Monthly Archives: April 2013

I salute you, UPS Man

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I just took this picture. Seriously, I just picked up my camera, pointed it at my backyard and  . . . click! . . . here you go. This is a *little bit* of a freak spring snow storm here in Northern Colorado. We typically get most of our snow in March, but the snow gods decided to put it off until April 15 and it hasn’t let up too much since. When it’s all said and done (hopefully by tomorrow) we should have accumulated a little over 2 feet.

So I have to give a shout out to my local UPS guy who braved the storm and delivered my box of new postcards and business cards that I recently ordered. (He must have known I was ignoring all my other tasks today by sitting at my computer thinking about what my next blog post would be). I also think it was the one and only time he couldn’t wear his little brown shorts. Anyway, I have the NCW Conference next week and unfortunately, I’m not able to get any reader copies of my book by then, so these post cards will have to do.

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Pretty snazzy, huh? (Front and back) I keep fearing that as I read them, I’m going to discover a typo—no matter how many times I went over them before clicking the all-powerful and no-going-back order button. Now lets hope I get rid of them all before the release date in July. And it looks like I’m be returning to prison July 20th with an initial signing at the Folsom Prison Museum, that sits just outside the prison. I think, however, I’ll stay on the outside of the prison walls this time. That is of course, if I make it through this blizzard.

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Coffee, Zombies and Apocalypses

It must have been the gradual cooling of my heated mattress pad that woke me up. The power was out. Granted, it was 7:45 AM and I should have been up anyway, but still. How rude. All right, North Korea, you’re really starting to piss me off. Actually, my first thought was, Am I going to have to take my zombie-face to Starbucks? Panic set in. When you don’t know where your next cup of coffee is going to come from—if at all—things can get hairy pretty fast. I texted my friends who live in The Sac with me. (This is the name all of us have given to our cul-de-sac). One was about to break out the camp stove to brew some beans. I was ready to trek over in my bunny slippers, cup in hand, when bleep! Power returned. Crisis averted. Whew! Because any major apocalypse before my morning coffee is just plain mean.

Perhaps deep down, I was thinking about The Dog Stars, that I just finished for book club. It’s only the second post-apocalyptic novel I’ve read, and incidentally, they both are set in Northern Colorado. A little advice . . . when first diving into reading about this subject matter, you may not want to start out with books that take place where you live. The first, was Brian Kaufman’s Dead Beyond the Fence: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse. Not a good apocalypse to be around for, not that it’s even possible to put a positive spin on an apocalypse.

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So, it sounds like most of the gals in my book club really loved The Dog Stars. We’re meeting next week to discuss it. I have to say, I didn’t love it, but I certainly didn’t hate it either. Overall, however, it was good and very well done.  What did you think of the book? And what other post-apocalyptic (I’m getting real good at spelling that correctly the first time!) books do you recommend? (preferably ones set outside of Colorado)?

First Published Essay . . . well, in a very long time

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So it’s been years since I queried magazine editors. I’ve always enjoyed writing personal essays in particular, and as a writer, there are things that happen in life that prompt me to say, “Oh, I need to write about this.” I’m such my father’s daughter. My late father’s essays are legendary, as were his letters to the editor. One of my favorites is a letter he wrote in 1991 to the traffic engineer of our city. This is just an excerpt of the two-page letter:

“Dear Sir,

Every morning at five-thirty I leave for work via West Mulberry near Overland Trail, and continue on Mulberry to nearly I-25. At the early hour the traffic signals are still on their “nightly mode.” It’s their modus operandi that has has finally driven me to make this written appeal for more humane treatment from your office. Traveling east on Mulberry, the first light is at Taft Hill Rd., and as I arrive at the crosswalk, the light immediately begins to change. It works beautifully . . . unless there is another motorist more than a quarter block behind me. He or she would hardly see any beauty in the way the light turns red in three or four seconds. This is one of those “you had to be there lights.” Now, that trailing motorist will have to wait for some specified “recycle” time before the light will change again.  .  .

. . . The next three signals, at Loomis, Howes and Mason, appear to be set on a timer, stopping vehicles on Mulberry at prescribed intervals. At this hour there is NEVER (99.9%) any cross-traffic at any of these intersections, prompting some motorists to actually consider committing a misdemeanor. Oh, yes! And, if one’s timing is particularly unfortunate, the result could be a rapid erosion of an otherwise cheery disposition.”

A couple of days later my father received a phone call from the chief traffic engineer who said, “I just wanted to let you know I got your letter and really enjoyed it!” Enjoyed it?! was my dad’s reaction. Enjoyed it?! The traffic lights remained on the same idiotic timing (and do so to this day). Maybe I have his same angst-y traffic genes, but I often find myself mentally composing a letter to the traffic engineers about the nonsensical and mind-numbing system our traffic lights seem to be on, as I sit at one of those idiotically-timed lights. See? I just got myself going . . .

So, I guess it came as no surprise to me that a car-related situation prompted me to immediately take notes for an essay. Last fall, I had a moment where I went environmentally militant on a complete stranger; a parent at my son’s school, to be exact. Her daily 45-minutes of idling in the school’s pickup lane could no longer go ignored. Her response surprised me. So anyway . . . long story short, if you feel so inclined, you can read about my experience at Whole Life Times. Don’t worry, it’s only a page. Scroll to page 42—the very last page called BackWords. This concludes my shameless self promotion. Thank you.