While zooming about the internet reading writerly type things I came upon a cool website called The Quotations Page.
Okay, I lied. I was not actually zooming. My zooming days are pretty much over. I was more like, you know, meandering. Meandering can be productive, too, and it won't throw my back out.
Now then, back to The Quotations Page.
If you love quotes, as I do, you will love this website. I like it so much I've added it to my sidebar links under "Unisex URLs". Take a gander and see if you agree that it offers some insightful citations, like the one offered to the right under my new gadget, Wish I'd Said That! I had a tough time choosing between Ralph Waldo Emerson or Benjamin Franklin ("Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.") Both are so profound that it was hard to decide.
So meander over--or zoom, if that be your preference--to The Quotations Page. The site offers over 26,000 quotes by more than 3,100 authors, and new quote-worthy stuff is added each day, making it a pretty cool place to visit.You never know what words of wisdom might touch your heart, pique your interest, or tickle your funny bone; I wish you the joy of all three.
Til next time -
Monday, November 23, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The Georgia Writers’ Association annual conference was weekend before last, and it was terrific. My big sis drove from
to attend with me, and having her to chat with was icing on the cake. My single complaint is that the temperature of the building was akin to a meat locker. Next year I’m bringing a blanket. Virginia
Aside from the blue lips and shivering, the conference proved a worthwhile endeavor. The keynote speaker was Anita Renfroe, a comedienne famous for her “Momisms” song (all the things moms say to kids set to the William Tell Overture). She was a hoot and set the tone for a good conference.
Haywood Smith, a New York Times best selling author of historical romances and women’s fiction (Red Hat Club) was also shivering…er, I mean, speaking…at the conference. Her motivation to become an author was triggered by her husband’s midlife crisis: he left her for a stripper and spent all their money. As she is a successful author and no one has ever heard of him, I’d say she got the last laugh.
The other presenters were excellent as well, and I learned ooh gobs of stuff, from the best way to approach a new editor to how to use my subconscious mind to plot a bestseller—which sounds a little woo-woo, but it was a fun workshop and I’m recording my dreams because, hey, it worked for Stephenie Meyer (author of that global virus, Twilight). So far I’ve dreamed about a doughnut and a sports car. I’m afraid to wonder what that means.
At any rate, even though the frigid air made everyone look like Smurf cousins, the conference itself was hot. I think the best way to sum up what I learned is this:
Dream big and don’t stop. Ever.
Til next time –
Thursday, November 12, 2009
What is it about QT (QuikTrip) coffee that holds me in thrall? It isn’t the caffeine; I’m as satisfied with decaf as with the nuclear stuff. Whatever it is, I’m addicted.
QT is a convenience store/gas station chain with locations throughout
True coffee aficionados will argue my praises of QT coffee. After all, Starbucks is the coffee king, catering to delicate palates (and wide open wallets) while QT drips their joe in a continuous 24-hour rotation with latte and cappuccino evolving from powder. It doesn’t matter. QT coffee rocks.
QT doesn’t just entice with yummy coffee. They have a whole glass cabinet full of fresh baked pastries, doughnuts, cookies, brownies, etc. They offer breakfasts of sausage, egg and cheese biscuits; lunchtime subs, sandwiches, hot dogs and taquitos; salads and fruit; plus all the usual convenience store power drinks and juices. If they had some place for me to sleep and do laundry I might never leave.
Here’s the thing: A day without QT coffee is a day without sunshine. Take away my chocolate, my cheesecake, or even my beloved peanut M&Ms; but please, oh, please, do not leave me QT coffee-less!
Fortunately, my husband is addicted to the stuff, too, so he understands my obsession. And the sight of my man clutching a QT coffee. . .ooh, baby. Joe and java. . .it's kismet.
So I’m off to QT for my second fix of the day. I’ll buy some coffee for my hubby, too, because a 20 oz. cup of QT coffee is just one more way to say, “I love you.”
Coincidentally, QT also sells peanut M&Ms.
I’m all a-tingle.
Til next time –
Monday, November 2, 2009
Have you ever crawled out of bed, taken one glance in the bathroom mirror and decided you need a makeover? I do that pretty much every morning, but a week or so ago I acted on the impulse. My hair was too long and I felt like an old bagger trying to look younger than my actual age. My hubby pointed out that if I this truly bothered me I’d quit coloring my hair. Funny guy.
Anyway, I decided it was time to chop-chop, and it had to be done before I chickened out. I opted to walk on the wild side and try a new stylist. My boldness led me to an aggressive, confident, funny and fantastic Russian lady with an accent thick enough to butter bread; but she knows hair, and in ninety minutes I was a new woman. Well, not new exactly, but me with better hair.
I was fed up with my old style—ready to be drastic—and would have allowed anything. Besides that, her cool accent held me in such thrall that had she suggested a buzz cut I would have nodded like a bobble-head. She nixed the suggestion of fully shorn locks, however, and with all the seriousness of Vladimir Putin addressing the U.N. said, “You have big cowlick in back. Short hair for you would be nightmare.”
Since I felt reasonably attractive and less like an old bagger when I walked out of her salon my money was well spent. My hair has a shape now, and she offered styling tips along with the cut. (“Light on spray or you will have the helmet hair, right? No helmet hair for you. Hair must move. It must move. You understand?”)
Yep. No helmet hair on this old bagger…um, I mean, mature woman.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m still an old bagger heading toward 50 with my hands gripping the door jamb and my heels dug in, fighting it every step of the way. I know I’ll eventually cross that threshold—next year, in fact—but, by God, I’ll do it with moveable hair. Moveable, caramel colored hair (thank you Hydrience #36) that in no way resembles a helmet.
Til next time –