I’ve been infected with the pumpkin bug, and so I must do my yearly duty with pumpkins. As one who loves pumpkin spice, I baked over a dozen pumpkin cupcakes, and 12 pumpkin muffins. I’ve got pumpkin spice flavoring to add to my coffee. What’s more, I chose the above graphic to feature my posts for the October Frights blog hop. I’ve earmarked Wawa and probably Starbucks for pumpkin flavored shakes and lattes. Finally, I went and bought pumpkin sauce to use instead of traditional tomato sauce for some of my spaghetti meals, for the pumpkin rules. My Mylar balloons understand because they deal with my fever every year.
Food aside, the pumpkin is an important ingredient for Halloween. We have the Irish Festival Samhain to thank for Halloween as we know it. Samhain marked the passage from the summer harvest season to the dark of winter. People believed that fairy spirits, and not the nice kind, lurked in the shadows. To distract these spirits, people would carve faces into large turnips and set lit candles inside them. They would then place these lanterns among roadways and gates to light the way for travelers and caution the fairies.
The immigrants from Ireland and Scotland arrived around the mid-1800s, and these folks found the pumpkins useful for the jack-o’-lanterns. Thus this Halloween ritual was born.
My other upcoming blogs will have three discussions on writing issues and one short story. My tales don’t contain any scenes involving pumpkins, but you can sure make some delicious treats. Since people are always hungry, you might want to stop by King Arthur Flour to check out their pumpkin recipes. For gluten-free diets, you can substitute their Measure-for-Measure flour for regular flour.
I know of a lot of folks who set up pumpkin jack-o’-lanterns, but I’d much rather buy canned pumpkin and bake. Carving involves a lot of hard work, and some pumpkins weigh as much as 25 pounds. That’s not to say I won’t indulge in pumpkin Mylar balloons—I’ve got about two or three of them now.
Today, I found a pumpkin cupcake in my lunch kit. I must give the pumpkin his due.
Commenters are eligible to win a print copy of When Blood Reigns.
I’d gone quiet for awhile because I’ve had to temporarily relocate due to major termite damage. Among other things, I feel as if I’m walking in one of my characters’ shoes.
About two years ago, I released a novella, Life Raft: Earth, in which protag Natalie and other humans face an exploding star hurtling toward the earth. After lengthy negotiations with politicians, Chibale, a kindly Trittonite, uses his technology to tow the Earth out of harm’s way and toward a benevolent galaxy. Without his help, Natalie, her family, and everyone else would die. Still, the trip is inconvenient and creates hardships for the humans and the Trittonites. How does my termite problem relate to Life Raft: Earth? In the spring, I learned that termites had eaten away the joists under my living room, kitchen, and office.
Because the homeowners’ association is responsible for termite inspections and the structure of its properties, they’re paying for the repairs. The damage was bad enough to warrant them moving me to a different location while their contractors worked. The process necessitated lots of preparation on my part, too; I had to pack away enough medicines and supplies to last a month – more than that, in case the repairs take longer. I brought several Mylar balloon trees with me, so they required a miniature tank. I worry about the ones left, for the extended stay studio apartment can only accommodate so many balloons. Much of my writing time went into packing, transporting, and storing boxes. Without the homeowners’ interventions, the floors might have caved in under my weight, as you can see from the photo to the left.
This got me to thinking about Life Raft: Earth and the preparations Natalie had to make. Her ride included radical changes in weather, requiring the purchase of pressurized suits and sophisticated heating systems. That included a doggie suit for her beloved Brutus for his outside walks. The Trittonites’ evil leader tries to sabotage the transport. Because her father’s political connections made Natalie a target, she lived out of a suitcase on Chibale’s ship, where she learned ways to protect herself. Of course, Brutus came along, so that meant packing dog food, along with human-friendly treats, clothing, etc. Frequent fires and droughts, along with pictures gotten of the star left Natalie with no choice but to put her life in the hands of strangers and dealing with an antsy dog. She misses her job and her home and winds up leaving the ship, despite protests by Chibale and his companions.
I myself have snuck back to the house a couple of times to scope out the progress. Mike and I have lived in that house almost 30 years, so it holds a lot of memories. I miss my bed, my oven, and other conveniences. The outcome is where Natalie’s story and mine differ. I’m in a safe place, and when the repairs have concluded, I anticipate having a new kitchen and rebuilt floors. Natalie’s traveling through hell, and her chances of surviving the trip are iffy. But when it comes to homesickness, the inconvenience of relocating, and having to trust strangers, I can identify with her.
Have you ever found yourself identifying with your characters? I’d love to hear your thoughts. 🙂
Yesterday, I got to attend the Philadelphia Writer’s Workshop at the Sonesta Hotel. I began my day with salami and provolone cheese sandwich for breakfast; then I headed downtown. It was an excellent conference, but the classes that struck home related to the dos and don’ts of self-publishing (loved that class) and the advantages of traditional publishing versus self-publishing. I had my lunch over at De Bruno Brothers and took advantage of the opportunity to buy cheese. When you’ve tasted their fine cheeses, you’ll want to buy more.
Chuck Sambuchino discussed the advantages and disadvantages of both kinds of writing. With traditional publishing, there are no startup costs. The company will edit, handle the cover illustrations, and may even hire someone to provide marketing. Whatever money you get with your advance is yours to keep, and perhaps later, you might get film options. It carries an air of legitimacy; ergo people will be more agreeable to review your book and interview you.
Ah, but since the company is fronting the money, that leaves you at the whims of others. After the advance, the royalties run about 10 percent, and it takes a lot of time from contract signing to book release. Assuming you get an agent’s attention right away, it could take several months before the contract between you and agent is signed; months before that agent signs you with a publisher; a total of two to four years before the book is released.
Self-publishing gives you control over the editing, illustrations, formatting, price, etc. The royalties are decent. The length of the book and genre don’t matter; self-publishing would be ideal for someone who’s focusing on a unique interest and has a ready market for their book. What’s more, depending on the company, you could have your book released in a week. It took me six months to a year for each self-pub work because the book went through an editor before I got into formatting.
The downside is, you become your own agent, editor, marketer, etc. or be ready to pay upfront fees for these services. Self-publishing still carries a stigma; bookstores and reviewers will shy away from your book. There’s no help with marketing or subsidiary rights, and without a platform, promotion is an uphill battle.
The time factor mention hit me where I live, and that was why I self-pubbed many of my books. Up until February 2013, I queried agents and lined up at seminars for pitches, but in 2013, I had two admissions to the hospital for water on the heart. Last January my husband died, and recently the homeowners’ association discovered significant termite damage in my floors. I’m healthy now and have had no mishap with the floors, but my takeaway from these events is this: Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. With that in mind, I’ve had a rough time wrapping my head around the idea of waiting four years for a book to go live. Thankfully, I’ve found ways to work around some of the disadvantages of independent publishing. I’ve also published with small presses; this helps with the time element.
That’s not to say I’d never try traditional publishing again; I may change my mind years from now. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Do you feel traditional publishing is best or do you prefer independent publishing? What have your experiences been like?
In the meantime, there’s another salami and cheese sandwich with my name on it.
I spent my recent days holiday baking. Unlike previous years, my gluten-free pastries were reminiscent of my Mom’s recipes, and my Mylar Balloons whispered, “Shouldn’t you blog about your baking?” No, I’m sleepy, I thought and promptly dozed off on my computer chair.
Then yesterday, I photographed my gf anginetti (Italian lemon-flavored cookies) and pizzelles, and people began asking how I came by these recipes. “You see?” my balloons crooned, “Better Batter and King Arthur cup-for-cup flour worked for you, right? And you’ve been posting some of your recipes in Night to Dawn. How about sharing your experiences with your followers?”
The balloons had a point. Back in 2014, I posted a blog titled Where’s the Bread. There were no photographs of bread or other treats because whatever I attempted tasted awful. My cheese rolls hardened like baseballs. Though I contented myself with my homemade chicken rice soup and Udi’s bread; I continued to try different recipes.
I found a user-friendly method with Pamela’s Pizzelles, and these taste like my mom’s version. I use anise extract for flavoring. They’re hard to tell from the regular pizzelles, so I had to mark the containers carefully. I also tried recipes provided by Nicole Hunn. She posts a blog and has written several books on gf cooking. Whatever food sensitivity is the issue, she can suggest ways to work around it. When I made cheesecakes, I substituted gf crust; there was Mike’s cheesecake, and he got a hearty slice with each visit. I haven’t been able to bake cheesecake since he died but found a lot of treats with Nicole’s recipes. I also tried her cheese bread recipe, but that didn’t turn out well. Italian cheese bread, called “pitz” (spelling?) is the Holy Grail in my family. I bake it every Easter but have yet to manage a gf facsimile that works.
I found tasty recipes on King Arthur Flour’s website, particularly their chocolate chip cookies. Last time I made them I substituted coconut for half the chips and they were awesome. This past year, King Arthur came out with a Gluten-Free Measure for Measure Flour which you can substitute for regular flour to convert traditional recipes to gluten-free. I used it to make butter cookies and anginetti, using concoctions similar to my mom’s. You might wonder how come I didn’t go with my mom’s recipes. Mom never measured flour, and neither did I. I’m not ready yet to try gf baking without measuring. The butter cookies taste like Mom’s; the anginetti came a little heavier than I liked but decent. For the anginetti and wedding cake cookies, I had to use more liquid than the recipe specified. So if the recipe called for one cup of orange juice, I used 1.5 cups. Better Batter Flour advertises as “cup for cup”, but they recommend that you add extra liquid.
The bread’s over here!
Oh, by the way, I found my bread – Pamela’s bread mix has worked for me nicely as you can see in my photo to the left. And I will continue posting my recipes on Night to Dawn’s “Pickings and Tidbits” page. Even writers and connoisseurs of Mylar balloons and fiction have to eat sometimes! 🙂
Have you had to alter ingredients or find new recipes to accommodate a food sensitivity? I’d love to hear your experiences.
The conclusion happened January 29th at about 2:00 p.m. The scorched earth warfare waged by Parkinson’s and dementia against Mike prohibited his ability to swallow, and that was when he died. I should have seen it coming; he’d been losing weight and getting frequent infections. My Mylar balloons tried to warn me. Every time I browsed Amazon to order him fresh supplies, the balloons stayed my hand. “Wait,” they advised me quietly. “He’s not going to need those. Save your money.”
Speaking of balloons, it was Mike who introduced me to them. He brought me some when we got engaged, and after his hospital stay in 1996, he thanked me for his care with several Mylar balloon bouquets. He loved my cheesecake, and I told myself that as long as this continued, no worries. Denial can be a comforting place.
He often regaled people with tales of his years in the Navy during the Vietnam War. Later on, he added that the Navy gave him the happiest years of his life, and now I can see why. Time spent around other people enabled him to escape the reality of Viet Cong capturing people and Parkinson’s disease invading his body.
“Scorched earth” comes from the military strategy the US used to fight the Viet Cong. This strategy involved the destruction of crops, homes, and resources vital to the enemy. I don’t recall exactly when Michel’s war with Parkinson’s disease got ugly, but I know that dementia had imprisoned his talents. It whispered “scorched earth,” with gardening, driving, and activities of daily living becoming the first casualties. His frequent falls echoed “scorched earth,” necessitating admission to the Veterans home. The ability to swallow became dementia’s final target; yes, dementia can affect swallowing in its late stages. The patient’s cognitive function worsens until finally, his brain forgets how to swallow and sustain life. After his admission to the home, I learned that deep brain stimulation, when done in the subthalamic nucleus where Mike had it done can cause cognitive changes, including dementia.
I can sum up Michael’s fight with Parkinson’s by using an analogy about life. When I was ten, my mom sent me to a summer camp for three weeks. Other kids spent the summer; some stayed a week. Some preferred sports; others leaned toward arts and crafts. One kid remained a loner and avoided most activities.
In many ways, life is like camp. God drops us off to “stay” for a while; some of us will remain here longer than others. Some people become writers or artists. Others go for medicine or law. Mike came to the camp of life with many talents, but as the years passed, he reminded me of the little girl who didn’t fit in.
His problems became apparent when his doctor attempted different medicines that resulted in intolerable side effects. At work, customers complained about his softening voice, accusing him of drinking (he was a teetotaler). Although surgery contained the tremor, it aggravated his cognitive changes and speech difficulties.
After Mike went on disability, he joined the neighborhood’s beautification committee. He had his horticulture skills behind him, and this seemed to give him purpose. Instead, after a few months, he came home, reporting that he’d been “ousted.” One of the other members who happened to be a nurse explained that Mike was exhibiting personality changes and none of them pleasant. Toward the end, he became a lone wolf like that little girl at camp.
Thankfully, the Veterans home nurses treated him like family. They appreciated the sense of humor and kindness still lingering under the dementia. He’d been supportive of my writing, and this continued on his good days. Up until a month ago, he giggled at my balloon adventures. I suspect that his relatives in Heaven will welcome him with love, balloons, and flowers. Whatever Mike saw upon passing must have been beautiful, for he had a look of awe on his face. His suffering is behind him, and I’d like to think that he’s filling up on cheesecake, picking balloons, and thinking of me. Heaven has surely gained an angel.
The hardest part of writing is the middle or, as some have said, the “muddle.” It is relatively straightforward to create an interesting premise and an exciting opening to hook your reader. Also the ending of the book in a thriller will have a climactic end with revelations the reader did not expect. These parts of the book fuel the writer to fill the pages. The middle is a different story.
The middle of the story has to keep the story moving forward with interesting details, fill in exposition needed for the story, fill out the characters, develop subplot. This all has to be done in an interesting and fresh way for the reader to continue to enjoy the book. The opening is usually sketched out with relative ease since this sets up the story and really the only concern is how you will decide to reveal the opening. Likewise the ending really has been determined by what has already been written in the story. The conclusion naturally flows from what has already been written.
The middle can easy become unfocused and meander down paths that really don’t propel the story forward. The other problem with the middle is that it has to keep the fill in essential elements and be interesting. The initial pages can have a breathtaking scene, with details to thrill the reader. This can’t be done for the entire novel or it will lose its effect and the novel will become over the top and totally unbelievable. The middle has to take a more nuanced approach to storytelling. The pacing must vary, the characters must have interesting reveals. My personal approach to the middle is to make sure everything propels the story forward, even if some of the expository details are less exciting than the opening.
Dr. Matthew MacAulay is a facial transplant surgeon at a prestigious New York hospital. When his friend and mentor, Tom Grabowski, dies under mysterious circumstances, Matthew uncovers his friend’s secret: a new technique that allows perfect facial transplants. No incisions, no scars. Tom was able to accomplish this monumental feat with the help of Alice, a supercomputer robot with almost human abilities. While trying to find the people responsible for murdering Tom, Matthew realizes he is the prime suspect. He must flee for his life with the help of Dr. Sarah Larsson, a colleague and reluctant helper, who has a secret of her own, and Alice, who helps them make sense of a baffling series of seemingly unrelated events. The clues carry Matthew and Sarah around the world. They stumble onto a sinister plot of monumental proportions that leads Matthew all the way to the White House.
The Face Transplant is a powerful medical suspense thriller of the first order. The novel was written by a surgeon who weaves politics, medicine, and espionage into a tightly paced, intelligent thriller.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Arundel is a practicing surgeon. This experience brings realism to the story. The novel asks what would happen if a surgeon were to develop the perfect face transplant. This would allow people to have a new face, in essence create a new identity. You can create the perfect double, the perfect Doppelganger.
Guaarrr. It sounds like water draining from a very large bathtub, through a very large hole. I just killed myself. I just killed the patient. Dr. Matthew MacAulay looks down on the operating room table at the gaunt, graying man. Matthew quickly scans the operating theater. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the short wide man in the observation area.
I just killed myself, Sarah, and Amanda.
They have been hijacked into performing a face transplant. The patient is unknown. Mr. Glock, the short wide man, hovers in the far end of the operating room. He made it clear that if the patient did not survive, the three of them would be following him in short order. The 9 mm Glock with a silencer on the end gave credence to his profanity-laced words of warning.
Matthew looks across the operating room table at Amanda Soto, forty-two, an American of Spanish ancestry. She has been his scrub nurse, assisting him in the operating room for the last three years. Divorced, one child.
It will take a few more seconds for the monitors to tell everybody what Matthew already knows. Amanda already knows. She is right across the table. She saw him use the robotic arm to dissect the vessel and mistakenly cut the large artery in the neck. An operating room nurse of Amanda’s experience has seen it all. When Matthew looks into her eyes, they flash ever so quickly an acknowledgment that it is all over. Instead of any words, she quietly unclamps the suction. Now a dull hiss fills the air. To the casual observer, or the short wide man holding a 9 mm Glock pistol in his fat stubby hands, nothing really has changed. Amanda, anesthetist Dr. Sarah Larsson, and Dr. Matthew MacAulay act as if all is going well.
Matthew cannot help but glance over to the man with the 9 mm Glock. In his mind, he names him Mr. Glock. Adrenaline surges through Matthew’s body and time slows. The short wide man, Mr. Glock, has gray eyes. Pale, gray eyes. Very pale, almost tired. Matthew remembers reading somewhere that people with gray eyes have the best visual acuity. They make the best marksmen, the best assassins. He wonders if this was true.