tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57552511125929197912024-03-13T01:32:29.904-07:00Julie Living The DreamWritings by Julie Christensen about motherhood, painting, and writing.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-1830593756163869702018-11-07T17:15:00.001-08:002018-11-07T17:18:51.794-08:00GIVEAWAY! For Victoria Lee's THE FEVER KING!This book looks so good! Take a peek and then scroll all the way down to enter the giveaway to win this book. Or, just pre-order it on Amazon or Barnes and Noble. It'd make a great gift for that YA in your life, too!<br />
<br />
The Fever King<br />
by Victoria Lee<br />
Published by: Skyscape<br />
Publication date: March 1st 2019<br />
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult<br />
<br />
Synopsis:<br />
<br />
In the former United States, sixteen-year-old Noam Álvaro wakes up in a hospital bed, the sole survivor of the viral magic that killed his family and made him a technopath. His ability to control technology attracts the attention of the minister of defense and thrusts him into the magical elite of the nation of Carolinia.<br />
<br />
The son of undocumented immigrants, Noam has spent his life fighting for the rights of refugees fleeing magical outbreaks—refugees Carolinia routinely deports with vicious efficiency. Sensing a way to make change, Noam accepts the minister’s offer to teach him the science behind his magic, secretly planning to use it against the government. But then he meets the minister’s son—cruel, dangerous, and achingly beautiful—and the way forward becomes less clear.<br />
<br />
Caught between his purpose and his heart, Noam must decide who he can trust and how far he’s willing to go in pursuit of the greater good.<br />
<br />
<br />
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/39897058-the-fever-king?ac=1&from_search=true<br />
<br />
Purchase:<br />
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Fever-King-Feverwake-Book-ebook/dp/B07F2MJNW1/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1541639672&sr=1-1&keywords=the+fever+king<br />
<br />
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-fever-king-victoria-lee/1129131866?ean=9781542040402<br />
<br />
<br />
AUTHOR BIO:<br />
Victoria Lee grew up in Durham, North Carolina, where she spent twelve ascetic years as a vegetarian before discovering that spicy chicken wings are, in fact, a delicacy. She's been a state finalist competitive pianist, a hitchhiker, a pizza connoisseur, an EMT, an expat in China and Sweden, and a science doctoral student. She's also a bit of a snob about fancy whiskey. Lee writes early in the morning and then spends the rest of the day trying to impress her border collie puppy and make her experiments work. She currently lives in Pennsylvania with her partner.<br />
<br />
For exclusive updates, excerpts, and giveaways, sign up for Victoria's newsletter at https://victorialeewrites.com/newsletter/<br />
<br />
Author links:<br />
http://www.victorialeewrites.com/<br />
https://twitter.com/sosaidvictoria<br />
https://www.facebook.com/victorialeewrites/<br />
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17959878.Victoria_Lee<br />
https://www.instagram.com/sosaidvictoria/Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-85170395491648045752018-11-07T09:37:00.002-08:002018-11-07T17:12:13.099-08:00<a class="rcptr" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/d04251232727/" rel="nofollow" data-raflid="d04251232727" data-theme="classic" data-template="" id="rcwidget_ynf9pvi3">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
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Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-28289882194173135132015-11-19T11:00:00.000-08:002016-08-06T21:10:12.173-07:00NaNoWriMo is back and I've already learned so much!<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">It’s November, and that means it’s<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://nanowrimo.org/dashboard">NaNoWriMo</a>. National Novel
Writing Month<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>has been around
since<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://nanowrimo.org/history">1999</a><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>but
I firmly paid it no mind when it came onto my radar a few years ago. I
mean, seriously, what a dumb idea. <span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>No
one can write a novel in a month. Except a hack. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">But last year, on November 6th,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://onpoint.wbur.org/">On Point</a>, my favorite NPR show of all time,
did a show, “<a href="http://onpoint.wbur.org/2014/11/06/novel-writing-month-creative-fiction">Do
you NaNoWriMo</a>?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Stupid show. I almost didn’t listen. Except I always
listen to On Point. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Coincidentally, I already had a young adult murder mystery planned
out in my head. I wasn’t ready to start writing it yet, because I was
busy working on a screenplay for another book of mine,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://julielivingthedream.blogspot.com/p/truth-about-dating.html">The
Truth About Dating</a>, but my young adult heroine was always knocking things
over in the back of my brain to get attention. She was who I thought
about when I woke up at 3:34AM and couldn’t fall back asleep. But I
couldn’t start a book until the screenplay was done. And then about three
quarters of the way through the radio show I suddenly decided that I WAS going
to NaNoWriMo! I was going to write that novel in the month of
November! It was such an abrupt turn-around. One minute, no, one
second I was scoffing and scorning and then next second I was 100% on
board. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I started<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Murder in
Suburbia<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>that day, November
sixth. I wrote 1499 words. The next day I wrote 3650 words.
By day three I had over ten thousand words! I hit a wall at day 13.
I was up to 40,553 words and I didn’t know how in the word to get ten thousand
more. For three days I let the story gel. But at the time, I
didn’t know I was letting things gel. I thought,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>“I’m not going to finish!” <span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>That is the big problem with
NaNoWriMo. You feel panic-stricken most of the time because you only have
a month!!!!! That’s also the reason NaNoWriMo is so fantastic. I
have to keep writing or I won’t win. Right??? So after three days I
noticed a little hole in the wall, and when I scratched it, some bricks fell
out and I wrote 3972 more words. Now I was at 44,525 words. At this
point in my novel, my teenage sleuth had everything she needed to solve the
crime but I needed some kind of spectacular, nail-biting, brilliant finale.
I wanted my young adult readers to see our heroine cleverly escape from mortal
danger. She wasn’t magic. She didn’t have a mutant skill set.
She couldn’t fight like a vampire slayer and she couldn’t kill like a
vampire. She had to do it like a regular teen. My readers had to be
able to save themselves in just the same way (in the unlikely event that a
killer lived on their block). I was only 5,000 words from my “win” so I
took a day to think it through. I like to plan things out in my head
before opening up my laptop to write. So I thought about the plot while I
raked the leaves and went to work and made pumpkin pie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">On my nineteenth day (November 25), I put in a marathon session
and wrote 7,975 words to complete my story at 52,500 words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I had just written a young adult murder mystery in 19 days.
Mind blown. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Then I sent it to my mom and she LOVED it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Over the next five months I revised, mainly by bulking up the
story. It’s about 66,000 words now. But very little of what I’d
written during NaNoWriMo got thrown out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">This year, I’m doing it again. From the start of my first
book I planned to write a sequel from the best friend’s point of view. I
plotted in my head. I wrote down a few scenes I didn’t want to
forget. But I knew I’d start the real writing this month. In
November. And things are really different the second time
around. I’m not worried I won’t finish so I’m taking the time to
write in all the details now. I’m not sure, but I suspect I’ll have a lot
less revisions at the end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Isabel Allende always starts her new books on January 8. I
don’t plan to only write my books in November. But the timing worked out
this year. And I learned something important. For the first four
days I was so unbelievably bored from my writing that I didn’t think I had this
book in me after all. I would have stopped, but I couldn’t. It was
NaNoWriMo. So I kept writing. And eventually, everything
clicked. Suddenly, I had all these great ideas for my character. I
couldn’t wait to sit down to write her story. I couldn’t stop thinking
about her when I was getting the kids off the bus, making dinner, and helping
with homework. Looking back on the past five months, I realize I was saving this book for November. I tried to write it several times in the
spring but I hadn’t immersed myself enough in the character to make her
three-dimensional. So she bored me. So I stopped. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">But you can’t NaNoWriMo without being immersed. It’s too
time intensive. Before this month, I was sticking a (kind of lazy) toe in
the water. NaNoWriMo makes you dive. And the water is
freezing. So you have to swim.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Try it. It's exhilarating. </span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-83672819002752288042015-10-08T05:42:00.001-07:002015-10-08T05:46:09.746-07:00Parenting is like writing...<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_25p8amr8ZDXUeeQt16EvkYllJFe5cJn8ZRouw3c6Fp3cPe8Q_8VTC6TC8NBNayM4v2fGjP-mr4DEFKkj_PvVTfynguGqVsC67Eb7Rq6gEsQj8S4vWgCRIoL9ELbratH3U3FnjsGjdsUn/s1600/424527_10151340947810720_1567116229_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_25p8amr8ZDXUeeQt16EvkYllJFe5cJn8ZRouw3c6Fp3cPe8Q_8VTC6TC8NBNayM4v2fGjP-mr4DEFKkj_PvVTfynguGqVsC67Eb7Rq6gEsQj8S4vWgCRIoL9ELbratH3U3FnjsGjdsUn/s320/424527_10151340947810720_1567116229_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background: white; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Parenting is most fun
when you get to teach a life lesson with something that you are already doing
yourself. It’s kind of like the first
rule in writing: don’t tell, show. Last
week one of my kids had a disagreement with a playmate at school. Now that playmate is causing my kid a little grief. It’s elementary school stuff, so as an adult
my first thought was to take it with a grain of salt. On the other hand, kids feel the same pain as
adults, even if the crime is that so-and-so broke the orange crayon. And at this age, kids will do dumb, sometimes
mean things, but it doesn’t mean they are mean.
They are just kids. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="background: white; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">When adults aren’t nice, you could decide the
same rules don’t apply.
Or you could wish them well and move on.
That’s what I do with wearisome adults and it works beautifully. I don’t waste any energy on these people and this week I got to teach my kid the same thing. In the end, it makes everyone’s lives
easier. You teach your kids to forget
about difficult people instead of being reactive. No matter what gripe they have with someone, people are still people and worthy of kindness. You don't have to be a punching bag, just remember that bullies are mean because something isn't going well in their lives, and take anything they say or do with a grain of salt. Then forget them.</span></span>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-13040073731661204052014-12-23T18:50:00.004-08:002014-12-23T18:58:19.224-08:00Ruby Neptune is BACKThe third book in the Ruby Neptune mystery series is finished!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguptLx2rvnA23gnPl0ejAFE61vWadeT1o0ivf5kIg-bbOI1f5Q6znW0dB5MVfButCMcCujgbbyP1iWQV_x73ux1uteNHKyfTmmR9gtW3J287fxTokg8ODIiEubWqvARLhTxvZEY4Fnr32C/s1600/MPS+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguptLx2rvnA23gnPl0ejAFE61vWadeT1o0ivf5kIg-bbOI1f5Q6znW0dB5MVfButCMcCujgbbyP1iWQV_x73ux1uteNHKyfTmmR9gtW3J287fxTokg8ODIiEubWqvARLhTxvZEY4Fnr32C/s1600/MPS+cover.jpg" height="320" width="199" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">When
the headmistress of a prestigious private school in Brooklyn suddenly dies in
front of the student body, the police assume the death is an unfortunate
accident. But the school’s Writer in
Residence, Ruby Neptune, thinks she’s witnessed a murder. Suspects include the parents of children who
weren’t accepted, teachers vying to be the next director, a harassed secretary,
and even the mother of a child thrown out of the school for a peanut
allergy. As Ruby Neptune investigates,
she makes other surprising discoveries, one which impacts her personal
life. Meanwhile, the killer might get
away with murder, unless Ruby can uncover the truth before she, too, has an
unfortunate accident.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Buy the ebook on Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00QVX2FRG/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B00QVX2FRG&linkCode=as2&tag=jullivthedre-20&linkId=BVIVKCGMXDAZ3PF2">Murder in a Private School (A Ruby Neptune Mystery Book 3)</a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=jullivthedre-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B00QVX2FRG" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />
</span></div>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-31945436374532286572013-05-19T13:31:00.000-07:002013-05-20T12:10:18.758-07:00Hilary Clinton and Violence Against WomenWhen I was a little girl, there were no cool female role models. Well, there
was Wonder Woman, but she looked uncomfortable, like her breasts were about to
pop out of her swimsuit. My brother had his pick of cool heroes but I did not.
There were some spunky heroines, but in most television shows, the women, even
the smart ones, eventually had to be saved by men. <br />
<br />
People need heroes in their own images. I remind my husband about this all
the time, because I love and appreciate all the women on television today who
don't need saving. They can fight like men. (Buffy the Vampire Slayer.) Even
without supernatural powers, they can win with smarts and a stun gun. (Veronica
Mars.) And by the way, both of these fictional women were created by men.<br />
<br />
But lately I'm registering a disturbing trend with these characters: They
all get raped. I don’t know why I didn’t notice before.<br />
<br />
Why do men who create strong female characters always make them get raped? <br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Girl with
the Dragon Tattoo</i> so graphically details horrible abuses to women that I
began to wonder if the writer (and some readers) got a high from thinking about
the torture of women. The movie is worse. I had to leave the room during those
scenes. It's true, the female lead is smart and strong, and she gets vengeance.
But I don’t know how anyone could leave that film thinking women were
empowered. <br />
<br />
I suppose the Ohio man who locked-up and raped three girls for ten years
might have enjoyed the scenes in that book/movie. And since one in six women
are sexually assaulted*, rapists are not so much an aberration as part of the
norm. There were the high school students who undressed, raped, ejaculated on,
and photographed an unconscious teenage girl while carting her from party to
party. There's that rap song where the singer (Rick Ross) brags about giving a
woman a drug and raping her while she's unconscious. On college campuses, as
many as one in four women are sexually assaulted**. In my state of Nebraska,
some third grade boys sexually assaulted an eight-year old classmate on the
school playground. The list goes on and on. I could write for an hour and not record all the sexual
assault stories that have happened in this year alone. <br />
<br />
I could probably write all day and not have time to document the sexual
assaults occurring in the military. The Air Force official in charge of its
sexual-assault prevention program is arrested for attacking a woman in a
parking lot and the military's response is to "retrain" the men. Weird,
because I wouldn't think men <em>need</em> special training in not attacking
women. Shouldn't they just know? Like the way they know not to rob liquor
stores or step in front of a moving car? <br />
<br />
Obviously, something in our culture is teaching boys and men to rape. Is it
simply the belief that women are less valuable than men? Is there a male rage
that can only be relieved by hate crimes against women? Rape is an act of
violence. Who is teaching our boys and men to be violent to women? Why do so
many male writers view rape as a rite of passage for strong women? <br />
<br />
So where does Hilary Clinton come into all this? Well, we know she is
considering a run for president. I would like her to think carefully about her
legacy. Barack Obama has shown us how ineffective a president can be. The GOP
will devote themselves to blocking her like they do him. But they can't block
the light from her international stardom. She could affect much more change
taking on a single cause than trying to run our country. I'd like to see her
take on that fight. I'm not alone. My blog on her speech about violence against
women gets more hits than any other blog I've got. (And it's nothing but a
transcript of her speech). <br />
<br />
There are men running our country who believe that women can shut down rape
sperm. Their brains are operating in medieval mode but that's who you have to
deal with in government politics, apparently. Sadly, the president has little
more influence than those politicians who seem proud of their ignorance. <br />
<br />
Mrs. Clinton, I ask you from the bottom of my heart to forget about being
president and make it your mission to wipe out violence against women, in our country and in the world. I want a better world, not only for
my son and daughter, but for all the children of the world. <br />
<br />
* According to <a href="http://www.rainn.org/get-information/statistics/sexual-assault-victims" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest
National Network)</span></a> <strong>1 out of every 6 American women</strong> has been
the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime (14.8% completed
rape; 2.8% attempted rape).<br />
**According to the U.S. Justice Department's report <a href="https://www.ncjrs.gov/pdffiles1/nij/182369.pdf%20" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">The
Sexual Victimization of College Women</span></a>. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-77690841370222089402013-04-04T12:54:00.002-07:002013-04-07T10:07:41.692-07:00Are Art Galleries Fading From New York City?<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I attended Pratt Institute in the late 1980s,</span> I was intimidated by shows at art galleries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I went to lots of them, but I always had the impression that gallery
owners weren’t happy to see young students like me wander through the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never been very eloquent about discussing
art; I feel like I’m shoveling out a lot of BS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So when I graduated with a bachelor’s in
Painting, I was deeply intimated by the process of asking gallery owners to represent me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">That was decades ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I still paint, my art continues to develop, but I don’t bother trying to
get shows. I replaced that desire with the goal of snagging a literary
agent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time I’d written my first
book, I no longer lived in New York City.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve often thought that my Omaha, Neb address was part of the reason I couldn’t
get the literary agents to read my books (most live in NYC).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> But t</span>hanks to Amazon, it now no longer matters that I don't have an agent. Epublishing has served me well; I've sold well over 50,000 copies of my self-published books in just a couple of years. So I'm a fan of online sales.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today I read art critic </span><a href="https://twitter.com/jerrysaltz" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Jerry Saltz’s </span></a><span style="font-size: large;">article, “</span></span><a href="http://www.vulture.com/2013/03/saltz-on-the-death-of-art-gallery-shows.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The Death of the Gallery Show</span></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">,” in New York Magazine</span> where he laments the rise of online art auctions
because the public never gets the chance to wander through an exhibition of
that artist, to see the artist’s works juxtaposed together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Saltz says he goes to 1,560 NYC gallery
shows a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is incredible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Reading his article brought me back to my school days, and
to the research I did while writing my second mystery novel, which begins with
a death in a Williamsburg art gallery (</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0076PTX8M/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B0076PTX8M&linkCode=as2&tag=jullivthedre-20"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Murder with Art (Ruby Neptune Mysteries)</span></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=jullivthedre-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B0076PTX8M" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />). And as I read Saltz’s defense of art
galleries, in spite of the fact that poor artists might not get to NYC to see
the art, I started to think the art world was following in the footsteps of the
publishing world:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>both had NYC as their
center and a small tribe of New Yorkers decided who was in and who was out.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">But after mulling over his argument for a few hours, I’ve decided
that what’s lost by art galleries disappearing from Chelsea is what’s gained
for Indie writers like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In online art
galleries, even non-represented artists get to sell their art, so <span style="font-size: large;">it sounds
like the democratization of the art world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But only for the artists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For art
lovers, the opposite is happening.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
Saltz points out, auctions keep art away from everyone except the
collector.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I felt intimidated
going to art galleries as a young student, I still went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to see some amazing art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t buy the art, but I could still be
influenced by what I saw on those walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
Jerry Saltz goes to 1,560 shows a year, but he's not buying something at each show (at least, I assume he's not, on an art critic's salary.) He's just looking and enjoying.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">There’s no doubt that <span style="font-size: large;">Amazon, for all its many flaws, has
democratized the publishing world for writers like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But readers, too, get to read more books.</span> Books that
literary agents didn't think they would like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I may not make my living off my books (yet), but I'm still a success. Without an agent or publisher and with a marketing budget of less than $200, the first book in my
mystery series (</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005GAP2HU/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B005GAP2HU&linkCode=as2&tag=jullivthedre-20"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Murder Beyond Words (A Ruby Neptune Mystery)</span></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=jullivthedre-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B005GAP2HU" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />) sold 20,000 copies last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Murder with Art sales are steady, too. </span><br />
</div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Living outside the city has its
disadvantages for agent-less novelists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides the obvious one, (not
living in the city), some bookstores only carry consignment books for local authors,
and though I’m from New York I no longer count as local.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An art gallery would let me show from afar,
but of course they have years of experience working with out-of-town
artists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I imagine bookstores will get
there eventually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">More than anything,
Saltz’s article made me feel my absence from my favorite city in the
world.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He made me miss living on campus
at Pratt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He made me want to gallery
hop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He made me worry that one of the
defining traits of the city, art galleries, might be an endangered
species.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s hope he’s wrong. </span>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-40803530162121206972013-03-14T12:01:00.000-07:002013-04-01T08:16:30.248-07:00Nine Reasons I Might Fire Facebook<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Nine Reasons I Might Fire Facebook</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IIlokhDqvdsb6y7bu4Ui49acf6jubiZ1IDemAPUr3ophCaklW0diGsuLtHgg1-VPxl8G_q_WHuLHv4bHl9MUMQFaPlmg6eMasAkqXRiQpp5TfahU3hfx8sDsvu3as3Yd2SjxFX5qQ4le/s1600/bruce-eric-kaplan-just-sitting-here-waiting-for-facebook-to-go-away-new-yorker-cartoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IIlokhDqvdsb6y7bu4Ui49acf6jubiZ1IDemAPUr3ophCaklW0diGsuLtHgg1-VPxl8G_q_WHuLHv4bHl9MUMQFaPlmg6eMasAkqXRiQpp5TfahU3hfx8sDsvu3as3Yd2SjxFX5qQ4le/s400/bruce-eric-kaplan-just-sitting-here-waiting-for-facebook-to-go-away-new-yorker-cartoon.jpg" title="Bruce Eric Kaplan" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Just sitting here waiting for Facebook to go away."</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">This </span><a href="http://www.condenaststore.com/-sp/Just-sitting-here-waiting-for-Facebook-to-go-away-New-Yorker-Cartoon-Prints_i8546357_.htm" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">cartoon by Bruce Eric Kaplan</span></a> ran in the New Yorker long before I even knew what
Facebook was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I wasn’t part of the Facebook nation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>I’d heard of it, much like
I’ve heard of Twitter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I joined FB to
promote my book, which had reached the quarterfinals of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Breakthrough-Novel-Award-Books/b?ie=UTF8&node=332264011" target="_blank">Amazon’s BreakthroughNovel Award</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stayed because I enjoy
catching up with old friends through their brief moments in time postings and
pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">But I'm getting sick of Facebook</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Especially after reading <a href="http://bits.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/03/03/disruptions-when-sharing-on-facebook-comes-at-a-cost/" target="_blank">Nick Bilton's New York Times article</a> about FB sending “sponsored”
posts to the top of my newsfeed. Hiding posts I chose to follow is just
another in a long line of bad choices by a company that seems bent on driving its
users away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not to mention all the noise from my FBFs (Facebook friends).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So while you mull over the way FB keeps
raiding your privacy and choice, here is my list of pet peeves, not from Mark
Zuckerberg, but from my newsfeed buddies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">My Facebook Newsfeed Pet Peeves</span></div>
<ol>
<li>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">People who play video games on FB.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you realize we all know when you
play?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get back to work! </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Spouses who make nitpicky comments on my friends’ postings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always wonder if they’re sitting in the
same room with their wife as they type?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;">People who “like” products to get freebies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m fine with an occasional plug for a
computer or something, but is it really worth clogging up your friends’
newsfeeds to win a meatball sandwich?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
Lurkers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m fine with you never posting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But couldn’t you do an occasional “like”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never giving feedback on FB (but mentioning
to me later that you saw such-and-such a post) is the equivalent of never
giving me a smile or other friendly facial expressions when we talk to each
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cat pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sunset
picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Excessive kid pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually, I like seeing these, but in small
quantities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you post ten pictures
of your kid (instead of putting them in an album), I get irritated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">People who post the minutia of their own life, but never “like”
anything that other people say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Give us
a little love, too for goodness sakes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Trolls. I thought we were friends, but when you write snotty comments under my posts you seem more like a belligerant drunk who's about to urinate on my yard. I don't mind that you don't agree with me, but remember the line about how if you can't say something nice...?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cryptic posts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not
good.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Whoops.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Next time it’s blue.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can be interesting without being
annoying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We want to hear about you, so
help us by communicating clearly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Posts like this: “Mothers are the best people in the
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Share this if you love your
mother.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Or this:</strong> “Children with cancer are the bravest people in the
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Put this in your newsfeed if you
agree.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong>Or this:</strong> “Puppies are cute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of you won’t be brave enough to do this,
because you have no soul, but if you believe that puppies truly are cute,
repost this for the rest of the day.”</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Calibri;">People who thank their trainers for a killer work out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Do they give you a discount for doing that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If not, get your masochistic muscular butt
off my feed</span></li>
</ol>
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">What are your pet peeves? Comment below and I'll add the best ones to my list. </span><br />
<br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-58598948123713712292013-02-12T13:43:00.004-08:002013-02-12T13:44:57.198-08:00Are You Dreading Valentine's Day?<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">February 14th can suck for single folks. The roads aren't safe with all
those happy couples driving around. Restaurants are full. Your Facebook
newsfeed is blocked up by annoying friends bragging about the flowers they got
at work. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So, what's a single person to do? Hole up in the apartment and drink a
blender of margaritas while soul searching about why you feel so unloved? Eat
an entire heart-shaped box of chocolates before stomping on the heart? Maybe
you'll spend the evening joining internet dating sites. If yes to the last
idea, check out this article out first. It might save you the cost and time
associated with the eHarmony site. For the uninitiated, eHarmony doesn't let
you search for Mr. or Ms. Right. Instead, you must answer 200 questions, which
their algorithm uses to find you a match. I filled out their questionnaire,
back in the day, and 1. it took forever, and 2. it matched me with nothing but
conservatives and I am nothing but liberal. So I was interested to see that
scientists are actually challenging eHarmony's claims that their methods
produce results. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">One more bit of advice: if you must drink on Valentine's Day, do it with friends. In fact, why not plan a group Valentine's celebration this year? Most couples don't have fun on this holiday either (too much pressure) so give everyone a break and have a party!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/12/science/skepticism-as-eharmony-defends-its-matchmaking-algorithm.html?ref=todayspaper&_r=0" target="_blank">http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/12/science/skepticism-as-eharmony-defends-its-matchmaking-algorithm.html?ref=todayspaper&_r=0</a>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-23496465931764286602013-01-28T09:08:00.001-08:002013-02-11T18:05:18.095-08:00Hilary Clinton's Speech On Women's Rights<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm working on a new post about the politicians in our country who spout off on the government taking their money and guns while they use their role in goverment to impose their religious beliefs on me. You know the ones. They are, well, let's face it, not too bright. They believe I can magically repell rape sperm. They want me to have a transvaginal ultrasound as some kind of punishment for getting an abortion, even though abortion is still legal in our country. And in spite of railing against abortion, they want to reduce my access to birth control because it's against their religion. Yup, they ain't the sharpest knives in the drawer. <em>Yet they are making policy that affects my personal freedom.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">While I write, I thought I'd post a speech on women's rights that I found inspiring. It was given by Hilary Clinton. This is my favorite paragraph: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"<span style="color: #252525; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Why extremists always focus on women remains a mystery to me. But they
all seem to. It doesn’t matter what country they’re in or what religion they
claim. They want to control women. They want to control how we dress, they want
to control how we act, they even want to control the decisions we make about
our own health and bodies. Yes, it is hard to believe that even
here at home, we have to stand up for women’s rights and reject efforts to
marginalize any one of us, because America needs to set an example for the
entire world. And it seems clear to me that to do that, we have to
live our own values and we have to defend our own values. We need to respect
each other, empower all our citizens, and find common ground."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img alt="Smart Power" height="150" src="http://www.state.gov/images/secretary/smart-power.jpg" width="200" /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here's the link to the speech from the US Dept of State's website. I pasted the text below. It's a very good speech. Meryl Streep introduces her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<a href="http://www.state.gov/secretary/rm/2012/03/185604.htm"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">http://www.state.gov/secretary/rm/2012/03/185604.htm</span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">MS. STREEP:</span></b><span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Thank you. I feel like I’ve been plugged into an energy source
that’s bigger than the one generated by oil, gas, coal, or nuclear. It’s girl
power. (Cheers.) This one’s going to electrify the next century.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Thank you very much. It’s a great honor for me to be here
because we women really do look very hard at each other, like, “Check my
jacket.” (Laughter.) We can be hard on each other. But we really look so deeply
because we want inspiration.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here’s what happens when I compare myself to Hillary Clinton.
(Laughter.) Which every living American woman my age has done. (Laughter.) At
one point or another, maybe too often over the years, I find a lot of
similarities. (Laughter.) We’re roughly the same age. We both have two brothers
– mine are annoying. (Laughter.) We both grew up in middle class homes with
spirited, big-hearted mothers who encouraged us to do something valuable and
interesting with our lives.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.5pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We both went from public high schools to distinguished women’s
colleges. (Cheers.) And we both called home collect from the dorm phone
freshman year from the colleges saying, “I’m not as smart as the other girls
here. I should leave.” (Laughter.) And both of our mothers said, “Don’t be
ridiculous, you’re not a quitter.” And we both went on to graduate school at
Yale, which is where the two paths diverged in the wood. (Laughter.) Where
Hillary aimed her life and where it landed was evident very early on. While I
was a cheerleader, she was the president of the student government. (Laughter.)
Where I was the lead in all three musicals, people who know her tell me she
should never be encouraged to sing. (Laughter.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Regardless, she has turned out to be the voice of her
generation. I’m an actress, and she is the real deal. (Applause.) Two years ago
when Tina Brown and Diane von Furstenberg first envisioned this conference,
they asked me to do a play, a reading, called – the name of the play was called
Seven. It was taken from transcripts, real testimony from real women activists
around the world. I was the Irish one, and I had no idea that the real women
would be sitting in the audience while we portrayed them. So I was doing a
pretty ghastly Belfast accent. I was just – I was imitating my friend Liam
Neeson, really, and I sounded like a fellow. (Laughter.) It was really bad.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So I was so mortified when Tina, at the end of the play, invited
the real women to come up on stage and I found myself standing next to the
great Inez McCormack. (Applause.) And I felt slight next to her, because I’m an
actress and she is the real deal. She has put her life on the line. Six of
those seven women were with us in the theater that night. The seventh,
Mukhtaran Bibi, couldn’t come because she couldn’t get out of Pakistan. You
probably remember who she is. She’s the young woman who went to court because
she was gang-raped by men in her village as punishment for a perceived slight
to their honor by her little brother. All but one of the 14 men accused were
acquitted, but Mukhtaran won the small settlement. She won $8,200, which she
then used to start schools in her village. More money poured in from
international donations when the men were set free. And as a result of her
trial, the then president of Pakistan, General Musharraf, went on TV and said,
“If you want to be a millionaire, just get yourself raped.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But that night in the theater two years ago, the other six brave
women came up on the stage. Anabella De Leon of Guatemala pointed to Hillary
Clinton, who was sitting right in the front row, and said, “I met her and my
life changed.” And all weekend long, women from all over the world said the
same thing: I’m alive because she came to my village, put her arm around me,
and had a photograph taken together. I’m alive because she went on our local TV
and talked about my work, and now they’re afraid to kill me. I’m alive because
she came to my country and she talked to our leaders, because I heard her
speak, because I read about her. I’m here today because of that, because of
those stores. I didn’t know about this. I never knew any of it. And I think
everybody should know. This hidden history Hillary has, the story of her
parallel agenda, the shadow diplomacy unheralded, uncelebrated, careful,
constant work on behalf of women and girls that she has always conducted
alongside everything else a first lady, a senator, and now Secretary of State
is obliged to do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And it deserves to be amplified. This willingness to take it, to
lead a revolution – and revelation, beginning in Beijing in 1995, when she
first raised her voice to say the words you’ve heard many times throughout this
conference: Women’s rights are human rights. When Hillary Clinton stood up in
Beijing to speak that truth, her hosts were not the only ones who didn’t
necessarily want to hear it. Some of her husband’s advisors also were nervous
about the speech, fearful of upsetting relations with China. But she faced down
the opposition at home and abroad, and her words continue to hearten women
around the world and have reverberated down the decades.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We’ve all spent a lot of time thinking about Hillary Clinton
because – poor girl – she represents us, Hillary is us and we are Hillary. But
while we’re busy relating to her, judging her, assessing her hair, her jackets,
supporting her, worrying about her – is she getting enough sleep? She’s just been
busy working, doing it, making those words “Women’s rights are human rights”
into something every leader in every country now knows is a linchpin of
American policy. It’s just so much more than a rhetorical triumph. We’re
talking about what happened in the real world, the institutional change that
was a result of that stand she took, just for one example, a small thing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, because she is Secretary of State, every desk officer in
every country around the world knows that they should be aware of the fertility
rate of that country, because the fertility rate tells us whether that country
will be able to feed, educate, and employ its citizens. This had not really
been a priority before. When officials would tend to pay more attention to
counting tanks and troops and courting the tribal elders, they didn’t really
focus on babies or listen closely to their mothers. They didn’t look that
specifically at women’s health, education, or employment statistics.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now we know that the higher the education and the involvement of
women in a culture and economy, the more secure the nation. It’s a metric we
use throughout our foreign policy, and in fact, it’s at the core of our
development policy. It is a big, important shift in thinking. Horrifying
practices like female genital cutting were not at the top of the agenda because
they were part of the culture and we didn’t want to be accused of imposing our
own cultural values.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But what Hillary Clinton has said over and over again is, “A
crime is a crime, and criminal behavior cannot be tolerated.” Everywhere she
goes, she meets with the head of state and she meets with the women leaders of
grassroots organizations in each country. This goes automatically on her
schedule. As you’ve seen, when she went to Burma – our first government trip
there in 40 years. She met with its dictator and then she met with Aung San Suu
Kyi, the woman he kept under detention for 15 years, the leader of Burma’s
pro-democracy movement.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This isn’t just symbolism. It’s how you change the world. These
are the words of Dr. Gao Yaojie of China: “I will never forget our first
meeting. She said I reminded her of her mother. And she noticed my small bound
feet. I didn’t need to explain too much, and she understood completely. I could
tell how much she wanted to understand what I, an 80-something year old lady,
went through in China – the Cultural Revolution, uncovering the largest tainted
blood scandal in China, house arrest, forced family separation. I talked about
it like nothing and I joked about it, but she understood me as a person, a
mother, a doctor. She knew what I really went through.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When Vera Stremkovskaya, a lawyer and human rights activist from
Belarus met Hillary Clinton a few years ago, they took a photograph together.
And she said to one of the Secretary’s colleagues, “I want that picture.” And
the colleague said, “I will get you that picture as soon as possible.” And
Stremkovskaya said, “I need that picture.” And the colleague said, “I promise
you.” And Stremkovskaya said, “You don’t understand. That picture will be my
bullet-proof vest.” Never give up. Never, never, never, never, never give up.
That is what Hillary Clinton embodies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And the last thing I want to say is that it is not a simple job
to be a role model. (Laughter.) It is not just being endlessly compassionate,
polite, and well groomed. It’s equal parts being who you actually are and what
people hope you will be. It’s representing for all women our very best selves.
It’s an enormous burden to be placed upon any sweetly (inaudible) rounded
shoulders. But that’s what we ask of her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So it’s my job today as cheerleader-in-chief down here in front
of the team – (laughter) – to wave the pompoms and cheer, shout out
encouragement to our Madam Secretary for her willingness to take it all on – the
hostility and the sniping and the special scrutiny and the heavy artillery.
Artillery rhymes with Hillary. (Laughter.) I need to make a poem. (Laughter.)
Real and metaphorical, you all came through the metal detectors today that has
been aimed at her. We ask her to take on one more thing, and that is our
gratitude for her willingness to step into the light, for her willingness to
bring light into the world. This is what you get when you play a world leader.
(Applause and cheers.) But if you want a real world leader and you’re really,
really lucky, this is what you get. (Applause and cheers.)<b> <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">SECRETARY CLINTON:</span></b><span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="ftn1"></a>So how
do you like my jacket? (Laughter and applause.) I cannot believe what just
happened. (Laughter.) I really had no idea what was going to be portrayed or
done by Meryl. I thought we might get some extraordinary renditions of everyone
from Aung San Suu Kyi to Indira Gandhi, a reprise of Margaret Thatcher. And it
was quite astonishing because I’ve always admired her. And as she said, we do
unfortunately throughout our lives as girls and women often cast an appraising
eye on each other. I’m just glad she didn’t do a movie called The Devil Wears
Pantsuits. (Laughter.) <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But just as I marked various stages of my life by remembering
what amazing role she was playing at the time, it is quite a humbling
experience to have someone who I admire so greatly say what she said today.
Because the work that I’ve done has been work that I felt drawn to for some of
the same reasons that Meryl and I share these generational experiences,
particularly these big-hearted mothers who challenged us to go as far as our
efforts could take us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So here we are at the end – it truly is the end – of the
conference that has brought all of these women of the world, in the world, to
New York. And I want to thank Tina Brown and her entire team that worked so
hard to enable everyone to see what I get to see all the time. (Applause.) I
just can’t thank you enough. (Applause.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Because for me, it has not been so much work as a mission, it
has not been as strenuous as it has been inspiring, to have had the chance
throughout my life, but certainly in these last 20 years, to have the privilege
of meeting women and girls in our own country and then throughout the world who
are taking a stand, whose voices are being heard, who are assuming the risks
that come with sticking your neck out, whether you are a democracy activist in
Burma or a Georgetown law student in the United States. (Applause.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My life has been enriched, and I want yours to be as well. I am
thrilled that so many of you have taken the time out of your own lives to
celebrate these stories of these girls and women. And of course, now I hope
that through your own efforts, through your own activism, through the
foundations, through your political involvement, through your businesses,
through every channel you have, you will leave here today thinking about what
you too can do. Because when I flag in energy, when I do recognize that what my
friends are telling me – that I need more sleep – is probably true, I think
about the women whom I have had the honor to work with. Women like Dr. Gao, who
Meryl met, who is about – well, she’s shorter than the podium. She is in her
‘80s now. She did have bound feet. She became a doctor and she was the
physician who sounded the alarm about HIV/AIDS despite the Chinese Government’s
efforts for years to silence her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Or I think about Vera, the activist from Belarus whom I met.
She’s worked so hard to shine a spotlight on the abuses happening right inside
Europe one more time – another regime that believes silencing voices, locking
up dissidents, rigging elections, is the only way to stay in power. So she and
her allies brave the abuse every single day to say no, there is another way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Or Inex, who Meryl also mentioned, who I got to know during our
efforts on behalf of the peace process in Northern Ireland. And she was
reaching across all of these deep divides between the communities there, trying
to forge understanding and build bridges. And like Muhtaren, the Pakistani
young woman who had been so brutally assaulted for some absurd remnant out of
an ancient belief in settling scores between families which should have no
place in any country in the 21st century – (applause) – she was expected to
kill herself. Well, of course; you’ve been shamed, you’ve been dishonored;
through no fault of your own, you are now dead to us, so just finish the job. Well,
she not only didn’t, but she is a living rebuke to not only those who assaulted
her but to the government that did not recognize it needs to protect all of its
girls and women, because without their full involvement in their society, there
can never be the progress that is so necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, I doubt any of these women would have ever imagined being
mentioned on a stage by an Oscar-winning actress. I know I didn’t imagine I
would be so mentioned on this stage. (Laughter.) But they are because they are
special. We know about their stories. Somehow, we have seen their struggles
break through the indifference and the resistance to telling the stories of
girls and women who are struggling against such odds across the world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But they also represent so much more. Because this hall – I know
because I know many of you – are filled with women and men who are on the front
lines fighting for change, for justice, for freedom, for equal rights. And
there are tens of millions more who need our support. So what does it mean to
be a Woman in the World? Well, I too believe it means facing up to the
obstacles you confront, and each of us confront different kinds. It means never
giving up – giving up on yourself, giving up on your potential, giving up on
your future. It means waking early, working hard, putting a family, a
community, a country literally on your back, and building a better life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">You heard from Zin Mar Aung, the Burmese democracy activist who
spoke earlier. When I met her late last year when I, on your behalf, on behalf
of our country, went to Burma, I discussed with her and other activists what
civil society would now be able to do to further the political and the economic
reforms that the people so desperately need. And we did honor her along with
nine extraordinary other women as International Women of Courage at the State
Department.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">She, as you could see, came out of prison not embittered,
although she had every right to be so, but determined, determined to make her
contribution. She didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself, to worry whether
her hair was the right shade or the right length. She got to work. And because
of her, she’s founded four organizations, she’s working with young people and
women to build civil society and citizenship. She raises funds for orphanages,
she helps the families of political prisoners trying to re-enter into society,
and she is one of those watering the seeds of democracy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Or consider the young Nepali woman Suma, who sang so beautifully
for us. (Applause.) You know what her story was. Six years old, sold into
indentured servitude, working under desperate conditions, not allowed to go to
school, not even allowed to speak her own native language. But then finally rescued
by an NGO, an organization supported by the United States State Department,
your tax dollars, called Room to Read, helped her enroll in a local school.
We’ve helped 1,200 girls across India, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka
complete their secondary education.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So there is much we can do together. And I have to tell you, I
thought it was exquisitely appropriate as I woke up and was getting ready this
morning to open The New York Times front page and see Christine Lagarde and
Angela Merkel there. (Applause.) I know both of them and I think they are
worthy of our appreciation and admiration, because boy, do they have hard jobs.
Christine, who was here, is demonstrating not only her leadership at the IMF
but also sending a message that there is no longer any reason that women cannot
achieve in business, finance, the economy. And Chancellor Merkel is carrying
Europe on her shoulders, trying to navigate through this very difficult
economic crisis.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, I also heard a report of the call to action and the passion
that Leymah Gbowee, our Nobel Peace Prize winner, along with President Ellen
Johnson Sirleaf from Liberia summoned you to. Now, for those of you who have
seen the movie Pray the Devil Back to Hell, you know what happened in Liberia
in the spring of 2003. But for others of you who may not yet have seen it, I
urge you to do so, because thousands of women from all walks of life –
Christians and Muslims together – flooded the streets, marching, singing,
praying. Dressed all in white, they sat in a fish market under the hot sun
under a banner that said: “The women of Liberia want peace now.” And they built
a network and they delivered for their children and for future generations. It
was an extraordinary accomplishment. (Applause.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And when the peace talks finally happened in Ghana – not in
Liberia – they went to Ghana. They staged a sit-in at the negotiations, linked
arms, blocked the doors until the men inside reached an agreement. So the peace
was signed, the dictator fled, but still they did not rest. They turned their
energies to building an enduring peace. They worked to elect Ellen Johnson
Sirleaf, who became the first woman ever elected president of an African
country. And in January, I had the honor of attending her second inauguration.
(Applause.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I just saw my good friend, President Jahjaga of Kosovo. She’s a
very young president, but already her life is a testament for what women can do
to promote peace and security. She was still a student when the war started.
She saw so much suffering. She wanted to help. So after finishing her studies,
she became a police officer. She worked closely with international troops to
forge a fragile peace. She rose through the ranks and eventually became the
leader of the new Kosovo police force. And then just last year, she became the
first woman elected president anywhere in the Balkans. (Applause.) And she has
worked to bring her country together to promote the rule of law, ethnic
reconciliation, regional stability – all the while standing up for the rights
and opportunities of women and girls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">You can look around the world today and you can see the
difference that individual women leaders are making. Dilma Rousseff in Brazil,
former Chilean President Michelle Bachelet, who’s now leading UN women. They
carry an enormous load for the rest of us, because it is hard for any leader –
male or female. But I don’t fear contradiction when I say it is harder for
women leaders. There are so many built-in expectations, stereotypes,
caricatures that are still deeply embedded in psyches and cultures.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When I sat down alone for dinner with Aung San Suu Kyi back in
November, it really did feel like meeting an old friend, even though it was the
first time we’ve had a chance to see each other in person. Of course, from afar
I had admired her and appreciated her courage. I went to the house where she
had been unjustly imprisoned. Over dinner, we talked about the national
struggle, but we also talked about the personal struggle. How does one who has
been treated so unjustly overcome that personal sense of anger, of the years
that were lost, families that were no longer seen, in order to be a leader that
unites and brings people together? Nelson Mandela set such a high standard, and
he often told me how going to prison forced him to overcome the anger he felt
as a young man, because he knew when he walked out that prison door, if he were
still angry, if he still was filled with hatred, he would still be in prison.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, Aung San Suu Ky, like Nelson Mandela, would have been
remembered in history forever if she had not made the decision to enter
politics, as he did as well. So there she is at, I think, 67, out traveling in
an open car through the heat of the countryside, meeting crowds of tens of
thousands, even hundreds of thousands, absorbing their hopes that they are
putting onto her. She knows that when she crosses into politics, even though it
is ultimately the way change is made that can last, she moves from being an
icon to a politician. I know that route. (Laughter.) And I know how hard it is to
be able to balance one’s ideals, one’s aspirations, with the give and take of
any political process anywhere in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, we can tell stories all night and we can talk about the
women who have inspired us. But what inspires me is not just who they are, but
what they do. They roll their sleeves up and they get to work. And this has
such important implications for our own country and for our national security,
because our most important goals – from making peace and countering extremism
to broadening prosperity and advancing democracy – depend to a very large
degree on the participation and partnership of women.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Nations that invest in women’s employment, health, and education
are just more likely to have better outcomes. Their children will be healthier
and better educated. And all over the world, we’ve seen what women do when they
get involved in helping to bring peace. So this is not just the right thing to
do for us to hold up these women, to support them, to encourage their
involvement; this is a strategic imperative.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And that’s why at the State Department, I’ve made women a
cornerstone of American foreign policy. I’ve instructed our diplomats and
development experts to partner with women, to find ways to engage and build on
their unique strengths, help women start businesses, help girls attend school,
push that women activists will be involved in peace talks and elections. It
also means taking on discrimination, marginalization, rape as a tactic of war.
I have seen the terrible abuses and what that does to the lives of women, and I
know that we cannot rest until it is ended.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In December, we launched a U.S. National Action Plan on Women,
Peace, and Security, which is our roadmap for how we accelerate and
institutionalize efforts across the United States Government to advance women’s
participation. And we’re taking on some really tough problems. We’re trying to
build local capacity. We’re giving grants to train women activists and
journalists in Kenya in early-warning systems for violence. We’re supporting a
new trauma center for rape victims in Sudan. We’re helping women in the Central
African Republic access legal and economic services. We’re improving the
collection of medical evidence for the prosecution of gender-based violence in
the Democratic Republic of the Congo.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And that’s just the beginning, because from around the world,
from Iraq and Afghanistan to Sudan to the new transitional democracies in the
Middle East and North Africa, we’re expecting our embassies to develop local
strategies to empower women politically, economically, and socially.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But we are watching carefully what is happening. We are
concerned about the revolutions in the Middle East and North Africa. They held
so much promise, but they also carried real risks, especially for women. We saw
women on the front lines of the revolutions, most memorably in Cairo’s Tahrir
Square. They marched, they blogged, they tweeted, they risked their lives
alongside their sons and brothers – all in the name of dignity and opportunity.
But after the revolution, too often they have found their attempts to
participate in their new democracies blocked. We were delighted that our great
Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg went on a State Department-sponsored
trip to Egypt and Tunisia. And while there, she rightly said the daughters of
the Middle East “should be able to aspire and achieve based on the talent God
gave them and not be held back by any laws made by men.” (Applause.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Just a few weeks ago in a town hall meeting in Tunis, a young
woman wearing a head scarf stood up and talked about her experience working in
partnership with the U.S. Embassy in a program that we call Bridge to
Democracy. She said that often people she met were surprised that a young women
wearing a hijab would work with Americans, and that we would work with her.
Gradually, she said, these preconceptions broke down and increasingly people
are just eager to find new partners to help build their new democracy. I told
her that in America, in Tunisia, anywhere in the world, women should have the
right to make their own choices about what they wear, how they worship, the
jobs they do, the causes they support. These are choices women have to make for
themselves, and they are a fundamental test of democracy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, we know that young woman in Tunisia and her peers across
the region already are facing extremists who will try to strip their rights,
curb their participation, limit their ability to make choices for themselves.
Why extremists always focus on women remains a mystery to me. But they all seem
to. It doesn’t matter what country they’re in or what religion they claim. They
want to control women. They want to control how we dress, they want to control
how we act, they even want to control the decisions we make about our own
health and bodies. (Applause.) Yes, it is hard to believe that even here at
home, we have to stand up for women’s rights and reject efforts to marginalize
any one of us, because America needs to set an example for the entire world.
(Applause.) And it seems clear to me that to do that, we have to live our own
values and we have to defend our own values. We need to respect each other,
empower all our citizens, and find common ground.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We are living in what I call the Age of Participation. Economic,
political, and technological changes have empowered people everywhere to shape
their own destinies in ways previous generations could never have imagined. All
these women – these Women in the World – have proven that committed
individuals, often with help, help from their friends, can make a difference in
their own lives and far beyond.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.5pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #252525; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So let me have the great privilege of ending this conference by
challenging each of you. Every one of us needs to be part of the solution. Each
of us must truly be a Woman in the World. We need to be as fearless as the
women whose stories you have applauded, as committed as the dissidents and the
activists you have heard from, as audacious as those who start movements for
peace when all seems lost. Together, I do believe that it is part of the American
mission to ensure that people everywhere, women and men alike, finally have the
opportunity to live up to their own God-given potential. So let’s go forth and
make it happen. Thank you very much. (Applause.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-72270774061167963992012-03-26T18:03:00.000-07:002012-03-26T18:03:56.800-07:00Julia Cameron's Artist's Dates<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Back when I lived in New Mexico, my mom sent me cassette tapes of a Julia Cameron lecture that talked about her bestselling book, The Artist's Way. I loved those tapes, one in particular. They were the kind of tapes you could listen to a hundred times, and still get a new insight on the one hundredth listen. Alas, I've still got those tapes, but no cassette player. I think of them often, though, and one theme that frequently visits my life is the idea of an artist's date. This is a special time you, the artist, sets aside for yourself to help refill your creative reservoir. You don't let time-sucking friends over ride it. It's all about you and no one but you. If I remember correctly, she throws out examples that include shopping for buttons or antique maps. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Now that I'm a mom, I have a couple of questions. Does picking up a gallon of milk count as an artist date? See, I was out, picking up milk, on Sunday and I realized that it was the first time I'd been alone in I didn't know how long. The radio was on in the car and I was listening to Krista Tippet talk to a neuropsychologist about creativity. He was explaining how the brain pathways are different when you think creatively and I realized that I couldn't absorb what he was saying. I couldn't understand it because it was a deep thought, and I almost never have deep thoughts anymore. My thoughts are shallow: "Look your brother in the eye when you say sorry, and say it nicely or it won't mean sorry." "No, you can't have the blue bib because your sister has it and I wish we had two bibs that were identical so that we didn't have this conversation at every meal." "Yes, you can have cherries in your oatmeal." "Good job pooping in the big potty upstairs!"<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I remembered the famous essay by Virginia Wolfe, A Room of One's Own, where she talks about how important it is for people to have privacy to create. Not all that long ago, when I was single, I had plenty of privacy. I had hour upon hour all to myself. I had lots of time to think, and my thoughts were more complex than they are now. I have a harder time keeping up with complicated thought processes because I'm out of practice. That's okay. Childhood is fleeting. I'll have plenty of time later to exercise my deep thoughts muscles. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
But I did start thinking that I need to be better about artist dates. I can't spend two hours browsing aimlessly in a hardware store anymore. But I can custom design quicker dates that suit my current life. Here are some ideas. I'll add to the list as I think of others.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1. Sit in complete silence for 15 minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2. Take a yoga class.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3. Sit outside on my stoop while my kids are "napping" and draw a picture of the cement sidewalk (or something else nearby that I rarely look at carefully).<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4. Turn off internet for an entire day. (This doesn't count as a date, but while internet free, I'd be interested to see what I end up doing with myself.)<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">5. Spend twenty minutes in a shop where I know I'm never going to buy anything. (Bike shop, carpet store? My idea is to explore a new area without tasks and chores (things I need to buy) being part of the equation. </span>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-22395337933031820772012-02-13T20:17:00.000-08:002013-02-12T14:38:48.026-08:00Happy Valentine's Day, Single Women of the World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Z019FNPnJSMveRBBCpnnnO0rldJERPgdaXIirVjgi7bwocKW-WZXt_vRW6QPqjOTCMriCFi0-ZMhE4KTnBrgq8TgMwmgOgmm6Alt0Ve0ldYy_WETL9a6RxOhzQ5_7KjAxzO1WN5KxjxF/s1600/TTAD+cover+large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Z019FNPnJSMveRBBCpnnnO0rldJERPgdaXIirVjgi7bwocKW-WZXt_vRW6QPqjOTCMriCFi0-ZMhE4KTnBrgq8TgMwmgOgmm6Alt0Ve0ldYy_WETL9a6RxOhzQ5_7KjAxzO1WN5KxjxF/s320/TTAD+cover+large.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
This Valentine's Day, give yourself, or a single woman you love, the gift of laughter. Give her a copy of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0045U9RJQ/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B0045U9RJQ&linkCode=as2&tag=jullivthedre-20">The Truth About Dating (The Quinn Malone series)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=jullivthedre-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B0045U9RJQ" style="border: currentColor !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />,only 99 cents! I hated Valentine's Day when I was single. There was always so much pressure to not feel like an unloved loser. In all my years of singledom, I never had a single Valentine's Day that I got to spend with a boyfriend. When I married, I thought it would make every Valentine's Day perfect. Instead, marriage somehow neutralized the day to where it no longer mattered. Overnight, I suddenly couldn't have cared less about the day. I guess V-Day is a day of torture when you are single and a day of meaningless hype when you actually have a guy around to celebrate it with. <br />
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So show a little love to your single friends on this Valentine's Day. Single women have it hard (yes, Smug-Marrieds, they have it harder than you do, so stop whining about how having a husband is like having another child and give your single gal pals a hug and this book. And while you're at it, try reading it yourself. You might learn a thing or two.)<br />
<br />
Here's an excerpt from The Truth About Dating. After months of unsuccessful dates on Match.com, our heroine, Quinn Malone, has convinced her best friend Izzy to join Match, too.<br />
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<div class="ChapterTitle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/" name="ValentinesDay"><strong><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Chapter 26</span></strong></a></div>
<span style="color: red;"> <span style="mso-bookmark: ValentinesDay;"></span> </span><br />
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<strong><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Valentine’s Day</span></strong></div>
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<b><o:p> </o:p></b><span style="font-size: 16pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“I </span>had a meltdown on my date last night.” I told Izzy.</div>
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“Meltdown or breakthrough?” she asked. “You’re just getting more efficient.”</div>
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Maybe she was right. Ryan didn’t look particularly distressed when I left. In fact, he’d nodded and said, “Good points.” And he shook my hand before I left.</div>
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“I’m loving Match!” Izzy told me. “I’ve been out on three dates this week. I can’t believe how good it feels. This was just what the doctor ordered. I bought a six-month subscription.”</div>
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“You paid for six-months? You’ve had three dates in one week?” I asked.</div>
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“Yes. And even just the goodnight kisses have raised my self-confidence through the roof. I feel unstoppable. Match is the best thing I’ve done in years.”</div>
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“You’ve kissed people? How many?”</div>
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“All three.”</div>
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“You kissed all three men you met on Match?”</div>
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“Yes.”</div>
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“And they were kissable? You wanted to kiss them?”</div>
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“They were all babes. The first guy, Joe, had a kind of country boy charm to him. He was sweet. He paid for dinner.”</div>
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“You let a guy pay for dinner?”</div>
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“Why not? And as we were leaving, I figured, I’m going to kiss him. So I leaned in and gave him a small kiss on the lips. He was taken completely by surprise. It was fun.”</div>
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“—”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“The second guy was a banker and he was a little straight-laced. But I think I’m just what he needs to loosen up a little. And he’s a little short.”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“How short?”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It’s not too bad. But he’s just a couple of inches taller than me. It bothers me more than I’d like it to.”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Height? Who cares? Remember Max?” I asked.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Izzy rolled her eyes. “The name rings a bell.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Max was my…how do I say this without being trite? It’s not possible. He was my first love. We dated ten months before breaking up. Even though I’m the one who did the breaking up, I took the three-year plan to get over him. Izzy surely reached a point where she was so sick of Max’s name that she wanted to scream. But I almost never bring him up anymore. I probably haven’t mentioned him more than five times a year for the past 3-4 years.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“When I first met him,” I began, “I didn’t think he was good-looking at all.” Izzy had never met Max. I wasn’t living in Omaha back then. “I fell for him because he was so funny and because he had so much integrity.”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Izzy nodded. “I still don’t understand why you two broke up.”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We were moving down different paths. We had completely different life goals. He wanted a wife. I wanted a partnership. But toward the end of our dating life, I remember sitting with him at El Patio. Remember that restaurant?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“In the student ghetto?” Izzy had visited me enough times in Albuquerque to know my haunts.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah. And I suppose I knew that we weren’t going to make it. And I remember thinking that if I could just keep looking at him forever, I would.” I grimaced. “We broke up that same night. About some stupid fight. I can’t even remember now.”</div>
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“So, by the end, you thought he was handsome.”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No. Even then, while I was staring at him, I remember thinking ‘All this pain he’s causing and he’s not even good-looking.’ I loved his looks anyway.”</div>
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“He sounds like he had a lot of charisma.”</div>
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“He did. Charisma is deadly,” I warned. I did a little internal survey. It was still painful to talk about Max. I moved on. “But some guys just make you click, you know? And no one has it all. So if it happens with the banker, if you fall for him, you won’t care about his height anyway.”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Izzy nodded. “And he’s a great kisser. And, we’re going out on Valentine’s Day!”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Valentine’s Day? When is that?”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Saturday.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“How do you manage all this? I haven’t had a single kissable guy since I started Match. Except for Caleb, who just wanted sex.”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What about the guy from California?”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Derek. He flies in next Saturday.”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You should kiss him.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I don’t know if he’s kissable.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“He’s cute. He’s flying across the country to see you.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’ll try. Okay. That will be my weekend goal. To kiss him.”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You won’t regret it,” Izzy said.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
On Valentine’s Day, I had Moo Shu Pork take out and listened to the Cowboy Junkies’ Trinity Session cd until I felt completely desolate. Izzy called. “How are you doing?”</div>
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“Aren’t you on your date?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Uh-oh. You don’t sound good. Do I hear the Cowboy Junkies?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I felt my eyes tear up. “I don’t know why I do this to myself,” I said. “It’s just a stupid greeting card holiday.”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yesterday, everyone at work was saying ‘Happy Valentine’s Day.’ I told everyone, ‘Happy Friday the 13<sup>th</sup>!’”</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
That made me smile, a little bit. “What about your date?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m dressing for it right now. So tell me, what are you going to do to make yourself feel better?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Eat a pint of Häagen-Dazs?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No. First, turn off the Cowboy Junkies. Second, watch a movie. Go rent something you haven’t seen before but always wanted to.”</div>
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“I’m kind of settled at home,” I said. “I thought I’d stay in for the night.”</div>
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“It’s 6:30!” she snapped.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I don’t know how safe the roads are, what with all those happy couples driving around on dates.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Listen to me,” Izzy said. “You have a Match.com guy flying in from California next week, to see you! Now march yourself outside right now and rent something funny that will get you out of this state you’ve gotten yourself into.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Okay.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Promise?”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I rented Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the movie. It wasn’t as good as the television series. Izzy was right, though. It did make me feel better.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0045U9RJQ/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B0045U9RJQ&linkCode=as2&tag=jullivthedre-20"><img border="0" src="http://ws.assoc-amazon.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&ASIN=B0045U9RJQ&Format=_SL110_&ID=AsinImage&MarketPlace=US&ServiceVersion=20070822&WS=1&tag=jullivthedre-20" /></a>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-52311242282221615512012-02-08T05:08:00.000-08:002012-02-08T05:08:23.605-08:00Murder with Art, A Ruby Neptune Mystery (Book 2)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0076PTX8M/ref=cm_cr_rev_prod_img" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhAJHKI-mWyapfXxS2JuR1fSA6A36eyywbr7_LPEfMD0zs_zkjsAbKOOWVQugKoXcvSePaqElHXWSed93NzCKzqpsWleAeIS-3dRnTOqzjjPHROnfTXZrD_PD8UkleLSZq55trakQoapR/s200/new+MwA+cover.jpg" width="124" /></a></div><strong>The second book in my Ruby Neptune mystery series, Murder with Art, is now available.</strong> <br />
<br />
<strong>The blurb:</strong><br />
In an art gallery in New York City, a wealthy banker is murdered. Manhattan’s art scene is full of people who would have benefited from his death, but newly-published writer Ruby Neptune takes it personally when her best friend, a local artist, becomes the prime suspect. Still traumatized from the death of her neighbor a few months earlier, Ruby jeopardizes her tenuous recovery to investigate. As the incriminating evidence piles up, she realizes she’s gotten in too deep, but it’s too late to turn back. Ruby has no choice but to seek out the truth, even if it means drawing the attention of the killer onto herself. <br />
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This book can be read on its own, but it's even better if you read it after you've read the first in the series, Murder Beyond Words.<br />
<br />
I uploaded it last night (February 7th). It probably went live at about 3AM on February 8th. When I logged on this morning at 6AM, someone had already purchased a copy. If that was you, would you drop me a line to say hi and let me know what made you buy the first copy? <br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0076PTX8M/ref=cm_cr_rev_prod_img" target="_blank">Click here to purchase Murder with Art on Amazon.</a>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-28890383423463541932012-02-07T11:57:00.000-08:002012-02-09T04:46:28.277-08:00The Gut-wrenching Pain of De-cluttering BookcasesIt's a dreary day, ideal, one might say, for de-cluttering. But cloudy days bring out the opposite of productive energy in me. However, here's a quick update on what happened over the weekend. <br />
<br />
Our basement had been totally torn apart because we got the walls insulated. This meant that we had to move everything to the center. If clutter causes stress, our basement would cause an anxiety attack in anyone who wasn't blind. Just to do laundry we've had to navigate around piles of crap. While we were all recovering from the stomach flu two weekends ago, my husband cleared up the area by the washer/dryer. On Saturday, we turned on a movie for the kids and began moving everything back onto shelves, rehanging the peg board for the tools, and sorting through the stuff that we have but don't know what to do with so store down where we can't see it. <br />
<br />
The workmen who have been insulating our house were planning to return on Monday morning to put insulation on our windows. We have a 100-year old house and our windows have a weight and pulley system that creates drafts. They had some new device that covers the openings of the weight cavities. So even though I didn't want to start the Big Bedroom De-clutter till Monday, I felt obligated to clean up sooner. While my husband finished in the basement, I did a deep dust clean of the bedroom, vacuuming on the top of all the windows, all the baseboards, and in all the nooks and crannies of our weight machine. From there, I did that in all the windows upstairs. Too bad dust is a completely useless resource. <br />
<br />
Since the bedroom looked pretty good, I decided to get back to it later and start on an easier project, my kids' room. We have an entire wall of books. I started sorting them out yesterday, because we are totally out of room. I had my little boy with me. He was busy trying to read all the books I took down and objecting to any of his books being given away. We were rocking out to Six Little Ducks and a bunch of other kids' music. Pretty quickly, he lost interest and started pretending that his bed was a train he was taking to Florida. <br />
<br />
Books I removed: Ethan Frome, Life of Pi, Biography of Zora Neale Hurston, Alice Walker's In Search Of Our Mother's Garden, which I've had since I was about 24 years old. The Strange Incident of the Dog in the Nightime, Kitchen, by Banana Yoshimoto, The Three Musketeers, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, North and South, Mauprat, by George Sands (which I've had since I was a student in Brooklyn), and many, many more. It was heartbreaking. I bought tons of them when I lived in New York City in my early twenties, and I've carted them with me to various apartments, then to New Mexico, Minnesota, and Nebraska. Now I've got a 1300 square home, more space than I've ever had in my entire life, and I'm getting rid of them? It's painful. I remembered exactly where I bought many of those books. The stores and the street vendors. And then, after I had this huge pile of books, I looked up and the bookcase was still completely overstuffed and full, with no real room. <br />
<br />
I got rid of a bunch of my kids' books. Criteria? If I don't like reading them, goodbye. Then I opened their closet (which we never use. I had to move two pieces of furniture to get to it, and inside were about sixty more books. So I took a pile of them out, and put them on the shelf. I'm going to try to read and throw out books that I don't like. Also in that closet is a crib that we apparently can't give away because of recalls for side-dropping cribs. We have a Visiting Nurse friend who gives a lot of our stuff to at-risk new mothers, but she can't take the crib because of the recall. Ironically, she is the one who gave us the crib in the first place! We used it for both of our kids. Now we can't give it away. I hated to think of it in the dump, so I just shut the closet door and moved all the furniture back. I'll deal with the closet another day. <br />
<br />
I'll come back to the bookcase again, after my husband has sorted through all of his books and hopefully thrown a bunch out. <br />
<br />
<br />
De-cluttering is tiring because it's so emotional. It was easy to just clean the bedroom this weekend. It was draining to de-clutter the bookcase yesterday. Since I've put the bedroom project on temporary hold, I decided to tackle the bathroom. I'm going to go up there after nap-time today with a big garbage bag. How hard can it be to toss out half used hair care products and expired tubes of cortisone?Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-51360204056473714332011-12-17T16:53:00.000-08:002011-12-18T08:39:16.903-08:00Oh, Christmas Tree!"I've been collecting ornaments for twenty years," I told my husband, "for exactly this moment!"<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
We'd just brought home the tree. On our first Christmas together, my husband and I compromised on the Christmas tree. He was concerned about the environmental impact of chopping down Christmas trees. He wanted one in a pot, that we could replant. I liked the idea until I actually saw one. It was a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, a couple of feet high, lightly sprinkled with glitter. It couldn't hold my string of lights without sagging.</div>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
So we compromised. Then next year we'd get a chopped tree. And we'd alternate. Luckily, it turned out that the re-plantable tree was a joke. It turned out that that tree could only be planted if you lived in a climate like Florida. (The tree would never have survived our winter, even if we'd mangaged to keep it alive until the ground thawed.)</div>
<br />
That was five years ago. Since then we've gotten all our trees at a local tree farm where you tag your tree in the fall and come back to get it in the winter. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBMNbXO_A7tY5bE-mdJliNbGR8PXw7poOtDVq77hraKJMTbqvxzrxQux5C_00pn7tVYVCkTqAKc7mY6tu5VM3Z8ebgCxfalUrYt2rMfPmyT03mPEc_W2oQWZm0wROCn0Wg-c7Q-6nlzmT/s1600/DSC_0082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBMNbXO_A7tY5bE-mdJliNbGR8PXw7poOtDVq77hraKJMTbqvxzrxQux5C_00pn7tVYVCkTqAKc7mY6tu5VM3Z8ebgCxfalUrYt2rMfPmyT03mPEc_W2oQWZm0wROCn0Wg-c7Q-6nlzmT/s320/DSC_0082.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This year our tree was beautiful. We live in an old home, with ten foot high ceilings. Our tree nearly touched the ceiling!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh93mw8ZT5e6WZ07V6by2j54dIS86fsp3Mjcc7GdWHKvJ4uhIfsQ_lyqSj3CLgxHI03WZIywcLBc9XApr2YgP55CWqJRsL11-kWbQ0naB1LZag3eM07ke5Lh8ymSpmIYe7wTBYtFhardHWU/s1600/DSC_0103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh93mw8ZT5e6WZ07V6by2j54dIS86fsp3Mjcc7GdWHKvJ4uhIfsQ_lyqSj3CLgxHI03WZIywcLBc9XApr2YgP55CWqJRsL11-kWbQ0naB1LZag3eM07ke5Lh8ymSpmIYe7wTBYtFhardHWU/s320/DSC_0103.JPG" width="212" /></a><br />
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I unpacked the ornaments I'd been collecting for twenty years and passed them to my 3 and 4 year old kids to hang. Christmas music played in the background as we trimmed our tree. The only thing missing was a snowstorm (and I wasn't about to complain about that!)<br />
<br />
I had a pomegranate ornament that I'd bought, probably fifteen years ago, hand-blown in Bavaria. It was so precious that I'd never hung it before. I was planning to bring it out when the kids were older. When I was a child, we had four ornaments that had glitter flowers on them. As I recall, two were pink and two were purple. Us four children loved these ornaments. They were extra-special. I wanted my kids to have ornaments like that. So, this Christmas, I took out my special pomegranate ornament, then I changed my mind and put it away. But then I looked at the tree. It was perfect. Tall and fragrant. This tree deserved the pomegranate ornament. I did hang it up high, for safety.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMxdvnBPEEJuZTuKwre5O9GlNhCD9jMtQc2PLDRWYlmUQnKNUL4LQPHcyuzoAlz6AMTYOmq3khgDpy2LQjuVnB8DLFYuqsaYiN5yO-PYzYgcs2Kn7Q8XBHHBHU2YYJhB22xtsoGiaquTM/s1600/DSC_0154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDMxdvnBPEEJuZTuKwre5O9GlNhCD9jMtQc2PLDRWYlmUQnKNUL4LQPHcyuzoAlz6AMTYOmq3khgDpy2LQjuVnB8DLFYuqsaYiN5yO-PYzYgcs2Kn7Q8XBHHBHU2YYJhB22xtsoGiaquTM/s200/DSC_0154.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
I have other great ornaments. I have dozens of milagros sent to my from my former landlady in New Mexico. I have armadillos, glitter stars, ceramic Santas with feet that dance, plus, several ornaments that my step-mother, who died earlier this year, has sent over the years. I even have a ceramic dog that raises its leg to pee when you pull on a chain with a fire hydrant. The kids have ornaments that they made at my daughter's preschool, and we have some new teddy bears that we made of felt earlier this month. <br />
<br />
My husband needed a chair to put the star on top, and we were done! That's when I turned to my husband and said, ""I've been collecting ornaments for twenty years for exactly this moment!" I was full of joy. My husband, my children, my dog, and my 99-year old home at Christmastime. This was the life I'd been dreaming of for twenty years. <br />
<br />
My husband left on some errands. The kids went upstairs to nap. While the house was quiet, I wrapped my husband's presents so we had something to put under the tree. In a nod to his committent to the environment, I wrapped them in newspaper, but to make them look pretty, I made bows to match.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZt13DzZcm9LUZul3BD8LV13afYGrp5RwGlS8uY87wj83ZGGsKddnMNzUGnua4NCRkhNvTmbXRyXti4jH6k8SppO9NqCADphwkuRZVy6MtoG_zZNC7ELQirKnR2rOLbngrLZcfqkwbixIv/s1600/DSC_0143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZt13DzZcm9LUZul3BD8LV13afYGrp5RwGlS8uY87wj83ZGGsKddnMNzUGnua4NCRkhNvTmbXRyXti4jH6k8SppO9NqCADphwkuRZVy6MtoG_zZNC7ELQirKnR2rOLbngrLZcfqkwbixIv/s320/DSC_0143.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The only thing left was the candy canes. I waited until the kids were back downstairs. They were happily hanging the candy canes when I remembered we had another box we'd bought a few weeks ago. Where was that box? My little boy walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, and I followed, thinking that the candy canes were in our pantry. I thought I saw them on the top shelf. I had just gotten to the top step of my stool when I heard the sound of glass breaking. A lot of glass breaking. I was in the kitchen with my son. My daughter was alone with the tree. She hadn't made a peep. I jumped off the stool and raced into the livingroom.<br />
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My four-year old daughter was standing next to the tree. "What happened?" I cried. <br />
"It just fell," she said. "I wasn't touching it." <em>Right</em>. Then she started crying. "The ornaments broke!" she cried. I could see that. There were shattered ornaments all over the rug. Water for the tree had spilled all over. My daughter's cries increased to where she was hysterical. Understandably, as our Christmas tree was now stretched across the floor in a pool of shatterered ornaments. "It's okay," I told her, pulling her onto my lap. After she'd calmed down, I put her and her brother in the other room, away from the broken glass, and started cleaning up.<br />
<br />
First, I had to get our bear of a tree upright. When my husband had carried it in, he'd said it was a "pig of a tree." He was right. Once I'd finally gotten it vertical, I began assessing the damage. Among the broken ornaments was my pomegranate ornament, in a box for twenty years, on a tree for two hours, and then shattered, scooped up, and dumped into the garbage can. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijkRg5QoY1tmqw1kKtrg7uazgg6oO64w-eE-v4xgspsGyA60J6Q2R0CYZZnHW3LTXXgAT2eQG_of4QtJ1y8VJaoVKiuCVN5HsuNPe7myVxuUmjGeZ0bIne5Ez6u07sHisbqhT1YDnf_SV/s1600/DSC_0149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijkRg5QoY1tmqw1kKtrg7uazgg6oO64w-eE-v4xgspsGyA60J6Q2R0CYZZnHW3LTXXgAT2eQG_of4QtJ1y8VJaoVKiuCVN5HsuNPe7myVxuUmjGeZ0bIne5Ez6u07sHisbqhT1YDnf_SV/s200/DSC_0149.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
Other casualties were the first Christmas present we ever gave my daughter when she was just six months old, the first ornament my step-mother sent her, an ornament my sister had given me about eighteen years ago, and the star that went on the top of our tree. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOqjMMu663kfRSEcIeG30MUVH_yMkUsk5n7iUuBNnjyJkVcfl0EEnOpV0_1wft0xU2fnjFd2hFAMPfFJ_vl1rbRXQdHsPL1ysDmpWDgvkcvelq4JVQ3Ztozuu5Slta-zJISvRstH05EbMh/s1600/DSC_0151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOqjMMu663kfRSEcIeG30MUVH_yMkUsk5n7iUuBNnjyJkVcfl0EEnOpV0_1wft0xU2fnjFd2hFAMPfFJ_vl1rbRXQdHsPL1ysDmpWDgvkcvelq4JVQ3Ztozuu5Slta-zJISvRstH05EbMh/s200/DSC_0151.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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When my husband came home, my daughter, who'd forgotten the trauma, started crying all over again. My husband tied the tree to the wall, and I put shoes on my kids and finished cleaning up all the broken glass. The kids re-hung the ornaments that survived. My husband turned to me and said, "Sorry, Baby." Christmas with kids. Life with kids. I counted my blessings and went back to the kitchen to find the last box of candy canes and a container of glue.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgyUC0GKtfftPlHpkb1VJi6t1oGcGB2qewH-QMebnbiF6knpY7kpfVN993_5KKwaBnrp_iPjp3RbpNgwGYnlvFsTBqlh9Bg4UxnhoUgMi_gCO8PmohLfzOPGDWAAJzggbwtvlXc_R1Mx_/s1600/DSC_0114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgyUC0GKtfftPlHpkb1VJi6t1oGcGB2qewH-QMebnbiF6knpY7kpfVN993_5KKwaBnrp_iPjp3RbpNgwGYnlvFsTBqlh9Bg4UxnhoUgMi_gCO8PmohLfzOPGDWAAJzggbwtvlXc_R1Mx_/s320/DSC_0114.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Pre-fall picture of my daughter handing the first Christmas present we ever gave her. </div>
<img height="63" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiY4fSWTxZ88s_bHVxBeTWD4_544iQjD_R8HRr0vEH2rl8BKd_I4jvbGLryJUHbv__EKqMvcUU3Wue2HhHYXwY_HDOE3roXd6chV0t6SpQ3cyMrzby-ztyyUgQgRNSfPbhO7t8csQ6UxN5/s320/aggie+first+christmas.JPG" style="filter: alpha(opacity=30); left: 288px; mozopacity: 0.3; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 478px; visibility: hidden;" width="96" /> <div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiY4fSWTxZ88s_bHVxBeTWD4_544iQjD_R8HRr0vEH2rl8BKd_I4jvbGLryJUHbv__EKqMvcUU3Wue2HhHYXwY_HDOE3roXd6chV0t6SpQ3cyMrzby-ztyyUgQgRNSfPbhO7t8csQ6UxN5/s1600/aggie+first+christmas.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiY4fSWTxZ88s_bHVxBeTWD4_544iQjD_R8HRr0vEH2rl8BKd_I4jvbGLryJUHbv__EKqMvcUU3Wue2HhHYXwY_HDOE3roXd6chV0t6SpQ3cyMrzby-ztyyUgQgRNSfPbhO7t8csQ6UxN5/s320/aggie+first+christmas.JPG" style="cursor: move;" unselectable="on" width="320" /></a></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-51972687963138447042011-10-15T15:19:00.000-07:002011-12-15T18:01:50.625-08:00Filling your creative reservoirIn January, I'm leaving my job to stay at home full time. My husband will go back to work full time. We're doing a complete switcheroo, but since my husband will work 3 12-hr shifts, we'll have four days a week when we are all home together as a family. I cannot wait for January to come. But in the meantime, I've been thinking it would be a good idea to plan out some things I want to accomplish once I'm home full-time. Normally, I'm great at lists like these. I've spent much of my adult life making lists of my dream schedule, goals I want to reach, and what I would do if I won the lottery. But all of a sudden, I've got a case of list-block. All I can come up with is doing Bikram Yoga again and organizing the baby books and photo albums. I mentioned this to my friend Kim, and even though she's on the other side of the world, in New Zealand, she gamely whipped out a list FOR me.<br />
<br />
1. Yoga<br />
2. Create a children's gardening book to go along with husband's gardening. You could have different sections for different ages.<br />
3. Create a children's cookbook to go along with the children's gardening. Maybe model it after that 3-ingredient Buddhist cookbook you found awhile back.<br />
4. Teach a kids' art class or volunteer at pre-school.<br />
5. Learn how to make wine<br />
6. Redecorate a room in your house (or create a new "Julie space" for yourself in the basement)<br />
7. Plan for the next 5 years - what kinds of lunches and snacks are you going to send to school with the kids (don't lie, you know you're going to think about that)? How much are you going to have to spend on school supplies and clothes? (or wait, is that just something nutty that I would do?)<br />
8. Study massage<br />
9. Knit and/or sew blankets and clothes for homeless shelters<br />
10. Learn how to give yourself a pedicure<br />
11. Take language samples from son and transcribe them-just kidding. (this is an inside joke for anyone who's taken a phonetics class)<br />
12. Put a dent in that list of movies you've been wanting to see and books you've been wanting to read<br />
13. Join a book/wine club<br />
14. Sell Amway<br />
15. Bet on the ponies<br />
16. Teach daughter how to ride a tricycle/bicycle; teach son how to cut the grass<br />
17. Learn how to make candles, lotion, lip balm, etc. (that's actually fun)<br />
18. Take ballroom dancing lessons with husband<br />
19. Plan half-day or full day trips to places around Omaha (cultural events, festivals, etc.)<br />
20. Volunteer to play with the animals at the Humane Society<br />
<br />
Kim's ability to whip out a list has me wondering about what is happening in my life to stop me from creating my own. Of course, it would be easy to blame it on motherhood, or "mommy brain" as I'm fond of saying when I screw things up. But I think it's my writing that has stopped me from making lists. Because my life is so busy, I don't have a lot of free time. So when I'm working on a book, as I am now (Murder With Art - 32k words and counting), I have to spend all my free time on that book. When I have down time I'm writing. If I can't write (because I'm lying in bed trying to fall asleep, for example) I'm planning the next scene or rejiggering the plot. In other words, my book writing is stifling my creativity. I literally can't make time for other big ideas because my book writing is sapping all my resources. <br />
<br />
When I was single, with tons of free time on my hand, I had plenty of ways to fill my creative resorvoir. Julia Cameron wrote, in The Artist's Way, about renewing creativity with artist dates. The idea was to do something special, all on your own. Go button shopping. Take a long walk. Visit a junk store. But these things are not so easy to do in my current existance. It's kind of sad to say that my best chance at reviving my creative resources will be when my book is done. But when this book is done, I'm starting on the sequel to The Truth About Dating. I've already got the outline. The book is just waiting to be written. <br />
<br />
So what I've decided, for January, is to start putting up some boundaries on my writing. I'm going to continue to write, obivously, but writing my books will be limited to a set amount of time. The rest of the time I'm going to try to blog and write letters to friends. And read. For now, one of my major goals will be to read. <br />
<br />
Winter<br />
1. Enjoy my children, who are very young and won't be that way much longer.<br />
2. Yoga.<br />
3. Catch up on photo albums and baby books.<br />
4. Learn to do all the cat's cradle tricks. Jacob's ladder, etc.<br />
5. Learn to crochet via You Tube.<br />
6. Start doing more blogs, esp a series I might call Lame Parenting. After all, the pressure's going to be ON once I'm home full time!<br />
Read. <br />
7. Write - novel, letters, blog.<br />
8. Figure out why my computer says it's got updates every time it's shutting down.<br />
<br />
Spring<br />
1. All of the above.<br />
2. Flower gardening<br />
3. Finish sequel to The Truth About Dating<br />
Summer<br />
1. All of the above except...<br />
2. Take a break from books until Fall or even longer. <br />
<br />
I'll keep you posted!Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-49361518459003775402011-08-13T13:04:00.000-07:002011-08-13T13:04:22.783-07:00Murder Beyond Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLd9cVLUztOUPK_mWWIgo3HNaDkqzIEhkeryNTniGnssQhowAb73QcM0HnFe3hMD9IMt2CqAn3TKkyQSXWAQO3cYASy6Te01M_BmdntlrhljEcYjdP0uMI3Qw9p5zhCwrX1m3G6tJ7wJFe/s1600/MBW+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLd9cVLUztOUPK_mWWIgo3HNaDkqzIEhkeryNTniGnssQhowAb73QcM0HnFe3hMD9IMt2CqAn3TKkyQSXWAQO3cYASy6Te01M_BmdntlrhljEcYjdP0uMI3Qw9p5zhCwrX1m3G6tJ7wJFe/s200/MBW+cover.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>If this heat has put you in the mood for a chilling murder mystery, check out my latest release, Murder Beyond Words. It's only 99 cents, available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords. <br />
<br />
<em>During a heat wave in New York City, a literary agent is murdered in her Brooklyn apartment. Across the hall in 3B, aspiring writer Ruby Neptune finds herself sucked into the murder investigation of a neighbor she barely knew and didn’t really like. The agent seems to have known her killer, as there was no forced entry. Ruby slowly discovers that many of her neighbor’s friends had strong reasons to want her dead. Determined to find the killer, Ruby puts her own life on hold, which upsets her closest friends, one of whom suspect that her new boyfriend is capable of the murder. As the list of suspects narrows, it hits uncomfortably close to home and Ruby finds herself lying to friends and even putting aside her writing career to solve the case. But will Ruby be able to identify the killer before she becomes the next victim?</em><br />
<br />
<em>Amazon link: </em> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Murder-Beyond-Neptune-Mystery-ebook/dp/B005GAP2HU/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1312847799&sr=1-1">http://www.amazon.com/Murder-Beyond-Neptune-Mystery-ebook/dp/B005GAP2HU/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1312847799&sr=1-1</a><br />
<br />
Barnes and Noble: <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/murder-beyond-words-julie-christensen/1104307539?ean=2940013169517&itm=1&usri=murder%2bbeyond%2bwords">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/murder-beyond-words-julie-christensen/1104307539?ean=2940013169517&itm=1&usri=murder%2bbeyond%2bwords</a>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-62605530567484813682011-04-02T18:39:00.000-07:002011-04-02T18:39:06.107-07:00Coffee Break: Julie Christensen<a href="http://www.marypathyland.com/thehylander/2011/04/02/coffee-break-julie-christensen/">Coffee Break: Julie Christensen</a> Check out this interview I did on a great blog - Hylander Diner. A nice place to go for 99 cent books, as well as conversations about reading and writing.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-7960105873918020212011-04-01T19:50:00.001-07:002011-04-27T10:37:38.126-07:00Living The DreamToday I spent the entire day with my kids, instead of working. Normally, my husband is home and I work full-time, but today he had to attend an all day work thing, so I got to step into his shoes. The first of April, it was our first sunny, warm day since I don’t know when. My husband left before the kids got up. We had breakfast, and then my daughter was dropped off at pre-school and my son and I were on our own. I’m not used to this routine, so I forgot my daughter’s knapsack. When I knelt down to kiss her goodbye at preschool, I realized that I’d also forgotten to wipe her face after breakfast. <br />
My son and I went on to some thrift stores, in search of yellow or red rain boots for him. No luck, but we had fun, looking at toddler-sized luggage (zipper broken) and an empty toddler wading pool. He got to play with the toys while I checked out children’s books. <br />
<br />
Next stop was the zoo. It was great to go to the zoo all alone with my son. He is two now. He runs ahead of me and knows exactly where he wants to go: moving water ball, fishes, waterfalls, outside fishes. <br />
<br />
You have to know the Omaha zoo to understand the giant globe that moves and has water streaming over it. He stood up on the ledge and ran his hands over the freezing water. Next a potty break, then the aquarium, where he ran ahead of me, looking at his favorite exhibits – jelly fish, tunnel of fish, penguins, Nemo fish. Halfway through he said, “Mommy, I want to go outside.” So off we went. On to howling monkeys, bears (and their waterfalls), and koi (outdoor fish.) <br />
<br />
We left the zoo to pick up his three year old sister from preschool. I said to my son, “Tell Aggie what you did today.” My son said, “I went to the zoo and washed my hands.”<br />
<br />
Oh, the perspective of the two year old. Novelty is more important than content, thus, hand washing after a potty break trumps monkeys who hang from their arms, eye-level with you, howling so loudly that you can hear them throughout the entire zoo.<br />
<br />
What in my life would be different if I had my two year old’s perspective? Definitely, the feeling of his hand clenching my two fingers as we walked through the zoo trumped the jellyfish, the tunnel of fish, the monkeys. Well, it trumped it all. Isn’t it interesting that hand washing and hand holding mean more than anything a zoo with a bazillion dollar endowment has to offer?Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-25790291891976444172011-03-19T18:26:00.000-07:002011-03-20T10:17:31.697-07:00Excerpt From Searching For Meredith Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTpt2IiQgUu7co2JOxprSHjWvYhLNzgWKpztCVEo2Wj2cG_GebSv0kI4nMD7kwuWw6GuANE5tebfqKzasJKAQfqQVGeBiPHpzkV3ck3pBsEax45xzx19yr5qQNX0UDpRjaMUUZq4Yln-A/s1600/SFML_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTpt2IiQgUu7co2JOxprSHjWvYhLNzgWKpztCVEo2Wj2cG_GebSv0kI4nMD7kwuWw6GuANE5tebfqKzasJKAQfqQVGeBiPHpzkV3ck3pBsEax45xzx19yr5qQNX0UDpRjaMUUZq4Yln-A/s200/SFML_small.jpg" width="139" /></a></div>I'm going to post excerpts from my novels, for Pixel of Ink's Sample Sundays. Check it out!<br />
<br />
Here is an excerpt from Chapter Five of Searching For Meredith Love<br />
<br />
The next morning, Meredith woke up early. Pushing up, she looked out the window. The sky was a steely gray. Mendra’s warm, compact body was curled into a ball against her right thigh. It would be terrible to disturb her. Everything was contriving to keep her in bed. She fell back into the pillow, closing her eyes. Then Ben Abel’s face appeared behind her eyes and she sprung up like a jackrabbit, shocking Mendra out of her dreams. Was it real? Yes! Ben Abel had asked her out, just as she’d hoped he would. She picked Mendra up and held her up to her face. “Dreams can come true!” she told Mendra.<br />
<br />
On the way to work, she remembered Kira's invitation to dinner on Friday. Taking the stairs two at a time, she dashed into Kira's office. Kira was already there. She often came in at 7:30 so she could leave early for her second job. Kira was munching from a bowl of dry Cheerios as she stared at her computer. Without really looking away from the screen, she said, “You’d better have a damn good explanation for being so chipper this early in the morning.” <br />
<br />
Meredith shifted her weight. Her right knee was hurting a little from her reckless sprint up the stairs. “I have to cancel our plans for Friday. I got a better offer.”<br />
<br />
“Oh boy. It better be a hot date.” She turned to look at Meredith. <br />
<br />
Meredith came inside and shut the door. She sat down, still bundled in her coat. “It’s Ben Abel!” she squealed. She felt like a fourteen-year-old. “He asked me out yesterday when I was leaving. He biked here yesterday just to ask me.” Every sentence was an affirmation. <br />
<br />
“He’s a babe. I wondered if he liked you when we were at happy hour. You played it cool, though. I would never have guessed.”<br />
<br />
“Kira, I knocked down a chair going after him!”<br />
<br />
“Did you? I hadn’t noticed. You must have done it very gracefully.”<br />
<br />
It took fifteen minutes for Meredith to tell her every detail of their two minute conversation outside Family Practice. Back at her desk, Meredith was contentedly reading through her email when Sarah called. <br />
<br />
“Eli is having a party on Friday. He wants you to come.”<br />
<br />
“Eli barely knows me,” Meredith protested.<br />
<br />
“He specifically asked me to invite you. You have to come. He said he never gets to see you anymore.”<br />
<br />
Meredith doubted that any of what Sarah said was true. “I can’t go.” Just get it over with. “I have a date.”<br />
<br />
“You what? With whom?”<br />
<br />
“A resident here. Ben Abel. You don’t know him.”<br />
<br />
“He asked you out?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah,” Meredith said.<br />
<br />
“Just?”<br />
<br />
“Just.” ...last night, she added silently.<br />
<br />
“Is he still there?”<br />
<br />
“No.” <br />
<br />
“Oh my God!” Sarah screamed the last word into Meredith's ear. “You have a date!” Meredith started to feel guilty about not telling her sooner. “The virgin queen has a date.” The guilt vanished.<br />
<br />
“I’m not a virgin,” Meredith whispered, peering into the hall to see if anyone was within earshot. She hoped that sticking to the facts now balanced out the lie earlier.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On Friday, the night of her big date, Meredith left the office at two. She showered and shaved and sanded her feet with pumice. She’d already picked out her dress, a tight-fitting black velvet number that she’d worn only once before, when she lived in New York. She had a garnet choker she’d bought here in Albuquerque. By 4:30 she was ready, so she added a little make-up just to kill the time. She started with her standard, lipstick, but then began brushing on mascara and blush, then a little eye shadow. When she looked in the mirror, she felt like a prostitute, but as she reached for a tissue, her doorbell rang. “Shit!” Meredith exclaimed. She’d totally lost track of time and now she’d have to answer the door with gunk on her face. Definitely not part of the fantasy.<br />
<br />
Ben stood on the porch holding a small bouquet of irises and rose buds. “Hi,” Meredith said. Her giant grin was spreading again. “These are beautiful,” she said. “No one’s brought me flowers since high school. Thank you.”<br />
<br />
As Ben stepped into the room she saw he was also dressed up. He wore a navy suit with a tomato red tie and a slate blue shirt. He’s got style, Meredith thought to herself, surprised. She was filling a jelly jar with water for the flowers, still wondering how she was going to get back to the bathroom to cream off the rest of her makeup.<br />
<br />
“You look incredible,” Ben told her. <br />
<br />
“I do?”<br />
<br />
“Yes. The dress, the hair, your face...you look pretty in jeans and no makeup, you’re beautiful in jeans and no makeup, but right now you’re stunning.”<br />
<br />
Meredith decided the makeup could stay. She went for her coat and when she turned back around, Ben was on his knees, offering his fingers to Mendra to sniff. Meredith couldn’t remember when she’d last vacuumed. She could picture Ben's navy pant legs covered in cat hair. “This is Mendra.”<br />
<br />
“She’s got a lot of presence,” Ben told her.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Meredith had been worried about the drive up to Santa Fe, but her fears were unwarranted. As it turned out, she and Ben had other things in common besides physical attraction. They both liked to cook, hike, camp, and watch Antique Road Show on PBS. They had graduated the same year from high school. Ben had first gone to art school for two years before switching to a pre-med program at another university. <br />
<br />
“You’re kidding.”<br />
<br />
“Is that so hard to believe?”<br />
<br />
“Why?” Meredith asked. “What made you turn from art to science?”<br />
<br />
“It’s not turning away,” Ben argued as he moved deftly between cars on the two lane road to Santa Fe. “Science is a very creative process. Medicine really feels like an extension of my training in art. What about you? What did you do after high school?” Meredith had noticed he never let the topic rest on him for more than a few minutes.<br />
<br />
“I went to art school, too. In New York. I got my BFA.” She felt foolish revealing this.<br />
<br />
“God. I had no idea we had so much in common. And you also continue your creative process. Computer programming is just another form of design, wouldn’t you say?”<br />
<br />
“I have no idea. I’ve never thought of it as anything more than an abandonment of my childhood dreams to be a painter.”<br />
<br />
“You’re too rough on yourself. What’s your medium?”<br />
<br />
“Oils were.” <br />
<br />
“I was a sculptor. I like the three-dimensional aspect, being able to turn pieces around and work from all sides.” He laughed. “Still do.”<br />
<br />
Meredith laughed too. “I’m sure your patients appreciate being compared to fine art.”<br />
<br />
“Huh? Oh, I get it.” He chuckled. “That’s funny, Meredith. Actually, I didn’t mean my patients. I was referring to the sculptures I do at home.”<br />
<br />
“You still make art?”<br />
<br />
“Of course. I mean, yes. Not nearly as much as I used to.” He paused. “I take it from your ‘oils were’ response that you’ve gotten away from painting?”<br />
<br />
Meredith could see her reflection in the glass window to her right. “I haven’t picked up a paintbrush since I graduated.” <br />
<br />
They drove in silence for awhile. <br />
<br />
“Does your job do it for you?” Ben asked suddenly.<br />
<br />
“Do what?”<br />
<br />
“You know. Give you an outlet for expressing yourself?”<br />
<br />
“No. Honestly, it’s not a very creative job.”<br />
<br />
“How can you stand it, then?”<br />
<br />
“It’s easier than you think. To push all of that aside. I never even think about it anymore.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
“So you kissed?” Kira was at Meredith’s, sitting in an overstuffed armchair Meredith had rescued from a trash heap. A cup of coffee was balanced on her knee and she was methodically adding multiple packs of sugar. Meredith was across from her on the floor, drinking herbal tea because she was wired enough.<br />
<br />
Meredith smiled. “We did.”<br />
<br />
“When, how long, how was it? I want every detail.”<br />
<br />
“We were sitting in his truck, talking.”<br />
<br />
“Parked where?”<br />
<br />
“In my driveway. We were just talking and then he started playing with a strand of my hair. All at once I couldn’t speak. There was this horrible, gaping silence...”<br />
<br />
“Which probably only you noticed.”<br />
<br />
“Maybe,” Meredith conceded. “And while I was in that state he leaned in and kissed me.”<br />
<br />
“Length?”<br />
<br />
“A minute. No, thirty seconds. Maybe less. Then he leaned back and started staring at me again so I turned to look out the window and said, ‘I wonder if it’s going to snow tonight?’”<br />
<br />
“Good one.”<br />
<br />
“Thanks. So he laughed and turned my head back around to face him. And then he kissed me again.”<br />
<br />
“Length?”<br />
<br />
“Ten minutes.”<br />
<br />
“Ten minutes!” Kira moved so suddenly her coffee spilled. Meredith thought of all that sugar and wondered if she’d get ants.<br />
<br />
“Well, we were making out. Really it was closer to thirty minutes.”<br />
<br />
“So you invited him in...”<br />
<br />
“No! God! After making out with him for thirty minutes, he’d think I was inviting him in to have sex.”<br />
<br />
“Did you want to have sex?”<br />
<br />
“Gosh, yes! But I barely know him. What if he’s an IV drug user or a male slut...”<br />
<br />
“I don’t think that Ben is either of those things.”<br />
<br />
“It’s been a long time, Kira.”<br />
<br />
“It’s like riding a bicycle.”<br />
<br />
“Years.”<br />
<br />
“Bicycle.”Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-4008703587629584432010-12-24T20:04:00.000-08:002010-12-24T20:04:41.232-08:00Searching For Meredith Love is on sale now!My novel, Searching For Meredith Love, just went live on Kindle, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, and Google Books. I wrote this book when I was living in New Mexico. I spent years trying to find an agent, and although several liked it, no one actually wanted to take it on. Since my last book went up on Kindle and is doing so well, I've realized that I don't need an agent to sell my book. If you are a writer, you understand the beauty of this sentence. Finding an agent is, I kid you not, harder than writing a book, but, I don't need an agent to sell my book! Merry Christmas!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1q_lLzUAWySBU_GU89BMjH64p8mwivI8z5FCNahVt_jFZch0YLH3aR2TWKzNtDMP8Mt1KGxeKI1vqaVtY5tDFNEjkqZdhKiQb1aI5JcHQJLf3Zb1hbhIj4IswQiPqu0UKD9RQH7qAs_PI/s1600/SFML+cover+95.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1q_lLzUAWySBU_GU89BMjH64p8mwivI8z5FCNahVt_jFZch0YLH3aR2TWKzNtDMP8Mt1KGxeKI1vqaVtY5tDFNEjkqZdhKiQb1aI5JcHQJLf3Zb1hbhIj4IswQiPqu0UKD9RQH7qAs_PI/s320/SFML+cover+95.jpg" width="223" /></a></div><br />
Amazon (Kindle, iANYTHING, Smart Phones):<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Searching-for-Meredith-Love-ebook/dp/B004E3XUD8/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top">http://www.amazon.com/Searching-for-Meredith-Love-ebook/dp/B004E3XUD8/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top</a><br />
<br />
Barnes and Noble (Nook):<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Searching-for-Meredith-Love-ebook/dp/B004E3XUD8/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top">http://www.amazon.com/Searching-for-Meredith-Love-ebook/dp/B004E3XUD8/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top</a><br />
<br />
Smashwords: <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/34558">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/34558</a><br />
<br />
Google Books: Coming soon. Books are uploaded, but it takes five days to show, apparently.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-79173552610590831822010-11-19T12:59:00.000-08:002010-11-19T13:09:35.410-08:00Books Sales/Mice UpdateSales have been chugging along on my book, and, sadly, no more mice have been caught. <a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a>(See Dead Mice vs. Book Sales post.) Raised an Irish Catholic I am, of course, deeply superstitious which is why I can't rejoice that we have no mice. I can only wait for a sales slump and listen for the traps to go "clack, clack, clack!"Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-55812314263634337042010-11-14T18:03:00.000-08:002011-01-20T13:17:01.366-08:00Three Minute FictionThis is a story I submitted to the fifth round of NPR's 3 Minute Fiction. There were over 5000 submissions, so I won't take it personally that I didn't win. :) The contest was announced on 9/11/10. I was in the kitchen, cooking dinner. I turned my ideas around in my head for the rest of the evening, and as soon as I got the kids went to bed, I ran upstairs to type it out. The next day, I cut about 200 words to stay within the 600 word limit. And then it was done. And here it is. 600 words exactly.<br />
<br />
The Neighbors<br />
<br />
<br />
Some people swore that the house was haunted. Even before the brownstone stood empty, the family that lived there was isolated; the mother wore a black burkha that made her look like a negative image of a ghost floating down the street. Maybe it was unfair to blame the family for the distance; neighbors on the block felt uncomfortable making small talk. <br />
<br />
“I’d be in a tank top,” said Marie Costa, three doors down, “and she’d say ‘Hi,’ covered, from head to toe, with her two kids. And I’d flashback to my grandma telling me I had loose morals because I’d gotten my ears pierced.” <br />
<br />
Eric Williams, one door down, regretted that he’d never learned their names. “If we’d known them better, we could have tried to find out what happened to them.”<br />
<br />
The family disappeared on 9/11/01, but no one noticed at first. Cynthia Rice’s husband was killed in the World Trade Center. In the aftermath, everyone was shell-shocked. Jet fighter planes roared overhead and paper from the towers floated across the East river to land in Joan Wellington’s backyard. <br />
<br />
Joan was the first to realize they were gone. As anti-Muslim sentiment rose, Joan decided to pay them a visit, to extend a hand of friendship. No one answered her knocks. Chinese food menus were piled up at their door. Talking to neighbors eventually established that no one had seen the family since Mr. Smith, an elderly renter, saw them leave together on the morning of 9/11.<br />
<br />
The years went by but the house stayed empty. Wet leaves covered the sidewalks. Snow fell. Gum melted to the pavement. Each anniversary, the block mourned the man they had lost. As time passed, some said the Muslim family was responsible for Jeffery Rice’s death. Others said they had fled in fear. Others, like Joan, just wondered what had become of them. <br />
<br />
The ninth anniversary was especially upsetting to the block because friends had stopped speaking to each other over the issue of the Muslim center near ground zero. Joan, for example, was no longer on speaking terms with Cynthia, her neighbor of 17 years. They had watched each other’s children, and Joan had practically moved in when Cynthia’s husband was killed. But more recently Joan had called Cynthia “prejudiced” and Cynthia had said that Joan hated America.<br />
<br />
On 9/11/10, Joan saw a man unlocking the door of the empty house. <br />
<br />
She went outside. “Hello. Do you live here?”<br />
<br />
The man turned. “My sister lived here, with her family.”<br />
<br />
“I remember them.”<br />
<br />
The man didn’t speak, as if he was expecting Joan to say more. <br />
<br />
“What happened to them?” she finally asked.<br />
<br />
He looked surprised. “They were killed in the attack on the World Trade Center,” he said. “My brother-in-law had an office. They often breakfasted there on days when my sister and the kids spent the day in Manhattan.”<br />
<br />
Joan stared at him, in shock.<br />
<br />
“I live in London, and I couldn’t bring myself to return to face my sister’s empty home,” he said. His shoulders dropped. “But nine years of being haunted by a house is enough.”<br />
<br />
“I didn’t know.” <br />
<br />
“The papers printed their names,” he said.<br />
<br />
“I didn’t know their names.” Joan bowed her head. “Someone else on this street died there, too.” <br />
<br />
“You mean Rice?” The man shook his head. “Haven’t you read the paper? He didn’t die. They just found him, in Canada. He had never gone to work that day. He’d been fired the week before and hadn’t told his wife. When the towers fell, he just left.” <br />
<br />
Nothing was ever the same again after that.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-18132668596821579092010-11-12T18:19:00.000-08:002010-11-16T09:29:11.675-08:00Dead Mice vs. Book SalesMice. In our house. We have mice in our house!!! <br />
<br />
I was enjoying the first quiet period I’ve had, probably in three years. Kids were asleep; husband was at a garage sale. I was in the recliner, reading. The house was gloriously silent. In this dead silence, a mouse ran into the center of the living room, saw me, and ran back under the sofa. My feet were up. I actually had time to read in the middle of the day. Sometimes, as a mother, you make choices you never thought you’d make when you were single. I kept reading. Then a second mouse appeared (different color), saw me, and ran back under the couch. I debated. I read another paragraph. Then I got up and called my husband on his cell. Miraculously, he had it turned on and he heard it. He’d found a used swing set for $10. I asked him to pick up mouse traps on his way home. I brought my dog in from outside. He didn’t want to hang out with me. He wanted to go back outside, so I had to use the baby gate to trap him in the living room with me. I had this notion that he might catch one of the mice. As soon as he fell asleep, a third mouse appeared, saw the dog, and ran back under the couch. My husband called. He was stuck on the interstate, behind an accident, with the swing set strapped to his little pick-up truck. “Get home as soon as you can,” I said. “I have the mice cornered behind the sofa.”<br />
<br />
No more appearances by mice. My husband walked in full of doom and gloom about the mice. “Once you have mice, they’re here to stay. They were all in the sofa??? There's probably a nest in the sofa!” etc. By the time he was done, I was totally freaked out. I had to leave the room when he pulled back the sofa. <br />
<br />
There was no nest. There were no mice. The little rascals got by me and my dog. Probably through the ventilation system. We set spring traps. That evening, as we watched TV, I saw a mouse run down our hall three times. Our traps caught no mice. <br />
<br />
Desperate times call for desperate measures. We got glue traps. I had a mouse problem in college. Of course, that was in a dorm, in Brooklyn, NY. You expect mice there, but not in Omaha. I am morally opposed to glue traps. Mice don’t die instantly – they suffer. But in college, the spring traps didn’t catch them. And on one quiet, Brooklyn day, when I was studying philosophy in the kitchen and my roommates were gone for the weekend, a family of seven mice walked across our linoleum floor. They also got into all our food, including the bag of bread on top of our refrigerator. So I solved my moral dilemma. I only put the glue traps down when I was home. As soon as a mouse was caught, I threw it out my sixth story window. I killed ten or twelve mice this way. (Relax! They all landed in the courtyard in the center of the building. No one had access to the courtyard). <br />
<br />
My husband bought twenty glue traps, which we put out after the kids went to bed. No mice. <br />
<br />
Now, coincidently, I have an ebook for sale on Amazon, Barnes and Nobles, and Smashwords. Every day I can see the sales I made. You might think I’d check daily for a week, then get bored and check weekly. But no, I check my sales about 25 times a day. I feel like a rat, pushing a button to get a pellet. Sometimes, I get a sale, sometimes I get four sales, sometimes I get nothing. In research studies, the more pellets the rat gets, the less it pushes the button. The more intermittent the reward, the more it keeps pushing. So, basically, I’m a rat. A writer rat. Now, here’s the weird part. The first day that I had no sale, we caught a mouse. Then I had sales for four days. No mice. Then a day with no sales, but a dead mouse. So now, I’m torn. Do I root for a book sale, or a dead mouse? And why can’t I have both? Because God thinks he’s pretty damn funny, I guess. Or fate, or the universe, or the Mouse God. Which would you root for? Book sales or dead mice?Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755251112592919791.post-60516492100235616892010-10-16T07:01:00.000-07:002013-03-07T06:08:58.255-08:00The Truth About Dating, live on Kindle!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5-3L6YxVDGC9IiMd5Qnn6q2BinkNo0kunJWGXejVE-KMoan8zpCX2kqV-V61D-kliqewKMBFocOVigJwYju466GqkC3JzTqEdm3RlaQ9HBf8nq7JDzUfrUHeAHx6CuQ-CaC-IHmBc2Lr/s1600/TTAD+cover+55.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5-3L6YxVDGC9IiMd5Qnn6q2BinkNo0kunJWGXejVE-KMoan8zpCX2kqV-V61D-kliqewKMBFocOVigJwYju466GqkC3JzTqEdm3RlaQ9HBf8nq7JDzUfrUHeAHx6CuQ-CaC-IHmBc2Lr/s320/TTAD+cover+55.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Truth-About-Dating-ebook/dp/B0045U9RJQ/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1287237042&sr=8-2"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.amazon.com/The-Truth-About-Dating-ebook/dp/B0045U9RJQ/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1287237042&sr=8-2</span></a><br />
<br />
This week my novel, The Truth About Dating, went live on Kindle. I posted it after hearing an interview on American Public Media’s The Story with a writer, Karen McQuestion, who, after years of false starts with literary agents, posted her novels on Kindle. Within six hours she had a sale, and eventually, a movie deal. That’s when a publisher came calling. <br />
<br />
<br />
The way Kindle works, you upload your book, set your price, and get a percentage of every sale. If you list your book from $2.99 to 9.99, you get a 70% royalty. This is amazingly high. Any other price gives you 35%, which isn’t bad either. I decided to set my book price at $1.00. After all, I wasn’t expecting to get rich from my book sales. I just want people to read it. A low price seemed like a good way to get people to take a chance with an indie author. <br />
<br />
Posting the book was a lot harder than I expected. Amazon doesn’t really give you much help, but after a week or so of trial and error, I finally figured out how to convert my manuscript to html and upload it. I had a great cover, done by graphic designer Jennifer Digman. <br />
<br />
When I finally went live, I put a bottle of champagne (actually, cava, from Barcelona) in the fridge. I was going to celebrate when I made my first sale. No one knew that my book was posted (except my husband). I started manically checking my sales sheet. It was like biting you nails or any other bad habit. I couldn’t stop, and nothing sold. After two days, I told myself, OK, no more checking for one week. But the next day, I had fallen off the wagon and was logging on to check. And lo and behold, I had a sale. I had sold a copy of my book!<br />
<br />
I called my husband from work. He said, “I’ll have the champagne ready when you get home.” But then I started wondering if some family member or friend had stumbled across my book and bought it. Plus, it was a Wednesday night. Did I really want to drink a whole bottle of champagne on a work night? I called my husband back and said, “Let’s save it for the weekend.” Then, just before I left work that day, I checked one more time, and this time, I also clicked on the sales report for the UK. Two sales in the UK! I had sold three books, and two of them in the UK! I called my husband back. It was time to celebrate! <br />
<br />
When I got home, he had made my favorite food, popovers. And mac and cheese. And we opened the cava and toasted those strangers who decided to take a chance on an author they’d never heard of before! The kids had juice. And of course, they wouldn’t eat the homemade mac and cheese because they prefer the instant Kraft kind that you cook in the microwave. Kids always help keep your life in perspective. I’m Julie Christensen, author, seller of three books, and mother of fussy eaters. Amen!<br />
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Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02885540644387218443noreply@blogger.com5