Locks Of Love

I did it. I cut my hair. Short.

Several years ago I read about an organization called Locks Of Love, which furnishes human hair wigs to children afflicted with disease who can't grow hair of their own. I visited their website and saw pictures of children in before (bald) photos and after (with LOL wigs). After seeing these lovely children I determined to grow a crop of hair and donate it.

My hair has always been extremely thick and coarse, and it grows very fast. The last real chop I'd had was in spring of 2002, which turned me into a pixie that I thought looked great. So I stopped the pixie cut maintenance and just let it go. It grew out to my chin line and my husband was encouraged. It passed my chin and hit the shoulder length where it wouldn't stay behind my shoulders and always fell in my face. I took stock in claw clips, the best hair accessory since the rubber band. After a couple of years my hair cascaded down my back in waves, my husband began to think I was morphing back into the woman he married.

Locks Of Love requires a minimum of ten-inches of hair for their donations. Because I promised my husby I wouldn't do the pixie-cut again, I took a bit longer to grow my hair to a length where I could donate ten inches and still have some fluff around my face.

For several months now I've needed a change. When my friend Carlene invited me to her house for a "hair-fest" with our private stylist, Jamie Cabrillo, I knew it was time. I woke up yesterday morning giddy with excitement. I gently let my husby know that today was the day, that my chestnut tresses would be braided and cut and I would emerge a new woman. I promised that if I felt good about myself, it couldn't help but radiate onto him.

Because I had so much hair, Jamie made two braids. My buddy Carlene had the honors of the first cut. Jamie lopped off the second braid and then began clipping away. She said my wavy hair had been pulled tight from its length for so long that it sprang into curls when she wet it. She gave me a "stacked bob" that has layers in the back for fullness, but blends to a single length in the front to avoid the curse of big hair. I love the cut.

Husby came over to the hair fest for a view of the new me before heading to work that evening. I'd warned him that it could be pretty short. He was delightfully surprised it wasn't as short as he expected. I was delightfully surprised at his reaction.

So now my two braids are sitting in a zip-lock bag awaiting shipment to Locks Of Love. Like an organ donor, I'll never know the child who will wear my hair. But it feels great to know it'll bring smiles for years.

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The Nexus Lives

So it's been four months since I updated my blog. Not because nothing's happened, but because so much was happening my muse needed a rest.

While my muse was on vacation, my creative critic put on the gloves and gave my novel, THE NEXUS, logosuction and a pace lift. I'm happy to say that I was able to cut more than 22,000 words without losing any of the texture or changing the voice. Every character survived, though they move through their paces with more immediacy and determination.

I shipped NEXUS to my agent on Monday, it arrived at her office this morning. Now I'll wait to see what she thinks.

In the meantime, I'm going to pick up the threads of WHISPERING NIGHTS and go back to the Yorkshire moors where I left Clarissa and the eccentric family of slave-smuggling aristocrats to which she is governess.

My Grown Up Christmas List

We now have less than a month until Christmas. When I was a child I could write several pages listing all of the toys, clothes, accessories and trinkets I wanted to unwrap on Christmas morning. Now the things I want can’t be wrapped and put under a Christmas tree.

I know it’s all been said before, and with much more eloquence and impact. But, I want an end to the war in Iraq. But more than just an end to the war, I wish for a peaceful and equitable resolution that dissolves religious intolerance and claims to ethnic superiority.

Take the concept of peace and wrap it around the globe where other nations strut and pose before each other, hurling insults and waving fists at perceived slights and disrespect. The global sand box is getting crowded, but if we learn to play together, we’ll find there’s plenty of fun for everyone. Wrap me up a global hug.

Do you have a “grown up Christmas list”? Click on COMMENTS and tell us about it.

Memoirs of a Turkey Queen

My Butterball turkey sits in my kitchen sink awaiting the special touches that will transform it from a naked carcass to our family’s Thanksgiving feast. I remember how surprised my mother was the first time she tasted a turkey I’d cooked. That the turkey was moist and tender and tasted as good as hers amazed her, while also filling her with pride. By that time she was tired of being the turkey queen of the family and anxious to hand me the crown.

I don’t know why she was so surprised at my success in the kitchen. Well, perhaps she recalled my incessant teenage mantra, “I’m not the domestic type” and believed it. She never realized how much I watched her, even thought I wasn’t interested. I was like that then and still am—I absorb things around me without realizing how much is getting in. Like pulling out the giblets from the turkey cavity. I watched her do that and thought, “Ewww, I’ll never do that.” Of course, like everything else to which we’ve sang that refrain, my hand goes into the turkey carcass and pulls out the bag with a flourish.

So in a few minutes I’ll tie on my apron and wave my scepter over the Butterball. I’ll drench it in hope, spice it with joy, and bake it with love. I’ll remember my mom who’s no longer here to share in earthly feasts and thank her for passing me a crown so well appreciated.

Niagara in the Fall

There are places on earth that defy description. Niagara Falls is one of them. Today our group from the 2005 SITE Conference were treated by the Niagara Falls Tourism Visitors and Convention Bureau to a day of wonderous exploration of the Niagara region.

1st photo: Niagara Falls from the air.

We left Toronto about 9:30 a.m. and drove through the splendorous fall landscape to arrive in Niagara about 11 a.m. The Hilton Fallsview hotel treated us to a reception where I got my first imaging view of the falls. The "ahh" effect from Hilton's falls view bar was audible. After a short tour of the Hilton, we moved on to explore the tunnels behind the falls at Journey Behind the Falls. The legendary Maid of the Mist boats had been pulled for the season only last week and we were disappointed to have missed that voyage.

The Niagara Fallsview Casino Resort, operated by the Canadian government, hosted us for lunch in grand tradition. Unlike casino resorts in the US, the Fallsview casino is separated from the main entry. You don't have to trudge through the bling and ding of the casino to get anywhere in the resort. Great feature for families bringing children along.

2nd photo: Splendorous fall foilage on the road to Niagara Falls.

Knowing the disappointment of not getting wet on the Maid of the Mist, the Niagara tour directors took us up for a bird's eye view in a ride with Niagara Helicopter Tours. Considering that I am married to a professional helicopter pilot, that I've never before lifted off in a helo is somewhat remarkable. To say I enjoyed the ride is an understatment.

3rd photo: The Niagara falls behind us: Denise Dornfeld, Madelyn Marusa, moi, Charmaine Peterson.

Moving along, our group headed downriver for a fabulous progressive dinner hosted by four of the Niagara winemaking region's most commercial wineries. We enjoyed canapes and sparkling wine at Jackson-Triggs; soup entree with a sparkling brut, a mild white and a fruity rose at Hillebrand Estates Winery; venison tenderloin with Yorkshire pudding and a rich red wine at Peller Estates, and concluded with dessert canapes and sparkling ice wine at Inniskillin. The sparkling ice wine was the most delightful taste of the evening and well-chosen for our international group.

4th photo: The wine aging cellar at Jackson-Triggs winery.

We rolled into our hotel at about 10:30 p.m. A couple of our group headed over to the casino to try their luck in Canadian gaming. That report is still outstanding. My room on the 24th floor of the Sheraton Fallsview hotel is incredible. It's very distracting to have one of the most spectacular natural wonders of the world right outside my window. This report may have been more eloquent and descriptive, but like I said earlier--Niagara Falls defies description. You just have to see it for yourself.

The Blog Explosion

Someone recently likened the explosion of blogs to the revolutionary invention of the printing press. There is no doubt that blogs are a powerful medium, to compare their impact to the revolution in human thought, politics, art and endeavor made by Gutenberg’s moveable type press would be like saying Technicolor revolutionized life. Technicolor certainly made television more vivid and life-like, but the transmission of moving pictures into people’s homes is what revolutionized our culture.

So a blog is only a tool on the internet. If anything could be compared with the printing press, it would have to be the internet itself. Not even the personal computer has made such an impact. Without the ability to link computer to computer, PCs would be glorified typewriters, calculators, and art studios. The personal computer is the vendor or paper delivery boy, but the medium itself is the internet.

We’ve become that Global Village which the late Marshall McLuhan forecast in the 1960s. McLuhan coined the term media to describe the means of communication that were developing at break-neck pace in the mid 20th century. I’ve often wondered what he’d say about the Internet and how it has linked cities to villages, effectively shrinking the globe to a single village with many voices.

What blogs and the instantaneous methods of online publishing have done is send people around the world with the click of a mouse. While email is transmitted almost instantaneously, it must travel through a network of servers and filters before reaching its destination. There are known lags in transmission times with email. Once a website is updated, it’s immediately accessible. I can publish this page at 8:00 California time and my friend in England can read it at 8:01.

I’m giving a class at the 2005 SITE International Conference in Toronto called “Blogging for Business.” I’ve enjoyed researching the blog explosion and am looking forward to sharing what I’ve learned with others. Leave me a comment if you have any questions about blogs.

A Sad Passing

Over the weekend we found a tiny grey tabby kitten on our front porch. Despite my nursing it with Pedialyte and “kitty formula,” I got up this morning to find little kitty dead. I wasn’t really looking for a new cat (we have two already), but hoped to foster it until a local cat shelter could place it into a home. My son, however, had already named the little male “Omie.”

I questioned my neighbors on Saturday to see if anyone had a kitten wander away, but no one had a clue (or would admit one). We live in a semi-rural area of large horse properties, which seems to be a magnet for deadbeats who dump animals off here, thinking they’ll all find good homes among the animal-loving people here.

Several well-heeled people in our neighborhood turn around kittens from their unaltered cats every season. I can’t imagine why these apparently literate people don’t have their cats spayed or neutered. Can’t be a money thing; surely people who drive SUVs can afford $25 to neuter a cat. It’s ignorance.

I made a few calls to local cat rescue organizations and found how willing they are in helping provide inexpensive neuter and spaying for unwanted pets. Ovations to all of the animal rescue organizations who step in when people step out.

Angels fold their wings...

Cheers for the Angels, those mighty winged sluggers, tossers, sliders and catchers. Thank you for a great season. Here's to next year!

Go, Angels!

I grew up in the shadow of the Big A. Angel Stadium of Anaheim, the colossal ballpark whose name has changed as often as its home team, has hosted everything from Boy Scout Jamborees to Supercross, to the Rolling Stones, to Billy Graham Crusades. Visible from major California freeways and poised just down the street from Disneyland, the Big A is a California landmark and home to the Angels.

Orange County is proud of their Angels. The name change this season left many fans grumbling, and why not? The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim? Doesn’t Los Angeles have a professional baseball team? Despite the clunky name, the team is on a roll toward baseball glory.

Last night’s win over the Chicago White Sox in Game 1 of the American League Championship Series propels the Angels one game closer to a repeat win in the World Series. While I’m not a fanatical baseball follower through the regular season, there’s something so American about the World Series. Here’s rooting for the home team. Go, Angels!

Beware of Spammed Comments

Ovations has been discovered. By spammers. I've just gone back to delete several posts from spammers entering a "cool blog" comment and then saying "check out my website" and listing a link to some unknown website. Of course, I have no clue to what the website contains. And therefore I have no intention of clicking. I hope you won't either.

Supporting Katrina Relief Efforts

There are many ways to give toward Katrina relief. Fellow author Tony Hellman is pulling out his checkbook with a promise that for every comment posted in his Katrina post, he'll donate money to Red Cross Katrina Relief in the following increments: $1 for each comment, $2 for a comment left by a literary agent, editor, or publisher.

As of this morning, he's generated more than 3,000 hits; a minimum of $3,000 and probably higher. What a brilliant incentive. He's created a way for people to give, without giving, while increasing traffic to his blog, which lifts his blog into new demographic heights, while also pitching the sale of his novel to publishing industry professionals and others. He's even had corporations coming aside him with offers to match gifts. If his novel is as good as his marketing savvy, it may be a bestseller.

Tony confesses the idea wasn't his. He read about other bloggers doing this and he recognized it as a good idea. So how about popping on over to Tony's blog and taking a look at what he has to say and leave a comment. So I've modified the rules a bit and am offering you a challenge.

While the Red Cross is a fabulous organization, I've tabbed Habitat for Humanity on the receiving end of my financial donations. If anyone else would like to donate to Habitat for Humanity Katrina Relief you can do it easily from their website. And if you donate through the website and have them send me (Carolyn Bass) a Gift Card, I will donate $1 for every Gift Card that I receive from them during the next 48 hours. Please send the Gift Card to my blog email at: throughts @ WordArtSolutions.com. (Be sure to remove the spaces on each side of the @ sign.) I'll keep this challenge open for 48 hours (closing at 12 noon PDT, 17 September 2005). At the end of the 48 hours, I will tally all of the Gift Cards I've received from Habitat From Humanity and will submit another $1 for each card and will display my receipt to show how much WE contributed. And if you decide to join me in this effort, why not leave a comment to encourage others to follow. Just click on the COMMENTS link below.

Even if you can't donate cash, Habitat for Humanity will need skilled laborers to donate time and talent in the rebuilding efforts throughout that region. Habitat for Humanity is an organization that brings out the best in people.

Katrina...

So much has gone on since hurricane Katrina did what Americans thought would never happen here. The proud city of New Orleans and surrounding areas have been turned into a cesspool of third world proportions. Never mind the arrogance that gambled whether or not a class 4 or higher hurricane would dare threaten the New Orleans levees. Forget the fact that the city was built below sea level anyway. The city is devastated—flooded, plundered, stinking, and dispirited. The people remaining—or should I call them survivors—are now being forcibly evacuated. For decades now distaster pundits have made predictions and the media has reported warnings of what see see today. Americans consider themselves the eagles of the proud and the free, but events such as this reveal the eagle as an ostrich with its head in the sand.

I’m still trying to grip what has happened here. I saw the images of winds blowing the roofs from buildings, water crashing through the levees, cars bobbing down the streets, and people—people—clinging to trees, exiled on rooftops, and floating bloated in the aftermath. A recent news report wrenched my heart even further: Twenty-five elderly patients were found drowned in a nursing home. Add that to this wrencher: Twenty-two people tied themselves together to keep from being separated in the wind and rising waters, and all 22 drowned together. The stories of survivors bring back memories of the World Trade Centers post 9/11. One death toll estimate I read gave a staggering 25,000.

Blogs and the internet have proven to be the single most valuable tool for getting the word out when the traditional means of communications failed. Blogs list missing family members, survivor stories, neighborhood updates, encouragement to victims, plus record the response of everyday people pierced through the heart by this tragedy.

What can we do? Giving money to relief organizations is just the beginning. Many people are opening their homes to the displaced. Others are volunteering services: doctors, nurses, construction workers, search and rescue teams, just about anyone with a skill that is needed in a disaster zone. The need is so great, but the response of everyday Americans is greater.

Changing Routines

I just got back from taking my son to his first day of school for the new term. I love the lazy days of summer, but by the time September 1st rolls around, I am so ready for school to resume. He begins his junior year of high school and is on the varsity football team and a student council leader. I am very proud of him, yet having just graduated our firstborn last June, I know how quickly these last two years of high school pass.

The change in routines this morning was most evident when my daughter didn't get up and spend her hour in the bathroom before her brother. She leaves for university in a couple of weeks. I am very grateful that right after we move her into her dorm room I leave for a conference in Chicago. Something busy and full of possibilities and away from the emptiness of her bedroom.

Summer Sands Remember

Summer
dropping moment by moment to the base
of the hourglass. This last summer
both of my children en residence.

Joys of summers now buried.
Little hands dig moats to
protect sandcastles we built.
Friends and foes strut and snub
on the shore in front of Jack's.
Cookouts around the firepit
hotdogs crunchy from sandy fingers.
Marshmallows black
drop in the sand, but there's always another.
Brown and soft and melting sweet.

Sands below sing of youth
“There’s a new kid in town...”
Boz Scaggs
Fleetwood Mac, Boston and Foreigner.
Drive music for crossing the valley to the beach.
No books, only sand and surf
Summer without obligation.

Deeper still the sands remember
a white '59 Cadillac convertible, big fins shooting jets of flame
Red interior with those cool electric windows.
My daddy at the wheel,
My mama with a headscarf ala Doris Day
She sings "Fly Me to the Moon"
Three sisters giggle in the backseat
No seatbelts hold us down
We are the Coppertone girls.

© 2005 by Carolyn Burns Bass

A Vision of The Good Life

A recent discussion of "The Good Life" in my online writer's group piqued my interest. I posted a couple of paragraphs there, but the concept wouldn't let go of me. What is The Good Life and how do we know when we have it?

I think The Good Life is a metaphorical aspiration enjoyed by millions, but rarely recognized when achieved. I can remember many times when I’ve lived the good life, but always had dreams or other hopes to make it even better.

I had The Good Life back when I was single, writing freelance, and living in a studio apartment overlooking Laguna Beach. Life was good, but it would have been bliss if I had someone special with which to share it.

Newlywed, awed in love with my heroic husband, we left Laguna and traveled to Japan, where we had a fifth-floor apartment overlooking the Inland Sea from one room and the Monzen River delta from another room. We had our first baby. This would have been The Good Life if I hadn’t missed my family so much.

Back in the USA we bought our first home with the big yard, the swimming pool, added two delightful dogs, and the kids flourished in private school. I began my graphic communications business. Life would’ve been So Good if I had enough clients to keep busy until the kids got home from school.

The kids are nearly grown now; the business keeps me busy beyond the school day, but so what? They’re involved with their activities, they have wheels to drive themselves around, and heroic hubby now flies his PD bird on the nightshift. Now I wish I had more time to write.

But looking back, I see a pattern. Laying aside the material possessions that provide temporary delight, The Good Life contains a few simple ingredients: love, family, creative endeavor, and fulfilled ambition. And dogs. Gotta have a dog curled up at my feet to write.

What is your vision of The Good Life? Click on the COMMENTS link below and share with us.

When Lightning Strikes

One of the most powerful effects of the internet and blogs in particular is how they can touch people’s lives in time of need. I learned through my online writing group that Marianne Mancusi, author of A Connecticut Fashionista in King Author’s Court), returned from the Romance Writers of America conference last weekend to find her home had been struck by lightning and burned to the ground. Marianne lost virtually everything but what she carried with her to the conference. A single woman, Marianne didn’t have renter’s insurance and is facing enormous costs for everything that needs replaced. A group of writers from Literary Chicks is spearheading an effort to raise funds to help Marianne. An online auction is being set up with books signed by authors, manuscripts evaluated by authors and agents, and other objects of literary value. A gift certificate to one of the nationwide chain stores would be appreciated for immediate assistance. Visit Literary Chicks to see how you may help Marianne rebuild her life.

Online Grief Group and Memorials

I recently read an interview with author John Irving where he said that all of his books feature death in some way, a phenomena he attributed to the ecstasy of becoming a parent and the fear of losing that beloved child. When I read that passage, something inside me clicked. I’ve been a parent for 18 years now and looking back, I can see the same phenomena in my writing. “Death is a Bitch,” a submission to an online writing group short story competition, was an attempt to connect to my father in his loss two years ago of my mother. Unfortunately, I buried the heart of the story between a glib opening and closing.

The theme for that short story competition was to create a story around people from an internet group meeting for the first time at a conference. I chose a grief support group as the setting for “Death is a Bitch,” knowing there must certainly be an online support group for mourning, but not having participated in one. Today, while researching topics for another project, lo and behold, I discovered GriefNet. GriefNet offers space for people to write memorials for their loved ones at GriefNet Memorials. Many of these memorials are therapeutic expressions of people’s anguish in loss, but several of them provide insightful glimpses into human mortality. While I can’t say it’s inspiring, it sure does give you a peek behind the curtain of death.

Care to comment about dying, death, or grief? Click COMMENTS below and share your thoughts.

An Agent's Debut Sale

Publishing sages commonly advise unpublished authors to choose their literary agents with the same care they would in picking a mate. One of the most common bits of advice is "examine their sales record," implying that a good agent makes frequent sales. (In terms of choosing a mate, would the advice be "examine their annual salary"?) This is wise advice in most cases. But I didn't follow it. I signed with my agent when she didn't have a single sale. Nephele Tempest, an associate agent with The Knight Agency, had fielded my manuscript, THE NEXUS, after I'd made the initial query. She wrote me encouraging notes during the process from evaluation to offer. I could tell that this woman understood my book. And I could tell she was a go-getter.

When Nephele opened up the West Coast office of The Knight Agency last January she offered me representation. I was her first client. I'd like to say I was her first sale also, but that honor went this week to Nalini Singh for her novel SLAVE TO SENSATION. Nephele is on the way to being one of those agents that publishing sages prefer to refer: An agent with frequent sales. I hope THE NEXUS is next.

Applause for Nephele's first sale would be incomplete without congratulations to Nalini, whose novel sold at auction and garnered her a two-book deal. SLAVE TO SENSATION is about a young woman born to a race without emotions and her encounter with a group of sensual changelings. Cindy Hwang at Berkley won the auction. Nalini is author of four novels published by Silhouette.

Dear Zoe: A Novel by Philip Beard

Several thousand people died on September 11, 2001. The date alone grabs one’s attention and screams REMEMBER THIS DAY. We see the burning tower and the second airliner crashing into the tower’s twin. News reports of the Pentagon and Pennsylvania tragedies spread new shockwaves, while images of the towers collapsing upon the thousands of souls inside sear our sorrow. Philip Beard frames his poignant YA novel Dear Zoe around that day. But not as one would expect.

It was an ordinary day for 15-year-old Tess DeNunzio—ordinary in as much as she’d missed the bus to school yet again and was biding time until her mother would drive her to school. The day became extraordinary when news of the Twin Towers exploded in her life. Of the thousands of people who died that day one of them would impact Tess and her family with the same gripping grief, but played out in a Pittsburgh emergency room.

In the confusion of those moments, when the eyes of the world were on the Twin Towers, Tess’s three-year-old sister Zoe was hit by a car. That Zoe died that infamous day haunts Tess as much as losing her all together. It drives Tess through an adolescence already complicated by enigmatic feelings for her successful stepfather; her doting, but low-life father; her mother’s descent into depression; blended-family issues informed by these dynamics, and finally her emerging sexuality.

While the world still shivers from the terror of 9/11, Tess stretches to understand and eventually seek her own redemption by writing letters to Zoe. In these letters we glimpse the intimate details of Tess’s life, from her obsessive make-up ritual in the mornings, to her lack-luster performance at school, to her first boyfriend and where that predictably goes. Tess’s letters to Zoe dig at the scab covering Zoe’s death, picking and peeling until Tess confronts the awful truth about Zoe’s death.

As important as the story of Dear Zoe is the story behind its publishing. Dear Zoe was Philip Beard’s second novel. Despite the championing of a good literary agent, his first novel was turned down by twenty-seven publishing houses. Dear Zoe, which Philip wrote in part to reach out to his own stepdaughter, had great personal as well as professional significance to him. After the first several rejections of Dear Zoe rolled in with suggestions that the epistolary style be changed to a traditional POV, he caved and revised to first person. The next round of twenty-eight rejections on the revised-to-first-person version crashed his faith in commercial publishing.

Determined to see Dear Zoe in print, Beard established his own publishing house with the intention of self-publishing. During the months of preparation to self-publishing, Beard had given permission for a Penguin sales rep he’d met through a mutual acquaintance to submit the original epistolary version on his behalf. Only days away from writing the check for his first print run, the president of Viking Penguin called Beard with an offer to publish Dear Zoe in Philip’s original epistolary form.

Beard’s ambitions for Dear Zoe were eventually met through traditional publishing. But had the circumstances found the novel released under Beard’s publishing imprint, it wouldn’t have changed the significance of its impact. Growing up is hard. Add some grief and wrap it in guilt for an even harder journey. Dear Zoe could have been just another coming of age novel filled with adolescent angst. Thankfully, it’s not. Beard’s astonishing ability to write in the voice of a teenage girl and his insightful commentary on the age has created a compelling elegy for the post-9/11 generation.

This review of Dear Zoe was commissioned by NimbleSpirit, the Spiritual Literary Review. Read more about Philip Beard and his publishing triumphs.

Happy Birthday America!

Disneyland always puts on a great Independence Day fireworks show. Photo copyright 2005 by Carolyn Burns Bass