The First Thing to Go

As we age the first thing to go is not our agility, memory or even our eyesight. The very first thing that turns against us is our metabolism. It starts to desert us sometime in our thirties. Nature's  cruel joke is that our appetite remains the same. So we're eating just like always and wham, we've put on a few pounds. So we cut back and go just a little bit hungry. Do we lose weight? No. We may slow the rate of gain and, if we're lucky, stay the same. Until, the next year when the old metabolism takes another dive. It's either cut back again, or pack on the pounds. By the time old age rolls around we're down to carrot sticks and celery while hoping the same thing won't happen again next year.

I used to feel sorry when I saw two old people sharing a meal. I thought maybe they were too poor to afford two meals. I now know the truth. It's not that they wouldn't like to eat more, or even that they both want the same meal. After sixty, it's the only way to stay just this side of obese. The constant hunger may be the reason that old people are often cranky.

Al and I have been on a diet for a few months and have lost a few pounds. We've even trained our stomachs to expect less food, but our taste buds are still screaming for ice cream and chocolate.

I Don't Want to Be Popular

I just received the paperback proof of The Crystal's Curse. If you like science fiction better than mysteries, this is the book for you. It is set on present day earth.  I've mixed aliens, time travel and Mayan mythology with just a dash of romance to create an interesting story I hope you'll enjoy.

Now all of my books are available in print as well as ebook format. I ordered a few just to have them around. I was thrilled when I saw my books for sale the first time, but to hold one in my hand and be able to leaf through the pages is even more exciting.

The only thing better would to be to have one on a best seller list. Not holding my breath for that one. On second thought after looking at that list, maybe I don't want to be on it after all. Other than authors who have a dedicated following, the only new authors I've seen seem to be popular because they are what the publishers call cutting edge, a euphemistic term for using an excessive amount of foul language or writing what amounts to porn. If it's not titillating in some way then it's not worth publishing. Under that criteria, I don't want to be popular. Reminds me what it took to be considered a popular girl in school.

Every time I hear or read the words "cutting edge," whether it refers to  TV shows, movies or books, I know it's something I'll be avoiding. Of course, I also avoid anything described as heartwarming, tender or endearing because I hate to cry. It makes me all blotchy and takes way too much energy.

Marketing - Not My Thing

Marketing myself is just embarrassing. I created business cards with the names of my novels and my blog address. Yet I have a hard time handing them out. My husband was recently in the hospital and I managed to hand out two cards, even though we met probably twenty five new people there. I bought new shoes and didn't give any to the clerks that helped me. There are a lot of people in our small town who don't even know I write books.

My novels are entertaining, but since I'm not particularly well known, in order to have more people read them, I'm told I have to get out and sell them. Now I don't mind speaking in front of a crowd. In fact, unlike most people, I actually enjoy it. It's the latent actress in me. I want to be in the spotlight as long as I have a script and I don't have to promote myself.  Don't get me wrong. Like most people, I love talking about myself, telling people my experiences and making fun of my foibles. What I don't like is having to sell people on how great I am and the amazing, not to be missed books I've written, especially one on one.

One of my hangups is that I have a hard time spending money.Wait. I think I just heard my husband laugh. Okay, let me clarify, I have a hard time spending money until I've researched the product, decided what I want and what I'm willing to pay for it. Consequently, I hate sales people who think it's their job to talk me into buying. The minute they start, I hang up or walk out the door, even if I want what they are selling. In addition, I resent friends and family who see me as a potential buyer for whatever they are currently selling. I feel used.

So how do I do the same thing to others? How do I say, please buy my books just because you know me or just met me? Some writers hire publicity agents so they won't have to promote themselves, but then you have to be earning enough money from your books to support that expense . . .  hold on, I'm getting dizzy.

At the moment my marketing plan consists of trying to be courageous enough to hand out cards and when I get all three books in paperback, trying to get a few books clubs to allow me to come and read an excerpt to them. Hopefully the books will then sell themselves.

Double Down Available in Paperback

For those of you who don't have an e-reader, my murder mystery, Double Down is now available in paperback at www.createspace.com/3892358. They tell me it will take about five days before it is available on Amazon. I can't tell you how excited I was when I received the proof. To see my writing in print was amazing. I couldn't stop grinning. I confess I still grin when I look at it.

Writing - Magnificent Obsession?

I consider myself a writer. Then I read a blog or article where someone claims real writers are those people who have to write. It's a passion. It's impossible for them not to write. Most of them have been writing stories since childhood. I think that's not me. I can go long periods of time without writing. Some days I have to force myself to sit down in front of the computer. Once I actually start writing, I love it. So what does that make me, a fake writer?

If writing is my hobby rather than a career, what do I call myself, one who dabbles in words? I don't consider it a career because I already retired from a career, and I only write novels which will never make the New York Times best seller list. They aren't gritty, cutting edge, thought provoking, or heartbreaking.They are simply entertaining.

So what's the criteria, a money making job, an all consuming passion, or is it simply being good at it?  If you draw or paint exceptionally well, you're an artist, even if it's not financially rewarding. If you compose, sing or play an instrument, you can call yourself a musician, even if you don't do it to the exclusion of everything else.

I may not be Hemingway, but I believe I'm good enough at stringing words and phrases together to weave an entertaining story to be able to call myself a writer.

In My House, Diet is a Swear Word

Lately, in my house, DIET has become one of those four letter swear words, like . . . well, you know. I try not to use swear words, but occasionally one slips out especially when I'm dieting. Oops. Not eating things I like makes me cranky, but then so does trying to slip into a too-tight pairs of pants or skirt.

 I've always hated people who say they forgot to eat. I enjoy food. I look forward to deciding what to eat. My family's favorite pastime is going out to eat. Most of our traditions revolve around food. Even so, throughout my childhood, teenage years, even in my twenties and after having children, I was thin. The pounds didn't start to pile on until my late thirties when my body suddenly turned against me.

In spite of eating exactly the same amount of food, it began to store fat. So naturally, I cut back. The less I ate, the less my body required, therefore allowing it to continue to store more fat, as if it were preparing for an inevitable famine. Nor did my activity level suddenly decrease. Once my children were all in school, I went back to work. Yes, I sat on my butt for a period of time each day, but then I hurried home, made dinner, cleaned house, did laundry, chauffeured children to various events and even did yard work on the weekends. Not exactly a sedentary lifestyle.

As the years wore on, the problem only got worse. I cut back on calories, joined a gym, took up running, tried over the counter appetite suppressants and each time I lost weight until my body adjusted. Then however little I'd been eating became the new norm. Not only did I stop losing weight, but the minute I ate more, the pounds came back a lot faster than they had come off. I even tried crash diets, like drinking liquid protein instead of eating. Again, I lost weight but I could only gag that stuff down for a short period of time before my mouth absolutely refused to swallow any more. When the weight came back, it brought with it friends and relatives. I once read that you can shrink fat cells, but they don't go away. I could swear that any time I ate something that tasted good, I could hear the fat cells in my thighs saying, "Cmon down. We've got just the place for you."

When I retired, I decided to stop worrying about how much I weighed.. After all, no one but my husband looks at me anyway and he doesn't seem to care, until I reached the critical dress size. You know the one you swear you will never buy. I can disregard the scale, but the closet gets me every time. When everything becomes too tight and I can't bring myself to buy bigger, the only choice left is  . . .

I hate insurance

I hate insurance. You are basically betting your money against yourself. When you buy life insurance, you bet you'll die young and the insurance company is counting on you living to a ripe old age. Car and house insurance is the same principle except that the odds are better that some accident will occur and you don't really have a choice, since most states and mortgage companies insist that you buy it.

A few years ago we bought a home warranty policy that covered large appliances, water heater, air conditioner and such. Since most of our appliances were at least ten years old and one air conditioner was at least 25 years old, we thought it was a good deal. Wrong.

The only thing that's gone out since we owned the policy is the six year old air conditioner on the addition to our house. Six months ago it needed a new condenser motor. Insurance company called a repairman and it got fixed. Pretty good deal. Now we find out they didn't put in the right model and once it got hot, it doesn't work.

We have been trying to get it repaired for over a week now. The only companies on the insurance company's list are in Las Vegas, an hour away. In the summer, these companies are swamped with business and have no desire to spend their valuable time driving for two hours. After three days, they finally sent someone out at 7:30 p.m. Of course he didn't fix anything, just looked to see what needed to  be fixed, had to order parts, get approval, etc.  Since then it's been nothing but excuses and appointments where no one shows up. A week later and the den is still hovering in the 90 degree range. Fortunately, the 30 year old air conditioner is still keeping the main part of the house cool.

I've made so many calls to the insurance company and the vender that you'd think they'd send a repairman just to get me off their backs. Today the insurance company asked me if I want to have another vender. "Start over?" I asked. I could practially hear her shrug.

As soon as I get this air conditioner fixed, I'm cancelling this policy.Of course, at the rate it's going, they can probably cound on at lerast six more months of premiums.