Horsey Sauce ain't like Momma's used to be.

Excerpt from a novel - Houdini's Vice - that is being deleted but it shadows an experience I had. Mom used to grow horseradish in the garden for Dad, but we kids, or at least I never had it.

                          

Porsche wrinkled her nose remembering her first experience with the spicy condiment. She had attended a work luncheon her first year away at school. She ordered a Rueben plate. The horseradish arrived on the side and not wanting to offend her host, Porsche had dressed her sandwich with a generous dollop. The first bite hadn't been bad with just a hint of heat. Her second bite, a borderline unlady-like one at that, hadn't proved as benign. The heat started at her nose, tickling at first. She inhaled and the rush to her sinuses cleared them for the landing of a B52 bomber in the dessert, it was time to send in the rain in the form of her tears. She blinked them back feeling like the country bumpkin she knew herself to be. Frantic for relief, she grabbed her water glass intending to flood the barren wastes of her facial cavity. It proved the wrong thing to do as water only makes straight horseradish all the more potent. Could she have done more to send the steam out through her ears? She doubted it and even though years had passed, even the mention of horseradish made her cringe. Trevor was insane if he liked the stuff.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Ilene laughed. "You look like I just fed you peas and liverwurst. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Porsche waved off her mother's concern. "I just don't like horseradish."

"What?" Ilene asked in surprise. "You used to love horsey sauce when you were a kid."

"Mom, horsey sauce with a horse crazed child and horseradish are two very different things." Porsche hurried out of the kitchen not wanting to explain her run-in to her mother.

(Photos belong to other websites.)

Compliments, Felicitations, and Dissertations

What woman in her right (or left) mind doesn't appreciate a heart-felt compliment?
I wondered that as I dismissed yet another kind felicitation. Am I insane? Well, that is debate-able, and on some days I would proudly proclaim "YES."

Okay, so what is this awesome compliment that I felt so unworthy of, you may ask. It was this--I'll try to summarize. Yes, as an author, and according to this compliment, I am very well qualified to do so.

Where was I/ Oh yeah, the summary of the compliment...You (as in I) should write children's books. That is where you excel. You have truly missed your niche in the writing field. Those stories you used to tell your children were riveting, and they still remember them.

I should have smiled demurely and answered "Thank you." But no, not this one. I had to lapse into a full dissertation on the skill required to write a children's book, complete with the value of reading levels and illustrations. Oh, when will I learn that sometimes (and I wonder if this was one of those times) a compliment is meant to lift the troubled soul. To bring a smile. Or to just make one feel good.

Hump...
So, to women everywhere...Next time a compliment comes your way, smile and say "thank you."
(You can always dissect the critter later.)

Ten Things Writers Say, and What They Really Mean

I read this on Patty Froese blog and laughed so hard I have to share.
My thoughts are in italics.

A book is a labor of love.

Nineteen hours in drug-free hard labor with my daughter was easier, actually.
For me it was the hours of labor while my hubby and the nurse watch some golf!

Being a professional writer is an interesting and rewarding career.
(Check for the crossed fingers on this sztatement.)
Be anything but a professional writer. Don't make me beg you.
Yeah, I'll just die if I have to compete against someone I know.

I'm always thinking about my story, even when I'm shopping at the market.
I'm always thinking about . . . hey, are those chocolate-frosted donuts on sale?
And like hey, can I use that comment in that scene...becareful what you say out there!

I'm so glad you enjoyed the book.
I'm so glad your e-mail was a nice one because I just ran out of Valium. and chocolate...

Maybe Publishing is tough, but I love the competition.
Maybe Wal-Mart is hiring.
Don't you dare write anything worth reading...

My editor is thoughtful with responses and is making me a better writer.
My editor hasn't answered my e-mail and is making me crazy.
Where is she when I need her the most?   One hour to deadline. Dang was the Eastern Time or Pacific?

So you want to write a book? That's great.
Please don't ask me to help you write your book.
Plesze don't have the guts to finish it!

Sure, I can wait another six weeks for payment to be approved.
Sure, I can pawn my wedding rings again. Do you have any recipes for making something edible out of ketchup and beans?
You're lucky I pawned my pistol last week.

Writing a synopsis isn't so bad. You just have to think about it.
Writing a synopsis makes me break out in hives but I'm too poor to hire someone to do it for me.
Telling every other author how to write their synopsis isn't bad, but mine is impossible.

You will absolutely love holding your first book in your hands.
You will scream like an air raid siren, shake like you're standing naked in a blizzard and then cry like a teething baby while clutching your first book in your hands. P.S., don't let them videotape it.
Yeah, you'll do the exact same thing when you download it off of Amazon on the ornery little Kindle. I'll show you Kindle Fire!

Fickle Friday

Betsy and I are comparing stories today. Hope you'll feel free to share one of your own too. Betsy, where were you born?


In a hospital that no longer exists in St. Johns, Arizona. This little town was hardly even heard of before Salt River Project took an interest in parking their power plant there. Not that it’s a thriving metropolis now—I think the cows still outnumber the people 100 to 1.

That just might beat my being born in a resthome for the aged! (for those of you unfamilar with my story, see my profile on the left sidebar.)
If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

That’s an easy question. There are two places that have always intrigued me. I love the look, the weather, the people, the scenery of New Zealand. But I hear it’s pretty expensive. My other choice would be Australia because of its political climate.

I too would like to try Autralia, but not for the same reasons. I think my draw is an awesome series that my family has recently gotten hooked on. Can I live on a station and just ride horses? No chores for me, I know how hard that can be and shearing sheep? Ugh.
What is the funniest thing that ever happened to you or you witnessed that made you laugh so hard you couldn’t catch your breath?

I even wrote a short story about this. We had this pesky mouse that was terrorizing our home. We’d see him scamper across the floor when we’d least suspect him. He’d chew on everything, especially in the middle of the night keeping us awake. One afternoon, I saw him run behind a cookie sheet I had propped behind the kitchen sink to dry. I slipped a cup on either side and caught him. I took him directly into the bathroom and proceeded to flush him down. Who knew that mice were such good swimmers? That little bugger would NOT go down. All of the children had gathered round to watch its demise. After about the third flush my husband reached into the toilet and picked him up by the tail. “Any creature with that much will to live deserves to.” He took the mouse outside and let it go on the bank of the canal. In my mind I pictured some feral cat making a meal of that mouse. Shortly thereafter we procured a cat!

EEk! my sister once had a mouse try to build a nest in her hair while she was sleeping!

Highclass Humor

(This is not mine but I couldn't not share. Have a laugh on me.)

Price of gas in France


A thief in Paris planned to steal some paintings from the Louvre.

After careful planning, he got past security, stole the paintings, and made it safely to his van. However, he was captured only two blocks away when his van ran out of gas.

When asked how he could mastermind such a crime and then make such an obvious error, he replied, 'Monsieur, that is the reason I stole the paintings.'



I had no Monet


To buy Degas


To make the Van Gogh.


See if you have De Gaulle to send this on to someone else.


I sent it to you because I figured I had nothing Toulouse.


While you were not looking...........what else has she got to do after hanging around for so long?

(Recieved via email this morning.)

DOCTORING BEE STING

ABCD's to doctoring a bee sting on the underside of an ultra-sensitive middle toe.

A- Amputate toe (being sure to severe nerve bundle. Mark each nerve different color.)
B- Be sure #%*%# bee is DEAD.
(This part doesn't get its own letter.)- Remove bee stinger while toe is unconscious and unable to squirm away from you. Plaster with Denver Mud or the modern version, baking soda paste. Wrap toe with roll of gauze and anchor with surgical tape.
C- Connect nerve endings to appropriate nerve of corresponding color and stitch toe in place making sure to double check surgical knots.
D- Done.

Sound over zealous or even difficult?
Try doctoring your own toe when you step on the dang bee.

Mid-year's resolution--wear shoes, or at least sandals.

Next day check-up.
The toe did survive. The bee was carried away by ants or maybe a slug. Bedding needs washing after gauze, tape and baking soda were found playing between the sheets.
--Knotty, knotty--

Good News, Bad News: The stuff life is made of on Sept. 20th.

Good News --- The doctor can see you today.
Bad News ---You need to fast until your appointment at 4pm.
Good News --- Preliminary test appears normal.
Bad News --- We'll need to run more tests to know for sure.
Good News --- The Lab is right across the hall, no appointment necessary.
Bad News --- Only one Lab Tech and a very unhappy little baby put Tech one whole hour behind.
Good News --- Didn't have to wait fifteen minutes between blood draws (like the patient in the next cubicle).
Bad News --- Whole building closed for the day . . . even the restroom (which I needed desperately due to not having to participate in that test).
Good News --- Got home in time for dinner which my wonderful hubby has waiting.
Bad News --- Twenty minutes to eat before running to get daughter.
Good News --- Still on time.
Bad News --- Black Charger stops in middle of high school drive just in front of me to pick-up not two or three but a fourth basketball team member. (I stress that I'll get rear ended.)
Good News --- Charger and occupants don't lynch me for honking.
Bad News --- Daughter is waiting as it starts to rain.
Good News --- I am optimistic . . . we are home safe and the children are retired, my turn next.
Bad News --- Hmmm Think positive. no bad news. . .

Had a similar day?