I’ve been working on a number of things, and it seems that things are somewhat rolling in a positive direction.

First, a coworker of mine asked a syndicated columnist friend of hers for advice on my behalf. The columnist essentially said,  it took about five years for him to get going with a column. The person she asked is a well-known personality in Denver media, and this person has been well-known *before* attempting to get his column going.  He said I was going about it the right way, and given that I’m *not* a well-known name, the fact that it took him as long as it did means that I will probably be at this for awhile, and it’s not me.

What I will also say is that starting the alternate list (and, hey, if you’ve not yet signed up for “Flying Solo,” here’s the place to do that) has made me feel a whole  bunch better about the whole thing, because I’ve been getting really good feedback on that, and, according to the numbers, people are reading it at twice the rate of the industry average. I’ve already got more people on that list than on the newspaper list (and I’ve got every daily in Colorado on it, plus several 3-5 times a week papers), and I’ve got subscribers in five countries. Thank you all for reading, and tell your friends!

I’ve also been developing the story kit idea, and just a few days after I started it, I got an e-mail from Zazzle announcing a contest for developing a new, custom product for their site. This could be an opportunity to get this developed in a big way, so, I’m working on the video proposal for that.

Even if that doesn’t go forward, I’ve been looking into a few other options, and building something of a business plan, which may or may not include a Kickstarter campaign.

I’ve already sold one, which is a “find dino fossils” scenario, and they’re not yet available for sale online. I’ve also got a waiting list, and the person on that waiting list has told me that he has a relative who works on importing, who might be a contact if I needed to look for wholesale prices on the various props.

I’ve also  had some things developing on the cemetery preservation front, but, that’s still pretty vague, and might not really amount to much.

I didn’t get the editorial calendar built over my holiday, which is really hurting me as I’m trying to juggle all the demands of two websites, a column and all the projects, so, I’m hoping to get a better handle on that this weekend.

It’s feeling a bit like things are rolling in the right direction for once, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve hit on the right path, or, I’ve finally been at it long enough to finally see some results, or I dunno, I’m imagining things.  But, I admit, it is feeling like progress, which is a very huge deal to me.

I am going to go to bed, and see what tomorrow may bring.  Pleasant dreams.

This story is another of the fractured nursery rhymes. It’s about 30 times longer than the original nursery rhyme, which probably means I’ve really thought too long about it.

Today’s Word:

dioristic

As in:

Like many people in the world of entertainment, Jack B. Nimble has had to change his act to keep people coming.

He just never imagined the changes would be so significant.

“People just aren’t impressed by one guy jumping over a candle stick any more. It’s too tame. I made the candlestick 15 feet high, but, it usually blew out when I did it. There’s no drama in a guy jumping 15 feet over a stick. Then I tried a bunch of candles, spread on the ground over three feet, and jumped over that, but, the novelty of that wore out pretty fast. Now, I’m going to try jumping over bonfires, and see where that takes me.”

Nimble, his face lined with the stress of trying to eck out a living in the world of daredevils, feels the pressure of an increasingly demanding audience. When he started, his dioristic routine was top of its class. Now, that routine is, at best, seen as “quaint,” and at worst, “stupidly boring.”

“Audiences are jaded. Anyone can jump over a candlestick. Now they want to see death defying thrills and, if you can manage it, a really spectacular accident. It keeps me up at nights trying to plan these things, and I worry more about having a crowd appreciate the stunt than I worry about the injuries. I got kids to feed.”

**************
I’ve always thought that “jumping over a candlestick” was a ridiculous stunt. Why do you have to be all that nimble or quick to jump over a candlestick? Is this some weird medieval thing that has some other meaning that I don’t know because I’m literate or born 500 years too late for this to make sense? Anyone know?

dioristic / DIE – or – IS – tic / Distinguishing; distinctive; defining

I put a hold on this book at the library because of title. From the picture on the cover, it was clear that two of the “jerks” were Horace Tabor and Mattie Silks. I would certainly grant Tabor “jerk” status. Mattie Silks, one of Denver and Georgetown’s madams, I wasn’t quite so sure qualified.

Turns out, the book was largely a disappointment.

Each chapter seems to me to be largely a rehash of things cited elsewhere, and then cobbled together with a bit of extra emphasis on “jerkdom.” The author seems uncomfortable with bringing out the jerky qualities in most of the people in her book, and often her summary paragraphs at the beginning of each biography feel like apologies for being about to make a case for “jerkitude.” In more than one case, I really felt like the author never really managed to make a case for jerk status, instead picked one instance of lukewarm “jerkiness,” and “proved” her thesis with little more than a concluding summary statement calling the person a jerk.

Me, I wanted actual jerks.

One of the “jerks” is Queen Anne B. She had a habit of “stealing” cattle. When cattle from neighbor’s herds wandered on to her property, she’d either re-brand the creature, or, she’d butcher them herself.   This was something that her mother had done before her, and everyone knew was a likely outcome of cattle wandering onto her property.

This is pretty much the extent of her “jerkitude.” I’m almost bored typing just that.

Except, the story goes for 5-6 pages in the book. The biggest jerk in the story (who, I grant, does have his own chapter) is the infamous Tom Horn, who was hired by one the Anne’s neighbors to kill her foreman (who was also her fiancé). Horn ambushed the fiancé and one other man, leaving their house after breakfast, then shot and killed them both.

When the author has an actual jerk at her disposal, she seems to be afraid to really tarnish their reputation.

Take, for example, the case of Colonel Chivington. He was the jerk who led the Sand Creek Massacre, where he and the majority of the soldiers under his command murdered mostly women and children of the Arapaho tribe on the banks of the Sand Creek. This is discussed in the book.

When he was taken to trial for his actions, Silas Soule, who refused to take part in the killings, was the chief witness against Chivington. Soon after, Soule himself was murdered. The assassin, while it never went to trial and proven, was likely hired by Chivington. This part of the story is left out of the book.

It seems to me, if you are writing a book about “jerks,” you’d include all of the misdeeds that qualify them. Granted, Chivington was never convicted in association with this crime. Yet, every account I’ve read of this story indicates that this was more than mere speculation. Everyone knew who’d hired the assassin. This part of the story speaks volumes about this jerk, and it’s not even there. One of the few real jerks in the whole book, and one of the most obvious stories of the extent of his jerk-ness is not mentioned? Did she forget to read the title of her own book?

She missed the Bloody Espinozas, whose reign of terror was well known, and who butchered multiple victims throughout the southern part of the state.  She missed, well, I’m not entirely sure at this moment, but, I’m certain there are multitudes of bigger jerks she missed.

I feel like this book was a lost opportunity, and I feel like I wish I’d gotten to write it.

Today’s tale is another in the series of “fractured nursery rhymes.” This one is dedicated to my friend, and historical food cookery aficionado, Sheila.

Today’s Word:

deglutition

As in:

A Middle Ages-themed restuarant, “Pease Porridge” has been closed by the health inspector, after tests revealed that the contents of the pot were, in fact, nine days old.

The restuarant, which was billed as serving authentic recipes from 16th century Europe, opened seven months ago to mixed reviews. Several critics complimented the venue’s authenticity, and even appreciated a number of the dishes as “unique and surprisingly tasty.” A few noted that the food was “decidedly odd,” and specifically mentioned that the signature dish, “pease porridge,” a typical peasant dish, was “largly unappetizing, especially served cold. It did not inspire thoughts of deglutition.”

The dish, available in both hot and cold preparations, was praised by some patrons, but others found it barely palatable. Some complained it had little flavor, and others claimed it was too salty.

The restuarant’s owner, Margaret West, explained that their dedication to authenticity was the culprit in this diversity of experiences. “Like those peasants whose diet depended upon this inexpense preparation of veggetables stewed in a single pot over the only source of heat in their small dwellings, we started with peas and bacon, and then added to it over each day. We put in the things we had leftover from other menu items.”

This set off red flags for Jeffrey Lopez, a health inspector and fan of historical recipes. “I went to the restuarant hoping that they were not cooking things to warm, and then leaving them over a hearth (whether literal or figurative) over night to then serve the concoction cold. I had hoped they were using refrigeration for the food when it was not heated to temperature. Food kept out overnight is a dangerous proposition, and is a perfectly suited environment for bacteria to grow.”

West commented on this idea as being “… a bit paranoid.” She went on to state that people today are just a bit too obsessed with food safety, and it would do them good to build their immune systems and stop worrying so much about bacteria. She notes that our ancestors wouldn’t have discovered cheese if they’d had our predjudices about food storage, and indicates that “they survived. Well, most of them. They might even expect to live to the ripe old age of 40!”

**********
This was funnier in my head.

Also, tomorrow, the largest internet protest ever will be taking place to protest SOPA and PIPA. These are *REAL* bills, about to PASS, and not Kate Middleton’s siblings. While I’m not a fan of piracy, these bills will not put a dent in stopping *actual* piracy, and could really hurt businesses that depend on the internet.

deglutition / DEE – glue – ti – shun / the act or process of swallowing

I’ve written many times that one of my constant companions is this flu of ideas and thoughts that fill my head, all the time.  My brain is sometimes so noisy with thoughts that I can’t escape them, and it’s hard to follow one thread of thought for enough time to see it to a conclusion.

I know, first world problems, right? Boo-hoo hoo, look at me whiny about not getting a minute away from my own mind. Really, in the scheme of things, yes, it’s a minor problem, and I shouldn’t complain. And, I’m not. Instead, I am setting the stage.

Because, this particular tale I wish to share with you is most remarkable when you are cognizant of how my brain spends weeks with thoughts flooding through, and providing very little in the way of rest.

I had been having a particularly long period of “brain flu,” and I had just learned an alternate route from work during the evening commute, which takes me parallel to the always busy I-70.

The last leg of the trip turns me facing north/northwest, to hook up again with I-70 to go  the last few miles home. This particular day, I turned, and went under the railroad tracks, and as I started to emerge from under the bridge, and as I crested the hill, there it was, huge, and perfectly framed by the narrow passage under the tracks.

For the first time in weeks, my mind was silent. The mountain looked like it was just a few miles away, rather than the 70+ miles away I knew it to be. I stared at it, as if I’d never seen that beautiful peak properly before in my entire life.

Anyone who lives near mountains knows that they sometime look like they are much closer than they really are, and that that perspective changes daily.

Here’s a picture I took from just past the spot, and it wasn’t as big the day I took the picture. I don’t remember seeing the crane at all, and can’t even tell you if it was there.

What I do remember, is thinking, over and over again: “That’s Long’s Peak. Right there. That’s Long’s Peak. It has to be. It’s Long’s Peak, but how? I’ve *never* noticed it there before. How did I miss it? That’s Long’s Peak!”

I starred at it, rampant disbelief echoing around my head which was pretty much empty of other thoughts, so, it had lots of room to run.  That glorious sight allowed me to hear silence. It gave me peace, and then, there were a few appreciative tears, I’m not ashamed to admit it.

It was like a wake-up call to pay attention to what was all around me. To be present in the moment, and allow myself to breathe and take in the wonder and magic of existence. It shouted, “Look, you idiot! You live *HERE* in COLORADO and it’s BEAUTIFUL! It’s amazing every. Single. Day. And, you’re not appreciating it.

That moment was like a breath of fresh air, and there was healing it. It’s one of those moments that remind me of those words of the Psalmist, who said “I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from where comes my help.”

Yeah, I know, I’m a big softy, and this wasn’t remotely funny.  But, I was needing this reminder again this weekend.  And, by sheer coincidence, I have been meaning to use this as a blog post for ages, and had nothing better to write about today. So sue me. (On second thought, please don’t. Thanks.)

One of my super-secret projects that’s not really secret is that I’m writing a column for syndication.

While I’m working on getting traction with the people who might or might not pay me, I’m curious to see if there’s even an audience for this thing, and see if I can’t grow it myself, too. I’m not posting the columns here, but, I’m offering it for e-mail subscriptions. Call it an experiment.

So, if you’d like to see my Sunday column,
Subscribe to Flying Solo by E-mail

There are sample columns posted here.

I’m enjoying writing it, and hope that it’ll someday have an audience. Maybe that audience is you.

I’ve gotten behind again, which is my own fault. This means that I’m going to use this old story, which is on the short side.  The word is almost longer than the story.

Today’s Word:

gynotikolobomassophile

As in:

This is the story of Orring, the little gynotikolobomassophile who lived hislife happily moving from one face to another. Orring was one of the most fortunate of souls: He got to live his passion. Dangling above a shoulder, Orring could enjoy countless hours, securly positioned in the object of his affection. Never had there been a gynotikolobomassophile with such luck! For you see, Orring was in the most enviable of existences for a gynotikolobomassophile, he was a lovely earing of solid gold.

gynotikolobomassophile: /GYN-o-tiko-lobo-masso-PHILE/ Someone who likes to nibble on a woman’s earlobe. Again, yet more proof that there is indeed a word in the English language for everything.

For the last few years, I’ve had to be much more creative with my gift-giving, because funds have been exceptionally tight. This means, I’ve been focusing on experiences and spending time instead of money.

This year, in keeping with that spirit, I decided that for Christmas I was going to write my nephews a story, and not only make then the heroes of the piece, but, make it a whole adventure: a self-contained experience that, with any luck, they would remember, and would have a touch of magic for them.

I had no idea what to write.

Finally, one night, in the bathtub, I was realizing that the story needed pictures, and I remembered that I had a picture of my oldest nephew and a gray kitten that had wandered across our path when we were walking around in a cemetery in Iowa. And then I knew what to write.

I turned that photo into the beginning of a quest. The kitten would lead the boys to a castle in another world, where they would get a treasure map, and a mission from the King to reclaim the treasure, and break the curse put on this land by a witch. The boys would need to find it, and then disguise and protect it. As their reward, they could keep the treasure.

At work, I made the treasure map, complete with burned spots and aging. I got a small treasure box at Hobby Lobby, filled it with “gems” and sparkly plastic necklaces I had in my costume closet, took some pictures of these, and mailed them to my sister, who would arrange the hiding of the treasure.

I put the story into a book, and printed it from one of the print-on-demand sites, with extra pages in the back for the boys to draw and color the details of how the story ended.

The boys had a blast. They took their swords with them to hunt for the treasure, and they looked under every tree they saw. They took the bequest for “disguising” the treasure very seriously, and were certain that there was no way that evil witch would recognize the stolen treasure.

My sister recorded the whole adventure on video, and I admit, it was pretty cool to watch them get excited about the adventure as my sister read the story. Their imaginations went crazy, inventing a path and bridges on the map that weren’t there. They saw “naughty guys” hiding behind bushes and were amazed that they were reading a book with their pictures in it.

According to my sister, they’re still hiding the treasure all over the house, so that they can go find it again. They excitedly showed me their efforts of painting the box.

My sister and brother-in-law figure that I should create customized story kits, for families to have their own adventures, where the kids are the heroes, and the parents are involved in orchestrating the magic for their kids.

So, I’m going to give it a try. I’m working on the logistics, pricing and creating three story templates to see what happens. My brain has constructed a “dig for dinosaur bones” story, a pirate story, and a lost princess tiara story, and I’ll put each of them up for sale in two formats. One will be customized story only, with instructions for how to collect the other parts they need. The other will be a full kit, with the treasure/dinosaur bones/tiara all packaged together with the customized book. For this version, I’ll have the parents send a few specific pictures of their kids to mix in with the text.

What I’ve noticed is that I’ve been feeling particularly inspired by pursuing this idea, and I’ve really been generating a bunch of ideas around this concept, and how to make it go, and it’s feeling exciting to me in ways that some of my other projects of late haven’t felt. It has also started to solidify more of a direction for me in terms of what my goals are and what direction I want to take, which is feeling more “right” to me than almost all the other directions I’ve contemplated.

I don’t exactly know where this will lead, but, it seems worth trying. I will keep you posted.

It was very difficult to return to work today. It feels like I stepped into the ring and took a serious beating. It was really hard to get out of bed this morning, and if the traffic had been at normal levels, well, I’d not have gotten coffee this morning.

This is another in the series of stories based upon nursery rhymes.

Today’s Word:

indurate

As in:

The continuing economic downturn has forced some families to some unusual means to try and earn a living. Maybe “unusual” is just the way it is with our next guest.

I’m talking today with Rosemary Shue, a long time resident of Stonybrook, who has been called unusual for two things: her house, which is built in the shape of a shoe, and her large family. Rosemary is the mother of 15 kids. Recently, when her husband lost his job, she was forced to take drastic measure to earn a living for herself and her kids. In this case, she decided to turn her house into a tourist destination. That’s right, the “Shoe” is open for business.

While the non-standard house is still the family’s residence, during the day, the indurate family will be giving tours of the place. You can now finally see what’s inside this local landmark. It’ll cost you $5 for the privilege. For that price, you’ll get a full hour tour of the place, from “heel to toe,” as it were.

The Shoe will also be serving breakfast, lunch and dinner in its spacious gardens and enclosed patio. The food will be prepared by Mrs. Shue herself, and will include some of the produce her family grows on the property, plus locally sourced meat and dairy.

When she’s not serving meals or giving tours, Mrs. Shue will give classes in various ways to stretch your budget. She’s learned them all while raising 15 kids! She’s charging $20 per person, per class, and they range in topics from canning and freezing, to making your own furniture, handmade holiday décor, and tasty recipes that can be made for pennies.

Like many other destination restaurants, the Shoe has added on a gift shop, which is, naturally the last stop on the tour. You can buy some of Mrs. Shue’s prizewinning preserves, and bring home a t-shirt or mug with a picture of the iconic family home, built centuries ago.

You can even take home a picture of yourself at the home. For $5, you can have your photo taken either in front of the home, or waving from the top of the high-ankle. It’s sure to be a prized memory in any scrapbook.

*******************
I’m not sure if I’d *buy* a photo, but, a tour of a shoe house would be interesting.

indurate / IN – dur – ATE / physically or morally hardened

I finished reading Simon Pegg’s autobiography earlier this week, and it brought out my stylish melancholy with a sidecar of thoughtful baggage.

The book traces Pegg’s nerdly influences growing up, and how they’ve cycled back  in his adult life to making things which are themselves a tribute to those inspirations, and then even to working with those heroes who had an impact on his life and imagination.

I couldn’t help but notice the similarities between his childhood and mine. Sure, he’s a few years older than me, and a boy, and from Gloucestershire,  but, there’s a cozy familiarity in the geekly media that was influence to the young geek in training.

Like the young comedian/writer/actor, I had a number of early brushes with theater. My first press clipping came from the Winter Park Manifest when I was all of five years old. (I still have a copy, if you’d like to see my cute little five year old self declaiming said dialog.)  I was the only kindergartner with a speaking part. Never mind the fact that I earned the part solely on the basis that my teacher figured I was the only girl who’d be able to remember the lines.

In the small communities I grew up in we didn’t really have a community theater. Well, unless you count the one that started up a few months before we moved. We all were encouraged by the organizers to go to auditions, which included a round of improv. I got cast in the musical with a speaking part, but, wasn’t allowed to take the part because we wouldn’t be there for the performances.  I’ve clearly been stewing on that one for a few decades.

We moved to Pueblo, which was a parade of huge shifts in my world, and I didn’t have a clue how to fit into this place. It was there that I spent some time being “That Kid.”

I, too, have vivid memories of those Gen-X geek rites of passage , seeing Star Wars, and its sequels, Raiders of the Lost Ark, E.T., and Star Trek, and Dr. Who. I remember the first time I auditioned for a part in a Shakespeare play (The Tempest), and the thrill of getting to speak those glorious words with some pretty accomplished adults, who jumped at the chance to do the scene with me. So what if I didn’t get the part? The director complimented me on my understanding of the Bard, in front of everyone, and no one else got such praise. Of course, I also didn’t get the part, so, I took what I could get.

What my lovely, neurotic brain also noticed while reading this book, was there were similar points in my life to Pegg’s life, and the ones in my life came out very differently. Things that kept him on the path that would take him to making geeky love letters in film-form to his childhood inspirations didn’t end up taking me down that same path.

Not that I’m saying I had any real ambition to be a professional performer. I can’t say that I was in the same league as Mr Pegg, nor do I begrudge him his success.

I could be bitter, but, I’m not.

Instead, I’m just more confused than anything. Is it simply hindsight that allows us to interpret our choices in life as all culminating in a a clear singular direction? Is that just the way people decide to interpret things to support the choices they make?

The familiarity of the experience in Pegg’s life made me think about all of these things in a different light, and I wondered how it was that I had ended up where I am.

There were opportunities that I didn’t take, for reasons that seem perfectly reasonable at the time, like the unpaid screenwriting internship I turned down the summer before my senior year in college. Did I screw up my true fate? Should I have taken it? It was not fear of the job that held me back, but, fear of not having money, transportation or a place to live.  Seems like such a minuscule problem in retrospect. Though, I do like food, and not being homeless.

I had decided to read the book because I thought it would be funny, and I like Simon Pegg, and I wanted something light to read. Instead, I’m onto my latest existential crisis, and trying to again figure out if I’m putting my efforts into the things that somehow matter or are going to make the world a better place. Is that so much to ask?

There are still things I’m processing from this book I mistook for a light-hearted romp. Oh sure, for some people it probably was. It has funny moments. And, if it had not felt so much like my own biography, well, it might’ve been a hoot. Instead, well, it’s made my brain ponder serious thoughts, and it never needs any encouragement to do that.