I adore gardenias. And this year, they've been blooming in an embarrassment of abundance. Don't know if it's the wet spring or the current heat wave causing the gardenias to bloom like there's no tomorrow, but I've been able to fill every room in the house with a bowl full. How can anything be wrong with the world when there's a scent like that?
I continue to be surprised that the press hasn't gone after the Mauricia Grant story. Bloggers are doing most of the talking, and as this blog goes to show, most of them (moi included) are talking out of their hats. Where's Nate Ryan's in depth reporting? Why hasn't Jenna Fryer done some heavy digging? As someone else said, maybe this lawsuit is seen as "so what do you expect from Southern rednecks?" The corollary to that is: who cares? I care, and so do many other people who love Nascar.
I'm reading Phillip K. Dick's stories, one after the other, and can't believe I didn't discover him before now. What a clever, clever writer.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
In a Stew
Watching Rick Hendrick glow and Jr get all gushy after winning in Michigan helped calm me down just a hair. Glad he won a points race this year. Happy for Tony Jr. Feel-good moment. But. . . you knew there was a 'but' coming, didn't you?
Having watched Brian France on Nascar Now pontificate that the Nationwide track official who has filed a discrimination law suit against the juggernaut known as Nascar NEVER complained about her treatment had me ready to rip into the TV screen. Come on, people, do you think we're stupid? Of course she took a lot of flack. She's a woman, she's black, and she was in a position out front where she'd be a target for that sort of idiocy. And yes, I believe she complained to her superior, who made sure she was fired. What's worse is, I have a feeling if she'd been a little older, wiser, and able to put those nitwits who hassled her in their places, she'd have taught them a lesson or two. Just maybe. I remember my days in law school when we five women out of a class of a hundred men took our hits. But we shot back. The guys spread Playboy all over the student lounge to embarrass us, we bought Playgirl magazines and added them to the pile. Oh, and did a lot of pointing and giggling. When the men started in on the really dirty talk, trying to get a rise out of us, one of us would say "Your mama know you're talking like that? 'cause if she doesn't, I'll be happy to let her know." We persevered because we weren't going to let them run us out of law school. My bet is, Mauricia Grant did the same thing - thought she could tough it out, until they fired her and all bets were off. I repeat, how stupid does Brian France think we are? Pay the woman, make the settlement confidential, then start cleaning house of the worst offenders.
I adore good ole boys - know quite a few. Their hearts are golden, their language less than proper, and they'll do anything for anyone in need. Shirt off the back time. The coneheads who hassled the Nationwide official aren't good ole boys. They thought they could get away with talkin' ugly and being mean to a young woman who deserved better. No proper Southern mama taught her son to behave like that. Shame. And shame on those who covered it up.
Having watched Brian France on Nascar Now pontificate that the Nationwide track official who has filed a discrimination law suit against the juggernaut known as Nascar NEVER complained about her treatment had me ready to rip into the TV screen. Come on, people, do you think we're stupid? Of course she took a lot of flack. She's a woman, she's black, and she was in a position out front where she'd be a target for that sort of idiocy. And yes, I believe she complained to her superior, who made sure she was fired. What's worse is, I have a feeling if she'd been a little older, wiser, and able to put those nitwits who hassled her in their places, she'd have taught them a lesson or two. Just maybe. I remember my days in law school when we five women out of a class of a hundred men took our hits. But we shot back. The guys spread Playboy all over the student lounge to embarrass us, we bought Playgirl magazines and added them to the pile. Oh, and did a lot of pointing and giggling. When the men started in on the really dirty talk, trying to get a rise out of us, one of us would say "Your mama know you're talking like that? 'cause if she doesn't, I'll be happy to let her know." We persevered because we weren't going to let them run us out of law school. My bet is, Mauricia Grant did the same thing - thought she could tough it out, until they fired her and all bets were off. I repeat, how stupid does Brian France think we are? Pay the woman, make the settlement confidential, then start cleaning house of the worst offenders.
I adore good ole boys - know quite a few. Their hearts are golden, their language less than proper, and they'll do anything for anyone in need. Shirt off the back time. The coneheads who hassled the Nationwide official aren't good ole boys. They thought they could get away with talkin' ugly and being mean to a young woman who deserved better. No proper Southern mama taught her son to behave like that. Shame. And shame on those who covered it up.
Monday, June 02, 2008
My (Fairly Recent) Conversion, or How I Lost All Intellectual Pretensions
My husband asked if I’d like to see the new Indiana Jones movie tonight. Thought a sec, then replied that I considered the first ones dumb, so I’d pass. He cocked an eyebrow. Okay, I admitted, maybe I’d reconsider. After all, I gave up all pretensions to intellectual superiority when I dove headfirst into NASCAR and its attendant circus. When did I choose to hide my Phi Beta Kappa key to wear a Kevin Harvick T-shirt and Ward Burton earrings? What possessed me to put down my Tom Friedman book for NASCAR Scene?
The tale is not an old one in terms of time. Sometime in the fall of 2005, I think it was, my agent asked if I’d be interested in writing NASCAR books for Harlequin. Easy, she said. Knock 'em out with your eyes closed. Never one to turn down the option to make money, I figured I’d watch some races on TV and get the lingo down pat. My husband, a racing fan but not of NASCAR, suggested a fall race at a small track, Richmond. He’d heard it was a good show. Pick up on the atmosphere. Get authentic. Okay, I said. Richard Petty, when I checked online, was appearing at the Fanzone. I’d heard of Petty. Funky hat and dark glasses. Bone-thin with a real drawl. Cowboy boots. Maybe I could ask him a few racing questions. (Remember my intellectual pretensions. . . )
Little did we know tickets were scarcer than diamonds in the disposal. But my husband, working his magic, scored a couple. We showed up. Not long before the race. Mistake number ONE. Engines crank up. My hearing exits track right. Nothing to protect our ears. Mistake number TWO. Then it happens. Magic strikes. The bleachers shake as the cars circle the track behind the pace car. Vibrations work from my soles to the top of my head. Good heavens, I'm getting excited. Crash number one and I’m hooked. On my feet screaming with everyone around me. So much for my doctorate degree. I can’t wait to hit the fan trailers and snap up all the gear I can. Mistake number THREE. Wait until you pick a favorite driver, THEN shop.
We buy good ear protectors, a scanner, spread our fan purchases out over several tracks, learn to get there early and set up our tailgating goodies. We are NASCAR junkies. Order premium TV to get the SPEED channel. Go to the Daytona 500. Ask for tickets to Martinsville for Mother’s Day. Season tickets to Richmond. Oh yeah. Big bucks.
And I never did write those NASCAR romances. Too much NASCAR, not enough romance, LOL, for Harlequin. Still, I’ve used some race lore in a couple of books, most recently in a futuristic where the Racer Clan figures prominently. It’s called LEGAL KILL. And there’s not a romance in sight. Well, maybe a hint. What does that say about my take on NASCAR? Hmmm. Gotta think about that one.
Maybe we’ll go see Indiana Jones tonight, after the long-delayed Nationwide race in Dover. No one cares about a Phi Beta Kappa key or a doctorate at either one. Thank goodness.
The tale is not an old one in terms of time. Sometime in the fall of 2005, I think it was, my agent asked if I’d be interested in writing NASCAR books for Harlequin. Easy, she said. Knock 'em out with your eyes closed. Never one to turn down the option to make money, I figured I’d watch some races on TV and get the lingo down pat. My husband, a racing fan but not of NASCAR, suggested a fall race at a small track, Richmond. He’d heard it was a good show. Pick up on the atmosphere. Get authentic. Okay, I said. Richard Petty, when I checked online, was appearing at the Fanzone. I’d heard of Petty. Funky hat and dark glasses. Bone-thin with a real drawl. Cowboy boots. Maybe I could ask him a few racing questions. (Remember my intellectual pretensions. . . )
Little did we know tickets were scarcer than diamonds in the disposal. But my husband, working his magic, scored a couple. We showed up. Not long before the race. Mistake number ONE. Engines crank up. My hearing exits track right. Nothing to protect our ears. Mistake number TWO. Then it happens. Magic strikes. The bleachers shake as the cars circle the track behind the pace car. Vibrations work from my soles to the top of my head. Good heavens, I'm getting excited. Crash number one and I’m hooked. On my feet screaming with everyone around me. So much for my doctorate degree. I can’t wait to hit the fan trailers and snap up all the gear I can. Mistake number THREE. Wait until you pick a favorite driver, THEN shop.
We buy good ear protectors, a scanner, spread our fan purchases out over several tracks, learn to get there early and set up our tailgating goodies. We are NASCAR junkies. Order premium TV to get the SPEED channel. Go to the Daytona 500. Ask for tickets to Martinsville for Mother’s Day. Season tickets to Richmond. Oh yeah. Big bucks.
And I never did write those NASCAR romances. Too much NASCAR, not enough romance, LOL, for Harlequin. Still, I’ve used some race lore in a couple of books, most recently in a futuristic where the Racer Clan figures prominently. It’s called LEGAL KILL. And there’s not a romance in sight. Well, maybe a hint. What does that say about my take on NASCAR? Hmmm. Gotta think about that one.
Maybe we’ll go see Indiana Jones tonight, after the long-delayed Nationwide race in Dover. No one cares about a Phi Beta Kappa key or a doctorate at either one. Thank goodness.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Summer and Slowing Down
Digging up bulbs, planting new hostas, and generally playing in the yard sucks me away from the computer as surely as a vortex down the drain. After thirteen straight weekends of rain, the past one was glorious. I even tackled the moss on the brick patio. Now that's looking for an excuse to stay outside in the extreme, LOL. No movie, no party, no sale can lure me away from a work in progress, but lovely sunshine and a yard can do it every time.
I need to get LEGAL KILL in shape before the Thrillerwriters conference in NYC in July. That means the fanny has to stay in the chair. Three weeks of family stuff played havoc with my schedule, but it's time to get back into the routine. We writers have to come up for air now and then. I've had my fun, now it's back to work.
How do you get yourself psyched to work when the weather is wonderful after a long cold winter and a wet, miserable spring?
I need to get LEGAL KILL in shape before the Thrillerwriters conference in NYC in July. That means the fanny has to stay in the chair. Three weeks of family stuff played havoc with my schedule, but it's time to get back into the routine. We writers have to come up for air now and then. I've had my fun, now it's back to work.
How do you get yourself psyched to work when the weather is wonderful after a long cold winter and a wet, miserable spring?
Monday, May 19, 2008
Diplomas, Dolls, and a Diatribe
She's a college graduate. Diploma in hand, tassel switched to the other side, drama honor society drape in place, she's posed and smiled and said her good-byes to faculty and friends. She has a BA in History, minor in Film and Photography, Drama. Anyone want to hire a smart, educated young woman?
Rain held off long enough for the two hour ceremony, outdoors under ancient oaks, to run its course. Unfortunately, the bozos sitting behind us didn't run out of chatter. Talk, talk, talk, through every address, until my husband had to turn around and say something to shut them up. That wasn't the worst, however. One of these charming idjits brought a blowup sex doll to wave in the air at the graduate they'd come to celebrate. Mind you, this is a women's university, and this doll was garish, tacky, and embarrassing. Why bring it to graduation? Just so you can insult every woman there who'd worked hard to earn her degree? My youngest child took matters in her own hands. A pair of manicure scissors did the job. The idjit spent a lot of time trying to blow it up again, which meant he wasn't talking. Both pluses. My children are geniuses. I'm so glad we've raised smart girls.
Remember my rant about manners? Want to take bets these yahoos weren't from the South?
Now I get to watch the All Star Race at Lowe's on Tivo and relax for a bit. Life is good. Even better, it's time to get back to the writing. I'm a happy woman.
Rain held off long enough for the two hour ceremony, outdoors under ancient oaks, to run its course. Unfortunately, the bozos sitting behind us didn't run out of chatter. Talk, talk, talk, through every address, until my husband had to turn around and say something to shut them up. That wasn't the worst, however. One of these charming idjits brought a blowup sex doll to wave in the air at the graduate they'd come to celebrate. Mind you, this is a women's university, and this doll was garish, tacky, and embarrassing. Why bring it to graduation? Just so you can insult every woman there who'd worked hard to earn her degree? My youngest child took matters in her own hands. A pair of manicure scissors did the job. The idjit spent a lot of time trying to blow it up again, which meant he wasn't talking. Both pluses. My children are geniuses. I'm so glad we've raised smart girls.
Remember my rant about manners? Want to take bets these yahoos weren't from the South?
Now I get to watch the All Star Race at Lowe's on Tivo and relax for a bit. Life is good. Even better, it's time to get back to the writing. I'm a happy woman.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Graduation!
Our oldest, Skyler, is graduating from college this coming Sunday. Can't be possible. I was changing her diapers just yesterday, sigh. It's amazing how the little nippers grow up, isn't it? I remember someone telling me to cherish those long, hectic, crazy days when they were babies, and thinking to myself, yeah, right! Now I'm there, giving the same advice to new moms, LOL. Oh my, how unoriginal.
The amazing part is, they've grown up to be intelligent, nice, creative young women. They'll go far in life, I have no doubt. My hubby and I always reminded ourselves that our purpose was to raise independent adults who could balance their checkbooks and fly away from our nest with complete confidence. Think we got it right.
Whenever I finish a manuscript, I feel the same way. Will it fly by itself? Will it land in a good home? I've done my best, I can't do anything more to ensure its success. Sending it out is a bit scary, as it is for any mom letting go of her child for the first time, but there's no point in clinging to it. The world awaits.
The amazing part is, they've grown up to be intelligent, nice, creative young women. They'll go far in life, I have no doubt. My hubby and I always reminded ourselves that our purpose was to raise independent adults who could balance their checkbooks and fly away from our nest with complete confidence. Think we got it right.
Whenever I finish a manuscript, I feel the same way. Will it fly by itself? Will it land in a good home? I've done my best, I can't do anything more to ensure its success. Sending it out is a bit scary, as it is for any mom letting go of her child for the first time, but there's no point in clinging to it. The world awaits.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Running out of Talent
Kyle Busch loves to run a loose car. Makes amazing saves. Exciting to watch. Only problem is, he got loose under Junior and threw the Heir Apparent into the wall in Richmond. I was there. Beer cans hit the track. Fans began leaving in droves. Then out of nowhere, Clint Bowyer slipped past Busch, who was fighting off Mark Martin, to win. Talk about excitement. Good racin'. Glad I was there. Now, it's back to Real Life. Sigh.
On the up side, I'm getting ready to welcome home les enfants from school for a bit. One's off to summer school for first quarter, the other into a job. It'll be the first summer we'll be minus both children at once. Seems like only a few months ago that I was hauling girls to the pool for swimming lessons, to summer camps, tennis lessons, and the library. Wow. Empty nesting to the max has now arrived.
Speaking of driving loose, when the writing is loose, it's as wild as a ride on the track. All over the place with nowhere to land but trouble - not a good thing with a book. Hmmm. LEGAL KILL is a bit loose at the moment. Gotta get the wheels under it.
On the up side, I'm getting ready to welcome home les enfants from school for a bit. One's off to summer school for first quarter, the other into a job. It'll be the first summer we'll be minus both children at once. Seems like only a few months ago that I was hauling girls to the pool for swimming lessons, to summer camps, tennis lessons, and the library. Wow. Empty nesting to the max has now arrived.
Speaking of driving loose, when the writing is loose, it's as wild as a ride on the track. All over the place with nowhere to land but trouble - not a good thing with a book. Hmmm. LEGAL KILL is a bit loose at the moment. Gotta get the wheels under it.
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