AndieAlexander.com

Yesterday, I spent most of the day ‘internet-less’ and ‘email-less’. For some reason, our cable modem wasn’t working right and I was out of touch. I tried to watch TV, but the cable kept going out, too. I felt lost, like I’d lost a part of me.

When my husband got home, his computer was in the same predicament. I figured it was just something the cable guys were working on, and let it go. Not him. He called the cable company. He spoke with a woman who didn’t speak English and who kept saying over and over again that the problem was that we had a router. We couldn’t possibly put a router on that modem and make it work.

Now, we’ve had this setup for about five years now. The router DOES work with the modem, but she kept coming back to that fact. It was our problem, not hers. So I got on the phone. I told her it was HER problem and not our router and could she please have the lines checked, because our TV kept going out, too. She finally said, halfway through the call, after twenty minutes, ‘oh, let me see if there are any outages in your area.’ I lost it. I wasn’t nice to her at all. But this was ridiculous. We couldn’t understand her and it wasn’ t the router. She wasn’t listening at all.

She did have us reboot the modem and the router and finally, the problem was resolved. But there were outages in the surrounding areas, which made me believe that no, our router wasn’t involved at all. Considering it affected the TV…well…DUH!

I got her name and am considering reporting her incompetence. I told a friend of mine about it, and she said if someone’s on the phone who doesn’t speak English, she tells them she can’t continue the call. She also said they usually speak much better English after that.

It’s irritating. And yes. I AM whining.

A friend of mine just wrote to me and asked me what I was working on. I replied, three books…at a time. One was in edit stage, one was in hold stage and the third was the one my brain seemed to be focused on.

I have this theory. I think of the creative process like a faucet. It has to go in the order the brain is releasing it, no matter if it’s rusty or not. You even have to get the bad water out to get to the good. So, you write, no matter what it is, and delete later if need be.

In my case, this ‘faucet’ seems to have a mind of its own, jumbling plots as it sees fit. So I work on more than one story at a time. Right now, I’m editing a romance, and writing two mysteries. I know where I want to go with both mysteries, but they’re in a different style. So my ‘Harley’ style is front and center right now. It’s probably because it’s the end of the school year and the kids are bugging me for the stupidest requests. Yesterday, it was to buy a feather duster for a project. Harley was ticked. Eight bucks for a feather duster, with REAL feathers for the historical project. Kes was ticked, too, but her story will have to wait. Feather dusters. UGH!

Recently, an email was forwarded to me, supposedly written by Jay Leno (see Jay Leno…hits the nail on the head), but really wasn’t written by him. However, the idea of the entire piece was to tell Americans to quit whining. We whine about not having the latest gadget, keeping up with the Joneses, and blaming the government for our problems. Whine, whine, whine.

When I sent Kes to Africa, she felt the same way in my first Extreme Travel piece. However, after meeting the locals, who scrounged for food (she thought, initially), or those who were willing to stick their necks out to save their country, she realized that not many Americans would do that. She didn’t even know if she could do that.

We’re so comfortable in our homes, eating our more than three meals a day, with no self-control. In my second Extreme Travel book, I sent Kes to Haiti. When I did research on that place, I couldn’t believe how these people are even surviving. It’s awful. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

I think, honestly, after working on the Extreme Travel books of mine, I have a new appreciation for what I do have. After reading those books, I hope you do, too. My goal is to make all Americans aware of the rest of the world, and for a few moments, to actually put themselves in the place of those less fortunate. Maybe then, this world would be a better place.

I just read an article about the world food crisis (Hunger in Haiti Increasing Rapidly) and am amazed at the lack of food in some countries. Take Haiti, for example. My second Extreme Travel book, where Kes and her friends travel to Haiti, takes a look at the current conditions in that country. I did extensive research on the poverty that abounds there and I’m not surprised at the emotional uprisings of the people there. What I don’t understand is that Haiti is a coastal nation. Why don’t they fish? Why not have some of the people storming the presidential palace go to the beaches and actually fish for food? The people have resorted to eating dirt. Why not plant vegetables in that dirt? Why not help out in that way? Granted, they’re getting money to feed their people, but why not invest that money in plants and fishing? That old Chinese proverb, ‘Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.’ really comes to play here. I just don’t get it for Haiti. Now, if it were a desert, as in Africa, that makes a little bit more sense.

Every author experiences it, and only the bravest can put everything back together.

What am I talking about? The dreaded sagging middle of a book. When I get to the middle of a book, I feel like I’ve lost steam and the book I’m working on is the worst piece of junk known to human kind. Every author I know feels the same way when they get to the middle. Some even feel that way when they get to the end.

What do I do about it? I go back to the beginning and re-read. I figure out what I’m missing and why. I see if my mental assessment is true, which it usually isn’t, then quit doubting myself. Sometimes I even add in a subplot or an interesting character to help hold up the momentum for those sagging bits. But usually, I just make my plot stronger. In one book I’ve been working on, it just hit me what the problem was. I have too much plot. I have to take things out because it’s overwhelming to my characters to have so much going on at once.

Thus the writer’s dilemma. How much is too much and when is it too little? It’s not an easy thing, especially when writing mysteries. You have to learn how to give away bits and pieces of the solution to the crime, without putting your reader to sleep.

Good luck and keep writing. Eventually, it’ll all come together and you’ll have a masterpiece!

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, due to many factors. I’d like to say I’ve been jet-setting around the world and have men falling at my feet, but I know better (plus, my husband might get a tad jealous). I’ve been writing, and it feels good.

I’ve also been cooped up in an almost record-setting snowfall for the season, making me paranoid about driving in the stuff. So my latest book takes place in the deep south, where it’s warm and humid. It’s June in this book, and I can escape the 18 inches of snow that’s currently stuck to the ground.

When it does get warm enough to melt some of the snow and ice, I go out and about to get supplies for the days when I’m stuck inside (I hate driving in bad weather, getting white-knuckled and all). The most interesting thing happens when I do get out. I find people. I make mental notes about all the people around me, listening to their voices and conversations and keep it all in mind for upcoming plots.

For example, up here in Wisconsin, you rarely see a license plate from the south. I spotted one from NC the other day and felt immediately sorry for them. I’m sure they were out of their element, having to deal with sub-zero temperatures and wind chills around -35. I lived in NC for 10 years and know that if you get around freezing, that’s too cold to go outside. Up here, if you get UP to freezing, that’s shorts weather.

I heard another woman speaking with a British accent at the grocery store and had to look. She was older, and very happy. It was an odd placement, hearing the Wisconsin accent and a British accent in the same place. She’d make a great character for a hick town.

Sometimes, too, these characters surprise me. They actually come up to my door and give me more plot than they’d ever know. One day, a police officer came to my door. I was sure I had done something wrong, and before I could get there, he’d walked away. I met him at the front lawn, and he told me of a robbery across the street. He was a really nice man, which surprised me for some reason. He also told me our street was pretty much crime-free, because he had to get out a map to find it. That made me think of yet another plot where the bumbling cops couldn’t find the street, even though it was right beside the police station.

So, if you aspire to be a writer, make notes of people. The stranger, the better. When a man comes to your door trying to sell you something, interview him and take notes. Not only do you get the background for a good character for your books, I’d bet he runs off your front porch quicker.

So, between snow removal, sickness in our family and being sick and tired of the cold, I’m back for a bit.

I’ve been reading the news about two things that hit me on the news in the past few days. They’re not well-publicized, but they’re still interesting.

The first one is about Kenya, posted today, entitled ‘Ethnic Cleansing’ in Kenya, Envoy Says. It seems that the violence in Kenya that’s happening right now is to remove anyone who doesn’t like the president.

The second article is about
Hungry Haitians Resort to Eating Dirt. These people are so poor, they’ve made dirt cookies to eat, and sell them in the marketplace.

So what’s my point? These articles are hard to find, but tell us things that are very important. It’s time the rest of the world wake up and help some of these people. In both cases, the governments are questionable, at best, making times tough for the citizens of those nations. I’ve done research for both of these countries, and find them both sad places to live. The Kenya problem reminds me of Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, fixing the problem by killing dissenters. The Haiti problem stems from the fact that the people are kept poor. For example, the trees in Haiti have been cut down in most areas for lumber. But they’re not replanted. After the renewable resource is gone, it’s gone. No one’s thinking ahead.

Interesting stuff for plots, but I feel for these people. If I can help at least one person in any third world country with one of my plots, then I’ve done my job.

We’re in winter now. I hate winter. I love spring, summer and fall, but winter? It’s just awful–dark, gloomy and snowy.

We’re sitting here with snow up to the bottom of the mailbox that’s turned to ice. The roads are clear today, but this weekend, we’re to have a breakthrough. Instead of today’s temperature of one degree with a wind chill of negative six, we’re to get into the forties! I can hardly wait to break out the short sleeves and shorts…and trust me…they do that around here. If it’s over freezing, you’ll see at least one brave soul in shorts and a t-shirt…and no coat. I’ll still be wearing a parka.

And, no, this isn’t an article about an illegal substance.

This past August, I had my hip replaced. I had pain for 4 years, and was told by a doctor it was a pulled muscle that I kept re-injuring. When my father died in February, we went home for the funeral. I spoke to my brother about my leg, and he said he had to have both hips replaced, because he was having the same symptoms. When I got home, I went to a different doctor who was amazed at how messed up my bones were, and sent me to a specialist.

Now, I’m not that old, and having hip surgery at my age used to be forbidden. But fortunately, I had the surgery and the surgeon told me my hip bone was misaligned and deformed. Who knew that all those years I should’ve been walking better? I’ve always had problems with that leg, but shrugged it off.

After surgery, the doctor didn’t like my progress, so he sent me to physical therapy for 6 weeks. At the PTs location, they have a gym, and a class called Joints for Life. The average age of the class is about 70. I’m over 20 years younger than all of the participants, but I enjoy the class immensely.

Older people are fun to be around. They’ve lost all inhibitions, and feel no remorse about spontaneously breaking out in song. They wear bells on their ankles so every movement to the dance and aerobics we’re doing sounds a little bit better. Yes, they’re slower than most people, but I’ve found that they do these dances better than I do…because they’ve been in the class for at least ten years or so.

Anyway, I have another class today and almost can’t wait to see their latest antics. They’re deaf, so you have to repeat everything at least once. They give me smiles and laughter and take the time to spend with others. They’re retired…and this is the highlight of their week. Because of their laughter, it’s my highlight, too.

So I got this email a few months back to send a Christmas card to a wounded soldier recovering at Walter Reed Med. Center. I did my cards over the weekend, and sent two cards out with the generic Happy Holidays on them. This morning, I read the following article (US Refuses ‘Any Wounded Soldier’ Mail) and now realize that I’m going to be getting those two letters back, unopened.

Bummer! And I was hoping to give a smile to some wounded soldier out there. I appreciate all they do for our freedom and if I can do something as simple as sending them a card, it was no big deal to me to do it. Now I read that they’re afraid the cards will say something horrible or be terrorist in nature and they don’t have the manpower to open all the cards.

Why don’t they have some of the recovering patients go through them? I’ve been in the hospital for an extended period of time in the past, and trust me…given a job like that would’ve done WONDERS for my mental health.

Guess I’ll just send a postcard next year instead.