American Title--Take Two. Or is it Three?

I was tweaking this post and realized I'd lost it off the blog for a bit. I'm not technologically savvy, so no big surprise. (And thanks for the comment, Lee Anne! Sorry I lost it.)

Anyhoo, last Friday, at the Romantic Times Book Lovers convention in Houston, the winner of the American Title III contest was revealed. Literally, as the cover of the Dorchester publication was shown to all who attended. Not me, sniff sniff, but several of the AT IIIers were there.

Oh, you want to know who won? Drumroll please.......Big congrats to.......

Jenny Gardiner and her entry Sleeping with Ward Cleaver! Yay!!!! Way to go, Jenny!!!

I can't wait to see the cover and read the book. I also look forward to reading the works of the other finalists soon. I haven't met Jenny or any of the AT IIIers in person, but from email exchanges I knew this was a group of fabulous people and fabulous writers. I wish the best for everyone.

From the "WTF?" Files

Sometimes I'm amazed at the level of shear dopeyness that abounds. Maybe I shouldn't be. I've been around long enough to see a lot of stupidity, but now and again... . I'm not talking earth-shattering stupidity, like wars or such, but relatively little things that make you scratch your head and say, "What the...?"

Case in point:

I recently lost my father. He'd been sick for a while (my family back East bore the brunt while I lived so far away, something I can never hope to repay them for nor understand exactly what they had to deal with, especially my sister and mother. I'm grateful for their being there for him.) and was on all kind of medications. His meds were normally delivered to the house after his somewhat regular visits to his primary physician, where the renewed prescriptions where faxed to the pharmaceutical company.

After he passed away last month, one would think his primary physician would have been notified. None of us called, as were were a tad busy at the time, but I'd have assumed the hospital let him know. They may have. I don't know. What I do know is that the medication company sent new meds to my parents' house this past week. My father hadn't been in to see the doctor for a month, for obvious reasons, so why did the doctor put in an order for the meds without an exam, something required he do?

I'll assume there was some kind of clerical error and not a screw up on the doctor's part. Poor clerks, always taking the heat for things. But I don't know for sure who's to blame.

So my mother has to call the doctor's office and let them know one of their patients has been gone for a month and to please not order more meds. She shouldn't have to do that. No one should.

Well, duh!

Can someone explain to me how drowsiness can be the "side effect" of a sleep aid medication? Isn't that the purpose of a sleep aid medication? It's like saying, "The side effect of a lobatomy may be reduced mental function."

Ya think?

What makes you say "Well, duh!"?

{Obviously, I need to watch less television and do more writing. I promise the next entries will be a bit more exciting.}

The Time Has Come! Sort of...

At the Romantic Times convention in Houston this week, the ultimate winner of the American Title III competition will be announced. Who will win? Well, since it hasn't OFFICIALLY been announced on the RT website, I can't tell you. So stay tuned.

Back in the Saddle...Sort of

I've been back from my trip to the East coast for well over two weeks and am still trying to resume normalcy. Okay, relative normalcy. I know I need to get my butt in the chair and write. Not on this blog, but for my WIP. I have the story gelled in my head. I'd even managed to jot down a scene or so while I was away and got that into my home computer this past week. But I still feel off kilter. Why? Well, I have a truckload of excuses: Emotional upheaval, DH traveling for weeks on end, trying to sell our house and buy another in a different town, kids' schedules, car repairs, interesting website I heard about, the weather. Feel free to use one or more. But I know the real reason. I'm sure you do too.

So, I'm going to be a good little writer and get more work done. Really. As soon as I check out this website....

The Weary Traveler

Flew in from New York yesterday, and boy, are my arms tired. Ba-ding dum!

Actually, my entire body is tired. While flying the last leg of my trip from Anchorage to my current home, I gazed about the cabin of the deHavalind Twin Otter (18 seater, co-pilot leans through the open cockpit door to give you the safety speech, seats don't recline, and one passenger's carry-on was a box of ceramic tile she could only find in Anchorage) and noted a number of my fellow travelers nodding off despite the loud drone of the twin engines and the bumpy ride down the peninsula. Not an unusual sight.

From conversations in the waiting area before boarding, I learned there were at least two other flyers who'd come from the East coast that day. I'm sure we were all up before dawn and plain tuckered out from jetting across the country. Travel to and from Alaska is no easy task. It takes about 12 hours (not including the time difference) and several schleppings through various airports. It requires juggling plane schedules so your commercial jet flight into or out of Anchorage meshes with the local air service to/from whichever little town you need to get/go to. If planes are delayed, an overnight stay (in either an Anchorage hotel or on the oh, so comfortable plastic seats of the airport) is not unexpected. If you're heading to one of the smaller towns up here, there is usually another plane to your final destination. Eventually. Some only fly on certain days of the week. It's the price we pay for living the way we do.

Frustrating? It can be. But as long as there's no great rush (and in AK, we are a fairly laid back kind of people when it comes to travel) we deal with it. My mother bought me and my husband matching travel mugs with "Zen for Travelers: We'll Get There When We Get There" on them. I try not to let travel glitches get to me. I have more important things to worry about.