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Archive for the ‘My Writing Updates’ Category


wb7o

If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere.

My first day in New York City. 

I took to the streets, walking to the office, I immediately noticed New Yorkers don’t adhere to the three foot rule. If you get to within three feet of a person, you smile and greet them. I scared me some New Yorkers.

The Empire State Building was lit in green and blue tonight.

It’s up to you New York, New York.

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I can’t imagine why a Reindeer Pot Roast recipe is included in my family archives . Was Santa on someone s**t list? Was one of my ancestors going to show Mr. Claus what when you leave a stocking full of oranges instead of candy? I can;t tell you for sure.

But I can give you a jist of the recipe.

Wipe down the roast with LARD, preferably salted pork lard. (You can tell the age of a recipe by the term used to reference fat. This one’s old.)

Roll roast in flour, salt, and pepper.

Fry the roast in more salted pork LARD (1/2 pound) in a “kettle”. (Yeah, this is an old recipe.)

Brown flour in “Kettle”. (Okay, she was confused about kettles, but hey, she could write, so get over it.)

Place roast on rack in bottom of kettle. (Because hey don’t forget the LARD is still in there. Add water, seasonings (not getting too fancy because the only seasoning is one bay leaf) , cover and simmer.

Add carrots, onions, potatoes and turnips. (Haven’t heard that one in a recipe in a long time.)

If you don’t have enough meat for everyone make dumplings.

And so my Foodie Friends, add that one to your cookbook!

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First day on the job, I was told to sit in on a client meeting to see how these Q & A sessions go. It was a phone conference. The client was in their offices and we were in ours. 

The client had about five people on the line, we had one guy, Bill and me. Of course he was doing all the talking. 

Midway through, a woman on the client side began yelling over everything Bill said. Finally, she was screaming things like, “You can’t be that stupid.”

At this point, Bill closed his laptop, picked up his stuff and just left without a word. 

The tirade continued with just me on the line.

She finally ended with. “Do you understand that, BILL?” She slurred his name in a most unattractive manner.

I hesitated for a moment, before taking the phone of off mute and said in a small voice, “Um, hi. I’m Deidra”

<pause>

“This is my first day.”

<pause>

“Um, Bill left a while ago.”

<pause>

“I don’t know anything about the super awesome thingie. Do you want to leave a message?”

<pause, silence, no response>

“Okay then, I guess we can adjourn.”

I didn’t know that day, but I had been introduced to the woman who would be my arch nemesis for the next two years.

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I was fairly new on the job. I’d been there just long enough to know there was a woman, my manager who would come downstairs, jump on her broom and terrorize the entire wing. 

She was a pretty woman, which made her more frightening. You could hear her coming, stomping along in her high heeled shoes. If her pace was quick, you knew she was coming for someone.

When she launched into a tirade, everyone would stop to listen. And after she left, no one worked, they were all busy talking about her.

I was located in the furthest cubicle from the elevator. One day the doors opened and the click, clack of her high heels echoed on the floor.

I knew she was coming for me.

She snapped around the corner, her skirt swishing with each step as she quickly narrowed the distance between us.

Her entire face was pursed, on the verge of venomous explosion.

“Deidra,” She spit out my name like my Dad did when I used his stamp collection to post Valentines Day cards in grade school.

“Wait,” I cut in, “I know you have a problem and I’m here to help you. But you need to go somewhere else and wipe that look off your face and get control of yourself before you speak to me again.”

She gasped.You could hear a pen drop and none did.

She started laughing. “Am I really that bad?” she asked.

“Yeah, you scare grown men.”

That year I dressed up like her for Halloween. Hey, I can ride a broom too.

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I received a text from an old friend. 

It read – I want to call you, what’s your phone number?

I replied – I think you just texted it.

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I have recipes from my great aunts, grandmothers and even great grandmothers. Many are really good. I don’t use those. Just as may are a bit weird if not down right crazy. 

For all of you foodies, I would like to introduce a recipe from my great aunt who was quite the entertainer.

WARNING: Do not try this at home. But if you do, let me know how it turns out.

She called this little ditty the Backwoods Sandwich Loaf. I found it in her What to Serve Men section.

It starts with a loaf of unsliced bread. Cut lengthwise into 7 layers.

On the bottom layer, spread mayonnaise and cheese spread. Place bread layer on top.

On this layer spread tuna salad. Place bread layer on top.

On the next layer spread mayonnaise, tomato slices, salt, pepper and, you got it, next bread layer on top.

Next layer, egg salad. I think you’ve got the hang of the next bread layer …

Add mayonnaise and deviled ham.

Up until now you’re thinking – What up with you, Dee? It’s a little weird but still edible. 

But wait, there’s more.

On the last later, add mayonnaise and peanut butter. Yikes.

Though I’ve laid eyes on this wonder, I’ve never tasted it. You wouldn’t catch me eating a cheese spread, tuna, egg, tomato, deviled ham, peanut butter sandwich. 

 

Besides, it was served to the men in the wood paneled den.

And as a young female, I was served in the pale blue formal livingroom. We dined on Melon Americans or Frosted Sandwiches. 

I don’t know where she came up with the names.

 

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Bad News

I lost a chapter I wrote yesterday. Apparently I had a little computer problem. I’m hoping I have it on paper somewhere. So I haven’t given up yet. However, if I tried to write it electronically instead of hardcopy first, then it is gone forever.

Good News

I managed to fix my plotting issue and am back to writing. I finished two more chapters and believe I’m in the home stretch to finishing my rough draft. Only two days remain.

And I must fit in another murder before the climatic event. I still haven’t decided who to murder first old childhood friend or father’s old friend who was like an uncle to the heroine. Can’t decide which one will have the most impact.

I’m going to get one more chapter in before going to sleep.

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Day 4 also referred to as Thanksgiving Thursday

I’ve escaped the big meal without eating big, so I’m still feeling ready to write. An unfortunate incident caused a stall in yesterday’s plan.

I realized this section of my manuscript becomes episodic, meaning a series of unrelated events. Each scene should lead to the next and this isn’t happening in this part of my plot.

I’ve been able to get about half of the next set of scenes to lead logically from one to the other, but then it just breaks down.

I know my strengths are character and voice with my current weakness being plotting. My plan for this evening – to write until I hit the episodic part and hope ideas come. I’ll let you know how this works out tomorrow.

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Count Down Day 6

I have the following 6 days to dedicate almost 100% to working on my manuscript, a cross between Divinci Code and Under World. A few months ago I was able to finish about 90% of a rough draft.

I recently made changes that affect the entire manuscript. I changed the plot, added characters, including a new villian, removed characters, changed some characters’ nationality, reset some scenes, deleted scene, and added scenes. So I’m trying to complete the rewrites in the next 6 days. I’m about a quarter of the way through.

Today’s Goal:

Write 2 new scenes

Modify/Rewrite 10 scenes

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I sometimes have a character without a story, who is interesting none the less. Someday, maybe Drusilla will have a story of her own. I’m sure there’s at least one hiding in there somewhere –
Do you remember when air travel was so much better, before the tight security? Back then you could stuff your husband’s body in a trunk, fly to France, dump it outside of Paris and still have time for dinner with your French boyfriend.

The dog barked, waking my husband .
“Hush,” I told the dog.
My husband rolled over, “Who are you talking to?”
“The dog.”

Who does he think? My French boyfriend hiding in the closet? Hopefully he doesn’t notice the body size suitcase. – Drusilla Signet (current character in question)

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