Sit or Squat

For some time I've been tempted to blog about public restrooms. Is there an app for that? Actually there is. It's called Sit or Squat, and it's put out by Charmin. Kinda appropriate wouldn't you say?

You just never know about public restrooms. You can't judge them by the outside. I know this because I have no standards when I've been drinking iced tea. I'll go inside any of them. The worst one I've ever been in is inside a supermarket near where I currently live. You'd never guess it would rank lower than any truck stop (they're usually pretty nice) or run down gas station by the way side (again, not normally too bad). I've actually seen small children leave that supermarket bathroom crying in terror. I don't shop there anymore.



The best thing about Charmin's app is you can rate restrooms as you go - so to speak. This is a terrific public service! You can check out reviews because you really can't judge a potty just because it's in a dodgy neighborhood or because it doesn't have modern plumbing. I've been in an Amish outhouse where there was a bank of toilets and it was very nice! Seriously. I almost dropped my phone down a portal too. It would have been gone forever despite the cleanliness. (Note to self: Stop putting phone in back pocket.)



Wish I'd discovered Charmin's app sooner. There's a restroom between Roswell and Carlsbad I'd have enjoyed trying to rate. It had nothing to do with the fact that it was about 130 degrees inside, that can't be helped in the desert. Neither can the "Warning: Rattlesnakes!" sign in the parking lot be blamed. What I'd like to know is, what's up with the three foot tall doors on the stalls?



Somewhere in Pennsylvania I discovered a McDonalds with a Ladies Room made of granite tile, with real flowers, and expensive antibacterial soaps. It does a hopping business too. The only reason I stop in a McDonalds - unless there is a whining child in my vehicle - is to use the restroom. Am I the only one? Who else has taken to using McDonalds as the new rest stop? There's coffee!



But the most amazing bathrooms I've ever been in are in Las Vegas. Vegas is the only city I've ever been in where the hotel rooms actually look like they do in the movies. They're big and beautiful and clean - and the bathrooms are huge, themed, and luxurious! At least the ones on the strip are. As a matter of fact, those bathrooms were about as nice as the rooms.

Somewhere in the Paris Casino

Eiffel Tower Restaurant

Maybe you know? I forget.

House of Blues - metal doors - nice touch!

I remember it was Vegas.

You cannot fathom how many of these potty pictures I now have on my phone. Suffice to say any of the big hotels/casinos have ridiculously posh Ladies Rooms. Though they all use fairly generic toilet paper, points off for that from a functional perspective, don't you think? I mean some of them had television monitors at each sink, but yucky potty paper. The Amish toilets have better paper, and theirs has to be biodegradable. Just saying.

Though I suppose any toilet paper is better than none. I've crossed the border before and there was no toilet paper on the other side. It's easy to forget when you're cruising luxury bathrooms, that paper is a commodity and not affordable or available everywhere. 

I resisted adding Bellagio's spa to my pictures here. Their ladies room had everything from blow dryers to hair pins, deodorant, and juice. I was there for hours. Oh, like you wouldn't have? There was a Jacuzzi and a Eucalyptus steam room too. Sheesh, I don't even gamble and I like to go to Vegas. I think it's like wandering into Ancient Rome from the Serengeti. You look around and say, "Now that's cool, but I'll be going back to the real world now." 

Just Because

Once you're back in the real world you realize you don't need a designer bathroom, and a clean one is all the luxury you really need. As you go about doing your own business, will you join me in my investigative potty reporting on the Charmin App? Whoever is in charge of cleaning the bathrooms in this house better get to work, because if I rated you tonight it would NOT be good. Whose job is that anyway? 

Dang it. I need a robot. Luckily the app is for public restrooms. 

Kahtar

If you've read Warrior of the Ages, this little interview of the main character might be of interest to you. When I write, I write much more than goes into the book. Every time I think of a question, I write scenes out so that I know the where, why, and how of the book.

This is a scene I wrote as though someone Kahtar trusted and could speak to had asked him what it was like to die. In my mind he was speaking to Beth, a melancholy late night conversation where he opened up and said exactly the truth. Which, of course, you have to do when speaking to Beth.

Your comments would be much appreciated!

Kahtar’s Comments on Dying

There’s an emptiness between times. I mean after I die, and before I repeat again. I don’t ever remember being a baby, and I remember who I am about the age of consciousness, maybe four or five years old, but I’m sure about that emptiness between repeats, and that it has nothing to do with the time I don’t remember who I am yet. I sense something happens during the in-between, but I have nothing more than a vague sense that something did happen.

That’s not what you wanted to know though. You are curious about death.

It doesn’t define your life. Death is usually just one bad day. I would have a hard time pining what deaths went with which life most of the time. The lives stick out more, though some of the timeframe of deaths are easier to remember. I died from the plague three times – twice as a child – so I remember when and where. My entire clan died when a meteor hit that bay in what you now call Canada, I remember that.

Don’t misunderstand. I remember plenty of deaths. It is why I collect those weapons Beth insisted I put down in the basement. I just can’t usually remember which one went with which life. This will not be a pleasant topic. Are you certain you want to know?

Of course it hurts, don’t be ridiculous. I’m always a warrior though, so I’ve never had the pleasure of dying of old age, or in my sleep. I’ve often wished I’d someday know those deaths. I used to think that if I could choose one death, it would be to go while making love to a woman. Now that I have one - a woman that is - I wouldn’t want to waste a moment of lovemaking by dying during it.

The worse way? Dying with regret and failure, dying with no honor or purpose. Alone? We all die alone, that doesn’t matter.

I know what you meant by what’s the worse way. It’s hard to say what is the worst physical death. Torture is bad, there are many ways to hurt a man, but death is welcome then, a gift. I would not say death itself hurts at all, just the path there.

No, normally I don’t welcome it at all. I’m a warrior; I have my duty to live for. I fight death. I’ve particularly hated drowning – for example – when a ship goes down in a storm. Being able to scan makes it worse; you know there is no hope of rescue or land. You know you’ll die of thirst in the middle of all that water, but it would be dishonorable to give up and accept. So you fight it. You get so waterlogged your skin peels off, so sunburned you blister and bleed. If you’re lucky sharks find you. It doesn’t feel lucky when you sense them coming, or when they take a bite and drag you under. It is worse, though, when the sharks don’t come. You battle yourself then, so tempted to sink beneath the waves, but unable to allow it. It is not easy to be Covenant Keeper. It is not easy to be Warrior of ilu.

Both freezing to death and burning are horribly similar in some ways, but fire is worse. You actually burn eventually, like wood I mean. I know that I’ve been unable to fight it to the end with fire. That I breathed in smoke on purpose to end it. There comes a point with pain, when the man vanishes, and the animal takes control. It is horrible to witness…freezing hurts, but then you grow tired, unable to fight it and you sleep.

War? Battle? We do not have the adjectives. It is chaos and insanity, both in ancient wars and modern battlefields. As a Covenant Keeper I do not believe killing should ever be easy. You should look a man in the eye, and kill him with mercy when it must be done. There is an evil in killing by pushing a button. A detachment that is dangerous. Your soul knows though, perhaps the most dangerous part is you can’t heal after it. You must know and suffer what you inflict on others.

Poison is particularly gruesome. I breathed mustard gas in the Great War, separated from my clan I went the same way as the other men I fought beside. You cannot heal yourself. No, I don’t lament that fact, only state it. ilu thought of everything, we need each other to live, it is as it should be. The worst poison I ever ingested has blessedly been eradicated. It was not a Seeker poison, but a Covenant Keeper poison. I died for three years, it was indeed hell.

Copyright 2013
All rights reserved
by S. R. Karfelt

A bit melancholy isn't it? Kahtar is quite good at living with his part-time immortality, but he is only human despite it. I've always thought immortality would be horrific, obviously by this story. What do you think immortality would be like?

Why Does it Take so FREAKIN’ Long?

Photo Credit: Pennywise

Book two was written before my first book was published. As a matter of fact the entire WOA (Warriors of the Ages) series was.

So what gives? Either it’s finished or it’s not, right? Thing is, I didn’t say it was FINISHED, nor did I say it was DONE. I said it was written. Big difference. Huge.

The writing process varies for everyone. Here is how it works for me.

• I write a story.
• That can take from two weeks to about six.
• It’s not ready then. Think of it as a skeleton. A skeleton is not a complete being. It’s a skeleton.
• My book skeletons must be set away for awhile because I fall in love with them when I write them. THE POTENTIAL of those skeletons is huge. It is hard for me to see through that potential and realize there are femurs missing and possibly it has two heads.
• When I’m ready to take off my rose colored glasses and look at that skeleton critically, only then can it come out of the closet.

• At this point I check the bones, and hopefully doctor up any extra or missing parts.
• By this time I’ve once again fallen in love with it, and I’m ready to work on it.
• Here comes the tricky part. Adding insides, muscle, and flesh to the story skeleton.
• After that I have a BABY! Yay!
• My baby goes off to about five of what I call beta readers. I’m the alpha writer, they’re my beta readers. They get a first look at my baby.
• Sometimes they say, “Man, yore baby ugly!”
• Sometimes they say, “Didn’t you notice this baby has a tail?”
• Sometimes they say, “There are seven toes on every foot and there are three feet.”
• What they say can be pretty much endless.

• Obviously my baby comes back pretty bruised and crying for its Mama.
• Don’t tell, but I cry with it when that happens, and I hate my beta readers for a good minute.
• Through my tears I notice that most of the beta readers said my baby has a tail, and a pointy head. I look closely. By George, it’s true.
• So I fix it.
• That takes as long as it takes. Surgery is like that. You know that if you’ve ever waited for someone to get out of the operating room.
• After that my baby is PERFECT. So I send it off to meet five new beta readers. Not the other ones this time, they’ve been contaminated. They will stare so hard at the spot where the tail used to be that they’ll imagine it is there. The new beta readers won’t think anything at all about that little nub where I snipped it off.

• Of course once again my baby comes back with problems.  His hair sticks up. He talks weird. He walks funny.
• And of course once again I hate my beta readers for just a minute. Why can’t they just see the beauty in my baby? Why are they looking for flaws?! Oh wait – that’s their job. Oh yeah.
• So once again I consider what the bulk of the betas’ said, and I look at my baby from every angle and make the necessary adjustments.
• What I didn’t mention in this endless writer’s to do list, is that I reread my story countless times between each of these steps. I try to fix most problems BEFORE my betas can point them out. I never get them all.
• After my baby has had plastic surgery, I may or may not send it to one or two people for a read, just to be sure. At any rate this is the point where my baby goes off to a professional editor.

• Professional Editors are the Eye of Sauron. Very, very scary. You never know what they’ll say. They might say your baby will never walk right, or that it needs surgery. If you’re very fortunate, you’ll just get your baby back all covered in red, like something the Russian Mafia would leave behind in a cheap motel room.
• The hating time for editors is a tad longer than a minute.
• You will rant and rage. Your dog might run away – or your spouse. This all adds to your writing time while you go find them and apologize.

• Eventually you’ll suck it up, Cupcake, and put on your big girl pants and start cleaning up what your editor did to your baby. It’s a hard job because you’re likely still blinded by a bit of that hate, and you’re not ServPro for pity’s sake.

After you’ve miraculously made your baby look alive again, you will gasp in wonder and amazement. An artist will give your baby something beautiful to wear (called a book cover). Your baby is now ready for its debut, and you will take all the credit for its loveliness, not your betas and editor. Yet all the hate you had for your editor has now turned to undying love, and you’ll spend $40 to send a box of goldfish crackers to your beta in UK.

Your book is now ready. Done. Fin. Well, except for a few little touchups required by the publisher.

S. R. Karfelt

Mostly I’m a takes no prisoners, no excuses kind of gal, but I want my lovely readers to understand the process. It takes awhile to get from:

            “Everyone likes to think rich guys want to marry them.”

To:

            “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” ~ Jane Austen, Pride & Prejudice

That’s my theory anyway. Do you have one?

Up my Alley – International CES 2014

Photo Credit: Chelle/Morgue Files

Do you suppose I’m the only fiction writer manning a booth at an electronics show? This is the place where people from all over the world come to network about the most cutting edge consumer electronic technology. Last year there were dancing robots, brainwave reading headbands, and nano technology that could waterproof your gadgets.

A fiction writer’s draw to the event is fairly obvious. How many times have dancing robots hatched a secret plot to take over the world? The brainwave reading headbands are an Orwellian delight. Waterproof electronics, well that’s just cool. Who doesn’t want to take their Kindle in the hot tub?

Can hardly wait to see what fodder other imaginations are providing mine this year.

Why, you may be wondering, does anyone want to take a fiction writer to that annual mega tradeshow that swallows the entire Las Vegas convention center, its parking lot, and many of its larger hotels? What can I offer the high-tech world of logic?

1.  I’m cheap. 
2. The marketing world is already run by fiction writers. (Am I wrong?)
3. Oddly enough this is a world I’ve spent quite a bit of time in.
4. I speak geek.
5. So see me for all your engiNERDing needs. I’ll hook you up with Dilbert.

Sadly I will not be signing my Action Adventure Fantasy books at the show. Yeah, the boss nixed that. Spock Techies can be such a joy killer. Muttered something about actually working for a living, I didn’t catch the whole thing, my Vulcan is pretty rusty. 

Rapient Sugar

Photo Credit: Kurt100/Morgue Files

What does that mean? Seize the sugar. I googled it, so it must be correct.

My inner fat kid steals. While I eat healthy, she carries on like life is a Dickens novel and burrows under a blanket with a book and the emergency goldfish crackers. I caught her trying to steal chocolate someone hid in the freezer. (Stupid move, Someone. Like you don’t know my inner fat kid scouts out the freezer?) I force her to eat healthy food, but she fights it. I order an amazing salad at Panera, and refuse adding on a cookie, but she interrupts and bellows, “Don’t listen to the skinny witch! I want a cookie! I want two cookies!” Whenever I go in Panera, they get very quiet and the manager comes over to wait on me. Like none of them have ever seen an inner fat kid tantrum before?

She has absolutely no respect for reality either. My inner fat kid doesn’t care if we can fit into our jeans, she doesn’t even care if we can fit into coach seats. Some people are born color-blind, and she’s like that with her muffin top bulge. She’ll tug on my favorite long sleeved t-shirt and by-pass the full-length mirror, secure in the knowledge that from the neck-up there is no evidence of Christmas cookies. Right now she’s riding her holiday sugar high and there is no reasoning with her. It is with this brat that I must work through edits for the next week. I will be forcing spinach smoothies on her, so if you see her just ignore the screaming pleas for Hershey Kisses.

Like I’d feed ANYONE milk chocolate. Sheesh.

Especially when I have a lovely dark chocolate stash that she doesn’t even know about.

Today she cleaned the entire house just to avoid the Stairmaster. She has a very impolite nickname for the Stairmaster. As she busied herself breaking up cardboard boxes for recycling, I’m pretty sure she felt the Stairmaster eyeing her love handles because she kept tugging her shirt over them self-consciously. Tomorrow while Fifty Shades of Payday is whipping her into shape, I’ll let her screech out “THANKS OBAMA” which seems to amuse her during the ordeal. It’s going to be a rough week of veggie penance, the red room of gym-pain (which is actually yellow), and book edits (which is like the peas on the succotash because we daren’t use the icing on the cake metaphor since she’s fallen off the wagon in Candyland).

But you know, like every parent says, “I’m doing this because I love you inner-fat-kid.” And “You’ll thank me someday.” I probably shouldn’t tell you what her response to that is. I think she’s entering the teen years, and has been watching way too much cable.

Is anyone else having these troubles with their IFK lately? 

Your Christmas Present!

Photo Credit: S. R. Karfelt

Guess wot?! I have something for you. For real. It's only good from today until Christmas though. My book, Warrior of the Ages, is free on Amazon (the kindle version).

So check it out, CLICK HERE!

What if you don't have a kindle/e-reader? What if you're one of those old school readers who wants a paperback copy? Well, I have something for you too. Leave me a comment and tell me what your most favorite Christmas present was, and I'll send an autographed paperback to one of you. Winner will be chosen randomly using random.org, and the cut-off will be midnight Christmas. So comment before then!

CONTEST EXPIRED. WINNER CHOSEN!

S. R. Karfelt

Very Merry!

More of What People Really Mean

Photo Credit: Stephanie Karfelt

If you ever need anything, call me. I hope you don’t, but I do care.

Do I look okay in this? Please say yes.

You have a very comfortable house. Mine’s neater.

What kind of car do you drive? What’s in your wallet?

Take Care! Don’t let anything bad happen to you, cause it would totally stress me out!

Can I get you anything while I’m out? While I’m running multiple errands on my lunch break. Don’t even.

Have a Good Day! I’m done talking now.

What a surprise! It’s so nice to see you! I’d totally forgotten about you until now.

See you around! I’m not putting any effort into it though.

Happy Holidays! Merry Christmas, but we’re not allowed to say what we mean anymore.

Sometimes I wake up at 3:00 a.m. and add to this list. My husband snores. Making this list makes me listen to myself speak quite critically. Don’t think I’m doing it when you talk though. I can’t usually hear you over the stories in my head. Please feel free to add to my list! I love it when you talk to me. Is anyone out there?

Finding Beth at The Glitter Globe

The Glitter Globe S. R. Karfelt

Finding Beth is a romance novel coming out on December 20th, 2013. This is Linnette R. Mullin’s first novel and she’s been working on this story for quite some time. The road to publication is paved with waiting rooms. Because she’s sweet and trusting Linnette has agreed to answer some questions for me today.

So shine the spotlight directly on her and let the interrogation games begin! Meet my buddy, Linnette R. Mullin. We crossed paths on a blog thread, and again at a writing event, and I'm pretty sure we're destined to cross paths forevermore.

Linnette Mullin Vists The Glitter Globe

Do you suppose that the reason you used the name Beth in your novel, and the reason I used the name Beth in my novel has anything at all to do with Kiss’s song Beth? Perhaps a subliminal in vitro message long, long ago? Because I could not change my character Beth’s name, it HAD to be Beth. Did your Beth HAVE to be Beth?

Hmm... I hadn't thought of that. I couldn't change my character's name, either!!! It would have to be very subliminal as I can't for the life of me remember the song. Let me go listen. Maybe it will jar a memory. Be right back...

Tapping of keys and clicking of play button. Listening. Listening. Listening...

I'm back. Nope. Sorry! There's nothing there beyond a mild, nagging familiarity that I can't quite grasp. So, I'll stick with my original reason for calling her Beth. And, yes, I do believe this was more subliminal than an "on purpose" thing. When I became pregnant with my first baby, John and I picked out a girl name right away - Rachel Elizabeth. We never had our girl, so Beth (whose full name is Elizabeth Grace) was named after never-had-daughter. I think. Regardless, I couldn't change her name. It would be like trying to change one of my boys' names. Impossible! Christopher is Christopher. Andrew is Andrew. Matthew is Matthew. Garrison is Garrison. So, Beth is Beth. 

What kind of shoes does your Beth like to wear?

Boots. She loves boots! In the summer, its sassy sandals (preferably low heels) and keds. Pinterest pics here: http://www.pinterest.com/LinnetteRMullin/fashions-for-beth/

Oh my stars, I LOVE that you have posted her shoes on Pinterest!

Did I mention I love Linnette? 

In a nutshell, Linnette,  what is Finding Beth about? (Go ahead and make it a walnut, it gives you more room for words than a hazelnut.)

Walnut? Really? Yay! Okay. Here goes:

Three years ago, Beth Gallagher lost her brother, Josh, in a tragic accident. Grief-stricken and estranged from her father, she turned to the one man her brother warned her about — Kyle Heinrich.

Now she’s discovered his dark side.

She flees to the Smoky Mountains to clear her mind and seek God’s will about her impending marriage. With the help of a new friend, she finds the answers she needs, but will she have the resolve to follow through? And, if so, what will it cost her?

Adam Blythe had given up on finding a woman to love him for himself rather than his money. Committed to caring for his ailing mother and running the family business, he suddenly finds his heart entangled with a woman already spoken for. Can he find a way to protect her?

Kyle Heinrich is used to getting his way, so when his fiancée leaves town without a word, he is furious. When she returns with a new man by her side, he determines to make her his — one way or another.

How long has this story been rolling around inside your heard?

Well, I'm not sure it ever rolled around in my heard (hehe), but the story took seed about 6-7 years ago. I wrote Beth's first words in January 2008. Except for one scene. That scene has plagued me since I was a teen and we just won't go into how many years ago that was. ;) It took about 3 1/2 years to write the first draft, another 1 1/2 years to edit and rewrite and edit some more. Then, another year to go through the publishing process. Whew! What a whirlwind it has been!

Is this story out now? Or will there be more books related to this one? And will any of your female characters be named Carole? Just wonderin’….

"Finding Beth" is available for pre-order on my website and on CrossRiverMedia's website right now! It releases in bookstores this Friday (the 20th)!!! Ah! My first baby finally has a birthday - December 20, 2013! Of course, my boys contend it's baby number five. I can't imagine why. ;)

Oh! I almost forgot. Carole? No. I have no current plans to name a character Carole, though I do have family members with that name so I suppose it's possible... I'm guessing your next book has a Carole?

It sure does, and that was my subtle way of trying to lay claim to the name. Thank you for visiting The Glitter Globe today, Linnette! Good luck with the book! I'm looking forward to adding it to my shelf.

For a chance to win a FREE copy of Finding Beth, be sure to leave a comment below (with an email or a way for us to find you if you do win!). And be sure to tell me what kind of shoes you wear. Your name will go into a "hat" for a drawing. For more details, check out Linnette's website.

For more information, visit:

www.LinnetteRMullin.com

www.Facebook.com/LinnetteRMullin

To purchase “Finding Beth”, go to:

www.LinnetteRMullin.com – Finding Beth Tab

www.CrossRiverMedia.com

www.Amazon.comhttp://www.amazon.com/Finding-Beth-Linnette-R-Mullin/dp/193650118X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1386968820&sr=1-1&keywords=Finding+Beth+Mullin

These are a few of my Favorite Scenes #1

Since I'm busy editing my next book, I'm sharing an excerpt from Warrior of the Ages today. Some scenes write themselves, and some characters, Sherman Kelts of Kelts, Phelps, and Associates, just make my job so easy!

Photo Credit: S. R. Karfelt

Sherman Kelts picked Beth up from the police station in his Jag-You-Are as he called it. He announced she could pay him back by treating him to lunch.

At the Bistro of his choice in downtown Cleveland, Beth watched as Sherman actually sniffed the wine cork. Deaf to her protests he insisted on filling her glass to the top with the shockingly expensive beverage.

“You’ll love it. Just taste it.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Wine isn’t drinking.” Sherman took a large mouthful and swished it around like mouthwash. Beth decided Sherman seemed like the sort of man who could have a perfectly happy lunch with very little response on her part, quite possibly none.

Settling comfortably into her cushioned pew, Beth ignored her lawyer and the wine. She ate her organic salad, quietly thrilled to have found what her mother always called real food. Sherman ranted about retribution for her false arrest. Beth occupied her mouth with chewing to keep from arguing, almost thankful for his soliloquy.

After a hopeful examination of the dessert tray, she settled on a Buy Local Fruit Compote. The waitress, a pretty redhead appropriately named Kelli, lifted the glass dish straight from her tray, setting it on the table in front of Beth. Several blueberries rolled over the edge, and Beth nabbed them off her lap, popping them into her mouth.

“Mmm, organic.”

“Organic is a gimmick. Just a way to get you to pay more,” said Sherman.

“Actually no it isn’t,” said Beth. Kelli winked at her and turned away with the luscious tray of desserts.

“For the price of that fruit, you should have gone with strawberry shortcake. Now that’s dessert – homemade cake and ice-cream. Killer fattening though. Looks like Kelli might be a big fan, if you know what I mean.” There could be no doubt that Kelli had heard every word, but she continued smiling at the couple at the next table.

 Unable to stop the truth tumbling from her lips Beth glanced pointedly at her lawyer’s paunch while he shoveled in a double chocolate cheesecake.

“Kelli and I both know exactly what you mean, and I couldn’t disagree more. You’re very observant of the perceived faults of others, but you seem blind to your own.”

“Don’t take it personally, Beth. You could eat everything on that tray without a worry.”

“Thank you, Sherman. Perhaps I should.”

Holding his fork and a hand out defensively, he said, “I didn’t mean to say that you’re too skinny. Though women look better a little underweight and that’s a fact.”

Beth motioned to Kelli, who rolled her eyes a bit and returned. She slid the check across the polished antique table. Beth immediately slipped her credit card into it, handing it back to the gorgeously curvaceous waitress. Counselor Kelts continued stuffing his feet in his mouth until the woman returned to whisper that the card had been declined.

The same was soon true of all three of Beth’s credit cards.

While Sherman submitted his take on the wisdom of purchasing a house beyond one’s means, Beth rooted in her bag, thankful to locate enough cash to keep her out of any further debt to Mr. Kelts.

“You can’t be serious.” Kelli shoved the extra fifty back at Beth.

“Don’t worry, I actually can afford it. Besides, you earned it,” Beth said.

“Thanks.” Kelli stuffed it into her pants pocket, and nodded towards Sherman. “I’ll use it to buy more cake.”

Reprint from Warrior of the Ages, Chapter Seven by S. R. Karfelt
Copyright 2013
S. R. Karfelt All Rights Reserved
Votadini Publishing ~ Horace Tupper Books

Photo Credit: S. R. Karfelt
Nicole Mason Photography

Big books move slow, that is my theory. I'm slowly making my way through edit number one of my next book. I'm donating a pile of copies of Warrior of the Ages to the local library this week, and ten copies head out from my latest Goodreads giveaway! I'm wrapping up Christmas packages to mail, and guess what I'm giving? Anytime is book time in this writer's opinion. Do you like to get books for Christmas? What book would thrill you?

What People Really Mean

Photo Credit: Missy Lynne

That’s a great picture of you. You don’t look anything like that.

Did you lose weight? You kinda need to.

You look younger. You’re old.

Do you feel okay? Cause you sure don’t look it.

What do you do? It’s time to categorize you.

Do you have any children? I hope you’ve done something productive with your life, because your job isn’t very impressive.

Are you married? If asked by the same sex it means, let’s see if we have anything in common. If asked by the opposite sex, you’re going to take it as a compliment no matter what they mean.

Where are you from? It’s time to rate your IQ and make rash assumptions. (It’s true, think Texas, Cleveland, or California – told ya.)

I’m sorry, do I know you? Why are you talking to me?

Thank you so much, you have a great day and come back soon! Thanks for buying stuff here, come back when you have some more money.

Can I help you? What do you want/Spend money or leave.

Your kids all look like you. Shallow gene pool.

Do you have a dog? I do and if you don’t there is nothing more we need to say to each other.

It was another night of deep thoughts. My mind wanders during edits. Do you have anything to add to my list? 

A Horse of a Different Color: My Clone's Reply to a Senator

*Since I'm busy pretending to edit my next book, my beloved Clone has allowed me to share her latest blog post here. I think it fits well into The Glitter Globe.

DISCLAIMER: My books make way more sense than my blog. I just feel compelled to say that.

Photo Credit: S. R. Karfelt

Dear Senator,

As you replied to my letter and addressed nothing even close to what I’d written about, but only wasted my time with a long letter that made no sense to me, I decided I could do the same.

Unicorns with purple horns are the rarest of unicorns. They, like ducks, are only pretty when males, as the females with purple horns are not the glorious white but actually a muddy brown - often mistakable for regular horses. Which gets me on the subject of purple ponies, but that really is a horse of a different color. Did you ever watch the Wizard of Oz? My favorite scene was the one with the horse changing color. Can you really dye my eyes to match my gown? Jolly old town!

Do you know what goes with purple ponies? Glitter. Glitter and rainbows and Christmas elves. I would love to have a personal glittery rainbow that would take me from location to location the way leprechauns do - would your office look into that? I think people would really be willing to fund something like transporting rainbows. Especially if they glitter. They’d have to be careful on how they inserted the glitter though, as if it gets loose it would be everywhere, and no place of business would want to be covered in glitter. Come to think of it, houses wouldn’t either. So it would have to be glitter infused, where the glitter was in the magic rainbow gel and wouldn’t fall out. Also, that way business men and women wouldn’t get glitter on their smart and snappy suits. I wouldn’t mind being covered in glitter though, as you see I am a Christmas elf. Or just a regular elf. Help me, Senator ***, you’re my only hope. That’s a Star Wars reference - I hope you know that, you have to be in touch with things like that to be cool.

I met a duck once, and it took bread from me. I like ducks. I’d like to think I’d like platypuses, but I’m pretty sure the whole “poisonous” thing makes them scary. Isn’t it weird that Disney chose one of the most poisonous animals to make the totally normal Perry the Platypus? Now all the kids want a platypus, but can’t have one. Of course, Lion King makes kids think that lions are super friendly but with potentially evil, black-maned uncles. Thing is, lions with black manes are actually less aggressive, so Scar wouldn’t necessarily want the throne. He’d be content to eat the food.

Really, Senator ***, I wonder if our letters are even read, as the reply you sent me had something to do with nuclear issues in Iran and nothing to do with Pastor Saeed Abedini. Do you look for buzz words and address those? I am not concerned about American-Iranian relations. I’m concerned about an American who does not belong in an Iranian prison when he was allowed in by the country to do exactly what he said he would do.
I am concerned by my Senator sending me a pointless letter in reply to a real issue.

Thank you for your reply Senator, I have replied in kind.
I hope it gave whatever intern checked it over a good laugh.


Sincerely,
Kelsey

We'll see if I get a response.

Photo Credit: Karfelt/Keating

This is a picture of my clone dressed as a character in my next novel. Combined with this letter, I think this could get her on a Watch List. What do you think?

Photo Credit: Keating/Karfelt

Yammed

Photo Credit: S. R. Karfelt

Deep into edits for my second book, interspersed with moments of simply pretending to be editing, I’m – as always – attempting to eat healthily. Piles of veggies, fruit, and the standard issue morning oatmeal make up the bulk of my menu, but due to the fact that I’m near-sighted and spend far too much time turtling my neck towards the computer screen, I go through days where soft food is a better choice. Turtling leads to teeth clenching which leads to a sore jaw which leads to the inability to chew mountains of fresh greens.

Spinach smoothes are too cold for this time of year, especially since I’m too busy writing to waste time drying my hair. Frozen wet hair on your head doesn’t put you in the mood for frozen wet lunch. My favorite back-up is yams. This predilection for yams seriously grosses out at least two of my beta readers, but they don’t understand yams like I do. You have to cook them right and they are magical.

Never EVER microwave a yam. That is just gross. You wrap it in foil and bake it. I prefer 350 degrees for about an hour and a half, or longer. When done properly you can squeeze the sides and they’ll be super-soft. Baking them like this makes them very sweet. I never put anything sweet on them, because that’s just gross. I prefer cinnamon and a tablespoon of chopped up pecans, maybe even a few dried cranberries. You can add butter if you must, but if it has been baked long enough it won’t be necessary. 

Another beautiful way to cook yams is to slice one thinly, layer it on a foil-lined pan with a bit of olive oil. Brush a bit more olive oil over the yam slices, and maybe a sprinkle of sea salt, and cook it half to death. Usually I cook it at 400 degrees, though I can’t really tell you how long, about 20-40 minutes. I don’t do math. I just keep checking it. Usually it is done when some of the thinner pieces have been seriously burned.

Photo Credit: S. R. Karfelt

Do you feel sorry for my Dear Hubby after reading this post? Don’t, he’s horribly spoiled and he never eats yams. By the way I do mean yams, not sweet potatoes, though technically I think they’re used interchangeably. I know the difference, use yams if I’ve enticed you to try these recipes. I use that term loosely, because recipe usually means math – measurements and time and all – and that’s just gross.