August 25, 2010 • No Comments
My parents had one of those two-hot-dog hibachi grills. I’m not sure what it was good for, since it was cast iron and unsuitable for backpacking. I think it might have held half a dozen charcoal briquettes if you stacked them carefully. A burger would have overwhelmed it.
In later life, I attempted back yard grilling, but al fresco dining always resulted in el freezo. I seem to go for windswept properties designed to suck the heat out of food and/or blow dinner into the next yard. Happy crows, sulky me. Consequently, most of my satisfactory outdoor experiences have happened at other peoples’ parties.
One of my university friends had genius parents who could cook absolutely anything in tin foil. There I learned the joys of barbecue baked potatoes smothered in cheese, onions, bacon, and chilli if you had it. As a starving student, one of those babies could keep me quoting Swinburne for a week (three days if it was Milton involved—there’s got to be a 2:1 ratio of energy burn for Paradise Lost).
Other times, once we all got so busy that potluck became the norm and no one admitted to eating dessert anymore, I appointed myself salad girl. It was an easy role to uphold and dietarily correct.
Bean salad is a classic, but can be kind of boring. This recipe definitely is not and makes a good meal:
Cook 2 cups of fresh beans (green and/or yellow) chopped into 1 inch lengths
– 2 cans (drained) of mixed beans (kidney, white, pinto, etc.)
– 1 bunch freshly chopped parsley
– ½ mild onion, minced
– 1 cup mixed Italian olives (spicy is good)
– ¾ cup olive oil
– 1/3 cup red wine vinegar
– 1 tablespoon crushed garlic
– ¼ cup lemon juice
– Handful of fresh chopped herbs (basil, oregano, and marjoram are all possibilities)
– Salt and lots of pepper
Pour marinade over beans and chill overnight.
And (not so dietarily correct) this is the best berry ice cream you’ll ever eat:
Crush 1 quart of hulled strawberries or raspberries. Add 1 cup of sugar and stand for an hour.
Dissolve a package of gelatin in 6 tablespoons of boiling water. Stir into berries. Add the juice of one lemon and cool until nearly set. Fold in two cups of whipped cream and pour the mixture into a wet mold (or just a pan if you don’t wish to get fancy). Chill for 12 hours if you wish to unmold it. Or, if you’re impatient, freeze for a couple of hours.
August 18, 2010 • No Comments
Like most people who are fond of books, I have a terrifying TBR pile. Once a year I go through with a bulldozer and decree that if a volume has no home on a shelf, it goes to our local charity booksale. I feel good about myself for a few days, and then new books start creeping in, settling quietly on tabletops and neat stacks on the floor. In a month or two, I’m back where I started. Oh well, as addictions go at least it’s legal.
What’s on the pile for summer?
Vamps, weres, cyborgs – what’s not to like?
A diet book that actually makes sense. Bottom line: eat organic
This is an oldie but goodie. I’ve not read the League series before, but it’s proving addictive!
And of course, some research materials.
August 15, 2010 • 1 Comment
I love the concept of a day off. Unfortunately, Sunday is Do Everything day around here. Y’know. Laundry. Groceries. Clean. Water the plants. The whole domestic enchilada. The manly vampires that populate my story worlds unfortunately do not vacuum, but instead leave their greatcoats and weapons littering the place. Pests.
However, in pursuit of the day off concept, I read one of the Harlequin Undone ebook short stories. I got a bit of a brain cramp figuring out the download process onto my Sony (I’m a technological nincompoop) but eventually got it figured out and downloaded four of these. Yeah, I love a good wallow in the historical pond now and again, and this seemed like a quick way to gratify my urge for a hot Duke. Sadly, they’re just as bad about the greatcoats and weapons, plus he left his horse in the kitchen, but whatever.
I picked A Scandalous Liaison by Elizabeth Rolls to read first. I started it a few days ago when I splurged on an end-of-holidays pedicure, and just finished it now. This is the only Undone I’ve read so far, but it was exactly right for my mood. The author puts a lot into the brief tale: loss, longing and redemption with just a dash of the grittier side of old London. It was warm and romantic. It delivered what it promised. It was the hit I wanted.
Nice to know there’s a source of quick “rewards” for days of drudgery. Anyone else read these or the Nocturne Bites? Recommendations?
August 14, 2010 • No Comments
This is the first day of my mom’s retirement. She took some time off when I was little, but otherwise she’s worked all her life and long past the usual retirement age. I’m glad she had the health and energy to do that, but enough! I’m delighted that she’s now enjoying her well-earned vacation.
Not that she’ll be idle for long. She’s already sizing up projects, so I got her a hefty gift certificate from the garden centre. That way she can have the fun of figuring out how she wants to use it. Of course, since I own the car that’s good for moving things, I shall probably be involved before long. I’m popular when it’s time for Christmas trees and bags of garden soil.
Well, I can’t complain. After someone’s birthed me, raised me, educated me, and launched me into the world, I can haul a little dirt.
Have fun, mom.
August 13, 2010 • No Comments
On another note…
It’s natural that when I have a lot of work to do, I try not to do it. Ergo, while I’m facing hefty revisions for Frostbound, bad girl that I am, I’m checking out the fall TV schedule.
I might have saved my time. There are a few things I’m glad to see coming back (Castle! Supernatural! Fringe!) but there isn’t a huge parade of interesting new programming. Certainly nothing like the swath of paranormal-themed shows we’ve seen the last few years. We’re back to sitcoms, cop shows and … sitcoms and cop shows. I like CSI, Law and Order and friends, but yikes! Variety is welcome.
August 12, 2010 • No Comments
No, it’s not my old Hyundai. This article gives new dimensions to recycling.
The “Bio-Bug” is a Volkswagen Beetle converted to run on human waste. It’s the creation of a sewage utility in Bristol, UK, and is the first car in the UK to run on byproducts of sewage processing. If it’s a success, Wessex Water, the utility company that made the car, will have its subsidiary, GENeco, make more.
Assuming an annual mileage of roughly 10,000 per year, it takes 70 homes to produce enough biogas to fuel the car annually. Another project involves recycling food waste into fuel. The article observes that “recent studies have suggested Americans alone discard more energy in food waste than is produced by all of the oil and gas reserves laying off American shores.”
Now there’s food for thought.
August 11, 2010 • No Comments
What I’ve learned about writers’ conferences can be boiled down to the simple principle of: expect nothing, be curious, and you’ll probably be pleasantly surprised. At least in my case, what ends up happening is rarely what I planned for. I personally think there’s a Chaos Fairy assigned to writers’ events.
Once, when I was in the planning stages of going to WorldCon, I joked with my to-be-roommate about the cost of renting a suite instead of the standard double-double—the difference in this particular hotel was so outrageous, we surmised the suite’s bathroom must have gold-plated taps. Then, when the time came to check in, there was a room screw-up and no place to stay. We protested vigorously at the reception desk, and finally were given a partial suite at a bargain-basement price. Yup, it had gold taps. The poor porter must have wondered why we were laughing so hard. I spent most of the conference writing in the room, with its full dining area, living room and two elegantly-appointed bathrooms, because it was just so darned nice. Dream—or at least joke—come true! On the other hand, most of the writers I had gone to see never showed up. Win some, lose some.
Maybe I appreciate the random quality of these events because my life is usually overbooked. Sure, conferences have schedules, but after a few years the listed offerings pale beside the impromptu sideshows. I don’t need another seminar to inform me that I need a web page. What I need is a shake-up. Something surprising.
I certainly got surprises during the Orlando conference. For one thing, the blue, hot, steamy Florida atmosphere is the polar opposite of what I’m used to. It was green and beautiful, but a sauna. It forced me to stop racing around at my usual pace—and that’s not a bad thing. Besides all that:
• I met readers! Bless you for coming out to the signing! I was thrilled.
• For the first time ever, I met my editor and she fed a flock of her authors a very fine meal indeed.
• I had a fancy purple cocktail that tasted like cough syrup, but it was very pretty to look at.
• I danced, much to my surprise. Probably had something to do with that martini.
• One of my roommates, Jacqui Nelson, won a Golden Heart award for her unpublished manuscript. You go, girl!
• I met tons of people, including a first face-to-face with Jessa and Kim.
Plus, I got all the usual mixed messages about the future of the publishing industry. It’s heaven! It’s hell! It’s dead! It’s alive! It’s Undead! It’s zombified! Call an exorcist!
Pass the purple martinis 😯
If you want to write romance, I’d definitely recommend the RWA National Conference experience. It has tons of information available—but not all of the valuable stuff is in the seminars. Wear comfy shoes and go for the adventure. At the very least, there’s a book’s-worth of characters to encounter.
August 6, 2010 • No Comments
Okay, so I’m not much of a shutterbug, but I did remember to take my camera to the RWA Conference that just wrapped up in Orlando. The conference hotel was the Swan and Dolphin at Disneyworld. I got out one day for a walk of about an hour or so, but after that I didn’t have much time for exploring. Plus it was hot and muggy in a way those of us from the Pacific Northwest just aren’t used to! Every time I walked out of the hotel, my glasses steamed up. One time, I was carrying a paperback and by the time I crossed the courtyard, the cover was slippery with moisture.
Anyway, here are some pictures:
I think these fish are meant to look like the Baroque cartographer’s view of dolphins. Either that, or the designers needed a zoological lesson.
Sadly, no Captain Jack Sparrow sunning himself.
Not surprisingly, there was a certain cartoon-like quality to all the architecture.
Okay, so I hadn’t seen palm trees that tall before. We do have a few palm trees where I live, but they’re short and stumpy.
This was a cool innovation – this boat toured the major sites accessible by water. It wasn’t speedy, but the trip was beautiful.
August 4, 2010 • No Comments
I don’t watch reality TV. Well, that’s not strictly true. When I’m trapped on the treadmill at the gym, it’s often on the wide-screens at the front. Watching it takes my mind off the fact that I’m (gasp) exercising, and I’m quite grateful for the distraction from my grumbling muscles.
One can’t help but wonder how contestants blunder onto these shows—many of them seem lambs lost in the woods of desperate circumstances. People unable to choose their wedding dress. Wedding planners leaping into the breach to save the day because someone fell into the cake. Nasty, knife-wielding chefs shrieking at their minions. People weeping as they do 3,185 push ups with a trainer ranting at them for eating a single chocolate covered almond. No, I’m not kidding. Who comes up with this stuff? I believe it was the philosopher Thomas Hobbes who declared life to be short, nasty and brutish. These shows confirm all that and add “ridiculous” to the list.
So why do we watch them? I’m not sure, but as I trot on the high-tech hamster wheel (speaking of ridiculous), I’m utterly absorbed. Completely. Mesmerized. Some folks say it’s like watching a train wreck—it’s pure schadenfreude and we’re thankful it’s not us bawling all over national TV.
That may be true, but there’s also a huge yearning on the viewer’s part for triumph. We want the wedding to succeed; we need the heroes to stay on the island and the villains to go home in disgrace. Reality TV is packed with morality tales boiled down into their raw components, and a basic part of us is anxious to see them played out. Joseph Campbell would have had a field day with this stuff–forget the hero’s journey, this material is cutting to the chase in quick and uncomplicated sound bites.
Reality shows remind me of the medieval Everyman plays: Average Joe makes his way past the Seven Deadly Sins (substitute with challenges of your choice) to the pearly gates, succeeding because his faith is sound. Average Joe discovers worldly friends and favour melt away when Death (or the Bachelorette) arrives to test him. Only his Good Deeds remains to plead his case (bag the rose). Etcetera. Play the story out on a medieval fairground or the TV, the plot is pretty much the same.
Times change, but the trials of the human heart and soul still hold fundamental fascination. We still value honesty, optimism, and a protagonist who can stick it to the Devil—especially if he’s disguised as a celebrity chef.
Makes sense to me. Or maybe it’s just exhaustion 45 minutes into my workout. Speaking of the devil, could this treadmill possibly be purgatory?
July 28, 2010 • 1 Comment
Embarrassment is a matter of perspective; I would almost say it is the province of the young, who do not yet understand the value of being ridiculous. Once you’ve worn sparkly silver platform heels, there’s not much else that life can throw at you. You’re officially a survivor.
When I look back at what was cool in my high school years, I find, oddly, it’s back on TV. Ozzy Osborne and Gene Simmons are reprising their roles as cultural icons in ways I would never have anticipated at sixteen. I think even then I would have had a sneaking admiration for their tenacity.
What was the young Sharon Ashwood devoted to in her teens? Glam rock, the more glittery the better. Alice Cooper had already (apocryphally) bitten the heads off chickens and David Bowie had already fallen to earth, but a secondary wave of costumed curiosities was strutting into suburban living rooms. On vinyl, of course. This was the dark ages.
KISS and Queen were my obvious choices because I’d grown up on comic books and live theatre. The sheer, unapologetic in-your-face of it all blew me away. It was a synthesis of a lot of my fixations.
As far as the actual music went, it was interesting times. Punk was just losing its bleeding edge. New Wave was still, well, new and occupying one or two New York nightclubs. Bands toured with convoys of sets and personnel because gas was relatively cheap and the carbon footprint wasn’t an issue. Green was still the colour of your face the morning after the night before. News of one’s rock idol doings came monthly from Creem Magazine and the Rolling Stone. It would still be another ten or fifteen years before the music industry crashed beneath the Napster bulldozer. This was the era when you’d stay glued to a.m. radio all Saturday afternoon to find out if Your Song had made it to the pinnacle of the Top 40 Countdown.
Fun times, and it’s refreshing that some of the spandex gods of those days are still around and still going strong. As for the reality TV appearances, I largely ignore the whole thing. Glam rock was always tongue in cheek—this is just more of the same. Embarrassing? Only if you have a sense of shame.
Yup, we will rock you—as soon as we can lever ourselves out of the La-Z-Boy.