The difference between a scorpion and a spider

Or a worm and a snake. Okay, I know the obvious differences. And I read up here on the arachnids.

From the Univeristy of California website.

But why do spiders creep me out, but scorpions don't? I don't exactly cuddle with a scorpion if I see one, I do know that is not a good idea. While we are on the subject, tarantulas also do not creep me out. I will tell you that anything with more than four legs is gross, and I guess tarantulas and scorpions are a bit gross; just not in the same way spiders are. The only explanation I can come up with is that I didn't grow up with them, nor even with anyone who did. I grew up in Ireland and about the most dangerous insect we had was wasps, and even they were way smaller than what Texans call a wasp. And no, we didn't have snakes either. According to legend, St. Patrick chased them all out of Ireland.

My only exposure to any of these creatures was in the movies. Growing up my favorite movies were the Wild West. I devoured them. And given that I hated school and so never went. Oh I was enrolled, I just didn't go. I was delivered to the front door by my father, along with my two sisters. Went in the front door and immediately slipped out the back door and found a cinema to hide in. One that was showing a Western movie. There I saw my fill of snakes, tarantulas and most of all, scorpions. They were movie stars. And my heros were not afraid of them. I wanted to be a cowboy too and so I could not be afraid.

To be fair, I was never afraid of worms, but they are a bit gross and way too close to maggots which I think are possibly the grossest things on the planet. Of course, while scorpions and tarantulas are the same family as our average house spider, snakes are not the same family as worms. Just similar in appearance unless you look closely and find that face. And I know worms are also not related to maggots.

What started this train of thought? This morning I found a scorpion in my bathroom. This is the third scorpion I have discovered in the house, this year. The first one was in the waste basket in the bathroom. I found him when I was emptying it. He was in the bottom of a plastic bag with an assortment of kleenex, q-tips and an empty toothpaste tube. Too difficult to remove him so he went out with the garbage. The second I found on my shoulder. I was in the kitchen. My husband believed he came from the downstairs bathroom also and had hitched a ride on my shoulder, somewhat like a parrot? I flicked him off into the kitchen sink and managed to coax him into a plastic cup. He was released into the wild. This photo is the one that sat on my shoulder.

This third one, was the biggest, he was about two inches long, making his way along the baseboard between the vanity unit and the door to the toilet. I think we spotted each other at the same moment, because for a second neither of us moved. It was four thirty in the morning, that is the time I usually get up. I was about to head to the garage where my treadmill lives. The reason I use this particular bathroom is because of my crazy habit of getting up early and working out. I don't want to disturb my husband. Anyway, back to the moment we saw each other. 

My first thought was I have to take a photo of this guy. That thought was followed immediately by a swear word because my phone was still upstairs on charge. It sits overnight in a PhoneSoap that charges and cleans it (I have mentioned before that I am a germaphobe). So, my third thought was if I can scoop this creature into a cup or bag, I can do the photo shoot and then release him. I grabbed a sheet of paper and a plastic bag, but I had to move to do that and as soon as I moved he did a one-eighty and headed into the corner between the baseboard and the vanity kick board. I lay down on the floor to see if I could see him. Nope. Gone. There was the smallest crack between the wall, the baseboard and the kick board through which he disappeared. 

I had a flash of his point of view. He must have crawled up the waste pipe, hidden between the vanity unit shelving and the floor of the bathroom, behind the kickboard. Probably wandered around in the dark and dusty space. I wonder if there were small insects there to feed him? We have pest control come spray the house inside and out regularly, but their spray would not penetrate under the vanity. Then I arrived and turned on the light. He must have seen a ray of light come through the crack. Perhaps he thought he was heading towards heaven, or maybe he expected to arrive outside. Either way, his adventure was short lived.

Now we have to get our pest control company out to do another spray and then I plan to fill in that crack and hopefully that will eliminate scorpions from indoors permanently.

And what about snakes? Well, I haven't found any in the house, with the exception of the tiny little worm like snakes. They are the reason I compared snakes to worms. At first I thought I had found a worm on the floor, in the hall, but looking closer, it had a head and eyes. Not what worms have. So I googled it and discovered it really was a tiny snake. It was dead, probably came in on the sole of someone's shoe.

Like I said, I like snakes. I also have a healthy respect for them because I am aware that many can be deadly. Again, I don't know why I like them but it is probably also connected to my love of the Wild West lore and cowboys who constantly battled with rattle snakes. 

My therapist once asked me what was my favorite snake. I don't remember how the subject of snakes ever came up but that is therapy, anyway once it was mentioned he asked me and I said cobras. Then he asked me why. I had no answer but felt obliged to say something. So I told him it was because they warn before they strike. I have no idea where that came from, but my guess is it doesn't matter. That is how therapy works after all—right? you say the first thing that comes into your head and god alone knows what the therapist makes of it. That was a long time ago, but I still miss my therapist, Dick. I wrote about him here. He didn't tell me what he thought of my response but no doubt it would have been interesting. But it is true that they are my favorite snake. I actually have a tattoo of one on my back. 

Anyway, I decided to fill in the crack through which I assumed the scorpion had managed to squeeze himself. Pest control was scheduled for the following week and I didn't want to wait that long. When I lay flat on the bathroom floor again, I noticed it was more than a crack, the top corner of the kick board was cut away, a small square was missing. I know the scorpions didn't do that! At least I hope they don't have power tools under there. So with great difficulty I filled that gap and the crack between the baseboard and the vanity unit, with caulk. It wasn't easy because there is a slight overhang from the vanity unit and the caulking gun was too big to bend around it, but with the help of a flat paint brush I managed to fill the hole with the stuff. Next I researched and found a spray foam. It is an aerosol with a long straw like nozzle. The foam dries solid. That I am going to buy for any future holes and cracks I discover. After all, if a scorpion can crawl through into my bathroom, so could a spider! Thank God I haven't seen one of them for a long time, at least not in the house. We see them on the dock and on the boat, but that is their domain that we are invading. 

And just like that...

...another year has zipped by. Just over a week to the second anniversary of my retirement.

As you all know by now—I do go on about it way more than I should—I reluctantly retired on 31st May 2021. Appropriately, Memorial Day; not to take any glory away from our Vets of course, their memories are far more significant, but it was a memorable day for me nonetheless. I am getting over the hurt...I know, slowly but I am doing my best...it was my decision, but those who worked with me will agree, I was given very little choice. Or, the choice I was given was just not an option I could possibly accept or live with. See here if you don't already know the story.

So how is retirement going I hear you ask (I don't—hear you that is—but I imagine you would ask). A year ago I published this post. Reading it a year later, apparently I whined a lot!. Now, not so much. Yes I am old and actually a full year older but I am doing okay. On balance I am enjoying being retired. I enjoy not having to work, though I still miss the actual work, the coding, the challenge and of course, the people I worked with. And the feeling of pride when everything works as it should; and it usually did. But I have got to admit it is nice to be able to just do whatever I want, whenever I want. Like the surprise trip to Florida in February. Even grocery shopping, doesn't have to be the weekend, doesn't have to any specific day, just whenever I choose. The down side is that I do get bored from time to time. I was aware this would be the case and planned hobbies and activities to keep me occupied and, more important, keep my brain exercised.

The second year of retirement went fairly well. I wore out Masterclass writing sessions and no new ones appeared. After hunting around I finally discovered The Writing Master Academy (WMA), an amazing community of writers and an endless supply of courses and webinars. I had joined Nanowrimo the previous year but did nothing there. Last year I signed up and completed the November challenge, writing 50,000 words in just under a month, they call it 'winning' and I did feel victorious even if that was also the only prize. Between those two sites I also completed the first draft of my novel and that was the trophy. That was also the easy part.

I am now on the tenth draft. The first five were just fixing typos and grammar, expanding on descriptions and generally filling in the obvious blanks. Then I passed it to my alpha readers, yes two of them. Following feedback I cut 5,000 words of unnecessary backstory, no longer novel length I returned to filling in blanks by expanding the plot. Next step was two early beta readers and a couple of weeks of virtual nail biting as I tried to convince myself that they wouldn't hate it. Surprisingly, they didn't, and they did come back with some really useful feedback. 

Next I found a critique partner (CP) on WMA, another writer to get a writer's perspective, unlike beta readers who give a reader's perspective. Of course, all of this feedback is just that, feedback. It is up to me how much of it I want to implement and how much I don't agree with. To be fair, almost all of it was valid and useful. So far, no one has actually told me the story sucks and most of the time I feel good about that, just sometimes I think they are just being kind.

A critique partner is a reciprocal arrangement. I read and thoroughly enjoyed her book and supplied my feedback within ten days. Then I headed off to my surprise Florida trip—a short break away from writing and reading. I planned to start working on my CP's feedback as soon as I returned. Best laid plans. I didn't receive any feedback. I waited a week and then moved on to my next stage, on the assumption that my CP hated my story so much she didn't want to respond. I had a book club waiting in the wings for my draft to beta read. I sent it along to them, a little late so now I had another month to wait as they had already selected their book for April. I spent the next week wondering if I should contact my CP or just let her be. Finally, one month after I sent her the manuscript, I send a reminder email. Two days later I got a response, apologizing and sending me feedback. It was a shame I didn't get this before sending my draft to my beta reader book club, but I immediately started working on yet another draft, incorporating much of the feedback. 

My word count was now back up to 54,000. I am hopeful I can pad it out some more as I start working on my beta readers feedback, but if not it is still a valid count for a novel. The most difficult part of the writing process is the constant fear that my story is boring and my writing is bad. The most difficult part of the revision process is that I know the story, the back story and the characters so well, I fear I am not sharing enough of that information with my readers. So this next draft will be dedicated to ensuring valuable insights are on the page, not just in my head. 

While I waited for the book club feedback, I started working on a draft of my submission package—that is a query letter that will go out to potential agents, arguably more important than the book to get this right. It should contain a synopsis of the book and the first ten pages. I also started outlining my second book. I have kept myself busy.

Obviously the submission package can't be completed until the feedback from my beta book club is reviewed and incorporated, which is what I am currently working on. Then the first ten pages will be polished and put into the query letter. Once that is completed I have a professional, freelance editor lined up to review it and give me feedback. That is when another bout of hard work begins. Selecting potential agents and matching my submission to their specific requirements and send it off...and waiting, listening to the deafening silence from that abyss.

In answer to your question, the second year of retirement has gone fairly well. I have remained active both physically and mentally. And who knows, I would probably have been laid off by now anyway—though at least that would have come with a severance package, instead of just the feeling of being put out to pasture with the door slammed in my face.

I have had periods of extreme boredom but these have been short and only because I find television boring and my husband loves it and will watch anything. I love my husband and so I do spend some time each day with him, watching television but only after I have completed my writing hours—the fun stuff. All that, I hope, explains why I have been ignoring my blog for so long. I have been writing, just not here. I will of course, let y'all know when my novel is finally published. If that sounds overly confident, it isn't. I will try to publish the conventional way but if I fail to attract an agent I will self publish. Watch this space as they say...whoever they are.

Stepping back

For some time I have been noticing advertisements for shampoo in a bar. I didn't really take a lot of notice, mainly because I tend to ignore ads. Yeah, I know I just said I noticed them, but it was more like glancing at the headline and immediately switching off when it was obviously an ad. If I want to buy something, or find out if what I have in mind actually exists, I will ask Google, or search on Amazon.

Recently my friend Shelly came by with her massage chair. I have mentioned her before (see here). When we lived in Leander, with Mildred. Shelly used to come out fairly regularly and all three of us indulged in the magic of a chair massage. With Covid, like so many other things, that came to an abrupt halt. When it was finally safe to mingle, we were living at the lake and I was hesitant to drag Shelly out here, an extra 30 minutes on her drive. However, she insisted that she didn't mind the longer drive and so we are once again indulging ourselves.

If anyone would like her contact information, she will bring her chair to your office and spend a few hours there reducing the stress for you and your colleagues. For a very reasonable cost you can have a fifteen or thirty minute massage without leaving the office and without removing your clothes. That is actually how I first met her. Once a week she came to our office and there were always between four and six people lined up to be de-stressed. 

Anyway, I digress. Shelly told me that she had tried a shampoo bar and was thrilled with the results, not just the fact that she was reducing the plastic waste associated with shampoo and conditioner bottle and tubes, but also her hair was much healthier and easier to manage. 

I decided to give it a try—the bar shampoo, I was already sold on the chair massage. I got a shampoo and a conditioner bar, I prefer to not do the combined. I was amazed. Not just at how easy it was to apply, but how much better my hair felt. Literally a few strokes of the bar over my wet hair and presto, a really good lather. The conditioner bar doesn't lather, something I am happy about because I see no reason why it should. It is equally easy to apply and the results are amazing. 

There were a couple of unexpected side effects of this. Apart from helping to reduce the plastic waste of course and the satisfactory results, I was transported back in time to when I was a kid and a bar of soap was normal. Just holding the bar of soap in my hand felt so good. Stepping back in time felt even better—current times being what they are. I decided that I had to eliminate all plastic from my shower and bought a bar of hand soap as well. Obviously a decent bar of Olay. 

That reminded me of the Lux soap bar that my mother used to purchase. I searched and sure enough, I found it.Lux is still available on Amazon—I am not sure if it is the same Lux we got when I was a kid but Lux just the same. Maybe I will buy some to transport me further back in time. Meanwhile, my shower is very much tidier, minimalistic you could say. And the trash can will be a little less full.

Before

After

The purpose of this post is to encourage you to try bar shampoo and conditioner to help save the planet and your hair, and if you are in the Austin area, consider having Shelly come to your office with her chair and save the sanity of you and your colleagues. 

Palpitations

There is something seriously wrong with the health care system in this country. For one thing everything costs a fortune, secondly despite the existance of Medicare for the elderly, that too costs money. Not only do you pay into it from every paycheck when you are working, but once you retire you continue to pay into Medicare from your social scurity, as well as paying for Medicare Advantage if you want to be able to see and have teeth—for readers who don't know, Medicare doesn't cover dental or vision. And the care is most definitely not as good as private health care, even with the same doctor. I noticed a big difference in the attention I got since I retired. Of course, I am judging this in comparison with health care in Europe which has it's own problems, but at least it is readily available to everyone.

But what I find the most frustrating is the total lack of interest in a patient's mental state. I used to have a doctor who not only listened to what you said, he listened between the lines to what you didn't say. I firmly believe that a large majority of minor disorders could be cured by just talking about what is bothering you, rather than a battery of expensive tests and a slew of unnecessary supplements and prescriptions. How many times have you felt better just because you went to the doctor? Not because of anything he said or did, but the stess had somehow been relieved.

A few months ago my husband had some medical issues. He was submitted to a number of tests the last, and most significant test had a very long waiting time. As a result we were left dangling, not knowing what to expect—I found myself literally holding my breath. It felt like the awful few months in Amazon while I was fighting for my career and finally decided to throw in the towel and retire. (See post here). Unfortunately this time there was nothing to do but wait. And try to remember to breath. 

The constant anxiety finally got the better of me. I guess I am not good at managing my stress, I just pretend that I am. I started getting palpitations. At least, I guessed that is what it was, I never had them before. I got good at recognizing the signals and warding them off with deep slow breathing. It didn't happen very often and usually only lasted less than a minute, but after one somewhat prolonged episode while grocery shopping, I decided I better talk to my doctor. I knew it was anxiety and assumed he could give me something to make it go away, or at least calm me down; better yet, do something to reduce the wait for my husband's appointment. 

My own doctor was not available so I went to see my second choice. A man with a dismal personality, a lousy bedside manner, but an extremly good doctor, or I thought so. Of course, he wasn't in the least bit interested in my personal woes, so maybe not so good after all. If the truth be known, he probably wasn't very interested in my health, just doing the clinical CYA steps. After conducting a EKG in the office, the result of which was perfectly normal, he referred me to a heart specialist. 

Now, for my age I am remarkably healthy. my cholesterol is on the high side of normal, blood pressure has always been good, yes I am overweight mainly due to a thyroid that is lazy, but other than that I am good. I workout regularly, eat sensibly and oh yeah...I drink red wine—it is good for you, right?

Anyway, the worst part about the heart specialist is that he was a full hour drive from where we live.  The heart doctor sent me home with a heart monitor stuck to my chest. I was to wear that for two weeks and if I experienced palpitations I had instructions to tap it and fill in a diary listing exactly what I was doing at the time. Diary was also supplied.

He also referred me for a CAT scan, a treadmill stress test—don't be fooled by the picture, the treadmill I was on was set at a very steep slope—and an echocardiogram, which I have to say was fascinating! Both the stress test and the echo were at his office, so at least two more, two hour round trips in our future. But first, the two weeks with the thing stuck to my chest recording every heartbeat. I was so relieved when I was finally able to remove it, pack it in it's box and send it back. 

Before each visit I was required to sign a document stating that if Medicare refused to pay for the procedure I would pay. Leading me to belive that happens quite a lot.

Sample echocardiogram

Funny thing, the day after his nurse stuck the thing on me, I had the worst, longest episode of palpitations I had ever experienced. It lasted a full twenty minutes. So I tapped the device and when the flashing lights behind my eyes stopped and my heart beat returned to normal, I filled in the diary: Just had my shower and sat down at my computer. The instructions were 'write down what you were doing', not what you were thinking. Perhaps that would have been a better clue. I had been thinking about my husband and how long we had to wait for his next procedure, and oh yeah, the stupid monitor stuck to my chest. The good news is that since then, six weeks ago, I have not had another episode.

All of the test results were normal. I did tell him on my first visit that I believed I was wasting his time but he had to go through the motions I suppose. Though I never did get any results from the heart monitor readings. I guess that means I will eventually have to return yet again to hear him recite those findings.

Surprise trip

First, let me explain my silence. I have been concentrating on writing my first novel. Yes, I wrote and self published Peeling the Onion, but that was not a novel. I am sure you have heard that writing a novel is difficult. It isn't, It is very nearly impossible! Anyway, that is why I have not posted here for some considerable time. In between bouts of writing, I have been following courses on the Writing Mastery Academy and following up on early beta readers' feedback. I have now sent my draft off to a book club for a full beta reader experience, so back to blogging.

As I have mentioned before, I frequently write as a form of therapy, to calm anxiety. This post is no different. I have written before about my 'travel mode'. I love to travel, but I get very anxious; thinking of all the things that could go wrong. See here for the previous post. The day before my trip to Florida—two weeks ago— was no different, well actually, it was a bit different. I was more anxious that I have every been. Perhaps in part, due to the fact that I have not done a lot of traveling in the past three years. Once up to Seattle, with my husband, to visit my son and his family there. And once last August to finally get to see my all of family again, where I got COVID and spent a week in isolation, but still managing to spread the germs to my sister and her daughter. This trip, tomorrow as I write, but it will be over by the time I publish this, is to be a big surprise for my son and his family, therefore by the time you read this post, the trip will be over—obviously or the surprise might be ruined. 

At Christmas my son, the one who lives in the north of England, and his family received an amazing gift from his mother in law. She had booked to bring her children, their spouses and their children to Disney in Florida for a week, followed by a week at St Pete Beach just outside Tampa. She contacted me with a plan to surprise my son by arranging for me to join them at St Pete Beach for a few days.

I have been to Florida before; back when I was doing a lot of travel for work I attended a conference in Disney, in Orlando. Because it was a State I had never visited, and because it was Disney, I was very excited to go. Since then I have felt absolutely no inclination to return. Oh of course Disney was fun, but there is one in Paris and another in California (and my roller coaster days are over), and there is no other reason to go to Florida, and lots of reasons not to. Yes, the weather is amazing but it is pretty okay in Texas too. To see any of my children, I would travel to the moon, so I arranged to go to Florida.

Amazingly my co-conspirator and I managed to keep it a secret. That was not easy I can tell you. The plan was for me to join them for dinner their first evening there. They were coaching from Orlando to arrive in the late afternoon and I was flying in from Texas the same afternoon.

The day before my flights I was in full on travel mode. Worst case I have ever experienced. I was packed and all my electronics were charged and ready. I checked in online and all I wanted to do was head to the airport and wait there. The smell of aviation fuel calms me. I managed to get through the day, because I had no choice; and because I started writing this post—you know, therapy. Next morning I was up at 2.45 a.m. The shuttle was due to pick me up just before 4 a.m. So plenty of time to have coffee and get myself ready. At 3.45 a.m. I was outside on the sidewalk with my suitcase waiting.

My flight to Atlanta was uneventful and with two hours to make my connection there was no problems there. I took a Lyft from Tampa airport to St Pete Beach. I was staying at the Postcard Inn. A fascinating motel. Very eclectic. When I walked in I felt like I had gone back in time and not because it was old fashioned, more that it was like one of those fun surfer hangouts in sixties movies. I had to wait about an hour for my room to be ready, so I sat at the bar and chatted with the girl who served me a healthy pour of wine, and people watched while I waited.

Once in my room I had a four hour wait before heading to the restaurant, which was a five minute walk, almost next door to my hotel. I unpacked and showered and then got on my laptop to burn up the time. Finally I headed to the Rumfish resort restaurant. Yes, naturally I was early. I always am. I wandered around the shop, through which you had to walk to get to the restaurant, and waited. At twenty past eight—the table was booked for eight thirty—I talked to the hostess and explained that I was with a party of eleven, booked for eight thirty and was hoping to be seated first as I was a surprise guest. Our table was not ready but she went off to check on it. While she was doing that I got a text from my co-conspirator to say they would be delayed by about ten minutes and could I tell the restaurant. I think they were glad because they clearly were having problems getting rid of the party at our table.

I found a seat in a corner of the shop and waited. Finally I saw my son's mother in law come in and waved to her. She said the others were just behind her and the table was not yet ready. A couple of minutes later my son, his wife and their two children stood in front of me and their faces were priceless. Dinner was amazing and I highly recommend the Rumfish if you ever happen to be in St Pete Beach. The next two days went by way too fast. 

An added bonus for me was that my husband's cousin and her partner—they live in Sarasota, about 35 miles south of St Pete Beach—made the trek, over an hour's drive, to meet us for lunch the day before I was due to leave. 

St Pete Beach is one of the barrier islands inTampa Bay. Everywhere is literally on the beach. In the early morning each day I was there, I walked down the silvery sand, soaking in the sun and the sound of the waves. The beach was empty except for the birds who took absolutely no notice of me. And naturally, the sunsets there were amazing.

Early Friday morning I was once again in travel mode waiting outside the Postcard Inn for my Lyft back to Tampa airport. I only had one hour for my connection at Atlanta and my flight out of Tampa took off twenty minutes late but I made it! 

Great Expectations

A lesson I learned a long time ago, actually on my fourteenth birthday, is the higher your expectations the greater your disappointment is likely to be. I do think that is a somewhat negative lesson, but it does apply nonetheless. As I mentioned in a previous post here, the main lesson I learned on that birthday was that we are responsible for our own responses to disappointment, and for creating our own happiness.

Like birthdays, Christmas is another occasion that I, like so many others, look forward to with mounting excitement. Admittedly, since coming to America, I have had much lower expectations than previously. I quickly discovered that Thanksgiving is a far more significant holiday here. Not surprising, given the much greater diversity in the US population than exists in Ireland, where I grew up. And, contrary to what many Americans I have met think, Thanksgiving is not celebrated in Ireland, or anywhere else for that matter. It is an American holiday, Canadians have their own Thanksgiving. 

I wrote about my childhood Christmas experiences almost exactly a year ago, here.  My grandmother created such a magical day, year after year, that I can never approach the holiday without the feeling of excitement and anticipation those early holidays bred in me. As I said, when I came to America I knew that I could expect nothing from the holiday that I didn't create for myself. I was alone, I had no family on this side of the Atlantic, and had only just started making friends. 

I arrived at the end of August 1994. I found temporary work with a small, one man company where I managed the office, alone almost all day, every day. I did finally start a permanent job with a larger software company in December that year. A week before my first Christmas in the US. My strongest memory of that Christmas was working on Christmas Eve, everyone had their own private office back then and as the newest employee I had a tiny interior office. I mentioned before that I am very shy. Add to that, the fact that was 'just off the boat' in a very strange (for me) environment, a foreigner in a foreign land. I was not wandering the halls talking to people. 

In my experience, working in both Ireland and in England. Christmas Eve at work was a day for partying and not much work was expected, nor performed. My new office was strangely quiet. At one point during the morning I went to the kitchen for coffee and noticed people working in their separate offices. There was not much interaction going on, so I went back to my little office and continued working. Obviously, as it was my first week, I was not actually doing anything useful. I was getting familiar with the network setup and the test framework I would be working with. I had lunch alone at my desk and continued my learning process. At about four in the afternoon I headed back to the kitchen. All the offices I passed were now empty. The kitchen was empty. I went looking for my manager to see if it was okay for me to go home early. He had already left. In fact, a search of the entire floor convinced me, I was the only person in the office. I headed back to the large home where I was house sitting. My guess was no one would know or care if I left the office early, in fact I was apparently leaving the office late. 

The following Christmas, the entire office partied. I made sure of that, I also made Irish Coffees for everyone and we had a Secret Santa—Kris Kindle.

After that things did get better. I did make friends and for the first few years I returned home to Ireland for Christmas. Then I met and married my husband and we enjoyed holidays together.

This year my son, who is now living in Seattle, and his wife and son were coming to us for Christmas. I was excitedly planning and looking forward to it. Well, as everyone knows, this Christmas was the year of the bomb cyclone. Texas was not nearly as badly hit by this weather than the rest of the US, in fact the Seattle Area escaped the worst of it too. But across most of the country there was bedlam. People stuck in airports for days on end, through out the Christmas holiday. Suitcases filled with gifts for families going astray and family plans for reunions and festivities totally destroyed, just the tip of the iceberg of human misery. Pun intended. 

My son should have been able to make it to us. He was flying Alaska Air, so a good, reliable airline. He had followed recommendations and booked the early morning flight, less chance of delays elsewhere impacting him. Best laid plans. As they arrived at the airport there was a 'minor security incident' and the airport was thrown into chaos. It took ninety minutes to check in their bags, and another two and a half hours before they got through security. So yes, the flight took off without them. What I am still amazed by is the fact that it took off with their bags. I have frequently been on flights that were delayed because a passenger with checked bags had not turned up and the bags had to be located and removed from the plane. This didn't happen, and I still feel that was a security risk.

Anyway, another two hours of lining up at the ticket counter resulted in nothing. There was no alternative. Two days before Christmas they headed home and had to rush around planning their unexpected Christmas at home, while their bags filled with their son's Christmas gifts sat in Austin Airport. To be fair to Alaska, they got those bags back to them on Christmas Day. 

We were lucky. They were not half way to somewhere, stranded in a strange airport. They were a short drive to their home. It was disappointing for sure, but how on earth could we complain as we watched the news and saw so many people so much worse off. I am glad I remembered those lessons learned.

Here are some more that I often have to remind myself of.

The devil you know

"Better the devil you know than the devil you don't know" This was a saying my mother used a lot; at least, I remember her saying it to me, a lot. I don't remember her living by that saying. And I certainly don't, nor did I ever.

She used it, to emphasize her recommendation to stay in a job I didn't like, rather than move to a new one. 

Another of her sayings meant pretty much the same thing, "Out of the frying pan into the fire." Essentially a warning to be cautious. There are many other sayings along the same vein. 

She was selective in her use, I know this because she didn't trot these sayings out when I told her I was going to work in London, I was eighteen years old. I don't know how she felt about it, but she drove me to the boat, gave me ten Irish pounds and waved goodbye. She didn't say it years later, when I told her I was breaking up with my then husband. I suspect she wondered why I stayed so long in that particular frying pan. 

She didn't say it when I decided, in my late forties, to emigrate to the USA. I suspect she believed it was a mistake on my part and I would return quickly. Probably, at that stage in her life, having raised six children and spent the best years of her life battling her own disastrous marriage, she had decided we should be left to make our own decisions. Or perhaps she agreed with me that there was no reason for me to stay in Ireland at that point. And, at the time, it was the right decision. Almost twenty-nine years later there are so many things I regret about leaving, but I would do it again, even with all that hindsight. There is always a price to pay. Some things are worth the price.

If I could change anything it would be to have been able to achieve all that I did in the last 28 years, without leaving Ireland—but then I remember, the weather. I chose to come to Texas to escape the constant gray skies, perpetual drizzling rain and, though it was rarely freezing cold, it was equally rarely very warm. To quote my husband's favorite saying, "wish in one hand..."

So, no regrets

Of these five, I can honestly say I don't entertain any of them. I stayed in touch with the friends who mattered to me. And I worked hard for a number of years, by choice, to achieve the life I now enjoy. And by facing the devil I didn't know—and jumping out of the frying pan, I achieved 1, 3 and 5. I know that I would not have otherwise. My advice to myself, and anyone who cares to listen  has always been, "Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained". It still is.

Beta Readers and Code Reviews

When I retired, at the end of May 2021, I was very nervous about be set adrift. My entire professional life was a series of unreasonable deadlines, and working crazy hours to meet them. I had been attempting to keep writing during my free time, but free time was pretty much a pipe dream, especially while working for Amazon. It was not unusual to work seventy hour weeks, between unreasonable deadlines, insufficient staffing, last minute changes in requirements and of course, the dreaded on-call rotation. Despite complaining about these demands, I was aware that I thrived in achieving all this and then some. I believe I mentioned before that I am very competitive. I saw each challenge as a test to be overcome and achieved. But I had little or no time to pursue my own interests. What little time I had was spent with family, naturally.

So, with retirement looming I had to make plans to fill those seventy hours per week with something, other than watching television, which I can't stand, or playing solitaire or candy crush, or reading which I do love, but I can never relax for long and usually read while on the treadmill. 

I had my embroidery, and I quickly discovered that a woman can have way too many t-shirts with smart ass comments on (mentioned in a previous blog post); and I had my writing. I would finally have the time to write my book. Yes, once upon a time I self published a book. A memoir. That was a number of essays, written over a period of about 13 years, as a therapy rather than a writing exercise. It certainly wasn't a best seller, nor was it ever expected to be. I gave a number of copies out as gifts and made zero attempt to market it; mainly because I didn't expect anyone to be interested in reading it. Surprisingly a few people did purchase it and I got some good feedback. 

This time my plan was to write a novel. I spent the first few months writing blog posts. Partly as a distraction, partly as a therapy—the circumstances of my retirement were quite traumatic; but mainly to get my brain in gear and get some writing practice. Over the first year I had a series of failed attempts at the novel. I discovered that I had a major hurdle to cross. If I made up a fictional story, I felt that I was telling lies. I mean, it wasn't true so therefore it was a lie, right? I struggled with that for a while and finally was able to let it go, after all, a painting is not a photograph, but it can still be a work of art...I think.

A few more attempts left me with a number of mediocre short stories, one of which I actually tried to publish—sending it out into the world to be met with a resounding silence, when I eventually did receive a response, a rejection but nonetheless a response, I can't tell you how excited I was. Finally, I hit on an idea that just might lend itself to more than three thousand words. During this time I had signed up for Masterclass and had listened to every writer class multiple times. As no new writer classes were added I searched for some other way to hone a skill I was still not sure I had in the first place. I found one website that was extremely proud of itself, charging up to four figures for the occasional courses offered. I didn't indulge myself there. 

In October 2021 I stumbled across NaNoWriMo and signed up. I didn't attempt to compete that year but promised myself that in 2022, I would be ready. I continued fiddling with my story idea, writing five chapters before asking my alpha reading to give it a once over. Reading between the lines of her extremely thoughtful and very kind response, I realized that what I had written was the backstory for my novel. I wasn't exactly back to square one, because the backstory is essential, just not part of the front story. I started again. 

I returned to NaNoWriMo and on that website I found a discounted, membership to The Writing Mastery Academy (WMA)—a website doing exactly what the name suggests. I signed up, even without the discount it was reasonably priced. I discovered a massive amount of courses, webinars and a community of supportive writers in various stages of perfecting their craft. I also signed up for NaNoWriMo 2022 along with a large number of the writers in the WMA community. A daunting task, committing myself to writing approximately two thousand words per day for thirty days; one thousand six hundred and sixty seven words per day to be exact. I did it. on 27th November I hit the fifty-thousand word mark. 

During the first week of December I read my 'novel' and deleted at least five thousand words. I went back and in the course of completing my first real draft, as opposed to madly writing whatever crap came into my head to fill the word count, I added back almost five thousand words. Still not exactly enough to make a novel, but enough to send to my alpha reader. After all, if she says it is mostly crap or backstory, I am going to have to start again anyway. However, I am hopeful that won't happen. I already have two definite beta readers lined up. My hope is that my alpha reader will give me enough feedback to direct me to where I can actually increase my word count. I already know that I have a tendency to be short on descriptions of locations and characters; this is because I have read some great stories where I skim over pages of flowery descriptions to get to the meat of the story. I am fairly sure this has made me hesitant to bore my potential readers in the same way, erring on the side of not enough as a result.

The beauty of having been a programmer in my previous profession, the idea of a beta reader doesn't intimidate me in the least. As a programmer, your code is subjected to review by your peers. That is, at least one other coder combs through your work and points out flaws in logic, areas for improvement and generally helps to make sure your program is the best it can be. 

I fully expect at least two months of work to incorporate my alpha reader's comments and suggestions, my first draft will be hitting her desk tomorrow and I plan to concentrate on family, Christmas and my blog until it comes back to me, hopefully sometime in early January. If this is the case, my beta readers should get hit with their drafts at the beginning of March. The hardest part of that wait is going to be avoiding making any changes to the draft. Already I am thinking of places where I can, and should, fill in gaps; already I have possibly another three thousand words in my head, to add. I am making notes of these but I am determined to not change the draft in any way until I get my alpha feedback.

So, when will you be able to buy it. Ha! that is the big question.

I do plan to attempt to find an agent. Here again, WMA has a number of helpful courses on how to go about that. Naturally, the book has to be good enough, and I have to hit the right agent, but assuming that all falls into place, my understanding is it might be up to two years before the book is sold to a publisher, revised and ready for the market. I have yet to decide how long I will tolerate silence and, or rejections before looking at self publishing. Rest assured, you will all hear about it as it unfolds.

For now, I am still trying to come up with a decent title. Perhaps my beta readers will be able to help there, once they read the story.

Below are websites I referenced, in case you are interested.

Websites:

Masterclass

Writing Mastery Academy

Alpha Readers

Beta Readers

Previous blogs: 

Masterclass

NaNoWriMo 

Why I chose to retire 

A just like that November is over

It is December and with it NaNoWriMo comes to a close. For the entire month I ignored this blog, something I have done before but for different reasons, and not very often. During November I concentrated on drafting my novel—and ensuring that I wrote more than 1667 words per day, every day. That is the requirement to be a winner in the eyes of NaNoWriMo. And, if you are among the probably tens of thousands of winners, you can buy a t-shirt that declares you a winner. Actually, you can also buy that t-shirt if you are not a winner, probably even if you are not a writer. But that isn't the point besides I do not need any more t-shirts! While I have ignored my other hobby, embroidery throughout November, that can only be considered a good thing. I have way too many shirts with smart ass comments on.

The point of the event is for writers to write. And believe me, that is not as easy as it sounds. All the while you are sitting alone, always the best start if you want to get anything done, but with so many distractions there are some days I will write half a dozen words and with deep focus play dozens of games of Solitaire or even Candy Crush! Convincing myself that I am thinking about my story. To be fair, I am thinking about it, all the time. I even dream about it but I was not writing it down, well—not much anyway. Put a competition in front of me however and I am pulling on the bit. I have mentioned in a couple of other posts, I am very competitive. I am not a bad loser but I am a very good winner. And so, yes I can declare myself a NaNoWriMo winner. On 27th November I surpassed 50K words. I freely admit many of those words will have to be deleted during the editing phase, but more will be added...I hope.

When I started the story, actually I started it multiple times. In fact, I wrote at least three mediocre short stories before finally getting the germ of an idea that might be able to grow into a novel. I mentioned in my last post, announcing my intention to do NaNoWriMo, that I had already written a five chapter back story. That was helpful in so far as I had started to get to know my characters fairly well. It was difficult to accept that most of what I had written would never be in the final draft, but it was very necessary for me to have the information in my head, as I discovered when I started writing in earnest on November 1st. At first I thought that my idea was dumb and no one would like it. As I got into the story however, I started to enjoy it. 

I mentioned before that I had been doing Masterclasses on writing. Many of the writers I listened to talked about their characters as though they were real people, even going so far as to say they did and said things that surprised the author—their creator, the person who was actually writing the surprising words and actions. I thought that was a bit far fetched when I heard it but then it started happening to me. Another thing that happened was new people, a.k.a characters, arrived. I seriously was not expecting them and I had to get to know them. I don't think I would have experienced that had I not been frantically writing in order to win. If you are old enough you will remember the slogan, Let Your Fingers do the Walking. Same thing, well kind of. I pretty much let my fingers do the typing and let the words spill out. As I said, much of it will have to go but I do have more than the bare bones of a story I like and that is a start.

What next? Well, 50K words do not a novel make. So I have to expand that somewhat. As I read through and clean up I am removing much of the drivel, but so far I have added more than I have removed so I am hopeful. Next I will have to go through it and edit the hell out of it. Then I need some good friends to be Beta Readers. I already have my very first one lined up and willing. I have a few more in mind and have yet to approach them. I do know of some writers who asked for review and feedback only to get offended when they got it. So, what they were asking for was not feedback nor review, they were looking for praise and admiration

"A beta reader is a test reader of an unreleased work of literature or other writing, who gives feedback from the point of view of an average reader to the author. A beta reader provides advice and comments in the opinions of an average reader." - Wiki

It feels like such an imposition. Asking someone to read a novel, that is not yet a novel, that takes up a lot of time, but then ask that they read it with a critical eye, and finally that they give you a fair and thoughtful critique of that novel. To many, that is like asking them to tell you if your baby is ugly. They just won't do it. Of course they can't be sure you really mean, tell the truth. I am not looking for praise at this point, I do want to make it better. Better is good. Naturally, you can't make an ugly baby beautiful, but with help, you can make a good, bad or indifferent novel better, with the right feedback and before publication.

And there is the big hurdle. Publication. I have decided that I will try to find an agent, and if I am lucky enough to find one, then I will attempt to be published the traditional way. If this effort fails, I will go ahead and self publish. Many writers have gone this route and had great success. But those writers have also put a lot of money and effort into marketing that book, and themselves. Not something I have the  skillset, nor the inclination for. So, if I don't find an agent and do go the self publishing route, I will post on Facebook and give gifts of my book to many of my family and friends and let it go at that. I am not looking for fame and fortune. I just like to write.

First on the agenda is at least another 20K words that make sense and improve the story. Thankfully I am retired and I don't have to squeeze my writing time into a working day. 

By the way, sorry for complaining so much about being retired, I wrote many posts on that subject. I do still miss work, and more especially coding and my wonderful team mates, but I am not bored.

Links to posts I referenced above 

I will ban bossy - mentions my competitive nature

Online Dating - ditto 

My First NaNoWriMo - the title gives it away

Why I chose to retire  - retirement

Getting used to retirement - ditto

Retirement week 12 - ditto

...and many more on retirement that I won't bore you with.

My first NaNoWriMo

I am embarrassed to say that for over a year, ever since I retired, I have been trying to write a novel. It isn't that I didn't write anything. I did. I wrote a couple of short stories. That is, I started what I thought would be a novel and it fizzled out. One I polished up—apparently not quite enough—and submitted to a few magazines. Six months later I was so excited to receive a rejection I wonder how I would react if something was actually accepted, and printed! I felt the third short story was possibly something I could grow into a novel. I played around with it a bit and eventually I had five chapters and a three month writers block. I sent the five chapters to my sister (an extremely accomplished writer and editor). She read it and sent me valuable, if overly kind, feedback. That is when I realized I had a decent idea but was not utilizing it correctly. She didn't say that, but that is the realization I came to. What I had was a back story. That was a good start.

As many of you know, I have been wallowing in all of the writer Masterclasses, repeating most of them multiple times. Last year I even signed up for NaNoWriMo. Well, I created an account and had a poke around. That was it. This year I did some more poking around and discovered a link with a discount membership to The Writing Mastery Academy (WMA). What annoyed me a bit about Masterclass is that it has only a limited amount of writer classes, albeit really great ones, and no place for Q&A or FAQ. WMA is dedicated to writers. It not only has a large number of detailed courses, but also a stack of Webinars and a FAQ section. I was in hog heaven. Not only did I have hours more distraction disguised as preparing to write, I did finally get a burst of motivation. I signed up to do NaNoWriMo 2022. I knew that I needed a deadline. On top of that, armed with what I had learned from the courses I had already completed at WMA I went back to my book idea and tore it asunder, keeping just the bare bones of the idea.

I created a Beat Sheet—Save the Cat Writes a Novel term—for my story and started my prep work to be as ready as possible for November and the 50,000 word challenge. I should have mentioned earlier that I had already researched and purchased a writers software package. Yes, of course you can use MS Word to write, or even a pen and paper. But Scrivener is designed with the writer in mind, I guess you could say so is pen and paper but this is so much better. I opened up Scrivener and created the bones of my novel. That is I created empty chapters and scenes. I was armed and ready for the challenge.

The night of the 31st October I had a trail of vivid dreams, nothing to do with Halloween, or wine or anything else other than anticipation for my November of writing. 1st November was a Tuesday. The busiest day of my week. We do our grocery shopping on Tuesday, then I wash all the fruit and prepare a fruit salad which usually lasts us into the weekend. And, of course, I work out in the early morning five days of the week. An hour on the treadmill and 30 minutes of yoga, usually I am on the treadmill by 4.30 a.m. and follow that immediately with my Hatha Yoga session. And no, I had no plan to skip either. So, Tuesday the 1st November I got up a little earlier than usual. Got my workout out of the way and still managed to do two hours of writing before it was time to head to the grocery store. 2,312 words under my belt and updated in the NaNo tracker. I was on my way.

On Wednesday I managed 1,778 words. Not quite as good but still on track. Our cleaners come on the first Thursday of every month. Mentioned before here. So, there is some work to be done preparing for them, yes...cleaning for the cleaners. Then we vacate the house while they are there to give them a clear run and because moving around to get out of their way is not much fun. So Thursday 3rd November I got up earlier than usual again. Completed my workout and still had two hours to write. 1,977 words. Still on track. I fitted in a second session, not quite so good, just over 300 words, as I am infinitely more productive in the early morning than any other time of day.

I knew that as the month progressed I would lose steam, just hope it doesn't continue to drop. I was determined to be optimistic and put it down to my busy Tuesday and the cleaners. Friday should be better. After all, it is one of the two days in the week I don't workout so in theory, I should be back over the 2K count. I just have to remember not to open my browser until I have finished at least 2K words.

And, if you are still reading, I do realize this is incredibly boring. I am writing it more to cheer myself on than for any other reason. Therefore, I will stop here. I will return with a final update after NaNo is over.