Everything is Relative by Konnie Enos

The other day I was having a conversation with a couple of young girls and my older son in which I was saying to those girls that my younger son was a big boy. My son with me insisted he wasn’t that big.

I said, “Size is relative.”

For my son, who is only an inch or so shorter than his younger brother, his brother isn’t that big. However to a couple of six year olds, a boy who is well over five and half feet tall and close to 200 pounds is pretty big.

I told my son when I was younger, like those girls, my dad would get huge Christmas trees and put them up in the living room at Grandma’s house each year. They were really tall. When I got older however the trees got shorter. Or so it seemed.

Then one day dad told me that he always got trees about six foot tall.

The trees weren’t smaller. I was bigger. Size is relative.

Now take this a step further. Many people today say everything is relative, meaning what is right and what is wrong can only be defined by the individual and their circumstances.

I watched a recent CSI: Cyber episode in which a man and his father-in-law took upon themselves the task of finding a kidney for the man’s wife by kidnapping people to harvest a kidney from them. (It should be noted the father-in-law was a surgeon.)

While the man was apologizing for kidnapping these people, however, the father-in-law saw nothing wrong with his actions. He had no intend to kill anyone, he simply wanted to save his daughters life.

The fact that without written consent he not only perform surgery, but took an organ from someone to save his daughter’s life never entered his mind, even though he would have lost his license for attempting such a thing had he still been a practicing surgeon. He felt he didn’t do anything horrible, because he didn’t plan on killing anyone.

Not that it mattered. Laws are absolute, not relative. They kidnapped, and one person died because of it. They were charged with three kidnappings and one murder.

But in this day and age far too many people think everything is relative. They think they can define morality or what’s right and wrong by their own code.

Just for a moment imagine the chaos that would exist if every human being could actually affect the definition of what was moral for themselves. Imagine a society where everyone defined their own laws.

How could you prosecute someone for killing if by their definition of murder they hadn’t killed anyone? How could you get them for theft if by their definition of stealing they’d just “borrowed” it? How could you get them for rape if by their definition all they did was enjoy some sex? How can you get someone for lying if by their definition they weren’t misleading the truth? How is it cheating if the person doing it doesn’t define it as such?

Do you see how that is chaos?

When people define their own morality they start justifying lying, stealing, cheating even killing other human beings.

So as I talked to my son and told him size is relative. I thought of all the things that people today like to say are relative, like morality, which really aren’t.

Somethings are absolute. Like all those Christmas trees over the years have been about six feet tall. What changed is my height, so I viewed the size of the trees differently.

Other things never change, no matter the era or how people view them.

Dystopia stories are popular right now. Just imagine one with a world where everyone defines their one moral code, their own laws.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

ADD and Me Again by BL Hamilton

Okay, I set out valiantly trying to add a good deal to my manuscript Cruise To Love, and I did start out okay, I added about 3k.

Yeah, I know, it isn’t much for two weeks. And yes, part of the problem was my ADD, but not all of it, in fact only a little bit of it. The problems started when my feet started hurting. Not only was nothing helping, but it got worse. At one point, I bawled just trying to walk from my bedroom to the bathroom, and I’d taken some pain pills before that! It was awful.

I couldn’t write while I writhing in pain. I couldn’t even think beyond the pain. Then I started the new medicine, the stuff to make my feet not kill me, and that meant taking the time to be sure the stuff didn’t make me drowsy before I started driving again, which was a hardship since that very week my sister-in-law, who depends on me to chauffer her around town had several appointments. I couldn’t take her. Plus our niece’s wedding reception was that weekend. 

Then there was the fact I couldn’t concentrate. Well, no that isn’t quite the right word, I couldn’t focus on writing, reading I could manage, and I did a ton of it, reading through several of Konnie’s manuscripts, some finished, and some unfinished.

And mentioning things I noticed in one of those, spurred Konnie into action. She’d worried before she needed to take one storyline out of one of her manuscripts, and now she’s finally working on doing it.

Problem is, that means deciding how to change things, which means brainstorming.

And guess who her brainstorming partner is.

Of course, it hasn’t been all her stuff we brainstormed on, since at one point, I did finally get writing again, and I realized I didn’t understand one character at all, so we spent one brainstorming session discussing her motivation. The results were that I had to go clear back to nearly the beginning of the story, at least a point in the first chapter, and do some tweaking.

At least it wasn’t completely back to the drawing board, totally open a new file, and start all over again, but I didn’t get very far. And I actually have one more excuse for not doing much. Or is it two? 
Okay, one was my niece’s aforementioned wedding reception, which, since it was down in Bountiful, Utah, took a whole day. And then there were two Sabbath’s in there. Though I admit one of those Sabbath’s I spent the whole day with my feet up and watching videos, but that was the day before I finally got into see a doctor, and got on the right medicine. I just couldn’t manage anything beyond the basics that day — food, water, and trips to the bathroom, period.

Anyway, I’m back at it, and trying, so, well instead of wishing me luck, why not try kicking me in the you know what if you discover I’m not working? I could really use the incentive.

Happy writing everyone. J

Diversity and Barbie Dolls by Konnie Enos

Recently Mattel announced they were coming out with new models of Barbie dolls. Basically they were making them in more diverse sizes so girls could find dolls in their shape. From the articles I read they added like three new shapes, petite, curvy and tall.

Most everything I’ve read is praising this move saying now girls will find a doll in their body shape, pointing out how the dysmorphic shape of Barbie has caused girls for generations to have issues with their own bodies.

Since I received my first Barbie doll nearly forty-two years ago (I still have her, and then a great deal more), I feel I’m in a unique position to comment on this debate.

My favorite, and first, Barbie was Skipper. Forty-two years ago when I got her, Malibu Skipper was a pre-teen flat chested, flat footed, short doll. Back then I was a pre-teen, short, flat footed and extremely far from flat chested girl. Barbie, with her impossible to accomplish waist size, still had a chest size in keeping with what I had going on. Yes, I have a Malibu Barbie as well.

Then I see the article about the three new body shapes. You mean you have a whopping four body shapes to account for all the diverse shapes in the world?

I’m going to guess one of them isn’t petite, curvy and overweight. Though at twelve I was just petite and curvy. Nope, they don’t have that shape either. So no Mattel. You’re still not diverse enough.

But then people are saying girls have poor body images because they played with Barbie dolls.

I have five stuffed full trunks at present count. I’ve never in my life expected to be tall, with a way to skinny waist, big hips and still have my well-endowed chest. I wouldn’t have minded making five foot tall and not weighing more than 120 pounds, but I also wouldn’t have minded not being as well-endowed. So I don’t think I’ve ever expected or even wished I looked like Barbie.

I’ll admit girls who already have body image issues, thinking they’re fat when they’re clearly not, could easily have a problem with dolls like this, but let’s bear in mind that we’re talking about girls with health concerns. I seriously doubt the shape of a doll is going to be a problem for healthy girls. Sorry, it’s just a doll.

If you want to address diversity, make more male dolls. I’ve looked. A handful in the adult male sizes and at present none in the boy sizes. Seriously Mattel, I want some boy dolls for my Kelly and Stacy dolls to play with. While you have whole lot of friends for Kelly, absolutely none of them are boys.

In other words, Mattel, you’re not doing enough to be diverse. Step up your game Mattel. Include everyone. Make boy dolls in younger sizes.

And while you’re at it, make a larger selection of clothes for your adult male dolls and for your child size dolls.

And once upon a time you made Grandma and Grandpa Heart and a sheepdog dog for the Heart family collection and I really wish I’d been able get them for my collection while they were available because that, along with several child sized boys, would make my large family of Barbie dolls complete. And some large cars, and more trunks. I never have enough of those.

Then all I’d need is a room just to display them all.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

ADD and Me by BL Hamilton

One of several things Konnie and I do not have in common is ADD. I have it. She doesn’t. Which probably explains why she has only four incomplete manuscripts and a whole slew of complete ones while I have six manuscripts for which I have finished the rough draft on, and well over 20 for which I haven’t finished at all, and that doesn’t the count all variations of any one story which I’ve kept, but discarded.

And, if you count her monster sci-fi manuscript as five novels (it’s certainly long enough to be that many), she has ten completed novels, whereas I only have six, and that’s counting two for which I did finish the rough on but have since done some major rewriting on, and the rewrites are not finished. And here I am the one with loads of time to write and she’s the one who has a daily battle with her family to get even five minutes to write!

Somehow, I’m getting the feeling being able to come up with new stories so often isn’t as such a good thing after all. I mean, how can it benefit me if I can’t finish what I start?

I don’t think I can, or would even want to change how I often start a story, decide I need to change or delete some major point in the story, and essentially start over. I mean, really, if you were to open my documents, you’d find tons of files; and in each folder there are several files, most are older versions, or variations of the story then there’s the “clips” file for that story, and character list, and a calendar of events for that story. Some also have lists like who’s in what class, or I have three with essentially family group sheets for the story. Two of those have family groups for several different families but the other one is for just one very large family.

And, if I hadn’t lost them before I got a scanner, I’d have floor plans and/ or maps for several of these stories in the file too. I really need to work on replacing them. I drew them once; I should be able to draw them again.

And in some of these files, without my various “notes” files, I wouldn’t even know what the story was now, or why I started it. Why I have one or two files, which are just notes (nothing more than an idea) that I’ve yet to expand into a story! I’m not even counting them on my incomplete story list.

In fact, just counting the ones which have reached a word count of twenty-five thousand or higher I have seventeen unfinished manuscripts, not counting the two finished but now in the middle of major rewrites. And not counting all the variations of any one story or the ones, which are just notes, I’ve started another eighteen stories. I have just notes on four and one scene that hasn’t got a story to go with it at all!

On top of this, for the last three years, my writing goal has been to complete at least two novels and I haven’t done it once. So here I am again, hoping to complete a rough. I’m only going for just one at a time, and maybe I’ll finish one or two of these before November comes around again, when I know I’ll start a new one. I’ve started a new one every November for the last thirteen years. (Last year I actually worked on two novels; one is on the under 25k list, and the other is on the over 25k list. I did manage over 60k this past November.)

Anyway, my goal for the next two weeks is to at least add around 25k to my Cruise To Love manuscript, which would bring it to almost done, but not quite. If I can maintain my Nano average, I should be able to finish this manuscript in three weeks. That’s if I can stick to it. Here’s hoping I do.

Happy writing everyone, and wish me luck! J

My Rant by Konnie Enos

Being a mother I do make efforts to accommodate the needs of my family, pulling me every which way, but sometimes I wonder when my needs get met.

When my husband has insomnia and stays up half the night he makes me get up with our boys to get them to school in the morning, because obviously he can’t drive. He crawls in bed and starts snoring while I’m still trying to drag two boys, both bigger than even my husband, out of bed.

If I happened to stay up late trying to get something done, which is usually reading or writing (those are both important) I still could end up taking the boys even if my husband was asleep the whole time I was awake.

Don’t get me wrong, he usually has an “I don’t feel well” reason, but so far I’ve only been able to get out of driving them once. (Ok, it was for most of a week, but it was pretty hard to drive when I couldn’t use my right arm.) All my other reasons for not wanting to take the boys haven’t held up.

If I’m tired well so is he and he manages to be snoring when we should be leaving with the boys. One time I had to take them in my nightclothes even though my husband was fully dressed because he was snoring and I didn’t have any time to get dressed. And he has never accepted that I’m busy at 5:30 in the morning and don’t have time to take them, even though my day can be so packed I often have to start at a dead run as soon as I’ve got the boys out the door and I don’t get a break until I can finally go to bed that night, around 10.

I guess my problem is that men just don’t understand.

He sees me spending a great deal of time on my computer and probably figures I’m doing just what he does all day. Surfing the web, not much of anything and certainly not anything important unless he’s decided to learn how to repair something or like right now, grow something.

The thing is I don’t surf the web.

I get on, check a few key sites, read the headlines and maybe an article or two if the headline grabs me then I deal with my emails and get to work. I track our finances and pay all the bills. Then I write, when I can get the muse talking to me. And now and then, when I can’t get my mind on writing, I’ll play some of the solitaire games available on this thing. If I’m not on my computer there’s my handcrafts. I’ve started a new afghan. Then all the chores, errands and otherwise dealing with the kids.

The only time I remotely dawdle around is the few times a week I get on Facebook, where anybody could lose track of time, which is why I try to limit when I’m there. I don’t have the time to waste.

I guess I’m just frustrated right now because my husband’s mad at me for not showing any sympathy for his poor arthritic knee that he’s limping on.

All I can see was other than walking to and from that car, he didn’t need to use that knee to drive the boys to school and he’d had two full night’s sleep plus he tends to take naps. Me on the other hand, if I get a nap, I’m sick. Plus in the last two nights I’ve been trying to write and ended up staying up late so I’ve managed may six hours of sleep in the last 48 hours. Who do you think should have been driving the boys this morning? Certainly not me.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day. Please, I could use one today.

Rest In Peace by BL Hamilton

It’s January again, and the second anniversary of Tom’s death was only a few days ago. I’m also back to having trouble concentrating and spending more time watching Gilligan’s Island than doing anything else.

Of course, it doesn’t help that we lost Bob Denver this last week.

Actually, this last week, with all the high profile deaths, most of those from cancer, hasn’t exactly made the week a fun time for me. Cancer took my beloved Tom. It’s hard to think about all those other people suffering and dying that way.

And of course, I’ll miss them.

In fact, I think, after I’ve finished watching all three seasons of Gilligan’s Island, I might just watch Harry Potter. And if I had any Eagles CD’s (really wish I did) I’d listen to all my favorite songs by them. I do have some Crosby, Stills, and Nash CD’s, so I could listen to them. We lost one of their members this week too. I also wish I had the old TV series Grizzly Adams on DVD. And that isn’t even half who we lost this past week.

But death is part of life, and how we deal with it is part of who we are.

Personally, ever since Tom’s death I keep finding myself preferring to watch to Gilligan’s Island around this time of year. They say laughter is the best medicine. Personally, I think it has helped me cope and keep going. Sometimes it does help to forget our problems and just laugh. It’s not as if you’re forgetting they exist, or trying to bury the memory. As I said, finding something to laugh about helps you cope. For me that’s Gilligan’s Island.

A good belly laugh never hurt anyone.

But all this has gotten me thinking about my stories. I’ve never been any good at humor, and I find all my characters are rather serious. Very rarely do they laugh. Let’s face it, I haven’t got much humor in any of my writings, and it’s certainly something I can work on. I need to at least try to give my characters something to laugh about at least sometimes, because everyone should laugh sometimes.

So how about it? Do your characters laugh sometimes?

Or do you have some tips to help me fix that problem in my writings?

Happy writing everyone. J

The Twin Thing by Konnie Enos

Over the last several months Bonnie and I have had several opportunities to be in each other’s company, which has given us a few more occasions to experience being twins. We experienced things like the spacy cashier who didn’t recognize there was two of us standing there, to the people I see on a regular basis who did double takes and numerous other reactions.

When we first met up it was with my husband, oldest daughter and a friend of said daughter and we were at a restaurant. While I was reading the menu, and not paying much attention, Bonnie said something about “Yes, we’re twins.” And I looked up to see a staff member at the table. I assume they did a double take.

Later Bonnie and I went to dinner without those three and the cashier didn’t seem to notice that there was two of us standing there. Bonnie paid for her food and moved away then the cashier moved to helped the next customer and saw who she thought was Bonnie standing in front of her still. At least her statement indicated she assumed I was the customer she’d just helped.

I pointed to Bonnie. “That was my twin sister.”

Only then did she do a double take, which baffled both Bonnie and I. I’d been standing right next to Bonnie while she paid for her own food and we weren’t dressed alike, not even the same colors plus her hair was down, around her face, while my hair was clearly pulled back. Perhaps if mine had been down it would have been clearer since mine is obviously longer than Bonnie’s right now. Anyway, we couldn’t figure out how the young woman hadn’t noticed there was two of us until I pointed it out.

Of course we did have another experience with a cashier, a far more intelligent one.

Bonnie again went through the line first and paid for her purchases with me right there since I was the next customer in line. When Bonnie moved to the side and I moved to where things couldn’t block me from his view he did an immediate double take.

“You’re twins aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

He said he had identical twin sons and the three of us talked about twins while he rang up my purchases.

Though the funniest was a lady I see regularly. I walked past her with Bonnie right behind me and she said something to me then noticed Bonnie and gasped. “Two Konnie’s.”

Well of course I stopped and turned around. While statements similar to that are familiar to us, I’d only heard ‘two Konnie’s’ one other time. Usually it was ‘two Bonnie’s’. Though I told her we were familiar with such comments.

Then the last time I saw this particular lady she looked at me and asked, “Are you you or are you your twin?”

I told her where my sister was at that moment.

Being a twin can have it moments.

Being a mom has its moments too. I could go on but my daughter needs me to be dressed and running out the door, now.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.