Third Time Charm

Fiorella had an interesting experience recently--she was formally dropped as a friend. Frankly, it came as a surprise because while she and FF (former friend) had had their differences, Fio had no idea that FF considered her unsupportive, insensitive, and narcisisstic.

But Fio should have been expecting it--FF had tried to break up the friendship twice before, once, last year when Fiorella canceled for their weekly meeting because Son and family were coming to visit, and another time when FF thought Fiorella was disrespecting her viepoint regarding a book they were working on together. (Fiorella had immediately retreated, giving FF her notes and her blessing. Surprise--FF couldn't move ahead on her own.)

The break-up came last weekend. Apparently, FF had been building up a coke pile of resentment for quite a while, and when Fiorella canceled yet another meet-up because of yet another visit by her son, FF exploded and sent Fio a Dear John email.

In retrospect, since FF had earlier floated the idea that Fio was "afraid to move outside her comfort zone," and that Fio's style of writing wouldn't satisfy "modern" readers, Fiorella should have realized that FF was building up to some kind of psychotic break, but, whatever, third time is the charm, and while Fiorella will be polite to FF if they ever cross paths again, she will not put herself in the line of fire.




ed

An Inside View

Please excuse Fio while she hides in a corner, covers her face with her hands, and whimpers like a whipped puppy. This is one of those horrible times when Fio's memory digs up every dumb, stupid, embarrassing thing she has ever done in her life from childhood on and parades it through her brain, scene after scene.

With that sort of monkey on her back, you understand why Fio keeps calling for forward movement.

Pondering the Universe

Yes, Fio is the quintessential absent-minded professor, but how can she remember if she's already brushed her teeth when her mind is occupied pondering the universe, analyzing yesterday and planning today, and coming up with words of wit and wisdom for her blog?

Of course the answer to the question is--ta-da--by determining whether or not her mouth tastes like Colgate.

Five Personal Truths of a Writer

I used to think I was crazy, but it turned out that I'm a writer.

I'm on fire when I write my first draft, but as cold as ice when I revise. Creativity vs. analysis, my friends.

I have a pink lozenge I cut out of a post-it stuck to my "delete" key so I'll hit it and not the"insert" key.

I like red lights. They give me a moment to write down whatever golden words are seething in my brain.

Men's bodies look more naked when they have hair on them, which, I think, is the reason why cover models are lasered, razored, and waxed.  (If I ever met one, I'd ask him if his mother knows what he's doing for a living.)

On the Upswing!

Fiorella had quite an invigorating Facebook conversation yesterday.  In fact, it was a debate which her opposition tried to turn into a brawl. Ross, whom Fio knew from a writing group she once belonged to, had been posting garish anti-Hillary posters accompanied by Trump-type slurs. Fio was planning to unfriend him on the third time around, but decided at the last moment to talk to him, to try to calm him down a little.  But he came out swinging, justifying himself by saying that he and his partner lived in fear that Christian fundamentalists would kill them at their upcoming wedding, that his son was in the hospital because the police had shot him three times, and that he suffered from several debilitating physical conditions.

He also attacked Fio personally. She, of course, had the urge to hurl every epithet back at him and then some, but managed to stay cool.  This man had once been a friend, and she wanted to help him. Not to change his vote--he's an undying Sanders fan--but to soothe his anger. After a couple of back and forths, with him getting angrier and angrier with each exchange, she asked him why, since he didn't like Trump any more than Hillary, he hadn't put up any negative postings about The Donald. Could it be because Trump is male and Hillary is female?  Ross's answer was an explosion of upper-case vituperation, but Fio stayed cool as a cucumber, then played a hunch and asked him if Hillary resembled some woman he had known in his past.

Fio was willing to continue the discussion, but Ross cut off communication. Fiorella is sad, but also more than a little relieved to be out of the hot seat.

Decision Time

Fiorella is two people, emotional and logical.  Her first reaction is emotional, but logic is the road to follow.  Onward, Fiorella--you have no choice  Emotions are ephemeral.  Logic lasts.

But it's a cold, lonely road.

Why Didn't Mother Drive?

Why didn't Mother drive?  All the other mothers did, and her not driving meant that Fiorella walked, alone, to and from school quite a bit--and one of those blocks was a little scary.

The family had just one car, but other one-car families managed by packing the kids in the car, giving the wife the wheel so she could drop husband off at work and the kids off at school, then have the car at home all day for errands. As it was, Fio and her brother depended on the kindness of friends and neighbors. And they rode the motion-sickness inducing bus with Mother when she needed to go downtown or take them to a doctor. And they rode the bus alone if they needed to attend special classes across town--Fiorella was making a two-bus transfer to Baylor Children's Theater when she was nine.

It was all character-building, but when Fio turned sixteen, she enrolled for a summer class in Driver's Ed, and she hasn't looked in the rear-view mirror since.  Four years into her marriage, she and Husband became a two-car family, and not only did all of their kids get driven to school, but Fio would provide rides to any and all.

But why didn't Mother drive?

When questioned, she blamed a childhood problem with her left eye, but that was bogus--Fiorella herself lost all central vision in one of her eyes back in her college days and kept on driving.  So maybe it was a bad wreck that had scared Mother into the passenger seat--Uncle Ivan let it slip she had driven as a teenager. Or maybe Mother thought, as she intimated through the years, that driving was unfeminine, that the husband should be the one behind the wheel. Whatever, Mother never took up driving again, and now it doesn't matter.

But it's interesting to speculate about.

Said the Spyder to the Fly

Although she writes romances, Fiorella turns to Precious Ramotswe and Dexter for literary relaxation and enjoyment.  Yeah, she screwed herself out of reading romances when they became business and her analytical tendencies came to the forefront.

That being said, Jan Hudson's award-winning STEP INTO MY PARLOR is a good read.  Spyder Webb is a great male lead, the points-of-view are exceptionally strong, and the shifts seamless, while the writing is rich, the plot moves fast, and the story is full of interesting characters.

For hot, funny, and exciting--try STEP INTO MY PARLOR on Kindle.

Movin' On

When Fiorella's fourth grade teacher talked to the class about small thefts that had occurred in the classroom, Fio went home that afternoon and checked her bureau drawers to be sure she wasn't an unknowing kleptomaniac.  Yes, your Fio has an overly strong sense of guilt.

But some people have no sense of guilt at all, no sense of right and wrong, no conscience.  It's marvelously freeing to be around a person like that, to be able to express whatever snarkiness comes to mind and laugh about it, to be coaxed out of post-utterance guilt.  But ultimately, there's a price to pay--a lack of conscience means the person has no sense of responsibility to anyone, including you.

Fio has been wrestling with the dregs of this situation for months.  The only way to bury it is to understand it.

But it still makes Fiorella sad.

"Just Who Do You Think You Are?"

Fio is constantly disappointed in herself, constantly berating herself.  She learned it at her mother's knee. Her parents were concerned that she not have a swelled head--think too highly of herself.  There was also probably a bit of  the protective "don't reach too far or you'll get your arm cut off" involved.

Dad always said praise never helped anyone, that he wanted criticism (although Fio never saw him take it well).  Maybe that's why when Fiorella made an impossible 98 1/2 on Miss Osborn's Latin test, he smiled and asked,"Why didn't you make 100?"  Mom, whose mantra was that one shouldn't praise kids for doing what they should do anyway, was more subtle, challenging Fiorella's confidence with comments like "You just THINK so," when Fiorella said she could tell whether Baby needed a diaper change or not. And questioning the price Fio paid for engine work on her car, when she herself didn't even hold a driver's license.

Yes, the practice drove Fio to strive harder, to achieve more, but it has also left her unhappy with herself. And now she feels bad because she's criticizing her parents, who loved her very much.

Potentials

Fire, water, earth, air--the traditional four elements.

Fire keeps us warm and cooks out food, but it can also burn us to a crisp. Water is essential to life, but can also drown us. The earth, which provides our sustenance, can also crack open under our feet and swallow us up. And the air, necessary to life, can form itself into powerful spirals and batter us to smithereens.

Then consider automobiles, weapons, elephants, insects, Botox. Everything seems to have a potential for good or evil.

Especially people.