PLASTIC EXPLOSIVE

Don’t sweat the small stuff.

I hear that a lot.

Well, you know what?

It’s always the small stuff that makes me crazy!

Like these small plastic bottles I recently bought for an upcoming trip.

I bought them only because of idiot terrorists . . .

Because of them, I, like the rest of the airplane traveling population, am now forced to carry all creams and liquids in a one quart baggie.

That is, if you want to carry your creams and liquids in your “carry-on” luggage.

And I usually do.

Unfortunately for me, all my cream jars are too large to fit into a one-quart baggie.

And so I need to transfer my creams to smaller jars.

I don't know why, but the bottles I just bought, although cheap, were bright pink, green, and blue, and made me happy to look at them.

And so, with one of the plastic bottles on the bathroom sink, I was ready to start transferring my facial creams.

But something bothered me . . .

A label was covering more than half of the bottle.

And I didn’t like looking at the cheap looking label on the bottle.

Note: cheap plastic bottle—OK. Cheap label on plastic bottle—NOT OK.

And so I peeled it off.

Or rather—I tried to peel it off.

What the heck kind of glue did the manufacturer use?

Super glue is never that effective.

Anyway, after the paper part of the label came off . . .

What was left was sticky, goo.

Yuck!

My pretty little bottle was pretty no more.

Fine then!

I’ll just take off the goo with nail polish remover.

Damn it!

Wasn’t gonna happen!

OK, I’ll try alcohol.

ARRGGHH!

Now there was smeared cloudy sticky goo all over the cheap bottle.

Damn it!

Not willing to be outsmarted by a cheap plastic bottle label, I filled the bathroom sink with hot soapy water and soaked the jar.

A half hour later . . .

For heaven’s sake!

The stupid goo still was there.

DAMN IT!

As a last resort, I grabbed the plastic bottle, aimed my thumbnail to scrape the smeared, sticky cloudy goo off  when . . .

Broke my fingernail!

F*@#*+#!! 

Totally frazzled, I looked at the clock and realized . . .

I had just spent more time trying to get a stupid, cheap label off a stupid cheap plastic bottle than the time it would take for me to . . .

Check my luggage before my flight  . . .

Traipse down to baggage claim after my flight and . . .

Claim my luggage.

Fine!

I just won’t take any carry-on luggage on this trip!

But don’t think you won, you cheap little plastic bottle!

Because you're going on a trip too . . .

To the garbage!

HA!

Always, Em-Musing

MY DREAM MAN

My blog today wasn’t going to be about Stephen King.

But how many people meet Stephen King and get to talk with him about their writing?

Well, I did!

Just last night!

Really!

In my dreams.

OK, OK don't get annoyed . . .

But I really did dream of him last night and . . .

Dreamed of him all night long .

Or so it seemed . . .

Because my cat . . .

Who sleeps by my head . . .

Was restless and kept waking me up.

But I’d fall back asleep and continue dreaming about Stephen.

And the dream was so vivid.

I was at his house somewhere in the Cleveland area.

I know, he doesn’t live in Cleveland . . .

But in my dream he did.

And then to get to his office . . .

We had to climb a ladder to the second floor.

Once in his office, we sat across from each other and talked.

It was mainly about how he still loves to write every day.

And then he was questioning me on my writing . . .

Do I love to write? Do I write everyday? Why aren’t I published yet?

Finally, his wife and daughter came home.

And that ended our visit and I left with his promise that he’d visit my writer group . . .

Oh, wait a minute . . .

LOL!

I'm getting it now  . . .

Just yesterday I forwarded an email from Guide to Literary Agents to the MVRWA loop (my writer group) about literary agent who is available to come to writer groups to speak.

Anyway . . .

Just the other day I was in the Meijer grocery store looking for a paperback to read on my plane trip to Florida and noticed several Stephen King novels.

They were huge . . .

In comparison to Dean Koontz’s “purse-size” novels.

And so I bought Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz.

And then I noticed The Bone Garden by Tess Gerritsen . . .

And bought that too.

I figured one book going to Florida, and the other on the flight back.

And so the reason why I’m posting about my dream to Stephen King is?
I have no idea!

Other than to share that it was exciting meeting him . . .

(he was much better looking in my dream)

(Gee, I hope he never reads this blog)

And that I woke up psyched to write!

And psyched to pursue getting published.

And still impressed with how prolific Stephen King is.

One of the best books on writing (to me) is Stephen’s memoir, On Writing.

In fact, I just now got the book off of my bookshelf . . .

Randomly opened it and . . .

OMG!

This is what I came upon . . .

And I had Hi-lited it in pink years ago . . .

“Book-buyers aren’t attracted, by and large, by the literary merits of a novel; book-buyers want a good story to take with them on the airplane, something that will first fascinate them, then pull them in and keep them turning the pages."

Wow!

Did I channel Stephen King in my dreams last night?

Perhaps so!

Hmm? 

I’m leafing through his book right now and . . .

Many paragraphs are Hi-lited in pink.

You know what?

I think it’s time I re-read Stephen’s book.

Obviously the guy has a lot to say . . .

To me . . .

Even when I’m awake.

Always, Em-Musing

JUST REWARDS

I’ve been cleaning and organizing my office since New Year’s day.

Lots of little stacks of  “to do” stuff . . .

Like a stack of promos that came in the mail.

Will I really win the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstake?

Offers for small products that were never on my radar in the first place.

Like the “scissor shredder.”

A small stack of magazines with articles that I want to read . . .

But never have.

Piles of papers with notes of things to research.

But never have.

And on and on.

Oh, all the piles were neat and organized  for most of the year . . .

But I never did anything with these piles.

And then my desk was nothing but piles with more piles on top of them.

As I shredded financial papers for the last three years by hand . . .

(I now own a real shredder thanks to a dear friend who bought me one)

I realized that the sayings, “Don’t sweat the small stuff” wasn't apropos for me and my office.

It IS all those small “to do” piles . . .

That have since become “never done” piles . . .

That make me feel like I’ve accomplished nothing . . .

And keeps not only my desk cluttered . . .

But my mind.

Suddenly, Nike popped up in my head.

Specifically, their 1988 slogan, “Just Do It.”

I always loved that slogan.

And that’s when I decided that's going to be my New Year’s resolution.

Just do it!

From keeping piles of “junk” cleared off my desk . . .

Sending queries out . . .

Reading magazine articles and then throwing the mag out . . .

Keeping my email “in box” clean . . .

To sorting through real mail and throwing out all those stupid promos and coupons I’ll never buy or use.

I'm just going to refuse to make anymore “to do” lists and "to do" piles.

I'm just going to have “Just Do It” lists and piles.

And then . . .

Just . . .

DO them.

Always, Em-Musing

ODDS 'N ENDS

New Years day . . .

I walked into Barnes and Noble  . . .

Gift card in hand.

I hadn’t been in this book store for a while.

Normally, I go to Borders.

Herds of book lovers wandered the aisles . . .

Occupied all the chairs . . .

Sat in the Starbucks with their laptops.

I went in specifically to buy the 2010 Guild To Literary Agents.

Buying it was one of my 2010 writer goals.

In 2009, I did searches for agents on the Internet . . .

But there are so many websites, it was annoying to keep it all organized.

Having used the Guide To Literary Agents in the past for my first novel, I found it calming to have all agent listings in one book . . .

In my hand . . .

So I could read it in any room I want . . .

Even on a plane.

Not familiar with what aisle the 2010 Guild To Literary Agents might be in,

I strolled . . .

My eyes feasting on . . .

All the new releases . . .

The 50% offs . . .

And all the beautiful coffee table books.

My eyes danced in their sockets dazzled . . .

Like when I watch the reels spin in slot machines.

My mind jumbled as images of books bounced around . . .

Like lottery ping pong balls in a drum.

I couldn’t concentrate . . .

Too many book titles . . .

Too many book covers . . .

I was experiencing . . .

BOOK OVERLOAD!

So many books  . . .

So little time to read them.

And I want to read all of them.

But I needed to focus . . .

And so I asked the store employee to point me to where the 2010 Guide To Literary Agents would be.

OMG!

Just one copy left . . .

And another person was hovering by it . . .

I didn’t want to lose this opportunity . . .

Especially when I had a fifty dollar gift card . . .

And so I . . .

Snatched it!

Right off the shelf . . .

Right in front of the other woman . . .

Sorry!

But this is my first writing goal for 2010  . . .

No, not to rude . . .

But to . . .

FOCUS!

Focus on methodically researching agents.

Focus on methodically sending out query letters.

Focus on finding and attending writer conferences.

Focus on establishing a better on-line presence.

And by focusing . . .

I know I'll increase the odds of . . .

Getting published.

Always, Em-Musing

A DEAD GIVEAWAY

I was driving yesterday to my daughter’s house to baby-sit.

It was the morning of New Year’s Eve.

I was bopping to Miley Cyrus’ “Party in the USA” when I realized . . .

I was behind a hearse.

I’m not particularly superstitious . . .

But I didn’t like that there was a hearse on the same road as me . . .

On New Years Eve.

I guess the Grim Reaper came to mind.

Was it an omen?

A portent?

A harbinger?

(I know, thesaurus overkill)

Anyway . . .

I wondered why the hearse was by itself.

Usually there's a funeral procession following behind.

And it was early in the morning.

Was it going to pick up a body?

But is it the hearse that picks up dead bodies?

Or only drives the body to the cemetery?

Anyway . . .

I was getting creeped out by these morbid thoughts . . .

When I realized that . . .

The hearse was in front of me . . .

Not behind me.

So, I guess if I needed to find a message with this scenario . . .

It would be that death was in my future . . .

Not sneaking up and trying to “get” me.

Phew!

I then noticed the hearse do something interesting.

It was a two lane road we were driving on . . .

The car ahead of the hearse was driving very slowly . . .

And the hearse kept veering left as if to pass . . .

But an oncoming car was approaching in the opposite lane.

FAST!

Yikes! Would the hearse do it?

Would it take a chance?

I felt my chest tighten with visions of a smash-up.

Suddenly, the hearse swerved into the opposite lane . . .

The oncoming car was getting closer . . .

Lord! If the hearse was going to pass, it'd have to gun it . . .

Now!

OMG!

It did it!

Just in the nick of time!

Wow!

I think I just saw death cheat death!

As I relaxed, I realized that if there was a message from this hearse . . .

It wasn't me eluding death in the new year . . .

It was daring to take a chance.

Me, taking a chance with my writing.

Me, pitching to agents at writer conventions.

Me, sending out as many queries as there are agents in my genre.

Me, figuring out a marketing plan.

Me . . .

Doing whatever it takes . . .

To get published.

This new year.

Always, Em-Musing

THE ICHY BITCHY SPIDER

See what I mean?

About spiders?

I woke up at 3:30 in the morning . . .

With a insistent itch on my leg.

After incessantly scratching it . . .

I fell back to sleep.

Didn’t think about it again.

Until this morning when I was shaving my legs.

Ouch!

What the . . .

There was a bite on my leg.

A fiery red bite . . .

Which was now redder with my blood from the nick.

Damn it!

Hmmm?

The temps have been frigid for a  month . . .

Which means that . . .

There are no mosquitoes stalking us humans for blood!

Which means that . . .

The only critter that bit me was . . .

A spider!

So you know what that means, don't you?

It means that I am their food source now that the little ants in my apartment are hibernating.

And that means . . .

That a tiny little spider (I pray it was little and there is only one)

Has reduced me to being . . .

The lowest link on the food chain . . .

In my own apartment!

See why I hate spiders?

Not only are they bloodsucking little monsters . . .

They add insult to injury!

Always Em-Musing

P.S. I wonder if any of the dozen creams I got for Christmas might also be a spider repellent?

DANGER UP A HEAD

I swear I didn’t do it.

Really!

In fact I can’t stand it when I see others do it.

Most often it’s kids that do it.

And then men.

Rarely women.

And when adults do it, it’s usually while they’re in their car.

At least that’s when I see them doing it.

It’s disgusting!

And I have to say that I’ve never done it either.

I know, I know . . .

I looked like I did yesterday.

But I didn’t.

And it’s not my fault that it looked like I did either.

It’s that damn cold’s fault.

The one I had a few weeks ago . . .

That has lingering effects . . .

Like still having to blow my nose many times a day.

And what has happened because of all this incessant blowing . . .

Is that a tiny sore developed on the inside of my nose . . .

Half-way up.

If I don’t keep Vaseline on it, or some other cream . . .

A scab forms . . .

Hardens . . .

With nose hairs in it and . . .

OW!

So you see?

I wasn’t “picking” my nose . . .

I was freeing some poor unwilling nose hairs that got caught.

And if I didn’t free them . . .

Tears were going to come to my eyes . . .

With every song I sang . . .

Causing me to sneeze.

See where I’m headed?

I was driving . . .

Singing, "Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah," from Lady Gaga’s song, “Bad Romance.”  

And the bloody scab kept tugging the stuck nose hairs . . .

And if I didn’t get that scab out . . .

I was going to go crazy!

Or at least sneeze while driving . . .

And potentially cause an accident!

Unfortunately . . .

As I reached for a tissue . . .

A car full of teenagers pulled next to me at the light.

Maybe because both cars were jamming to Lady Gaga . . .

And we were swaying in our cars to the same Rah-rah beat . . .

I turned to look at them . . .

At the same time they turned to look at me . . .

Which was the same time my tissue-wrapped finger . . .

Was digging half-way up my nose.

“EEUWW!”

Now, I can’t read lips . . .

But it’s wasn’t hard to decipher what their mouths were yelling.

But I swear!

I wasn’t “picking” my nose.

Just eliminating a potential driving hazard.

That’s all!

Always, Em-Musing