himself. So Friday morning I curled up in the Queen chair (okay, so it's just a big, comfy oversized chair that pupper Livvy and I share when neither of us can get rid of the other) with a legal pad and a fountain pen, and I not only worked out that problem but also did a good deal of plotting on Book 4.

Then I had to go to Tulsa and get blood drawn. I'm not a big fan of getting stuck with needles, but they don't really bother me, either, as long as I don't have to actually see them go in. This kid who drew my blood was quick and efficient; it took me longer to get both my jackets off and my shirt and my undershirt sleeves pushed up than it did for him to get the blood. (Did I mention it's been cold?)

What I hate about getting blood drawn is the fasting thing. This time it was twelve hours. Now, I can easily go twelve hours without food if it's my idea. But the instant someone tells me, "You can't eat for this long," I immediately want to scarf down everything in sight. This kid asked if I was fasting, and I said, "Yes, and I'm cranky." He wasn't amused.

Last time I had blood drawn, they were running lots of tests, so they decided to drain my veins. The girl who drew it seemed pretty inexperienced -- she couldn't hit the vein, tried to use too big a needle, stuck me several times. She finally got in, filled one huge tube, then another, then started on a third one. (I don't want to hear from anyone about how little those tubes hold; they looked huge to me, and it's my story, so they were huge.)

So the third gallon-size tube got half full, and it just stopped. Not even a drop was coming out. The girl thought it might be a problem with the tube, so she put another on. Still nothing. Then another tube. Nothing. And it turned out, in putting the last tube on, she let the needle slip, lost the vein, and couldn't find it again. She was fussing and getting flustered, so, thinking to alleviate the tension, I gasped in this shocked, FAKE voice, "Oh, no! I've run out of blood!!!"

She looked at me in all seriousness and said, "No, no, I'm just having a little trouble. You still have plenty of blood left."

I dunno. Maybe blood-stickers aren't allowed to have a sense of humor. Rachel8:22 AM

Judging fun

Somewhere along the way, I morphed into a person who has trouble saying no, which was how I found myself up to my eyeballs in extracurricular activity last year, along with the endless and hated revisions/line-edit/copy-edit/page proofs of Deep Cover. At Robert's urging, I've since given up some time-heavy jobs, but I find myself still agreeing to judge contests.

Some are more like obligations -- for example, if you enter the RITA and don't volunteer to judge and there aren't enough judges, you're at the top of the list to get booted out. And in RWI, the best writers' group in existence, judging both our published and unpublished contests are requirements of membership.

The current one, though, is fun. It's a contest for erotic romance, and some of what I've read . . . holy cow! And I thought *I* had a wicked imagination!

I've wanted to write erotica for a long time, and actually even tried to start a book once. But by the middle of the first chapter, it became pretty clear that what I was writing was closer to porn than erotica. But reading these books has inspired me to give it another try (when I find time -- the bane of my existence).

Hey, that would certainly add a new dimension to my new habit of saying no: "Sorry, I can't help out at the church -- I'm working on a wicked and steamy book involving a man, a woman, blindfolds, kinky sex, bondage, exhibitionism, mild SM, and maybe another man . . ."

Tsk, tsk. Better get my mind back on Selena and Tony! Rachel8:30 AM

Running a wee bit late

I usually try to blog first thing in the morning, but I skipped it this morning so I could straighten out a problem in the manuscript. So I'm late, but I'm here.

I have a fairly detailed outline of this book, but it still seems so easy for things to go off in the wrong direction. I knew yesterday when I quit that my timing was off on the last couple scenes, but I wasn't sure how to fix it. So I spent the morning reading and moving and muttering out loud to myself. (I prefer to think of it as a part of my creative process rather than . . . uh, weird.)

Both scenes involved Damon Long, Selena's #1 adversary this time around. I finally got him put into his place, and then realized it was time to introduce a brand-new POV character. June Ravenel is Selena's aunt, and she's got lots to contribute to Selena's search for her past. I have this absolute precise picture of June in my mind, but it took a few false starts to get her voice on paper. I think I'm going to like her a lot.

I just wish there was some way I could use Frankie Simmons, Tony's fellow TPD detective, more than the few scenes he's had. He was intended as a throwaway character in The Assassin, but I discovered that I really liked him. I mean, yeah, he's a putz, but like Tony says, he's my putz, and I was delighted when he came back into play in Deep Cover. Unfortunately, since the entire rest of this book takes place in Alabama, I'm afraid Frankie's not going to get anything more besides maybe a phone conversation or two.

Now if the rest of the story goes according to the outline (ha!), I won't be backtracking like this.

But if it went according to the outline (which it never does), it wouldn't be as much fun, would it? Rachel3:42 PM

Research

I'm not a huge fan of research. When I'm interested in something, I'll read all about it, but I don't want to have to learn about something just so I can use a line or two of it in a book. That's where Robert comes in handy. Besides knowing something about practically everything, he loves to do research. I can ask him for one bit of information about a topic, and he'll get that for me, and even highlight it in the reams of accompanying info he gathers "just in case."

So of course I get this idea for a book -- maybe even a short series -- that I love, with a heroine who's a computer whiz -- viruses, codes, programming -- all that kind of stuff. And I'm about as computer illiterate as they come. I can handle WordPerfect and Print Shop and email, but that's about it. My computer gives me any grief, I put down the hammer and back away slowly. All I know about viruses is they're bad, and everything else is magic.

Now, there's no way I can write this heroine realistically without knowing something about her particular talents (which, in the beginning, pretty much consist of "borrowing" people's identities). Anyone who knows anything about that stuff would snort before throwing the book. (I honestly read a book once where the hero/pilot "did the things he had to do" to take off in a plane. Either I'm reading too much or too many of the wrong books.)

But learning enough to sound knowledgable just seems so incredibly boring. I mean, come on -- if I was interested in computers to start with, I'd already know at least something. Why couldn't she be into candy making? Woodworking? Raising buffalo? Cake decorating? At least those I already have some knowledge of and interest in.

Oh, well . . . I've got several more murder attempts to get Selena through before I can start about this book. That will give me time to either slog through the sort of information I need . . . or find someone to sit beside me and feed me the words as I write. {huge grin here}

And the next heroine after that will have a job I want to know about! Rachel8:40 AM

I are a writer; words is my life.

Okay, so back when I was in school, we started studying grammar, punctuation, sentence structure, and all that cool stuff in, like, second grade, and re-studied it again and again and again until it was pounded into our brains. I may not remember the names of clauses and tenses and stuff, but -- like pornography -- I know what's right when I see it.

So . . . it drives me absolutely freaking nuts when I see poorly-written stuff. I'm not talking about things I critique for my buddies or e-mails; I expect some typos there. But in books, on websites, in magazines and newspapers, and yes, even on blogs. When I read a blog written by a published author who writes, "Me and my friend thinks we're going to blah blah," I shriek, "Oh, yeah, like I'll buy your book if this is how you write???" Puh-leeeze. (And for the record, I really did read a published author's blog that had multiple references to "me and so-so saw this," along with "her and I did such-and-such." I shuddered as I quickly backed out of there.)

We're writers. We should have at least a basic grasp of the language in which we write. We should know where most commas go. We should recognize run-on sentences. We should know that punctuation is not interchangeable. We should not pay $5 or more for a book that says, "She pored her sole out to him." (Another true instance.)

I bought a book once that had so many errors in it that I got a highlighter and started marking them. Whenever I came to an entire page without a mistake, I wanted to cheer. Actually, what I did was put the book down (and never finished it), because I had become so preoccupied with the mistakes that I couldn't get into the story.

You don't have to be smart to get published. You don't need a college degree or even a high school diploma. You don't have to be able to spell well or type fast. But you should have to be able to put a coherent sentence together with proper punctuation, and if you can't do that, the publishers damn well need to hire someone to help you with it.

Two more true instances, and then I'm off to run errands: when Robert was stationed in California, the main gate at the Navy base had a sign that said, "You are now entering a goverment installation."

And for a long time, when we'd make a run to get the best barbecue pork sandwiches in the state, the road crossed a creek named Cedar going into town, and Ceder coming out. I heard someone finally noticed and got a new sign.

I only hope they replaced the right one -- er, the wrong one -- er, you know what I mean. Rachel3:03 PM

To err is human

To forgive . . . doesn't always happen.

I'm a grudge-holder. World-class. You screw me over, that's it. I don't forgive, and I don't forget. Now I suppose there can be times when holding a grudge hurts you more than the person you're ticked off at (though I can't say I've ever experienced that), but sometimes it can lead to something rather entertaining.

Example: Leah, Liz, D.L. and I got hooked up with someone a while back -- I'll call her TB, as in The B*tch. (Though TB, as in tuberculosis, dread disease that everyone wishes would disappear from the face of the earth, is equally appropriate.) TB was funny as hell, and she and I had so much in common. (Of course, I found out later that, like a chameleon, she has so much in common with whoever she's trying to drain the life from.)

Long story very short, she eventually got comfortable enough with us to show her true colors (which would have been black and blue if she hadn't removed herself from Leah's striking range as quickly as she did -- Rule #1: Never piss off Leah. She's lethal. Rule #2: Never piss off the rest of us. We're almost as lethal.) Like I said, I don't forgive, and I don't forget.

Remember in "Steel Magnolias" when Olympia Dukakis, talking about the mayor's wife, says, "We're hatin' her"? That's the sisters and me with TB. We've gotten far more entertainment value from her now that we're hatin' her than we ever did when we thought she was our friend. The mere mention of her brings out the snarkiest side of us all. We don't even wish she'd disappear off the face of the earth anymore, because she amuses us so . . . in an unforgiving, contrary, sly sort of way.

Besides, for all her sins, TB deserves to be hated, and far be it from the twisted sisters to keep her from getting exactly what she deserves (she says with a sweetly wicked smile). Rachel8:21 AM

And the verdict . . . er, diagnosis is . . .

Rotator cuff strain.

Yep, I saw the doc yesterday, and after putting me through a series of painful maneuvers, that was the diagnosis. He gave me meds and exercises, which I shall do after blogging and before heading off to meet Leah and our friend, Linda, for lunch. (Leah, Linda, Liz, D.L. . . . I think I see a pattern.) The doc is confident that a few weeks of pharmaceuticals and stretching/strengthening will make a signficant improvement. Rather than hoping he's right, I choose to take it as fact. It will get better. He said it and I believe it and that's that.

(Robert says I'm the perfect candidate for placebos. 99% of my healing truly does take place in my brain!)

I don't have time for injuries. I've got Tony and Selena stuck in a shabby motel room in Atlanta and have to get them out of there and to Alabama, plus I'm helping the kiddo plan his honeymoon. Gee, he's having a little trouble researching the options and making decisions in Afghanistan. Imagine that! I've looked at a few resorts in Bermuda and St. Croix . . . forget the kiddo and his lovely bride. **I** want to go! I'd be happy to write Selena into and out of her jams on those beautiful pink-sand Bermuda beaches!

No such trip on the horizon for me, though. Work, work, work . . . Rachel8:37 AM

Wedding fever

Robert and I were running errands the other day and happened to drive past the chapel where the kiddo is getting married in April. We stopped just to look around, and the guy in charge invited us inside to see everything. It's so lovely -- all glass and in a woodsy garden setting. It'll be beautiful in April.

I'm really looking forward to the wedding, though it's hard to believe that the little boy who drove everyone nuts is old enough and grown up enough to get married. What really brought it home was a few days ago when I suddenly realized that we're no longer going to be his PNOKs -- primary next of kin in military talk. (Now we'll be SNOKs -- secondary.)

It doesn't seem so long ago that he came home from his first day of day care with two black eyes . . . or when he got transferred from one kindergarten class to another for calling the teacher a sh*thead (she was, but truth wasn't much of a defense). The kid was on a first-name basis with the prinicpal of every school he went to -- and we moved a lot. He had a lot of personality, my sister used to say.

But now he's all grown up and he's getting married. It's hard to believe, but I can't wait to see it for myself! Rachel10:25 AM

Impatience, thy name is Rachel

No kidding. When I want something, I want it now. None of this waiting for rewards. Uh-uh. NOW.

A few months ago, I hurt my right shoulder. Don't know how; don't remember doing anything I shouldn't have done. Just one day it hurt. My chiropractor adjusted it a couple times and gave me stretches to do that helped for a while. But lately it's gotten worse, so I have an appointment with our family doc, who, I'm sure, will tell me what he said the last time I hurt it: do the stretches and be patient; these things take time.

Ha! I've never been patient in my life, and I'm too old to start now. I want a magic pill or something -- and I know they exist. {Grinning here} A few years ago, I had surgery and the pain meds they gave me made me throw up, which was excruciatingly painful with a six-inch incision. The doc gave me a muscle relaxant instead. Honest to God, one minute I was dying, then the nurse injected the meds into my IV, and my next thought was, "I'm melting!" That was also my last thought for about six hours or so. Pure heaven!

Okay, so I'm a weenie. I don't like pain. I don't want to suffer one second longer than necessary. If I could predict when something was going to hurt, I'd take first-strike meds to stop it from even starting. Besides, it's my right shoulder, and I'm right-handed, so when typing gets to be painful, I can't even fall back on writing by hand. Guess I could buy a voice-recognition program, but I tried one of the early ones. It and I did not get along. Funny how it couldn't understand half of what I said, but every time I got frustrated and said, "No, no, stop writing, don't type that, damn it!" it got every word. I hear the new programs are lots better. I'm just hoping the doc has that magic pill so I don't have to find out for myself. Rachel9:24 AM

A sweet surprise!

Robert and I were running errands yesterday, and we stopped by the post office to pick up the mail. He came out carrying this good-sized box with customs labels on it. The handwriting was far too legible to belong to the kiddo (and the box in too good shape to have come from Afghanistan!). While he was cutting through the tape, I sneaked a peek at the customs form and read "cookies." Could it be . . .? Was it . . .?

Yes!! TimTams from our friend Julie in New Zealand! Four boxes of them! ("All for me," I told Robert. "But look -- she sent you a jar of Marmite." {I'm not sure exactly what Marmite is -- maybe something like Vegemite? Heck, Robert likes Marmite, and he's not sure what it!} He snorted and yanked a box of TimTams out of my hands.)

If you've never had TimTams, they are the best. Just an incredible mouthful of chocolate and cookie -- or bickie, as Julie says. They put every cookie sold here in the States to utter shame. I just can't figure out why the manufacturer hasn't taken over the market here. I savor every single one.

Thanks so much, Julie, for brightening our day! A trade will be coming in the mail shortly! Rachel9:27 AM