Photographic memory

This is how I spent my week, with my camera in hand.

Autumn is still here in all it's glorious colour.



And I have a thing for trees.


So while I try to figure out where Bracken is going, and why Kellie can't allow that, I've been focused on Casey's therapy.


Today it was the hot tub. He's growing. I'm not sure how much longer he's going to fit.

How was your week?

Comfort zones

As I've mentioned before there are some authors - JoAnn Ross, Greg Iles, Maggie Shayne, Lisa Gardner, Jennifer Crusie and Susan Wiggs - whose works I buy as soon as they hit the stores. There's another author I've been reading since she was first published - Karen Marie Moning. You don't have to be a romance reader to enjoy these writers. They are all gifted as well as skilled when it comes to the written word. They never fail to enthrall and entertain me.

I'm savouring Faefever, the latest from Ms Moning. It wasn't a series I was expecting to fall into so completely but I have. The next one won't be out for another year so I want to take my time to enjoy the characters for awhile. The fast pace and constant danger don't lend themselves well to that plan. It's almost impossible to put down.

The thing is all the above mentioned authors can suck me into their worlds so completely that I feel like I'm part of the story. They're all known for brilliant characterization as well as intriguing plots. I was thinking about how they manage to make me care so deeply about the growth and well-being of their characters. The emotions are real and messy, not romanticized or polished.

Of course that realization took place in the shower and suddenly I was reaching for my bathtub crayons. Bracken's first scene took shape right there on the back of the shower wall - full of action that showed all of his emotion. He's leaving his comfort zone(thank goodness because I have yet to travel to Scotland) with a ticking clock bundled within his cloak.

I have yet to figure out how Kelli prevents him from reaching his goal or even why for that matter but I'm not too concerned. Once I look at her and how she feels I should be well on my way.

I write in layers. Every book is different from the one before. I suspect this time I'll be writing the emotion first, then the setting and finally dialogue. I have no idea where Bracken is going to end up but I think I need to write outside my comfort zone so it won't be here. My roots are in Niagara but it's time to pull up stakes, fictionally speaking, and check out somewhere new. I just have to figure out where in the world best challenges Kelli and Bracken to grow.

Thanksgiving

It's Thanksgiving weekend. The leaves have turned orange, red and yellow. The fish in the pond are sluggish. The tomato plants are leggy and ragged. I sat outside with Hell to Pay yesterday and started the final read-through. I didn't get very far. It's so warm outside and the dogs wanted to play ball. Or dig in my garden. Or share chestnuts with me. They were so active that I decided to take a cue from them to live in the moment and enjoy the bonus nice weather while I could.

At dinner later that night, my nephew informed us that he'd like to go work in Australia for a year. This is not the first time he'd said that. It's a plan I heartily encourage. By traveling a great distance to leave home and all that is familiar, he'll truly learn his strengths and desires. The experience will be life changing. I was only eight years old when we moved back to Canada from Germany but those three years taught me valuable lessons that still hold true today.

Living so close to the border, we are heavily influenced by the United States. Our cultural identity can be overwhelmed at times. Listening to my niece's interpretation of Thanksgiving was one of them. Ultimately whether the holiday was started by the Pilgrims and Indians or as a celebration of the harvest isn't as important as giving thanks for all that we have.

I've been particularly blessed this year with great friends and a good family. There have been some tough times and these are the people that have helped me keep perspective or brought me back from the brink of insanity. These are the people who inspire me to keep going when all I want to do is lie down for a month or two. These are the people who point out the irony of injuring my back while setting up a hot tub. Who fly across the country for a house-warming party. Who remind me that spinning and knitting are valuable talents. Who show me the world through amazing photographs and brilliant films. Who bring different cultures into my awareness. Who spend most of Movie Night sharing their own healing trials so that I can benefit from their experience.

These are the people who bring laughter and sorrow, wounds and healing, challenges and rewards, anger and love into my life. These are the people who bring out the worst and the best in me so that I'm as well-rounded as I am.

These are the people for whom I give thanks. You are these people.

Thank you.

Autumn colours my world

There is something about Autumn that has always appealed to me. I suppose the vibrant colours are a huge part of it. Perhaps it's the beginning of the school year. Or maybe the fact that we always moved at the end of September(the military wasn't worried about dependents or their education) It's been a long while since I was a kid getting a hair cut and a new wardrobe to impress the kids at the new school, but the smell of wood and lead as I sharpen pencils is as important today as it was back then.

I like to start new projects in Autumn. It's the season of pre-writing for me. I go out with my camera, play with the colours and lighting and think about the new characters. I imagine how they'd be spending the day, how they feel about the crisp Fall air; the scent of apples, grapes and decay. I wonder whether they enjoy the quiet or abhor it.

It's a season full of opportunities, beginnings, and reflection for me. This is the time of year I fall in love, start fresh with my exercise regime and celebrate the harvest. I try new foods, listen to unfamiliar music, play with textures. I absorb Autumn through my pores and my senses are sharper than at any other time of year.

We bring in the summer's harvest, fill our storehouses and prepare ourselves for the long months of dark to come. While the plants become dormant, the animals hibernate and winter winds keep us indoors, it is Autumn that provides us with the tools to survive. Mulch the flower beds; carpets of leaves and nutrients leach into the ground to feed the roots.

My roots, both literal and figurative, are sustained by the excitement and vibrancy that is Autumn. I stretch and grow and breathe deeper now. I suppose some would consider me to be in the Autumn of my life. Great. This is when I feel most alive. Alert. Exhuberant.

I have no desire to fly south.

Tangental thinking

My brain is all over the place. Not literally. No need for shovels to clean up the mess. But my thought processes are not linear. I don't think they are at the best of times. It seems worse at the moment largely because I'm between writing projects. I'm unraveling from Nea and Alex. Bracken and Kelli don't have their hooks in me yet.

Casey's physiotherapy is a full time project in and of itself. When we're not actively engaged in massage, chiropractic, acupuncture or hydrotherapy we're reading, researching or playing with him. He's a puppy and full of energy who hates his new splint. It means he can't sleep on his back with his front legs over his head. He likes to dig. He likes to pounce on Ky.

I managed to squeeze in some reading time this morning and whipped right through the latest Tess Gerritsen. It was brilliant as usual. Archaeology is a fascinating subject and I'm enthralled by the ancient past.

It's an interesting contrast to the Hadron Collider. It's an incredibly complex machine that hopes to recreate the milliseconds after Creation. It's also fascinating and fraught with opportunities for disaster. Conversely, the possibilities for knowledge are incredible.

For some reason both make me think of my great Grandpa Fenton. He came to Canada with all of his worldly possessions in a trunk which now holds my craft supplies. He had a sharp mind and a strong curiosity. At least we know who to blame for my constant questions about the past and the future. Sometimes I'm even interested in what's happening right now.

A good day

Elen posted a great picture of a puppy with a stick. It reminded me of a good day with Nikka and Ky this summer. Maybe this will tide Merry over for a few days while we scramble through Autumn preparations.

Autumn

I was just going over the ending of Hell to Pay the other day when it promptly disappeared in a puff of logic. Five points if you correctly identify the source of that quote. Fortunately the answer was right there in all of the contradictory and confusing dialogue. This is a heavy work week for me so I'll be lucky to get that straight-through read I want before I pass it off.

My brain has been busy problem solving several things this week. Casey is responding well to his treatments. He's now aware that he has a paw on the end of that leg even if he hasn't got the strength to stand on it. It is now officially Autumn in Canada and it's too cold for us to continue swimming in the unheated outdoor pool we've been using up until now. Pity because he's actually paddling with that paw. I'm working on a way to continue with hydrotherapy without risking hypothermia.

Kellie and Bracken are doing the pre-writing dance. I have a good sense of who they are and how they interact. I have absolutely no idea in what context they meet or how their goals exclude each other. I'm working on the Conflict Box that Crusie/Mayer discussed in their online writing workshop last year.

The house renovations are finally all done so that's one less distraction. I've figured out how to use the gorgeous new camera so pictures should show up on the blog while I contemplate all my writing options.

Autumn is one of my favourite seasons. I love the smell of the earth as it tugs the blanket of decay over itself in preparation for the ice and snow. Colours are both vibrant and subdued at this time of year and everything is so crisp. The crunch of apples, crackle of leaves and snap of wood in the fireplace.

It's a good time to gather everything together for the coming winter. Plot ideas, characters and conflicts are necessary to the story I plan to tell around the hearth while the cold winter blows. Metaphorically speaking of course.

My new project

I've got three projects to choose from. An old manuscript that needs a major overhaul. Bracken and Kellie's story which has a major question mark as to conflict. It's strange. I have internal but not external. I even have an inkling as to resolution so I'm working backwards from that.

Right now, I'm working on a non-fiction project. It started quite suddenly last Monday (did you hear the whoosh?) and derailed my last deadline. Life doesn't always play fair.

I'm documenting the care and rehabilitation of this little guy.

Casey is undergoing extensive alternative therapies to save his damaged leg from amputation. He was seriously injured after being hit by a car and suffered severe nerve damage in the front left paw. As he's less than six months old, and has deep nerve response, we're guardedly optimistic about his prognosis.

Deadlines and committment

One of my favourite quotes comes from Douglas Adams. "Deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they go by." I just like his irreverence. Deadlines make me comfortable. I need that goal to work towards. Otherwise, I'd spend all my spare time on the couch listening to the rain and reading. That's not entirely true but it's accurate today.

I blew off two deadlines this week. One was for the library course. I thought the registration deadline was Friday. Instead of confirming that date, I signed into the website Tuesday night, three hours after the deadline passed. The good news is I'll have lots of time this Fall to work on my next project(still trying to decide which to go with), send out some queries and play with my new camera. The bad news is I'll have to take two classes in January in order to complete the certificate within five years.

The other deadline was to finish inputting and polishing Hell to Pay by Wednesday. I really worked on it. I could hear Wednesday whooshing up behind me. I ducked and wove but it still pushed past. I tired to catch it but no luck. It's frustrating. This Wednesday looms in my rearview mirror but I think I'm far enough in front to win this race.

No one has given me the deadline. It's self-imposed. I am committed to finishing this book. Dedication. Persistence. Commitment. They're all catch words of success. Everyone wants to know that you can deliver regardless of what life tosses your way. No one wants to hear the excuses, although they can be entertaining.

Mine aren't. There are only so many hours in a day and I spent too many of them on Monday looking for songs by Damien Rice and drooling over other people's photographs. Procrastination is a very bad trait I possess in equal parts to the persistence, dedication and commitment.

The real reason I dallied that day was my reluctance to let Alex go out into the big bad world without me. We've been together a long time. I'm going to miss him. But it's time to let him go. I have no doubt he'll do well. Maybe he'll drop me a postcard from time to time. I've enjoyed traveling the world with him.

Conflict

There's a huge difference between conflict and excitement. In fiction, there's supposed to be plenty of both. In real life it's nice to have plenty of the latter and little of the former. The odd thing is how often we mistake one for the other.

I'm inputting and editing as I go. By this time next week I should be done and floundering around for a post. I tripped across a scene that was heavy on conflict and not all that exciting. Too much drama and not enough substance so I broke it up, twisted perspectives and allowed the conflict to generate excitement through the internal turmoil as the characters played out the action.

Nea is conflicted just by breathing. That's not always interesting, let alone exciting. She's drawn to situations that feed her combativeness.

Alex has a strong sense of adventure. Everything to him is exciting. He rises to the challenges that are part and parcel of those adventures. Until recently, he wasn't particularly conflicted.

Reconciling the two of them is fascinating to me. All too often in life, we're attracted to people and situations that keep our blood pumping. We seek adventure and conflict thinking that we have to overcome in order to be either exciting or excited. That's where all those Bad Boy Heroes come in. The more dangerous he is the more exciting.

Oddly, I've never been drawn to write dangerous bad boys. My guys usually end up in conflict between doing their job and the heroine's goals. Sometimes his values are challenged by hers but I don't think there's been a badge-wearing, gun-carrying, motorcycle-riding, black leather jacket in the lot of them. They've all been strong men drawn to strong willed women.

It's a good thing I've been around to teach them all the difference between conflict and excitement so that they all get their requisite Happy Ending.

Fans

A friend of mine made the observation the other night that there's a fine line between optimism and delusion. She illustrated that with the idea that meeting Gerard Butler was optimistic but expecting him to instantly fall in love with her was delusional. He'd have to go out with her a few times. Which made me laugh.

It also dovetailed nicely with my recent thoughts about fans. Not the ones that blow around air and make you feel cooler, although that description could apply. I'm talking about the people who make it possible for artists, authors, musicians, sports figures and film people to make a living from something they love.

There's a strange love/hate relationship between those two groups. They each satisfy a need in each other, and seem to carry a great deal of resentment for it. I don't quite understand it. Admittedly the Keziah Fenton fan club is small at the moment and I'm not getting hate mail deriding my penchant for the colour purple(the actual colour not the movie or book of that name). There aren't a lot of expectations built up around my behaviour, personal life or productivity.

People sometimes mistake celebrities for the roles they play(even musicians and authors play at a public persona). It's easy enough to do I suppose. I certainly joke enough about the aforementioned gorgeous Scottish actor. I do realize the man has a private life that should be all his own and not fodder for speculation from a bunch of people who don't know anything about him other than his job.

My major concern about fans is the way they've been handled in all the NASCAR books I've been reading. Yes sports fans love to embrace the fanaticism aspect of their moniker. They decorate their homes, cars, clothes, kids and pets in their team colours. Some of them tattoo their bodies or shave logos into their hair. But I watched the cash flow at the track a couple of weeks ago and the disdain TV announcers, authors and sometimes crews had for the fans irritated me.

I wasn't feeling well that day and inhaling exhaust behind the pits didn't help so I spent a lot of time wandering the park observing people. Pit crews ogled the sweet young things in their tight tank tops and skin tight jeans then punched each other in the arm whenever one of them got a phone number. Vendors rolled their eyes at the guy with Die Cast cars glued all over his ball cap. The TV hosts re-read the same page thirty times rather than interact with the crowd in the audience. There was a definite us versus them mentality.

People lined the gate back to the driver's RVs hoping to catch a glimpse, maybe even obtain an autograph, of their hero. Some drivers obliged, some ducked. A couple even sent out decoys and slid out the side. It must be difficult to be in such demand.

I'm not being facetious. When I get home from a long day at work, I can go upstairs, pet the dog and relax. I don't have to run the gauntlet of people congratulating/commiserating/clamoring/waiting/expecting. I can wear sloppy clothes, no make-up and a messy ponytail. I don't have to fulfill anyone's expectations.

As someone who admires another's work, I try to remember the fine line between fan and fanatic. I can appreciate one driver's skill over another. One actor's style, look, persona. I can even share that admiration with other people. I'm not sure at what point that makes me an object of ridicule.

Actors need an audience. Drivers need to fill the stands. Authors need readers. They are symbiotic relationships and as such shouldn't be taken for granted nor mocked. They deserve each other's respect and until we've been on the other side of that relationship we would do well to remember that.

I know I'll do my best. I trust you to remind me if I slip up.

Writing Olympics

My friend Me drove in from Detroit, S the Ky-ropractor(so called because she adjusts Ky's spine) came from Niagara-on-the-lake and I came home after work so that we could participate in the first annual Writing Olympics.

The Opening Ceremonies and lighting of the orange pillar candle(for creativity and success) were followed by a nice glass of Italian wine and homemade spaghetti. We had tortilla chips and salsa as well as sushi for appetizers, which we didn't end up eating, in keeping with the International flavour of the weekend.

It took a while for us to settle into writing. The athletic Olympics were on the television as background noise mostly because we wanted to watch Michael Phelps win his eighth gold medal. I'm not really used to a writing marathon that full of distractions.

We talked a fair amount about our individual projects. While writing isn't a team sport, it can certainly benefit at times from external input. Our genres are vastly different. Me is writing romantic suspense, I'm writing paranormal and the Ky-ropractor writes non-fiction. Some very interesting parameters and writing styles to choose from. There are times when another perspective can help clarify a scene for you.

We had a very productive night. Three gold medals in all.



Me for Distance(self-explanatory), S for gymnastics(there are a lot of mental twists, flips and jumps that she has to go through to write this book)and a Gold in the Decathalon for myself as I'm usually doing nine other things when I write.

Today was a great day. I finally figured out how to destroy a forest, trick a demon and save two souls in the process. I talked it through with Me to see if she bought my machinations and it worked for her. This sticking point has held me back from the last five scenes in the book. It was a major turning point for all of the main characters.

We watched the NASCAR race from Michigan while I wrote a fight scene then we took a break with Wrath of Gods. Again. Because it's brilliant and I want everyone to see it even if I have to show it to the world one person at a time. It makes me want to be a film maker again.

However, I took that creative spurt and poured it into Nea's breakdown. The Ky-ropractor has left the Games to do more research. Me is in the other room working towards her ending. I heard her curse at a character awhile ago so that was entertaining. One more night then she goes home tomorrow. I plan to have this draft done by then.

These have been excellent Writing Olympics. I think we'll do it again in two years for the winter games and see what we can dream up then.

More kissing

A lot of people are reading my First Kiss post. Which is interesting because kisses have been part of my thought processes a lot lately. I'm having quite an interesting dream relationship with a man I've only met online. All of whom are now wondering if it's him. Unless you're quitting your job, cutting your hair and going off to Connemara to play a lawyer on television, it's not. At least that's what you did in the dream.

There was some good-bye kissing. But that was also the first kiss. There was no kissing until the latter half of the dream. To be perfectly honest, it wasn't that good. Too awkward, too much pressure, too quick. The second kiss was better. The third was a real kiss and the fourth was so wonderful that I can still feel it hours after waking.

I'm sure the whole kissing aspect of the dream was inspired by a conversation with a young friend of mine who has never been kissed. She's built the First Kiss up to such an ideal that she knows she'll be disappointed. I told her there are so many kinds of kisses, and rarely is the first one the best. Awkward, brief, too wet, nose bumping, glasses locking together, does-he-really-like-me? thin-lipped, over-analyzed first kisses are not unheard of. Once you get that behind you and relax the fun begins. But not for everyone. Some people don't ever like kissing.

Nea has never seen the appeal. If she wanted to spread germs, she'd send in thousands of rats to affect more people in one swoop. Demons are not noted for their sense of romance.

I'm in the home stretch of editing, should get it done this weekend provided the sore throat doesn't develop into anything more brain-fuddling. The very thing that saves both Alex's and Nea's souls is a kiss. A life-changing, True Love kiss. The perfect kiss of which I dreamt last night. That kind of kiss. I should go write it down right now. Except I don't want to share that kiss. I want to savour it, enjoy it and keep it for my own. Even though it wasn't real and came from my imagination. Strange, huh?

PS If you're a man who knows me online and you woke up with a sore throat and the imprint of lips on yours, let me know cause that would be strange.

Motivation

My love affair with motorsports is an apparent contradiction to the rest of my life. I was a tree hugging environemntalist before it was cool. My idea of heaven involves lots of trees, a lake or ocean and an assortment of wildlife. Doctor Doolittle and Swiss Family Robinson were my ideal living conditions growing up. Now I want to live on Nim's Island and not just because Gerard Butler is her father.

Yet, the one sport I have more than a passing interest in is the least environmentally friendly one out there. I don't have the statistics at my fingertips but I'm sure that one weekend of racing does more damage to the environment than I do in a year. Yet the sound of all those engines makes me crazy. I completely lose my mind. Where does that passion come from?

When I was little, my grandmother watched Formula 1 on Sundays. I can remember sitting on the arm of her chair cheering for one driver over another because that's who she told me was best.

Bright lights changed the dark track to a daytime setting on several excursions to stock car racing with my parents when I was a kid. We didn't go too often because the roar of the engines hurt my brother's ears. Spilled fuel filled my small lungs and I was hooked for life.

When my nephew was seven or eight years old, I took him to Toronto for the Molson Indy race. Nothing like spreading the addiction. The grin on his face the first time he heard the call, "Gentlemen, start your engines<" was worth every penny. We went every other year until three years ago.

That's when we went to a NASCAR race at historic Watkins Glen. Last year, he insisted on buying his dad a ticket to the race as a Father's Day gift. Now we are three.

I didn't take too many photographs as my camera decided to crash at the track. Maybe it was the pictures I was taking of the television cameras and photographer's lens. My envy made the little point and shoot feel inadequate and quit. My nephew used his cell phone so we have lots of pictures of the scenic setting. And some cows. No sheep. Sorry Stashaholic.

As I was flipping through the photographs I do have, I realized why I adore a sport that is so unlike the rest of my philosophies. Many great bonding moments have occurred with several generations over the scream of engines, whine of air guns and through a thick screen of tire smoke. Sunday is Race Day. I usually go downstairs to my parents' apartment to watch it with them, not despite my father's rants at the TV, but because of them. Racing means family.

Next time you give a character a characteristic, passion or hobby that is so alien to their personality, think about my example and root it well. Make it believable. Give it a history that defies convention. People are more complex than we tend to write.

Thoughts

I was up an hour earlier than usual this morning so that I could take the rescued Quaker parakeet to the vet. Yoda spent six months of his life in a custody dispute before he ended up coming to live with me almost a year ago. It was supposed to be temporary. Stop laughing. I knew what I was getting myself into. Or so I thought.

He's been attack parrot the last couple of weeks. No one has been safe from his vicious beak. I had a sneaking suspicion about what ailed him but wanted confirmation from a trained professional. And to be completely honest, there is so much more I don't know than what I do know about birds. I could have been wrong.

The little demon has reached sexual maturity. It turns out he's two years old instead of the three I thought he was. Should have read his band.

Driving home I took Highway 8 along the base of the Niagara Escarpment. It was beautiful and if Yoda hadn't been abnormally subdued I might have stopped and snapped a couple of quick photographs to share here. I felt the stress of the morning drop away as I drove past orchard after orchard. I had forgotten how much I love the western part of the region. Alex has kept my focus in the Falls. I don't enjoy all the developments. It's all grape vines, wineries and monster homes, the occasional sheep or Highland cattle notwithstanding. For those of you not from this area, the old homes, stone outbuildings and ancient trees are exquisite. They soothe me.

With a demon bird in the cage beside me, I couldn't help but think of my fictional demon. We're getting to the end of our journey together. I wondered if Nea would have identified with her nymph heritage more had she been raised in amongst all those trees. It's more likely she was responsible for all the plum pox that destroyed so many orchards. She makes no apologies for that. I hope that given all she's learned she will make different choices in the future.

Driving always makes me think. I've been accused of over-thinking things. Isn't that part of being a writer? One has to view each scene, action and emotion from every perspective in order to understand the characters well enough to tell their story. I don't think I'm the only one who does that.

Perfect day

Have you ever had one of those perfect days that defies description?

My friend Stashaholic is in town for the long weekend. We've known each other too long to count and while we're vastly different in our approach towards life, we're eerily similar. My parents call her their other daughter(they have several).

I didn't sleep much the first night as she felt the need to tell me(the person who never watches the news or reads the paper) about a horrific murder that has made headlines around the world. Canadians don't have much a violent history but when we do commit murder we make up for it in spectacular ways.

The horror hit me repeatedly throughout the night. When I woke up in the morning I wondered what I was doing with a fictional demon who was no where near as gruesome as this real life person. I ended up writing dialogue all over the back of the shower wall addressing that issue.

A few cups of tea later, Stashaholic proposed we go to a yarn store in Fonthill. I was lukewarm. We had been invited to a friend's house for Sushi and wine later and it was going to be a rush to get from one place to another before the winery closed. My sense of adventure was challenged (perhaps even mocked) so off we went.

Google maps let us down consistently throughout the day. The store doesn't have a website and I had forgotten to write down the phone number but we found our way. Eventually.

Stashaholic was thrilled with all of the variety in wools. Possum, corn and milk were all new to me but by then I'd decided to embrace her addiction to texture. It was fun. The darling man who followed us from room to room kept the shop open a bit late to accommodate our dithering. She bought some gorgeous stuff and sent me home with a hank of plant dyed wool.

We meandered from Fonthill to Niagara-on-the-lake to check out Frog Pond,an organic winery. More wrong turns, messed up directions and much laughter. We passed sheep. Twice. The same sheep. I'm not sure if this is when Stashaholic's plan to get some Icelandic fleece was born but it took root as we drove the countryside. At some point I'm going to have two pounds of fresh fleece in my spare room so we can clean it, card it then spin into wool for sweaters. She's already done plenty of research on that subject.

We tasted the wine, purchased a couple of bottles and began the journey to my friend's house. More country roads, a rainbow, and a Quest for hairy beasts(Highland Cattle)and more laughter. We stopped at an Irish tea shoppe and sat out the torrential downpour. Too bad I left the car window down for some air.

At one point I'd seen a man standing beside a metal sculpture of a man that looked like a great picture. Stashaholic kept asking if we were going to go back to see the alligator which threw me off because it was clearly a man. Another circuitous route and we pulled into the driveway to realize we were each looking at something different. The sculptor came out into the yard and shared his creations with us. The details were incredible. Personality glinted in metallic bugs' eyes. An iron dragon shimmered and clawed his way up a tower. And the artist himself stared at us from Don Quixote's face. He was a character.

By the time we got to my friend's house for sushi, I was savouring the day's adventures. I'd been so reluctant to embark on anything that morning but as the day unfolded I discovered so much pleasure in all that surrounded us. Every day things that so many of us take for granted.

We reached each of the destinations but the journeys defied structure. Most of my joy came from rolling with the experiences as they occurred. We talked about life, about writing, knitting, spinning and wool. Relationships, friendships and careers. Our conversations were as linear as my driving, yet they always made sense to us.

There are times when you just have to throw structure aside and simply experience life. I wonder how that will work with editing.

Niagara Falls

There's no way I can ever top the photograph that's in my header for sheer breathtaking splendor(but that doesn't stop me from trying). I stood on the stone wall that separates man from nature to get that shot, then cropped out the trees in the periphery. The river truly roars as it dives over the edge.

We went to Niagara Falls last week and as I predicted we did discuss some plotting. I'm in the home stretch as far as editing goes so it's merely a matter of fine-tuning.(I'll be looking for delta readers soon, just so you know) Walking the terrain helps with that.

I waved at the people on the boat, with little idea that I would be down there myself soon enough.

Look at how far downriver one starts the Maid of the Mist tour. It gives you a good sense of the size of the falls themselves.

Here is the American Falls which are also breathtaking. There's no way to get anywhere near this close to the Horseshoe Falls. The undertow and back eddies strain the boat's engines as it is. I've lost a camera in the past to the spray so this time I kept mine safely hidden beneath the plastic poncho. Being at the base of the falls is exhilarating, terrifying and beyond description. It was also incredible research. Talk about walking the terrain. I rode it out. It should make the last scene of this manuscript impossible to put down.

I'm hoping I've described the falls well enough that you'll feel like you've experienced it for yourself. If not, we now have Niagara's Fury to simulate it for you.

Random thoughts aren't always as random as they seem

My company is here from Indiana. We're going to Niagara Falls tomorrow to admire Alex's house. It looks so different in the summer than the winter but I still get a great feel for the energy of the place. I've been editing every day and see no reason to stop for guests. Fortunately they're the kind of people who understand that drive. We'll likely discuss scene blocking while at the Falls. I'm blessed with my friends.

We watched Wrath of Gods last night. A couple of people came into the room late in the viewing but were sucked in right away. If you still haven't seen this film about the challenges of making Beowulf and Grendel, hound your local video store to get it or order it yourself. You'll thank me later as I did Zingera and Jon.

Yesterday was such a random thought kind of day while I was prepping for company. My stomach was upset and because you rarely see a chimp running around complaining of such ailments I started to wonder about the diet of chimpanzees and how it differed from humans. Not that I want to eat trees, leaves or small birds but there might be something to the whole fruits and veggie diet. Are chimpanzees actually healthier than humans? This articlediscussed the role diet played in evolution. Genes in the liver changed as radically as the diets the lab mice were fed. It was mostly scientific stuff but my brain went off on a tangent about altering genetics. It wasn't writing related so I left that thought process and went elsewhere.

To Jon Gustafsson's blog as he has some incredible photographs on there. I write a lot from images. While Iceland and Niagara Falls have a huge geographical distance the beauty of both landscapes inspire me.

Once there,I played in a couple of his sidelinks, even though I'm familiar with Wrath of Gods. And ended up right back at my chimp gene thought process. Too bad I don't write thrillers because my brain took the two webpages and ran with them. There were lots of what ifs and why nots and near misses in the evolutionary ladder that would have made my conspiracy driven nephew proud. The funny thing is, I can't really let go of the possibilities.

The study of genetics seems so straight forward but the variables are much bigger than any of us non-scientific folk can imagine. In a strange way, this is the basis of Nea's motivation. Her behaviour is not as much a result of her upbringing as it is her parent's identities. Their genes influence her in almost every way.

Maybe if she ate more fruits, leaves and termites, Nea could change her genetic make-up. But I doubt it. She wouldn't be Nea.

Funny how one thought just leads into another until the end of the day comes and you realize you spent way too much time on other people's blogs, websites and films when you should have been editing your own stuff. Oh well. I enjoyed the strange journey yesterday.

Editing

It's not as exciting to talk about this phase of writing. It's down and dirty, cut and paste, rewrite necessary stuff that isn't all that interesting until it's done. Right now it's simply messy. With a lot of misplaced commas.

Much like my house. I'm sorting through things, re-arranging and preparing a formerly empty room to become a sanctuary. Right now, it's all paint, rollers, cleaning material and piles of stuff. The floor has been laid. All of the materials are there. It's simply a matter of putting things where they belong and discarding what I don't need.

There's no correlation between my life and writing whatsoever. It never ceases to amaze me how often that synchronicity occurs. Does that happen to you?

Reward of Gods

For some reason that is unfathomable, and not to be examined too closely should the magic fall off, I can write while watching motorsports. It's an incredibly productive use of my time. The love scenes for some bizarre reason are the best ones I write. Last night, I edited 30 pages while watching the NASCAR race. 30 pages single-spaced.

Today, I rewarded myself with a viewing of the Wrath of Gods DVD that arrived in the mail on Friday. Go order it. I'll wait.

Brilliant isn't it? I didn't even watch all the bonus materials. They'll be future rewards for writing goals that are met. The documentary was fascinating - like watching a train wreck without the gore. It's a testament to persistence, perseverance and dedication. It's also a love letter to film making.

My dad was in Iceland several times with the air force when I was growing up. I've heard stories about its stark beauty and incredible weather but nothing prepared me for the fury of the Icelandic Sea as it rose up to grab a jeep. Or the contrast between sunny skies one day and hurricane force winds the next. Wind and sea fill my mind even now. I wonder if the cast and crew ever did dry out.

Wrath of Gods is absolutely brilliant. Thanks Zingera for recommending it so highly. A bigger thanks to Jon Gustafsson for not only ensuring I received a copy but for making the film in the first place.

Go reward yourself with Wrath of Gods. You won't be sorry.