The “Don’t Buy That Book” Meme

Mihaela (Mig) Lica at eWritings – Online Public Relations tagged me for the “Don’t Buy That Book Meme.” After being disappointed by a highly-hyped book, Mig asked the questions:

Have You Ever Regretted Buying a Book? Why?

The purpose of the meme is to help fellow bloggers avoid book buying mistakes, a laudable goal. One caveat, though: just because I didn’t like a book doesn’t mean you won’t love it. We all have different tastes and different levels of knowledge.  Mig found Small Is the New Big by Seth Godin a waste of time and money. She writes:

Nothing Seth writes about is new under the sun. Literally nothing.

However, she also says:

If you are an experienced marketer, the book will be a bore, and a huge disappointment.

I haven’t read the book and Mig doesn’t make completely clear, but perhaps someone new to marketing would find the book helpful. So when reading my (or anyone else’s) opinion, remember that your experience, knowledge, and interests are different than mine. Weigh those factors when deciding if you would have the same reaction to the book.

I must confess that the books that have disappointed me the most have been the classics. I always think I should love the books that have stood the test of time, but often I don’t.

The lastest disappointment was The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. This is a novel I thought I should have read years ago but never did. When I finally tried, I disliked the story so much I quit reading after a couple of chapters. I guess I have no patience with hedonism. The characters had no redeeming value as far as I could tell, and reading the story was a bore and a waste of time.

Have you read The Picture of Dorian Gray? What was your reaction?

You could win a $50 Amazon.com gift certificate from Mig if yours is the most interesting entry before the end of January 2009. Read the the rules of the meme at Don’t Buy That Book Meme and write about the book you regret buying.

Honest Scrap Award

Jean Henry Mead of A Western Historical Happening awarded me the Honest Scrap Award for “telling it like it is.”

I’m a little confused about the meaning of honest scrap, but perhaps it refers to an honest “detached piece of something written or printed.” Recipients are supposed to tell ten honest (and interesting) things about themselves, so perhaps each thing is a scrap. I can come up ten honest things, but you’ll have to be the judge of whether they’re interesting.

1. When Jack and I went through premarital counseling, the priest cautioned me that I would likely spend years of my life caring for my nearly-14-years-older husband in his old age. In fact, Jack had to care for me when I had a stroke at the hands of a chiropractor at the age of 45.
2. My fingernails are like my father’s, which means they’re usually broken off at the quick. I don’t bite them—I just break them.
3. Although I never lost my faith, there were several years that I didn’t attend church. Once I started back, I got involved in a big way and have continued to be very active for the past 12+ years.
4. My mother used to say, “I know I taught you to cook. Now all you do is put something in either the microwave or the crockpot.” I mentioned that to my sister recently, and she said Mama is probably looking down from Heaven and saying the same thing.
5. I used to do a lot of public speaking and have spoken to groups as large as several thousand. At one convention I spoke at, I acquired a groupie, a guy who followed me everywhere I went picking my brain about interior landscaping (the topic of my speech).
6. I was healed of a seizure disorder by prayer. I’ll write about it someday.
7. When I was younger, I used to be a meticulous housekeeper. Now my house hasn’t had a spring cleaning in many, many springs.
8. My grandmother used to say I “couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.” Since the stroke, I can’t even sing off-key without starting to cough.
9. I am incredibly blessed to have been born of amazing parents with wonderful siblings and to have been married to a loving and supportive husband for nearly 42 years.
10. I found my job as an employment counselor rewarding, and I enjoyed owning an interior landscape company for nearly 20 years. However, nothing compares to being able to make a living doing what I love (writing, editing, and helping other writers). And to top it off, I get to entertain myself and make friends around the world with my blog.

Now I’m supposed to pass the award on to seven bloggers. Though my original list had more than seven names, I narrowed it down to meet the criteria of the award. I’m selecting people whose honesty and willingness to “tell it like it is” I respect. Not all of them will choose to respond. Being honest enough not to respond if they prefer not to will simply reinforce my recognition that they deserve the Honest Scrap Award.

• Catherine Lawson
• Jason A. Clark
• Karen Swim at Words for Hire
• Lori Widmer at Words on the Page
• Matthew Keegan
• Mihaela (Mig) Lica at e-Writings, Online Public Relations
• Renae Brumbaugh @ Morning Coffee

Tagged Times Two: Six Things

I have been tagged by Christine Duncan at Rule of Three to tell six book-related things about me and also by Chris Redding to tell six odd things about me. Excercising a little artistic license, I’m going to make all the book-related things about my new novel, which makes them odd, so I’ll answer both tags in this one post.

1. I wrote Dream or Destiny ten years ago and had an agent trying to sell the book for two years.
2. After I ended my relationship with the agent, I let the book sit around for a couple of years, then sold it to another publisher on my own.
3. Before the book was published, the publisher decided to focus on erotica, and I felt my book was no longer a good fit for that publisher.
4. After I cancelled the contract with that publisher, I let the book sit around for a couple more years, then sold to GASLight Publishing. Publication was delayed because of illness of GASLight’s principals.
5. When I updated the manuscript, I got input from several people (who are acknowledged in the book). Each person who read the book gave me suggestions to make it better.
6. I had to make revisions to account for changes that have occurred in society during the last ten years. For example, caller ID wasn’t common (maybe it didn’t even exist) ten years ago. Now I had to account for the fact that David and Marilee had no idea who made the threatening phone call they received.

I’m going to tag a few folks—if I’ve tagged someone who doesn’t participate in memes, just ignore the tag. Anyone who wants to play along is encouraged to do so. You can either write a post on your own blog or respond in comments. And you can tell six book-related things about you or six odd things about you. Or you can do like I did and tell six odd book-related things.

David Bowles at Writing the Westward Sagas

Grace Anne Schaefer at People of the Frozen Earth

James Doughty at Doughty Families

Jeanne Dininni at Writer’s Notes

Lisa Vella at Getting It Right for You

Pat Taylor at On the Wings of the Wind

Eight Random Facts

isabella mori at change therapy tagged me to share 8 random facts about myself. I’ve done several similar memes before:
More Than You Ever Wanted to Know: Eight Things About My Writing and Me
Eight Random Things about Lillie
Seven Random Things
Five Things

To keep this relevant to my blog – and to come up with something that I haven’t shared in the above posts – I’m going to share 8 facts about my work habits and attitudes.

1. When I’m working on a project, I sit at the computer for hours on end to avoid interrupting the process – not good for arthritic bones! I’m trying to force myself to get up and move around at least once an hour, but I’m not doing a very good job of it.
2. Though experts in productivity often recommend you do the most important projects first, I work more efficiently if I first read my e-mail and do small tasks that may not be urgent but bother me if left undone.
3. Because of the odd hours I work, a client can send me a rush project at the end of her work day and have it waiting in her inbox when she starts work the next day.
4. Since I don’t like to talk on the telephone, I communicate by e-mail whenever I can.
5. I’ve been accused of being a perfectionist and a control freak, for which I plead the fifth.
6. My dream and fear is to get caught up on all my work: What would it be like to have few days with nothing to do? But what if those few days turned into an extended drought?
7. I seem to have missed the vocabulary lesson on the word “no.” When someone asks if I can do something, my automatic response if “of course.”
8. Taking Sunday off is a high priority for me though I work long hours the rest of the week.

Since not all bloggers participate in memes, I’m not tagging 8 people as the meme instructs. If you’d like to share 8 random facts about yourself, leave a comment so I can read your post.

[tags]meme, 8 random facts[/tags]

It’s Funny NOW, But Then … It Was Frightening: MRI Horror Story

I tend to write about my stroke often for two reasons:

1. That one incident dramatically changed my life forever.
2. After fifteen years, I have the perspective of time and experience to see the lessons – and in this case the humor – that I couldn’t see at the time and that I may not see in my present circumstances.

This post is part of the group writing project: It’s Funny NOW, But Then …

Recently, I was chatting on the phone with a friend who had a stroke about a year ago. I have encouraged her by sharing my own experiences with her. She started laughing on the phone and said she just thought about the story I told about my MRI.

Back then, the hospital I was in did not have an MRI machine but used a machine that traveled from hospital to hospital in a trailer, sort of like a bookmobile except an MRI machine replaced the books. The MRI was due at the hospital a couple of days after I was admitted, so my doctor scheduled an appointment.

Two nurses’ aides showed up in my room with a gurney. I couldn’t do anything for myself at that point, and as heavy as I am, it took several people to transfer my dead-weight body from the bed to the gurney. The aides called for help and when help finally arrived, they transferred me to the stretcher. The other two people left, and the aides prepared to transport me to the MRI.

Oh, no,” cried one. “There’s no rails or safety belts on this stretcher. We can’t take her outside through the parking lot on this.”

“We don’t have time to change,” said the other. “You know how long it took to get help to put her on this one. We’ll be in big trouble if we’re late for the appointment. They schedule those appointments so close together, it’ll throw the schedule off for the whole day.”

“We’ll be in more trouble if she falls off on the way over.”

They debated back and forth for several minutes about whether they would be in more trouble if they spent the time to get more help or if they risked taking me outside on a gurney with no safety equipment. They never mentioned anything about the effects on me – only the trouble they would be in. I wanted to remind them that they were supposed to be concerned about the safety of their patient, but I still couldn’t communicate well enough to participate in the conversation. Finally, they decided the risk to them was less if they didn’t waste any more time.

So off we went, with the aides positioned in the way they thought would be best to catch me if I started falling. Through the door, bumping into the frame, down the hall, onto the elevator, down several floors, through the lobby, and out into a parking lot –a parking filled with potholes.

As we bounced along, the aides kept up a running conversation.

“Watch out!”

“Hold her – there’s a big one coming up.”

“I sure hope she doesn’t fall off.”

Although I couldn’t communicate, I certainly agreed with that sentiment!

Finally we made it through the first parking lot, across the street, and to the far end of the second parking lot where the MRI machine awaited us. I can’t really describe what it looked like, because I was flat on my back unable to see much except what was right in front of me. The MRI technician and the aides had to lift me a short distance into the machine … and then the pounding started.

If you’ve ever had an MRI of any kind, you know what I mean. Since then, I’ve had MRIs of various parts of my body, and I can assure you that a brain MRI is by far the most unpleasant. I’ve never been claustrophobic, but that experience just about made me that way. I couldn’t see anything, and the walls seemed to be closing in on me. Pounding, reverberation, clanging, rattling, banging … I thought it would never end.

Eventually, however, it did end, and it was time for the trip back to the hospital. As they lowered me from the MRI-mobile, I expected to land on a stretcher equipped for safety. After all, I’d been inside that metal cylinder being bombarded on all sides for nearly an hour, surely enough time for the aides to exchange the unsafe flat table on wheels with a gurney with side rails or safety belts … preferably both.

But no. As they started pushing me back across the parking lot, the two women continued the conversation as if there had been no interruption. About halfway across the lot, though, something changed. It started to rain!

“Oh, the pavement’s getting slippery.”

“Careful! She almost bounced off on that pothole.”

“Look, she’s getting all wet.”

“We can fix that.” The aide pulled the sheet that covered my body a little higher and covered my head.

“At least she won’t get too wet that way.”

“Yeah, but we’ll still in trouble if she bounces off when we hit these potholes.”

I lay there, covered from head to toe with a rain-soaked sheet, listening to the aides’ worries – not about me, but about getting in trouble – and praying for this to end soon.

The chatter of the two aides had distracted me from any other sounds in the parking lot, but after we crossed the street and were back in the main parking lot, I heard other voices.

“Oh, my gosh! Look – they’re carrying a dead body through the parking lot!”

“That poor lady.”

“Shh. Show a little respect. Stand still and be quiet till they get the body inside the hospital.”

Bouncing over potholes, hearing I might fall off the gurney, the horrendous noises, the claustrophobia in the MRI machine … all paled when I realized I wasn’t dead!

Although I said a prayer of thanksgiving that I was alive, the whole experience had been traumatic. Only after a couple of years did I begin to see the humor. Now all my husband has to do is pull the covers over my head and say “That poor lady” to get us both giggling like teenagers. The incident became one of the best scenes in my novel Stroke of Luck. I’ve laughed over the story with friends more times than I count.

It’s funny now, but then … it wasn’t!

Group Writing Project: It’s Funny NOW, But Then …

Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.

- Lord Byron (English Poet)

In a recent conversation, a friend reminded me of an incident that had been frightening when it happened but now seems hilarious. We all have those experiences that are frightening or embarrassing at the time, but, when seen through the perspective of time, become funny.

I decided to post about the experience my friend and I shared a laugh over. Then I thought it would be fun to hear other bloggers’ “It’s funny NOW, but then …” stories, so I came up with a group writing project.

• Write a post about something that you can laugh about today but that didn’t seem humorous at the time.
• Link to this post and notify me in a comment or e-mail so I can include your post in the roundup of all the entries.
  
• Deadline is midnight Central time on Tuesday, September 4^th.
  

You can write about something that happened at home, school, work … anywhere. As long as you can look back on the situation and find the humor that you couldn’t see before, it’s fair game. I’m looking forward to some good laughs.

Take time to laugh – it is the music of the soul.

- From an old English prayer

What I Learned from My First Vacation in a Wheelchair

Robert Hruzek at Middle Zone Musings has another “What I Learned From …” Group Writing Project underway. The topic this time is vacation:

Hey, even if you’ve never taken a “formal” vacation, then surely you’ve taken a little “self” time, eh? Well, that qualifies as a vacation in my book. So go for it!

I’m going to take a little artistic license with the word vacation and talk about my first venture away from home after my stroke to attend a writing conference.

At the time, I was using a motorized scooter, so I made elaborate advance preparations. I arranged to ride my scooter to the door of the aircraft, then have the scooter gate-checked. I could walk down the aisle with the support of the seat backs, so I didn’t need any special help inside the plane. I had to present certification that the batteries in the scooter were the kind that could be carried as cargo before the scooter could be checked. I even made reservations for a handicapped van for the trip from La Guardia to the hotel.

Our flight was delayed out of San Antonio, so I barely made the connection in Atlanta. Since my scooter was checked all the way to New York, I had to have a skycap push me in a wheelchair down the concourse. My friend Grace Anne Schaefer was on the same flight from Atlanta to New York, and she was getting worried when I wasn’t onboard minutes before take-off. But I made it just in time … I thought. The doors closed behind me, the last person on the plane, and we prepared to lift off.

Then the pilot announced that there was a problem with the plane. We were told to keep our seats, as the maintenance crew was working on the problem and should have it corrected momentarily. More than an hour later, the pilot announced, “We regret our maintenance crew was unable to repair the problem. This flight is cancelled. See the ticket agent about changing your ticket for a later flight.”

Since I had to wait for a wheelchair, Grace Anne took both our tickets and went to stand in line to exchange them. When I finally de-planed, an agent told me they had already made arrangements for the next flight for me. When I explained that I was traveling with a friend, the agent bumped someone from the flight to let Grace Anne travel with me. There are some advantages to being handicapped! All the other passengers were standing in line for much later flights.

The other flight was in a different concourse, and the agent asked if I could walk a few steps to and from a car just outside the building. When I said I could, he arranged for a car to take us across the tarmac. The driver dropped us at the door, and we went inside a small lobby with an elevator and a flight of stairs to the main level. But there was a sign on the elevator “Out of Order.” I could not walk up a flight of stairs! There was no place to sit, and my balance was so precarious I knew I couldn’t stand long. Grace Anne took my purse and my ticket and went upstairs to find help. I leaned against the wall and waited.

Soon, the elevator doors opened. The man inside said, “I’m still working on the elevator, but it’s safe enough for me to take you upstairs.”

 When we reached the main floor, I looked around for Grace Anne and couldn’t see her anywhere. A skycap approached with a wheelchair and said she would take me to the gate. When I hesitated and told her I was looking for my friend, she said lots of flights were being delayed because of bad weather, causing a shortage of wheelchairs. If I didn’t get in the chair right then, I might not get another chance. I dropped into the chair and told her the gate number. She whisked me through the concourse, mentioning several times that people didn’t always know they were supposed to tip a skycap for pushing them in a wheelchair. She even told me how much I should tip her. Well, she didn’t get any tip out of me because I didn’t have my purse.

When we reached the gate, she hurried me out of the chair and disappeared. I was sitting in a waiting area with my back to the desk. I twisted around to look for Grace Anne … and discovered I was at the wrong gate! This was a flight to Chicago, not New York.

I was still weak, and the trauma I had been through had totally exhausted me. I sat there wondering what in the world I was going to do. The gate across the corridor was empty, but after a while, an agent walked up and started looking through some papers. I dragged myself up out of the chair and staggered over to the desk.

“Please help me. I’m at the wrong gate, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to be. I don’t even know the flight number. I’ve lost my friend, and she has my ticket and my purse.” I leaned against the desk for support and tried not to sound as desperate as I felt.

The agent patiently looked up the information on his computer, flagged down a cart, and told the driver where I needed to go. On the way through the concourse, I found Grace Anne, who was looking for me. We finally got to the right gate, only to learn that the flight was delayed because of weather.

We spent several hours in the airport. A couple of times I had to go to the restroom, so Grace Anne went looking for a wheelchair each time. We didn’t dare leave to find something to eat, as the agent kept telling us they would be boarding the plane any minute.

The flight was finally called, and we made it to New York without mishap. But, of course, when we arrived, we had missed my handicapped van by many hours. We had to call and wait until one was available. The trip through New York City traffic during rush hour was something I’d just as soon not experience again. I swear on many occasions we were only a couple of inches from other vehicles.

We arrived at the hotel after 6:00 PM, and we had tickets for a Broadway play at 7:00 PM. The tickets were supposed to be at a booth in the conference registration area. So Grace Anne went to find the tickets while I went to the room with the bellman and our bags. Shortly after all our luggage was in the room, Grace Anne called and said the registration area was closed, and there was a sign that tickets were at Will Call in the theater. Fortunately, the theater was next door to the hotel – we had carefully planned to avoid having to deal with  handicapped transportation again. Grace Anne went for the tickets, and I scooted on over to meet her in the lobby. I parked my scooter as arranged and walked the few steps down the aisle to our seats just as the curtain rose.

Although I enjoyed Les Miserables, I could barely make it the few steps to the scooter at the end of the performance. We went back to our room and agreed that no matter how much it cost, we would order room service. We hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it close to 10:00 PM by this time. Grace Anne placed the order while I got in the shower to try to ease some of my aches and pains from the difficult day.

Dinner was delicious, and after a hot shower and a good meal, I decided I would live. Surely I wouldn’t face any major challenges at the conference.

The next morning, I discovered that the Marriott Marquis had meeting rooms on the second through the fourth floors – with only an escalator connecting the floors. I had selected the workshops I wanted to attend but had to completely revise my plans because I was limited to those on the second floor.

At the end of the day, one of the elevators was out of order, and the others were so constantly full that the bulky scooter wouldn’t fit. Time after time after time after time, elevators stopped, then left again because they were already full. Finally, I managed to fit in with the help of some nice folks.

One day there were four conference attendees in wheelchairs trying to get into the elevators. The others were in regular wheelchairs and got in sooner than I did since my scooter took up more room.

The last day of the conference, though, was even worse. I sat waiting for an elevator for nearly an hour. There was no one else on the floor. I felt so weak I was sure I was going to fall off the scooter. Finally I rode around looking for help. A young man was setting up a bar in one of the rooms. I asked him to call help for me. I went back to the elevator and waited … and waited … and waited … and waited. I went back and asked the young man again to get me help. He called Security, and after what seemed like a lifetime, someone came and escorted me through the kitchen, to the service elevator, and upstairs to my room.

Grace Anne had been wondering where I was, and she was so upset when I told her what had happened that she called Security and demanded an escort to the banquet that night. I was so exhausted that all I wanted to do was go to bed. But Grace Anne insisted I go to the banquet and awards ceremony. After a short rest and a shower, I felt a little better. Security escorted me to the main elevator, made room for me, and led me to the banquet room. At the end of the evening, my escort was back to see me safely to the room.

The trip and conference were physically and emotionally draining, but I still learned more than I ever imagined. I took reams of notes that I referred to over and over again long after the conference ended.

I learned five important lessons from this vacation aka writing conference:

1. No matter how well you plan, you can’t cover every eventuality. Weather, mechanical failures, poor design, other people’s actions, and many other things can disrupt the best-laid plans.
2. Never let yourself get separated from your purse and your ticket.
3. In spite of challenges, frustration, and exhaustion, you can still be productive, as I learned so much about writing.
4. Friends like Grace Anne are blessings to be treasured.
5. When you think you have reached the absolute limit and can’t take another step, you can keep moving if you don’t give up.