The Journey We All Take As Writers

This morning, I checked my messages over on FACEBOOK and found one by a good friend of mine, Garrett. He asked me something that got me thinking not only about my personal journey as a writer, but also those of other writers out there. In essence, when do we move on to another story? When do we convince ourselves it's time to walk away and begin something new?

I think it's a question every writer eventually asks him/herself. I mean, how can we not? We put ourselves out there in the most vulnerable way, expressing our thoughts, our emotions and the stories that make us who we are today. Without such deep contribution to our work, it can easily fall flat, bordering on two-dimensional. So, with so much vested in the books we write, when is the right time to walk away without feeling like we're actually taking the easy way out of being dragged down by our own sense of perfectionism?

Being a perfectionist myself, I can tell you what I told Garrett. Only we can judge for ourselves when the time is right. I still remember when it began for me. The day I first started working on David Thorne, back in 2003. It started with my drawing a creature I created, which I still have. She'll make her debut appearance in book four (I believe it's four, if not five). I remember so clearly, sitting there, in bed, with a sketch pad leaning against my legs, pencil in hand, my mind filled with a sense of giddiness I hadn't felt before. So I drew her, thinking, "Is this ever going to be anything?". Then, it was like the floodgates opened, and out came a million other creatures, characters, ideas, names, story lines. But most importantly, possibilities. I loved it. I literally thought about the book (and the series as a whole) 24 hours a day, driving, cooking, shopping. It didn't matter. I was consumed.

When I told my mom about my new venture, which in all honesty, had been brewing in me since I was a kid, she asked when I'd start writing (I was still in the development stage). I told her what I'd told my hubby on day one. "I'll start writing it when I know I'm ready." And so I did....exactly one year coincidentally...from the day I drew that first creature. In that year, I developed the characters, their back stories, the world, the magic, the history of the magicals and the tales that brought them to present day. I even created stores, shops, restaurants, the food they ate, the music they listened to, the hobbies they had, how they played. I mean, every conceivable detail. And when I was done, I started writing the first book.

Interestingly, the original first book was nearly 700 pages. I finished it three months later and when I was done, I actually sat back and smiled. I thought I would explode. I ran to my hubby and shouted over and over, "I did it! I finished! I wrote a book!" He was so happy for me. But then he said something that I will never forget, as it still haunts me today (and we still laugh about it to no end, believe me).

He said, and I quote, "Now the hard part starts."

I looked at him like he was crazy. He'd been there with me every step of the way as I worked on this book. He knew how much of myself I'd put into it. That was the hard part, fun as it was. But I wrong. Not about the fun aspect of creating and writing DT. But about the hard part beginning with typing that last word in the book.

Of course, the next day, it made sense. That was when I started the dreaded editing process. A process every writer hates more than bomb-wielding nut-jobs. Okay, maybe not that much, but you get the idea. I went through that book over and over, changing this and rewriting that for six months. And when I was done, it was sightly longer, though tighter. That's when I began looking up agents and publishers. I'd never done anything like that before, so just seeing the term Literary Agent online made me squeal like a school girl, and it yet terrified me. Had I bitten off more than I could chew? Was I in over my head? I'm nobody. Did I really think I could do this? I mean, what the heck's a query letter? What's a synopsis? What bio? It was all so foreign to me. But I dove in and learned as much as I could through Google searches and writing forums. The most unnerving thing I uncovered was that my 119k word middle grade book was waaaay too long for that market, and even longer still for a debut novel.

So I took two chapters out of the book, and wrote an entirely new one around it. THAT became the current first book in the series, and what was left behind became book two. So it actually worked out beautifully. But of course, now I had to start rewriting and reediting all over again. My blood curdled just thinking about it, what with all the rounds of edit and rewrites I'd just gone through with the original book. But it had to be done, so again, I dove in, head first. It took a long time to get it to where it is now, and even today, I can't go back and look at it because I know, as a perfectionist, it will never be perfect.

"Books are never finished, they are merely abandoned." -Oscar Wilde

How true is that? Oh god! So, I walked away. Honestly, I love the book as is. I'm immensely proud of it. So I say to all authors who ask themselves if it's okay to put it down and start something new: Just do it, because when that last breath leaves us one day, the last thing we want to say is, "I wrote A book."

One more thing I'd like to add before I end this. I want to thank my hubby for always being there for me. Ready with amazing ideas and unending inspiration, support and love. Without him, I would never had be able to push ahead. I know how that sounds, but he has always been there, ready to give me his thoughtson every aspect I approached him about. Never judging. Laughing with me, not at me. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

So, it's important to have a great support system.

What about your journey? Are you a perfectionist? Share it here and inspire others with YOUR story.

I Love My Kindle

Okay so, as many of you who follow me on Facebook, I recently bought my first Kindle Touch 3G. Thanks, by the way, for all the advice and info on my new toy. So far, I'm loving it! I love that I can sync it with my Android and read books from either. This weekend, I'm diving into the first book in the Hunger Games trilogy. There's a Hunger Games movie coming out soon, so I want to finish the book before I see the flick. Don't want to be veered from the author's vision, and all that. When I'm done with the book, I'll post my thoughts on it here.

Anyone else read it? If you have, share your final comments on it here, but please, no spoilers.

Getting Back Up Is the Hardest Part About Falling Down

Okay so, I just queried Ethan Ellenberg, of the Ethan Ellenberg Literary Agency. They are, without a doubt, top notch! Fingers crossed. I know I said I was done with this process, but the truth is, I want it. I want it so badly I can taste it. I want my book to fall into the right hands. I want readers to fall in love with my characters, my stories, all of it. I just feel this is the right thing to do for me...going the traditional route. Who knows. Maybe one day I'll look back and wonder, but for now, it's what I have to do. I don't want to live my life under that proverbial question mark. The one that will haunt me with the eternal mystery of what would have happened had I not taken this step.

Truth be told, it's taken me a long time to be able to do this again. Query agents. Those of you who know what happened to me and numerous other authors at the hands of one unscrupulous b*****d, know that those types of scars can leave a lasting impression on one's confidence. Well, mine was damaged to no end. I suddenly found myself beat down, and frankly, I hated feeling that way. I hate the idea that that loser took us all for such a horrible ride. I hate that it's taken me so long to get back up. But I'm here. I'm up again, and honestly, I will NEVER let anyone beat me down like that again.

So for now, I'm back on track. Doing what needs to be done to realize my dream as an author. Anyone else who feels the same, I congratulate you, my friend.

I'll post updates as to what happens with the query to Ethan Ellenberg.

The Ghosts That Would Not Be Ignored

Who here believes in (and is afraid of) ghosts? I kinda' sorta' believe in them only because I've had some chilling encounters that still give me goosebumps.

The first one took place when I was about fifteen years old. I remember being home alone (I lived with my mom and 5-yr old little sister at the time). I was in the kitchen, when all of a sudden, I got this sense that I was being watched, so I turned to the counter that led to the dining room. And then I saw it. A thin, pale forearm dipping below the counter, as though someone was there and had just ducked out of sight. I freaked! I didn't know what to do. Should I call the cops? And tell them what, I asked myself. "Hi, there's an arm in my house." I felt like an idiot just thinking about that call, so instead, I looked around for a knife. Sadly, the closest thing to me was a spatula. Before I could grab it though, my mom and sister came home. They found me still standing in the kitchen, shaking. I checked around the house, but there was no sign that anyone had been there but me.

Okay, now that I think about it, that wasn't so much scary as it was ridiculous. Now, that is. Back then, it scared the hell out of me. I guess you had to be there.

A moment of silence to let the blushing smirk on my face pass with a little dignity.

Now, here's the encounter that was downright frightening. It's the kind of story that opens a movie about a haunting that ends with a resounding, "Holy crap!"

This was a long time ago. My mom and her boyfriend were going to Venezuela for four days, so they wanted me and my hubby to stay at her house to watch over my then 15-yr old little sister. The first night we were there was a Wednesday (I remember it clearly because Dawson's Creek was on). At the time, our dog, Gypsy, had just had eye surgery, and she needed some eye drops applied every day. So just before eight o'clock at night rolled around, my hubby went home to give Gypsy her drops really quick. My sister, who'd left when he did, went to my older brother's house. He and his wife lived two doors down, with both my father and little brother.

So there I was, alone in my mom's house, curled up on the sofa with the remote and the giddiness that came with watching Dawson. Not five minutes into the show, I heard voices coming from my sister's room. I didn't freak out, only because I knew it was the T.V.. I got up to turn it off, then came back to the family room, and after I sat down, I heard the T.V. again. Now I freaked because I'd just turned it off. What could I do but get up to do it again, but I did so thinking something must be wrong with her set. So again, I turned it off, but this time, just as I turned my back on the T.V. to leave the room, it came on again. A chill came over me so badly, so I turned back to the room slowly, shaking, not having a clue as to what to do. I was sure someone was in the house, screwing with me. I looked around for something to protect myself with, but the closest thing at my disposal was a flat-heeled shoe that could have easily passed for a slipper. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. Hell, my hubby still refuses to let me forget what my weapon of choice was.

So I grabbed the shoe, which, no doubt would have done nothing more than make the intruder die of laughter before he could attack his slipper-wielding killer. Anyway, so, with shoe in hand, I checked on the other side of the bed where the T.V. was, but there was no one there. I giggled to myself and made to go back to the family room, when suddenly, there was a thud in the hallway in front of me. My first thought was, "Holy crap, someone IS in the house." Now, what would any self-respecting person do in such a situation? Run? Call the cops? Grab a knife? Any of those would have sufficed in preserving my dignity. But no. I ran to the phone, shoe still in hand, and called....wait for it...my little sister.

"Jenn, someone's in the house."

"I'll be right there," she said firmly before hanging up the phone.

Yeah yeah, get it out of your system now.

I went to the kitchen and this time, I grabbed a knife. A BIG knife. Not two minutes later, I went over to the front door in response to the sound of keys. I looked out the peephole and nearly died of laughter myself. My sister had brought our little brother, Chad, who was like eight at the time. He was standing in front of her, his face pale, his hand shaking as he tried to insert the house key. My sister was behind him, her face scrunched up in attack mode as she held out a broom in front of herself like a sword.

Chad and Jenn (today)

They came into the house and we all stood there by the entryway, as I told them what had happened. After I finished, we all heard a loud thud against the wall in the hallway that led to my mom's room. We all froze.

"Well, I have to go home now," my little brother said flatly, as he backed away towards the door. He ran like his ass was on fire, let me tell you.

After he left, my sister and I heard the thud again, only this time, it was closer. She ran to the phone and called my dad, who quickly came over and checked out the house, to no avail. He told us to relax because the house was locked up and safe, then he went home. A few minutes after he left though, we heard it again, and when we looked towards the hallway, we noticed that a side gate outside, which we could see from the living room, was wide open. A gate that was always locked, mind you. This time, we called the cops and told them someone was in the house. They were amazing. The dispatcher told us to stay on the phone until the cops got there, which they did a few minutes later. They came in, and while one checked out the house, the other stayed in the kitchen with us, complimenting the house, the decor, the sofa. Hell, he even flirted with me. At the time I thought, "Thanks and all that, but shouldn't you be looking around for someone to arrest?" Now though, thinking back, he was probably trying to distract us from our own fear. Ten minutes later, the first cop came in and said the house was locked up. He also asked if we drank.

"She's too young, and I don't drink," I told him.

"Well, you might want to start now. Have a beer and relax. And if anything happens, call us back."

My hubby came back not five minutes after the cops left. We told him what had happened, so he checked out the place for himself, then, as it goes, we all decided to watch a horror movie. Yes, a horror movie. Talk about asking for it, huh? The problem was, the wall where the sofa was, had a giant opening next to it, and anyone sitting on the far end of the sofa would have their back to that opening, which was pitch black with the lights turned off. My sister and I squabbled over who'd sit there; neither of us wanted to be the first victim. I lost that battle. I don't remember what we saw, but after the movie, we decided to go to sleep. My sister insisted she sleep with me, so my hubby slept in her room, while Jenn and I slept in my mom's room.

I still remember having this dream where I woke up to find a man in black standing over me with a double barrel shot gun aimed at my face. I woke up so quick. Jenn was sitting up, just looking at me with this terrified look on her face. Just then, my hubby came into the room, looking so confused. He asked if either of us had just been walking in the hallway that led to my sister's room. We said we'd just woken up and had left the bed yet. Then he said he'd been woken up by the sound of high heels and he thought it was Jenn getting ready for school. Then Jenn told us about this dream she's just had, where she'd woken up to a man in black pointing a double barrel shotgun at her face. Chills raced over my spine. She and I had had the same freakin' dream. Then she told us about how so many times, my mom and her had heard voices in the house. And that, this one time, Jenn had come home from school and heard a car gearing up in the garage, so she checked, thinking it was my mom. But the garage was empty. Then she topped off her little ghostly revelation with a fact that I still feel to this day, should have been told to us long ago. She told us that the previous owner had committed suicide in the house. Needless to say, we left and spent the day with my dad.

So, do I believe in ghosts? Kinda, sorta. But have I actually seen them? No. Have I felt/heard them? Uh, yeah!

Who else here has experienced ghostly encounters? Please share!

A Writer's Dream

As many writers do, I have many goals. I want to touch people, make them think and see the world a little differently, make them laugh, cry and cheer. I want to leave an impression on readers, with stories that they can relate to, about characters they'd love to be friends with. I guess these aren't all that original. But then, they don't have to be, do they? They just have to be genuine. I mean, let's face it. There are two types of writers in this world. Those who dive into this industry strictly for money, guided by the delusion that they'll indeed strike it rich.

Then there are those who become writers solely because of their love for the art of telling a story in a way that nestles its way into the hearts and souls of readers. Those are the writers whose passion carries them through enough rejections to paper the Vatican, the long caffeine-riddled nights sitting in front of a computer, the even longer, fingers-crossed days spent waiting for a door to finally open and welcome in their ideas. These are the writers who touch people, only with their ability to reach some deep part of their readers, but also with their strength, perseverance, and willingness to stand by their dreams. Those are the writers who make up a corner of this world I'm proud to be part of.

So, curiously. What would you say is/are your ultimate dream goal(s)? Where do you stand on this difference in writers?

Line It With Silver And Reach For The Stars

Perception can be a tricky thing. It can break us, or give us the strength to fight back.

"Back when I began querying agents for my first book, I jumped into that dark part of the game like a champ. Smiles, big hopes and wild imagine-if's. But, as the rejections rolled in (as they do for so many of us, sadly) I felt the weight of disappointment and self-doubt settle in, like an unwelcome visitor. But, it forced me to turn my back on the empty, form rejections, and figure out why I was getting them. Because of that, I learned so much about the business, agents, and publishers, as well as what they're looking for during that initial contact period. It was my silver-lining moment. Now, when the rejections come, I look at them in a different light. A light that tells me it will happen when the time is right and the road is mine to travel."-C. L. Freire

That's what I wrote on Dax M. Tucker's blog the other day. He's a writer I came across through Twitter. I left that comment in answer to an entry that found quite thought provoking, centering on a subject I related to in both my writing and personal life. It was about the The Power of Perception.

He wrote about how we see things, events and the like, and how we respond to them. Not directly, mind you. But more, how we deal with them, personally. He closed with a question, which, if we're true to ourselves and answer honestly, helps us get to know ourselves better. It was a post I highly value and appreciate.

Personally, I'm a true believer in the silver lining moments of our lives. Those moments when we come to a crossroads, and have the opportunity to ask ourselves how we'll deal with those times that test our strength, courage and confidence during this long journey we call life. I choose to take these tests and learn from them. I refuse to let them keep me down. I refuse to allow them to dictate where my life will go, where my road will take me, and what will happen to me along the way.

So, it got me thinking about what other people have to say on this matter. How do you handle those little moments? Are you a silver liner, too?

The Golden Globes and The Non-Jokes That Filled The Night

So,, The Golden Globes were on tonight. Well, Sunday night, to be exact. I just read a T.V. blog post that claims the host was as funny as last year. Well, no offense to the host or to the folks who made such a (questionable) claim as to his sense of humor, but I saw the opening. That's when the host is supposed to be as his/her funniest, in order to open the show.

Needless to say, I didn't laugh once, but instead, my hubby and myself both spent those minutes we'll never get back, rolling our eyes from the moment the host stepped out on stage, to the moment he introduced Johnny Depp (the first presenter). Not only didn't we laugh once, but every time the camera panned across the audience, the celebrities there offered their own variations of an eye roll, followed by the, "Oh, crap, the camera's watching. Let me smile as though I actually believe he's making me laugh, when in reality, I'm thinking about him having large amounts of monkey poop heaved directly at his head."

Actually, now that I think about it, we did laugh...but only in sharing the thought of seeing the host covered in the same poop he was flinging during his supposedly-funny monologue.

Publishers and the Wake-Up Call They So Much Need

Why are publishers so ignorant about what readers want? In checking the websites of various publishers lately, I've found that they seem intent on ignoring the changing environment of readers and technology. E-books, for instance. They've been shattering print book sales for the last couple of years, and yet, publishers are only NOW hoping on the E-book bandwagon as though it's something THEY'VE discovered. Also, they're still intent on restricting word count limits to numbers like 30k for middle grade books. Have they NOT heard that books like Potter began around 75k? A big FYI to publishers.....children ARE capable of reading more than ten words, you know. Don't make the mistake of underestimating the readers. Give them what they want. Good Books!

The Bull, The Chatterbox, and The Tornado I Desperately Hoped For

Okay so, Friday (yesterday), The 13th, it turns out, I went to the doc with my hubby. First off, I AM NOT a morning person. Neither is my other half. Yes, we like to sleep in sometimes, wake up to some coffee and generally start our days with a kiss, a smile, and many laughs. This was not that day. See, my hubby had a doctor's appointment. Neither of us had slept very much, so we were both exhausted. Naturally, what better time to hit up a doctor's office to sit around over an hour for an appointment, for which we were ten minutes early.

See, I don't get that. Why is it that every doctor LOVES to overbook? It's like their patients don't matter. Like our time means nothing. UGH! So there we were. Waiting. Watching the clock not tick away; it was downright teasing us. Meanwhile, I felt like those people in movies that are on the verge of a nervous breakdown, where every single sound and room-filling irritation is amplified, bubbling up inside like a pressure cooker about to explode.


There was the clock that was more like a novelty item, set there to perpetuate the illusion of passing time.


There was the woman with the baby that refused to allow anyone within a ten-mile radius to retain their ability to hear.


There was the Chatterbox who believed she was sitting in her living room, sharing every mundane detail of her even-more-mundane existence with someone who she simply did not allow to speak; I swear, at one point, I even told my husband that I didn't think she was talking to anyone because of how her mouth ran non-stop for forty-five minutes.


And finally, there was the absolutely charging-Bull-of-a-woman who stormed into the office so savagely, she actually slammed the door into my hubby, who was sitting by the entrance. She was a real charmer, that one! And to add a little sugar to her bowl of bitchy charms, instead of apologizing, as any normal person would when they cause pain and suffering to others, she had the audacity to tell my hubby that he shouldn't sit there. It was all I could do not to grab that Bull, drag her out to the street and toss her like the trash she was, under a moving car.

Between the screaming baby, the seemingly-broken clock, the for-the-love-of-god-please-shut-her-up Chatterbox, and the savage Bull, I swear I felt like my nerves were on the verge of giving up. I could literally feel my hands shaking. I didn't know what to do. Should I get up? Pace around? Throw the Chatterbox unmistakable dirty looks? Toss the trashy Bull under a car? And all the while, reality kept nipping at my ass. I was stuck there, with no choice but to wait.

And then, a taste of peace set in for the briefest of moments when the Chatterbox finally ended her loud, annoying, obnoxious, conversation-dominating phone call. I closed my eyes and took in the peace; the baby's mother had shoved a bottle of milk in her mouth, so the baby was back on my she's-so-cute side. And not a second after I closed my eyes, the Bull's phone rang. And she was off.

"Hello?" she said so loudly, I felt it in my bones.

I turned to my hubby and whispered in his ear, "Is there a hidden camera in here or something?"

Believe me when I say, I could actually HEAR a ranting blog writing itself in my head.

He laughed, catching the attention of the Bull, who promptly got up and took her call outside. Yup, in that one split moment, she earned a teensy portion of my forgiveness and whisked away (to a minor extent) the vast array of very disturbing thoughts rumbling around in my head.

I mentioned to my hubby how that was very polite of her, and how rude it was to take a call in front of people who want to sit in peace. Of course, the Chatterbox must've heard me; I could tell by the, "Ugh, whatever," face she threw me. But I didn't care. Hopefully she got the point.

So, all in all, it was a crappy experience, filled with endless waiting, a screaming baby, a trashy Bull, an obnoxious Chatterbox, and the desperate hope that a natural disaster (of the minor variety) would take aim at certain people in that office.

Fun times! So much for the whole, "Friday the 13th is just some silly superstition" thing.

Harry Potter will live forever....apparently

Okay so, I'll be the first to admit that I personally enjoyed the Harry Potter books. Though I did have my problems with the entire series, but, I'm not here to bash Rowlings or her books. No, I'm more on a mission to find out one thing.

Why is the reading world intent on believing that any author who writes about a wizard or a witch or even just magic, is attempting to ride the coat-tails of a popular series?

I mean, come on. Really? And now, it's also a fact that if you write about vampires, you're trying to hitch a ride on the popularity of Myer.

When did this become a society of readers who believe that every wizard is an HP knockoff, and every vampire is a clone of those ever-lovable (COUGH * GAG!) sparkly, softball-playing vampires (who are the least vampiric vamps in history)?

It's not about WHAT you write. It's HOW you write, the story you tell, how the characters are written, how the story unfolds. That's what distinguishes one book from another. And for people to say that ANY book that uses the term wizard or the word magic is an HP clone is simply defunct of any brain activity.

I've actually read so many reviews of various books that are compared to HP (for instance) for the most amazingly mundane reasons. Like if it's a story about an orphan, naturally it's from an author who copied Potter.

Neither Potter, not Twight (the entire series, mind you) are even remotely original. And there's nothing necessarily wrong with that. I mean, books have been around for a helluva long time. There's always inspiration. But there's also a little thing called DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS. Different story angles. Different characters, settings, worlds, myths, etc...

It's high time people stop comparing one book to another, in terms of crying CLONE based on story aspects that authors like Rowlings and Myer used when writing their own versions of what's been around longer than they themselves have been around.

Why not read books and allow them to stand on their own? Judge them on their own merits. Take them for what they are. Simply enjoy them for what they are, and stop demeaning those hard-working authors who simply love to write.

The Job, The Shark, and The Brain Cells That Failed To Fire

Okay so, I have a problem. It's a problem I'm sure a lot of people experience on those dreaded days when we clear away the clutter that somehow found its way into our lives in the last week. Those abominable days when we pull out the Windex, pour on the Pledge, and overall tend to those home invading dust bunnies that seem determined to become a permanent fixture in our lives. Yes, folks. I'm talking about cleaning day. Ugh! Is there a more grotesque term in existence? What a monumental waste of time. A time more boring than, oh, I don't know, watching paint dry, or grass grow, or even sitting and pondering the wonders of our own toenails.

See, I have tile floors, which I hate with every fiber of my soul and want to change every time I open my eyes. I also have five cats. Even though the cats generally stay out in the closed in terrace, they come in for about an hour everyday, and with them comes hairballs so big, I still find myself checking to make sure the cats aren't bare-a** bald. And, as it goes, that tile floor needs vacuuming with a hair-ravenous machine that, like the Terminator, simply will not stop until it gets the job done. Unfortunately, most companies like to tout their weapons of no destruction as the best and most efficient vacuum in the known universe.

Believe it or not, I've actually bought six vacuums in the past year. Yup, I've literally run the gamut of vac companies, from Hoover and Eureka, to Bissel and the latest let-down: Shark. Every one of them has been returned a week later, once the joke fell upon us. That is to say, once we became enlightened to the monster we call FALSE ADVERTISING.

And so, I give you the latest in the IT'S GOING BACK Winter Line.


The Shark Navigator Lift-Away Pro Bagless Upright Vacuum Cleaner

See, my problem with this machine is not--for once--the suction power itself so much as the same problem every other vac has had in addition to the suction issue. This damnable machine has this joke of a vac tube that is all of about two feet long. Naturally, the box goes on and on about the convenience of this tube, for jobs where you need to get into corners and such. But what the box fails to mention is how every time you try to use the tube in a place further than two inches from the vac, the vac tips over! Now how the frick does that help anyone, um?

I mean, there I am, trying to feed that side of me that doesn't want to live with dust bunnies and cat hair, and all I've got to work with is two inches of tube reach! Come on! What brainiac came in to work one day and decided it was a most fabulous idea to make a vac with a two-foot gesture of a tube for those hard-to-reach places? Did he intend it to be used only in a smurf's house? Because he really should have put that on the box, you know.

When are these greedy, lying, cheating vac companies gonna make something actually worth buying, using, and keeping for more than a week? You know, as penance, I truly believe that the makers of such useless gadgets should be forced to ditch their $500 Dysons and use their own products everyday. And not just on their floors. No sir. I'm talking those tight corners high up on their cathedral ceilings. Yeah. And behind things. And under things that require more than their paltry 2 feet of tubing length.

I'd pay to see that. Wouldn't you?!

Working It! The Gender Game That Stumps Us All

Well, I saw the new show called, Working It. Apparently, it's caused a lot of controversy among the transgender community. Honestly, I think they should either watch the show and see it for what it is, or find something else to watch. I'm not trying to sound flip here, but the truth is, it's just a show about two guys who dress like women to get jobs, simply because of the limited opportunities today. It's not a show that mocks anyone. In fact, the show doesn't even take itself seriously enough to warrant more than a resounding, "What was that?" All in all, the show was barely okay, in terms of funny. I mean, I laughed once or twice, but that's it.

Now, something else I'd like to comment on. Guys, this one's for you. You look at women all the time. You ogle them to the point that your eyes roll around like those creepy dolls. You lose all sense of your name, age and other vital info we learn as kids. And yet, when it comes to dressing up like a woman (for instance, on Halloween, or just on a dare), you haven't a clue. Here's a tip. Women don't walk like John Wayne. Women don't swing their hips like their trying to bump the people standing four feet away on either side of them. And finally, w.Women don't talk like helium is the newest trend to hit the streets.



Let's face it. Women are generally feminine. They're soft-spoken (unless we're angry, and then it's everyone man for himself). And we walk with a gentle swagger to remind men that our hips were meant to be admired. And before any men go off and start with, "Hey, I'm a man. How am I supposed to know how to act like you?" Well, pay attention, boys. After all, the very thing you're attracted to, should, by now, be as familiar to you as your best friend.

And to all you women out there. Despite popular misconception, men don't openly scratch, fart, burp and shout...for the most part, anyway. No. Those special little moments of joy they save for their wives and girlfriends. So when you're out, acting like a man (again, in costume, I mean), pay attention to your man (and every other one around you), and ask yourself how they really act.

The fact is, when dressing like the opposite gender, it's funnier when taken seriously, and not just played for laughs. Because in the end, like the new show, Working It, playing it over the top tends to leave it falling flat...on it's proverbial a**.