Back to blogging soon

Posted on January 2, 2013 by WestWordArizona

Haven’t been blogging much during these last two months. We lost a family member in November.

Hope to get back to blogging and working on other writing projects soon. Also resuming editing services in February.

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How’s that again?

Posted on October 29, 2012 by WestWordArizona

I read things posted in public places. Things like signs on commercial buildings and flyers and notices posted anywhere, including on telephone poles, store windows, and restaurant bulletin boards. And, yes, I also notice grammar and syntax mistakes in those signs, flyers, and notices.

Way back when, while riding the bus home from work, I spotted a humongous new sign in front of a mobile home sales lot. The sign read
Trade-ins Now Excepted. Well, that wasn’t quite right. I called the company and told the manager, “I think you’re sending the wrong message. The sign actually announces that you’re not accepting trade-ins. I don’t believe that’s what you intended.”

The manager chuckled and said that I had made his day. He assured me that he would check out the sign. The next day it read Trade-ins Now Accepted.

Another time, I stopped to read a flyer taped to the window of a real estate office. The flyer listed the specs and amenities of a commercial building offered for sale or lease. The description below the picture stated that The property is well kept and inviting to prospective buyers with curb appeal. No, just no. Prospective buyers don’t have curb appeal; however the property should.

A few weeks ago, I picked up a brochure I found discarded on a bus bench. The brochure advertised an upcoming event. I don’t recall which organization was sponsoring the event, but the text included the question Are you interested in going to [theater] on [date] for a matinee performance of [play] on the bus? Don’t think that performance will be happening on the bus. Not enough room, among other things.

Most likely, the individuals who created the mobile home sales sign, the flyer, and the brochure were not professional writers. However, if one is trying to sell a product or service or tickets and transportation to an event, perhaps one should do a little proofreading and editing before releasing information for public perusal.

Just sayin’.

On the other hand, if all signs, flyers, and brochures were written using correct grammar and syntax, I’d have nothing to complain, um, I mean, write about.

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Must never be without a notebook

Posted on May 9, 2012 by WestWordArizona

Small notebooks are so handy. I always have one with me. I’ve been carrying them around ever since I was a teenager. Back then, I used them to keep track of school assignments. Yes, really.

Currently, I use them to keep notes about any “interesting” people or things I see in my travels around town. When I get home, providing I can read my scribbles, I type my notes into the computer. I keep most of them in a file named Blog Fodder because they might make good topics for a blog post.

For example, a few weeks ago I made notes about the two Buddhist monks who walked into Starbucks and ordered five coffee Frappuccinos to go. Later, I did some online research and learned about the Buddhist monastery in Escondido. The Buddhists and their monastery just might appear in a blog post someday.

As convenient as they are, there is a downside to carrying small notebooks. I’ve developed the bad habit of shoving them into the outside pocket of my backpack, and they keep falling out. Sometimes I don’t realize they’re gone until they’re long gone. I’ve lost two of them in the last three months. Don’t want to lose any more if I can help it.

Not having a notebook in my backpack is out of the question. If I didn’t have a notebook, I’d be trying to scribble notes on the back of a receipt or on a paper napkin from Starbucks or Barnes and Noble. So, from now on, I’ll just NOT stuff my notebook into the outside pocket of my backpack.

I was glad that I had a notebook with me this morning. A woman on the bus started relating her sister’s marital problems to her seatmate and anyone else who cared to eavesdrop. “She got a gun and shot him six times,” the woman shouted, eliciting a few gasps from fellow passengers. I think I was one of them.

Wonder how I could work that scenario into a blog entry. Oh, wait, I just did.

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My excuse, er, reason for getting behind on blogging

Posted on February 26, 2012 by WestWordArizona

No, I haven’t abandoned this blog.

Actually, I made a New Year’s resolution to try my very best to update two of my three blogs every week. Well, that resolution had to be put on hold for a while. The reason: I was without Internet access on my desktop computer for more than three weeks.

That wasn’t what I expected when I cancelled the dialup, disconnected the computer, keyboard, and printer and very carefully packed up everything for the move. I thought I’d have the computer set up and running a few days after moving into the new apartment.

Alas [sigh], during the first two weeks after the move, getting us settled in the new location took priority over setting up the computer and getting back into cyberspace. I spent way too much time unpacking boxes of stuff and searching for things I desperately needed—but couldn’t find. When I wasn’t doing that, I was either running errands or on the phone, calling various companies to change our address or to set up services in the new location.

I’ve been “on the Internet” for twelve years. Without access to it, I sort of felt cut off from the world. Fortunately, I do have a netbook. I took the netbook to the nearest Starbucks a couple times so that I could update my social media sites, check my e-mail, and add minutes to my Tracfone. But the netbook isn’t conducive to posting entries on my blogs—at least for me it isn’t.

When I finally set up the desktop, instead of beeping once and booting up, the CPU beeped four times. Then a message flashed on the screen: NO SIGNAL INPUT, CHECK VIDEO CABLE.

Well, that seemed ominous. It also seemed familiar. I’d had the same problem with the computer in January 2011. I know nothing about the inner workings of a computer. So I hauled the computer off to a Staples store where a tech told me that a “piece of RAM” was loose. He fixed the problem, and the computer behaved for a year.

I suspected that the piece of RAM had come loose again. I told Other Half that he had to drive me to the nearest Staples. NOW. But first, I had to figure out where the nearest Staples was located. No problem, I called a friend who had an Internet connection.

I lugged the CPU into the store, described the issue, and let the tech deal with it. A couple days later, she called and said that the computer had a defective memory stick, aka piece of RAM.

After the tech replaced the memory stick, I hauled the CPU home and had the techs from the cable company come over to set up the Internet. The computer worked great that evening and the next day. I got busy doing other things and didn’t use it for the next two days. On the third day, I turned on the computer, expecting it to boot up right away. But it just beeped four times. And then that annoying message about checking the cable flashed on the screen.

I was not happy. The next day, I hauled the CPU back to Staples. The tech tested each memory stick in each slot. Everything checked out. Hmm…. So maybe it was me. Maybe I didn’t tighten the connection between the computer and the monitor well enough. Or something.

However, I decided that I couldn’t depend on the desktop any longer. So, while the tech checked out the memory sticks, I checked out the computer display. Now, in addition to the desktop, I have a brand new laptop—with an extended warranty.

Guess that means I will have to try my very best to keep that New Year’s resolution. I really do have good intentions, so here’s hoping.

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On hiatus until January

Posted on December 25, 2011 by WestWordArizona

I am on hiatus for a while. We are moving from Arizona, and I will be offline until I have Internet service at our new location in North San Diego County.


I will return in January and will try my best to reach my goal of posting once a week.


Thank you for reading my blog. I hope you continue to do so in 2012.

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An excerpt from a “hair raising” experience

Posted on December 17, 2011 by WestWordArizona

I’m revising several essays I published in 2000–2001 on the late, but most likely unlamented, site known as Themestream. I will eventually post them for a limited time on this site before deciding what, if anything else, to do with them (Smashwords maybe?). And, yes, I own the copyrights to all the essays.

The following is an excerpt from an essay about a “hair-raising” experience (in 1989) titled “The Unkindest Cut”:

“You’re my next victim!” the woman shrieked, brandishing a pair of scissors a little too close to my nose. Yikes! I needed a haircut, not plastic surgery. I’d heard that Greta was a great stylist—and a little pricey. I hadn’t heard that she was also a little scary. I wanted to bolt, but I was desperate. My bangs had grown way past my eyes. I kept bumping into things and knocking stuff over.

Hoping to survive with my eyes, ears, and nose intact, I followed Greta to her station at the back of the salon. While I explained about my numerous cowlicks, she rummaged through her supplies. Then she wrapped me in a purple-flowered plastic cape. When she aimed the spray bottle at my head, I knew there was no turning back.

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Almost flunked my first writing class

Posted on October 28, 2011 by WestWordArizona

Way back in the Mid-Jurassic Period, I got the bright idea to take a community college class in creative writing. I had been writing stuff forever—well since I was nine. By taking a college-level class, I figured I could learn how to improve and market my writing.


I had just started working at my first office job. I was an entry-level clerk-typist at a nonprofit organization. Mostly, I transcribed letters from a Dictaphone and filed anything that needed filing. When the boss and his secretary/bookkeeper traveled to our second office in another city, I answered the phone. Fortunately, it didn’t ring much.


I wasn’t especially crazy about those tasks. However, one of my “other duties as assigned” was supposed to be contributing copy for the monthly newsletter. That was something I actually looked forward to, and it was another reason to take the class.


Ten or twelve people showed up for the first class. We were a diverse group. Most of the students aspired to write fiction; a few people wanted to write nonfiction. At least one person voiced an interest in writing poetry. I wondered how the instructor would slant the class so that we all learned something from it.


The instructor was a man I’ll call “Stan.” Stan worked for the state of New York. I’m not sure what he did there, but I’m pretty sure that it didn’t involve writing.


Instead of a syllabus, Stan gave us a list of books. He told us we could learn how to improve our writing by analyzing the works of well-known authors. I guess that made sense, but I was a bit disappointed. I wanted to write, not read. I wanted to learn how to improve my writing, not dissect someone else’s.


I talked with Stan after class. He told me to try to sell on my own for a year. If that didn’t pan out, he told me to find an agent. I thought that sounded like strange advice coming from someone who had never read my work.


I bought the books on Stan’s list. Most of them were fiction. The only one I remember was a sleaze novel featuring characters who must have been contortionists. They spent a lot of time “fooling around” in closets and in various other tight spaces. I considered tossing that book into the incinerator, but my mother beat me to it.


In all, I attended three or four classes. We spent more time discussing Stan’s chosen books and less time discussing writing. I hadn’t signed up for a book club. I figured I wasn’t getting anything out of the class, so I quit showing up. Unfortunately, before I decided to bail, I committed to turning in three short stories as my class project.


I should have officially withdrawn from the class. I didn’t (yeah, dumb me). But that omission didn’t bother me until the last minute. The evening before my project was due, I decided I didn’t want to flunk the class. It would look bad on my record if I ever decided to take other classes there.


Fortunately, due to budget cuts at the nonprofit, I had been laid off from my job. (I never did get to contribute to the newsletter.) I figured that gave me one day to salvage my grade—maybe.


At 6:30 a.m. the next morning, I dragged my portable typewriter out of the closet. The ribbon needed changing, but I didn’t have a spare and didn’t want to waste time going ten miles to the nearest store to get one. So I spent the entire day writing three very short stories in longhand (yes, I could get away with that back then).


By 4:30 p.m. I could barely flex the fingers on my right hand. I went to class, turned in the project, and left, pleading a headache. A week later I went to the evening division office and picked up my folder. Amazingly, I got a B- for the stories, and I ended up with a C for the class.


I’m not sure if the college offered an advanced class. I wasn’t interested anyway. I figured I’d quit while I was ahead. I didn’t take another writing class for eighteen years.

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Honest, I never intended to torch my bedroom

Posted on October 4, 2011 by WestWordArizona

(Continued from previous post)

I was disappointed when I didn’t win a slot in the newspaper’s first Columnist for a Day contest. However, the following June, The Powers That Be repeated the contest, and I thought I’d give it another try.

I knew I had to do better at choosing a topic and title that would stand out among the other entries. After looking over some essays and articles that I had written for classes in nonfiction, I decided to revise a humorous essay. I thought the original version was a little wild, so I decided to tone it down. But I kept the title, “Confessions of a Household Failure.” I figured any title that included the word confessions would get the judges attention.

I wrote, revised, edited, and agonized over my entry. Finally, through some miracle, I typed the final copy and submitted it days before the deadline.

I was at work at the University of Arizona when the receptionist transferred a call to me. The caller identified himself as Mr. J and announced, “You’re a winner.” After he filled me in on the details, I hung up thinking, Wow, all those writing classes really were worth it.

The next day, Mr. J picked me up at work and drove me to the newspaper office where a photographer took the picture that would be included with my column. Several days later, another newspaper employee dropped off a page proof with the edits to my essay. I was happy that the editor had made only two or three very minor changes to the text. However, I was a bit disappointed to see that the title had been changed to “Cleaning up Her Act Has Been an Untidy Task.”

When my guest column was published, I took an unscheduled break from work and went to the nearest Circle K. I bought three newspapers. That evening, I cut my column out of each paper, went to a copy shop, and made lots of photocopies. I gave a copy of the column to anyone who seemed even remotely interested in reading it.

I got a lot of positive comments about the column. I never heard any negative ones, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any. And If I were writing that essay today, I would change one sentence.

Why?

I wrote about what a slacker I had been when it came to helping my mother around the house. As a toddler, I had freaked out every time Mom turned on the vacuum cleaner. I think that was the reason why my parents put off requiring me to help out around the house. Then again, whenever I tried to help, I usually ended up destroying something.

As a pre-adolescent, my only required chores were to help Mom clean up in the kitchen after dinner and to keep my bedroom semi-neat. However, when I turned into a teenager, my parents decided that it was time for me to begin helping out with other household tasks.

I did help Mom with the housework. Sometimes. When I couldn’t disappear fast enough. But the quality of my help wasn’t up to her standards. She complained that I never vacuumed the entire living room and that I always dusted around knickknacks and doilies. (Yeah, I didn’t and I did.)

And I always avoided “decluttering” my bedroom until Mom threatened to ground me forever.

After I moved past adolescence, I decided that it might be a good idea to get serious about housekeeping. I suspected that basic domestic skills like vacuuming and dusting would come in handy when I moved into a place of my own and couldn’t afford a maid.

The first thing I did was sort through all the stuff in my bedroom and decide what I wanted to get rid of. Near the end of the essay I wrote: “I divided everything in two piles. The pile I wanted to keep was twice as high as the pile I wanted to throw out. ‘That’s it,’ I shouted. ‘There are only two ways to be rid of this mess—torch it or move.’”

Oh, heck, I was just trying to be funny. You know—exaggeration. It’s a device used in writing humor. I hope no one really believed that I would set my bedroom on fire, but you never know. Today I’m sure that I would get a lot of negative comments about that statement. And maybe a phone call from the fire marshall’s office.

I want to include that essay as part of my online portfolio. So I’m changing the ending to I either had to have a yard sale or move. More conventional and less shocking, but also less, um, dramatic and more boring.

And yes, I can include it. It’s my essay, after all. I got a nice certificate for writing the column, but I wasn’t paid. And Mr. J verified that I was free to submit my winning entry to a paying market.

In fact, a few months after the essay was published, I submitted it to Woman’s World as a reprint. I never heard from the magazine; I guess the editor didn’t think my essay was funny. Then again, Woman’s World canned its humor column about three or four months after I submitted the piece.

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Judges not impressed by weird walk home

Posted on September 18, 2011 by WestWordArizona

One evening in June 1986, I picked up the newspaper and learned that a popular columnist, Mr. J, would be on vacation for three weeks in July. The Powers That Be invited readers to submit stories to a Columnist for a Day contest. The contest judges would then choose twelve guest columnists to fill Mr. J’s slot.

I had taken several writing classes at the University of Arizona, so I figured I had a fair chance at getting published. However, I couldn’t decide what to write. The newspaper probably would be swamped with submissions. Would the judges read every entry? I had to choose the right topic and the right title—things that would make my story stand out from, most likely, hundreds of others.

I wanted to keep it nice, so anything controversial was out. Finally, I opted to write about my scary (to me) walk home one summer night during the 60s, when I was in my late teens.

I had walked to a friend’s house early that evening; she was supposed to drive me home around 9 p.m. However, her sister hadn’t returned with the car. By 11:30 p.m., I was half asleep, and I wanted to go home. My parents went to bed early. I didn’t want to call them, so I decided to walk the mile or so to our house.

We lived in one of those small towns where nothing ever happens. But I still felt a little skittish walking home alone. According to the local rumor mill, someone had recently spotted a prowler roaming around neighborhood yards after dark. If the prowler really existed, I hoped I wouldn’t run into him. (And, as it turned out, I didn’t.)

I put off writing the story until a week before the due date. I wrote the first draft, revised it, revised it again, and typed the final version. I titled it “A Walk on the Weird Side.” I was fairly certain that the title would get the judges’ attention and entice them to read the entire entry. I mailed it at the last minute and waited for a phone call from the newspaper.

I didn’t get one. Not that year.

(to be continued)

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Notebooks: A necessity and an addiction

Posted on September 2, 2011 by WestWordArizona

Notebooks are a “must have” for writers. Writers must have notebooks to jot down ideas and observations before they’re forgotten.

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According to an article I read last week, writers should keep a notebook in every room in the house. That way, they’ll be prepared if they come up with a great idea while watching TV, taking a shower, feeding the cat, etc. Writers should also stash notebooks in their handbags/ messenger bags and in the glove compartments of their vehicles.

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Sounds like a plan to me—I’ve been hauling notebooks around ever since I turned sixteen. Actually, I probably have too many, and I just can’t seem to stop buying more. I fear that I’m addicted to those bound composition notebooks with the fancy covers. I own composition notebooks with metallic covers, flower-print covers, kitty-cat covers, and several other types of covers as well.

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All those pretty notebooks are a little pricey right now during the back to school shopping frenzy. However, in a couple weeks, the ones that don’t sell will be on sale at the big box office supplies stores..

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And, most likely, there will be a good selection to choose from in the clearance aisles. Apparently, a lot of people won’t pay three or four dollars for a “designer cover” composition book. I won’t do that either. I bought every one of mine on sale.

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