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Printed in the 2010 Thanksgiving Tab – Owosso Independent Newspapers

Black Friday Shopping…Not for the Faint of Heart

I have to confess. I’m not a morning person. I call the hours before 8 a.m., my ungodly hours. But on the greatest shopping day of the year, I suddenly emerge from my bed as an entirely different version of myself. We’re talkin’ shopping here, folks. It isn’t early, it’s the greatest retail adventure you will ever be crazy enough to do and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
So I decided to give you my clever tips on how to make Black Friday into the finest shopping experience of your life. I know, I know…you can thank me later. These are secrets that have evolved ever since my first born was old enough to stay home with my younger children. Don’t take for granted the opportunity sleeping children provide on a morning like this. They can’t get into too much trouble from 3 a.m. to 9 a.m. Especially when they are teenagers. They’re
sleeping for pities sake.
The first and ultimate trick of Black Friday shopping is to emerge from your bed in the same condition as you got in. We’re talking about your hair, ladies. I never leave the house in the morning without a shower, shampoo and complete personal blow dry and curl, but on Black Friday, that routine is scrubbed. Getting out of bed with a hairdo that looks the same as it did for Thanksgiving dinner, is an art. The trick is to sleep light. Shift accordingly during the hours
from midnight to 2:30 a.m. Once up, flip your head over, brush it down carefully and voila, you have the typical hairstyle for a 3 a.m. shopping trip. And don’t worry, everyone else does the exact same thing. But just in case you aren’t one of those that desires everyone to see you with bed hair, just pray you don’t see anyone and don your cutest pink snow hat. Grab a hot cup of coffee and a chocolate bar for your jump into the power hour extravaganza. That is a must
on a morning like this.
My greatest strategy for the morning even begins the night before. After the turkey is put away and the dinner dishes finished I grab the sale flyers and begin my list by each store separately. I even go so far as to list the items in order of front of the store to the back. Note here: Never start shopping at the front of the store with the rest of the crowds. Go deep, ladies. Start at the back
of the store. If you find something you need on your trek back, grab it on the way. But otherwise, beginning from the back to the front of the store insures less shopping cart crashes and also you surge past the grumpy, ungodly people waiting to pounce on you as you grab the last item on the pile.
Always take your husband. Now this is just a suggestion. If your husband hates shopping and will grumble from 3 a.m. to 6 a.m., maybe he would be a good candidate to leave home with the smaller children and sleeping teens. But if he is like mine, (I’m gonna do a little bragging here) take full advantage of his goodness and manners. When you pull into the overcrowded, we’ll never find a spot, parking lot…politely ask if he will drop you off first. Then jump into the
all ready forming line at 3 a.m. Don’t worry about arriving at the store any earlier than ten or fifteen minutes before it opens. We’ve been doing this for years and I rarely miss out on an item even by being the 100th person in line. There is really only one store that doesn’t ever have enough items of the loss leaders and they are now out of business. As hubby parks the car, you
have the advantage of getting into line before the next 25 customers.
As the store doors open, don’t forget your “go to the back” strategy. One time I was heading to the back of the store for the one gift my son wanted that year and on my way another purposeful shopper reached me halfway into the store. She had two of the items I was looking for in her cart and said, “Are you going for this one?” I nodded and she immediately handed me her second item and said, “I do this all the time. I always take two.”
That’s another very important suggestion for Black Friday. Be nice. Manners and kindness don’t have to be left home on this day. If you get your item, rejoice, but if you don’t, it was
never meant to be and don’t pout or complain to the store manager. Life will go on. And if
you’re grumpy, the shopping happiness will be gone for the rest of the morning and those
shopping with you will leave you home next year. With the kids.
The greatest part of this morning’s shopping experience is to go for the prize. The “I got it” prize. My husband and I usually split up as we enter the store. I head to the back and he usually will linger closer to the front. I’ll give him half my list to begin shopping for the “not so important” items. He does very well. I’m the ducking between aisles, go through the purse section to maneuver to the toy department, type of person. But sometimes, just on an occasional Black Friday morning you can do the “I got it” prize dance. I’m tall, so this works very well. Once I have the item and it is exactly what the kiddos have been asking for since Labor Day, I
hold the item up and away from all those grabby, should have stayed home other shoppers. Kinda like the fists in the air, Rocky movie, type move. My husband will see me above all the other wanna-be “I got it” shoppers and gives me the thumbs up. Oh my, there is no greater feeling.
For the past few years, we couldn’t afford them before this, we never leave home without our personal cell phones. Nothing is worse than never finding your shopping partner again after entering the store with the 10,000 other shoppers on this morning. A lost husband or shopping friend is the worse, especially if you are on deadline for five other stores that morning.
Last and not least of my Black Friday shopping trips is to find a cash register away from the front of the store. Hit the tire department or the pharmacy for your purchase. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. But it is worth the try as paying at those places results in no lines and also gets you on your way to the 4 a.m. opening down the street.
As you can see, Black Friday shopping is an art. It has taken me years to acquire the skills needed for this ultimate shopping adventure. But I do want to emphasize the “be nice” suggestion to make it a fun morning. Make sure your husband gets a nice breakfast out, once
you are all finished and soon you will be creating your best tactics for Black Friday shopping.
Oh and if you do see me or a friend on Black Friday morning, excuse the bad hair and make a compliment on their pink hat. You could even wink and point to your own head. The ladies that take the time to do their hair on this morning, miss all the great deals and lack an hour less sleep. There’s nothing like the Black Friday sales. Absolutely nothing!

Conflict? You Mean Drama

Finding a real problem in my scenes. I know this will be hard for all of you to believe, but I’m too nice. Truly. I just read a great book to keep my writing on track and what is told me was, if there is no conflict, it’s just fluff. Fluff! Hmmm. You know what writers do with fluff. They have to throw it out.
I have some great scenes beginning in this third attempt at the “All American Great Novel.” Many say my books are too serious. Sad. Readers report needing a box of tissues with almost every chapter. That isn’t all bad. Means my emotions are raw and hitting nerves. That’s good. But…I do notice lots of fluff in my chapters. Extra stuff. Just recently I found out that I’m just too nice and what happens when you are too nice, you have characters who are too nice. Now before you go and think this is a crazy notion, let me explain a little further.
First, I want to share the difference between picking up my daughters from school and going the same route, but picking up just my son instead. Stay with me folks, I will get to something. Back a few years ago, I picked up two daughters from high school. The minute their butts hit the car seats it was usually with a huge sigh or great big smiles. From that point on, I heard details about their school day. Most of the conversations started with, “You aren’t gonna believe what happened to me today.” Or, “I am so mad.” Perhaps with a little bounce, “I’m so excited, guess what?” We would then drive to the Elementary School to pick up my son. He is four years younger than my youngest daughter. He didn’t reach high school until she was in her senior year. Back then, I didn’t realize the difference. Until now.
The scenario of picking him up from high school is totally different. I go the same route. Park in the same space. He opens the door the same way they did for years. But there is no sigh. There is nothing. It goes something like this, “How was your day?” “Good.” “Did you like your lunch?” “Yup.” Then the weirdest thing happens. Silence. True, incredible, hard to believe, silence. It’s the craziest thing. I feel left out of his world. I don’t know if “good” means he had a good day or it was just ho-hum. I don’t know if his lunch was really good or just halfway good.
Now to my point. Conflict. Drama. It’s now gone. Gone with those two oldest daughters that are now having issues in other places. My son probably does have drama, but it’s like my books, plain and ordinary.
I have to fight the urge to be nice. When one of my character has an issue, I need to up it a notch and make it huge. Like the girls did fresh out of school. Instead of the character taking her sister by the hand, squeezing it and then smiling back, I need her to retaliate. Or come back with a sassy comment. UGH! You’d think that would be easy for me. (Be nice, y’all!) But it doesn’t come natural. I need to be more drama filled. Use more conflict reactions. Yes. That’s it!
Hopefully this will stay just in my drama filled worlds and not in my real world, but if I do react in a negative or abrupt way to any of you in the future…just ignore me for now. Especially after I say it, then smile. I’m just working at this novel and reacting in a more conflicting way.

Getting the Beginning Down

Nothing is more daunting in starting a new novel than having to write the first chapter. The first page. No…the first paragraph and even the first great “hook” sentence. Truly. I have had more problems getting that completed than anything else.
Well, my third novel, “The Sister Pact” has started. In fact, I’m on chapter five. It’s about this time in my novel writing, that things get rolling pretty well. And that’s what is happening.
To give you a little background, my two main characters are sisters. Bet you didn’t guess that one? They are making a pact. After going through dementia with their own mother, they inevitably see themselves getting the disease. Maybe not both of them, but one of them would develop the disease and the other sister would be there to help. Make it better. Help it not be so abusing. So together these two sisters make a pact. They would control how the other sister would go through the disease.
To get you into the novel a little I’ve decided to give you a bit of an excerpt here. Enjoy!

“Dementia isn’t random. The doctor said.”
         Irene looked into her sister’s eyes and smiled, “I know. It will happen.”
        Both women picked up their tools, their bucket and unplanted flowers headed to their black Impala parked just a few feet away from the grave of their parents.
         “I move so slow after I’ve been kneeling.”
          Edna Louise linked her arm through her sisters. “You know. It will inevitably be me.”
           Irene stopped walking, hesitated for just a moment and then looked into her sister’s face. The thick humidity and the hot Michigan sun made it blotchy and red. Without even a slight change in her thoughts she added, “No. It will be me.”
          The sisters stopped talking, picking up their walk to their parked car.
          “We need to plan this out clearly before we make an appointment with the lawyer,” Edna Louise took the bucket from her sister, opened the trunk of their car and put it in. “There are so many details where we need clear direction. Nothing can go wrong.”
            Irene nodded.
            Edna Louise shut the trunk with a loud clunk. “But we are capable of that.”
             Irene lifted her head as a slight breeze cooled her warm cheeks. “For now.”
             Reaching for her sister’s hand, Edna Louise held it for a moment and then gave it a squeeze. “It will be fine.”
             Irene sighed and walked to the passenger side of the car. “You drive, I’m tired.”
            Edna Louise stomped her foot like a child. “Oh come on. Don’t make me do that.”
            Irene didn’t say a word but got into the car, rolling the car window down with the crank handle.
            “Uh. Sheesh. This is so stupid.” Edna Louise opened her door, sat down with a thump and slammed her door shut.
             Leaning her head back on the head rest of the seat, Irene added, “Stop slamming the door and just drive.” She closed her eyes.
              Edna Louise grabbed the steering wheel and said, “I would,” she held out her hand, “if I had the keys.”
              Her head snapped back up and Irene scolded, “I don’t have them. You put them in your pocket.”
            “I didn’t drive here. Why would I have the keys?”
             Irene was all ready rummaging through her purse. “Did I put them in here?”
             “How would I know?” Continuing to hold out her open hand, she wiped her forehead again. “Hurry up sister, before I melt right here and leave a puddle of fat sitting right here in the driver’s seat.”
                Irene looked up and started to laugh, “Ugh, I’d hate to have to clean that up.”
                Both sisters started to laugh. A snort followed Irene’s giggles and the two started to chortle. Another snort came out, long and loud. “Stop that. I have to pee and you’re gonna make me wet my pants.”
                  Irene laughed even harder and soon tears were traversing down her reddened cheeks. “Oh dear. Oh dear.” She finally came across the keys in her purse and laid them in her sister’s hand.
                  “You didn’t?”
                  Irene then pulled out a tissue from her purse and began wiping her eyes. “No, but it was a close one.”
                  “Good,” Edna Louise put the keys into the ignition and started the car. “Cause that’s a whole ‘nother yucky mess I’d have to clean up.” The laughter started up again.

Dementia is a serious topic. Getting through it with anyone is not like anything you can ever imagine. It’s hard watching a loved one change into someone they would never have been if the disease hadn’t taken over their brain.
Yet my purpose isn’t to watch how horrible dementia takes over a person’s thoughts and actions. My purpose is to show, even though dementia has changed that person, that they are still a viable and important part of life.
Life is important. Life is valuable. No matter what. Life should rule.

First Change of Many

     One of the greatest things about creating characters is how, at the drop of a click or two, you can change them. As the novel goes on, it does get harder, but it is always possible. Search and find are key to this type of thing. Search the word and just then hit replace.
I often wonder what it would have been like in the days of Martin Luther. A quill and pen on your first draft. Ugh. Perfection would have to have been the key. Or else, diligent secretaries. Can you imagine the conversation, “Sheila…(one of my favorite names) can you please go through and mark all the thens and change them to thans?” Sheila looks at the stack of 500 sheets, nods reluctantly, “Okay.” Then he adds, “By 5:00.” Maybe with that change, Sheila could possibly use her awesome secretarial skills to magically change an “e” into an “a.” Who knows. Being a former secretary, all things are possible.
     In this computer age, changing words in a novel isn’t as hard as people believe. Sections of copy can be altered to the tenth chapter instead of the first. This is a perfect time in history to pen a novel. I’m not sure how long it took writers in the 1600s or even 1800s to make necessary changes. Maybe they were perfectionists. Writing then was slow. Maybe they did well on the first try.
      One of my favorite movies in “Little Women.” Not because the father was in the war and came home successfully on Christmas Day to see his family or not because of the magnificent and eloquent life of Beth, but because of Jo’s attempts at writing. She began writing a novel as a young teen. Her first attempt was thrown into the fire by her little sister. I was always thankful I didn’t have a little sister like Amy. Many other attempts were made and one of her last ones was evaluated by Fredrich, but he told her it was a fairy tale and encouraged her to write from real life. She stomped out of the room at that comment and soon left for home. And as most of you probably know, her winning attempt was her effort to write about her family, her sisters, the experience with Amy throwing her prize novel into the fire. Her finest critiquer, Fredrich, thought it incredible…showed it to the editors he knew and brought her the finished copy. Oh how wonderful. Makes me cry every single time I watch it. But I can’t imagine the changes or the hours of time it must have taken her to perfect the final copy.
     So…as with Jo…I’m attempting this novel process one more time and wouldn’t you know, one of my writing friends has pointed out that my character’s names are a bit redundant and familiar. Much like the movie title, “Thelma and Louise.” I wanted to name my elder ladies in my book after my Mom and Aunt. So I used their middle names. Irene and Louise. My fictional sisters will not be that much like these favorite ladies, but I wanted to honor them because the whole idea of this novel came from them. So I have decided to add my other Aunt’s name as well. I want my characters to be original. So Louise will now be Edna Louise. Edna Louise and Irene. Hmmm. Any comments?

Creating Human Beings

      I’ve done it again. I have created new beings. Before you think of me as some kind of sci-fi geek with a large room in my basement or even a Jeckle/Hyde like annoyance, please stop. It’s nothing like that. Although, in the past, it has been a bit of a mind-hype that I could create people out of nothing. But I have done it. Yet again.

      People can be created. Let’s list a few…Forrest Gump, Mary Poppins, Father Tim, even…Mr. Smith…who really never went to Washington. They are memorable characters. Someone once sat down with a pen and listed qualifications, personality, interests, hair color, teeth shape and even whether they had mothers/fathers that loved them. Everything had to be created in some way. The worst part of creating someone is that they truly fit with what you are creating. For example, if you are congering up a little boy in your mind, you need to find his bents or interests before you delve into making him who he will become in the future. If he is afraid to fly, you won’t make him a pilot when he grows up. But if his dear mother died when he was eight of cancer, you could imagine him turning into a doctor or a research scientist.
     Creating people is why God does the job. He is much better at it than the person just whipping someone up in their imagination. He remembers to give the person large, blue eyes that will attract their husband when they are in their twenties. Perhaps he gives the little boy a love for creating things with wood, as the boy will eventually grow up to be a skilled carpenter.
           Writers have voiced these concerns as they sit down at a computer to create a new character for their story. It’s a daunting task. Perhaps the person is the hero and will sweep someone off their feet. The first thing to come to mind is to create a fairly good looking person. But what if the entire story is centered around a woman falling in love with men that aren’t that great looking but have honorable, kind hearts. And unfortunately, the writer doesn’t figure that out about the tenth chapter. Ugh. See what I mean.
     Unlike a person that God puts into a womb from conception, a novel character can change. Sometimes has to have the ability to change. That’s where a writer is nothing like our real Creator. He has everything in order at the moment of conception. As it reads in Psalms 139, “For You formed my inward parts; You wove me in my mother’s womb. I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Wonderful are your works, and my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from You. When I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth; Your eyes have seen my unformed substance; And in Your book were all written. The days that were ordained for me., When as yet there was not one of them.”
     That, in a few verses, is what this book will be mainly about. My characters will seek to prove the “mind-boggling” essence of creating someone from nothing. Not only that we are valuable and beautiful from the moment of conception, but that we continue to have great value and worth even after we are no longer “an asset to society.”
     Intrigued? Interested? Well continue reading my blog. I plan on keeping up with it much more. I need you. I need you to keep reading. If you have or are ever interested in the process and effort it takes to write a book, you can read it here. I want to share the efforts, the time, the process of writing 100,000 plus words. And how, miraculously, they turn into a story. A book. A novel.
        Why don’t you join me on this adventure? I’d love to have you along.

Apologies, apologies

    I am for sorry for being deliquent in my posts. I told myself this would happen. I warned myself not to start something which requires my attention every single week. But as usual, I didn’t listen to myself. It gets pretty bad when you can’t even get yourself to listen to what you have to say. Sheesh!
   But as I gaze at the tiny calendar at the bottom right hand section of my computer screen and I force myself to pay attention to the last time I added to my blog…I cringe. Eight weeks have slipped by. How does that happen? How can a whole two months escape a person that quickly? And to think that in two days it will be September nearly makes me want to get busy and do my Christmas letter instead of this blog. If I can get that far behind in posts…starting my letter now may end up with it finished by at least two weeks before the major holiday starts with an abrupt Fa..la..la!
   I fail at deadlines. Yes. It’s true. I know that for the past two years I have had deadlines. Every Friday. Yet…I fail miserably at them. Unless someone isn’t waiting at the other end of my computer for my writings and my bi-weekly paycheck didn’t depend on it…I would fail miserably at putting out a weekly newspaper. Truly.
    It’s also why I have one complete novel (that could be edited a little more and hit the publishing circuit again) and another one waiting to be finished. As of this moment, I have one of the greatest novel ideas in the history of authors chewing my senses apart every single time I write an obituary. I know… that sounds like pretty senseless and depressing fodder, but it’s the truth. That third novel that is looming ever presently in my author section of my writing brain…is also waiting for the day I can sit down and type it out on a fresh, new Microsoft Word template. For pete’s sake, I even have a title for it.
    Okay. So I confess. I’m a procrastinator. And at this moment, I’m good at it. I just cleaned out my silverware drawer. Seriously. Shouldn’t take much to pull all your silverware out and do that, at least once a month. Should it? Well, I won’t tell you the last time it was done. In fact, something had started to grow in the back right corner…okay enough confessing!
    I tell everyone that I love to write. I love to create. I can’t wait to get back into the writing seat of my life again. The real writing. Not the declaration of an upcoming BINGO at the Senior Center or the trials of city officials making up a new resolution…but real writing. The kind I dream of writing every single time I hit the power-on button on this very machine. The kind of words and sentences that form in my mind just before going to sleep at night. Those lingering plots and scenes that haunt me as I drive my car to my next destination. Those words. Those phrases.
   But people, let’s be serious. I can’t even keep a weekly blog going for more than three months. Pulleeeze! What is up with this whole deadline, keep it simple, just one blog a week? How hard could this be? Granted…it does get difficult to think up new topics each week, but I have a million, zillion things I want to do before I turn 50. Truly.
    So why am I finding this one task almost impossible to do. I need a deadline. Yup. I need someone at the other end of this cyber space asking. No begging. No pleading…uh no. I need something more tangible. Something I can use and see. A paycheck would be good. But…this is a “starving artist” type thing. And I don’t think I’m that good at it yet. No blog paying companies could be a problem, too.
     Hmmmm? What could it be? What would keep me writing this blog for the rest of the nine months ahead. Suggestions can be posted. Please.
I’ll be watching.

My Musical Endeavor

   If my father left me one trait that I am thrilled to have, is his love for music. My father could sit down at an organ or piano, shove a harmonica in his mouth and literally play any song from memory with gusto. My brother tells the story of him pulling out his harmonica in a fast food drive-thru to play for those within hearing distance. A campfire has been the site of his impromptu concerts. He had a fabulous ear. Unfortunately, he could barely read a measure of music, playing most of his tunes by ear. I say unfortunately, because he missed out on one particular thrill of music.
   I learned this skill in fifth grade, but with one note/one instrument songs that year, I didn’t get the ultimate thrill of it until sixth grade. I remember the first day of sixth grade vividly. A full, complete band filled the sixth grade band room that day. What could possibly be the thrill of that? Well, as Mr. Richard Sang held up his baton, I soon learned the thrill of music. A complete sound of multiple instruments playing all at once. I can remember thinking…,”Wow, this is great,” as flutes, clarinets, trombones and even a tuba played a note and together we made music turn into songs.
   The one particular part of music my father lacked was the ultimate thrill of having a sheet of paper filled with notes placed in front of you on those wobbly, tilted black music stands and having the ability to play different notes than all the other musicians in the band, yet producing the ultimate part of music. A song. A harmonizing, ear appealing song of wonder. Having a tuba, a snare drum and a french horn blend together to turn a sheet of music into a pleasurable song is the ultimate part of music for me.
   The musical sheet put in front of each band member is different. The tubas usually have the oompha-oompa notes. The flutes have the shrill, ear splitting high notes. The bassoon has another underlying chirp. The trumpets fill the air with blasts of ear pleasing melody. Practicing at home, by yourself, the music appeared dull, even boring. But playing it all together brought delight to my little sixth grade heart. I loved band.
All of those thrilling band memories returned as I listened to the outdoor band two night ago play Sousa and songs like Camp Town Races and Disney tunes. My foot couldn’t stop tapping as band memories flooded my heart.
   What came next was a surprise even to myself. What had possessed me to set down my flute for the last time? Why had I stopped gathering a calous on my bottom lip while tooting out notes on my saxophone? It was after the concert that I thought about one more goal I would love to do before I turn 50.
   Dust off the cases. Open them and pull out those beloved instruments I used to love so much to play. Not only that but to gather enough experience again to join a local orchestra or band. To have a sheet of music set before me, learn it and play again those notes that lead to the magical sound made by a band or orchestra. There is almost nothing like being a single instrument in a band, yet blending together to make a concert. Yes. That is something I need to do before I get too old to remember a A sharp from a B flat. Oh wait. What is the difference anyway? I will feel sorry for the person sitting beside me.