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 My fake sugar addiction

Addicted to that white powder

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danger…danger…danger…

Back in November, I was scrolling through one of my social media newsfeed and I clicked on an article, which I can’t find anymore, that detailed how artificial sweeteners break down in your system and – get this – encourage your body to store fat. Can I just say, damn. I’m a tea drinker. I start my day with tea. I drink tea while I write. I have a cup in the evening while I watch tv. I drink a lot of tea. And I liked my tea sweet and creamy, so I was using 4 packets of fake sugar plus a big splash of creamer in each cup. I’d often drink 5 or 6 during the first couple of hours of a writing session. I was consuming 20 – 24 packets per day at least 5 days a week. In November I was trying to make a deadline so I was writing 7 days a week and pummeling my body with up to 168 packets per week. And I’d been doing this for years. That’s an obscene amount of artificial sweetener.

As soon as I read that article I contacted my daughter the chemist, to ask her about the article’s science. “Yeah, I saw something about that.” …and….? “We’ll chemistry related stuff that I don’t quite understand that went on for a while.…” followed by, “you understand?” No, not really, but I’ll trust you.

Getting rid of the evidence

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bags and bags and bags

After that horrifying conversation, I dug around in my pantry and chucked my stockpile of fake sugar packets in the trash. And the boxes in the recycle bin, of course. And now I was faced with a harsh reality. What the heck was I going to do? I hadn’t drunk unadulterated tea in thirty years. Except for that time the Denny’s waitress brought the fake sugar with my bill. I was tempted to leave her tip in one of the empty packets. As a former waitress, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

The first morning after the purge, I made a cup of tea sans natural. Yuck. Determined to make it work, I headed to the grocery store and bought a variety of herbal teas with strange names that guaranteed to temper my twitchy demeanor and keep my butt in my swivel chair for a typical eight hour writing day. All the experiment did was piss me off as I thought about how much money and time I’d wasted.

 

A new devil…

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shake me baby and I’ll love you

Then I thought, okay, I’ll just switch to real sugar. I happened to be up in Orlando hitting some roller coasters and stopped by the Coca Cola store for one of their sugar shakers. For about a week, I used real sugar in my tea. I was happy. And in my own way, medicated. Then I read another article on one of my social media timelines. Why, do I do this?

According to the article, I really need to learn to bookmark, a woman is only supposed to consume six teaspoons of sugar a day. Bad things happen when you go over that mark. At the moment, I can’t remember any of the bad things, but according to the article, there were many.

So. I was back to square one.

And then, I stopped into the book store to browse the isles and caught sight of a tin of

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damnit Jim, it’s spicy

cinnamon tea. OMfreakingG, this stuff was amazing. Especially if you steeped it with two bags. Very spice, lots of flavor. No sugar. No cream. No nothing extra. Quite a bit of caffeine though. Especially made my way, with two to three bags. But yes, they do have decaf and yes, they have loose leaf. (And no shipping costs for ground at the moment) I bought a tin. And then another.

 

And then another.

And guess what happened? Besides my new hobby of collecting empty tea tins. Thanks to my boycott of fake sugar, I lost four pounds. Almost immediately. I also lost my sweet tooth. This week, about two and a half months into the switch, I’m almost down another pound. My clothes fit better. I feel better. My checkbook is speaking to me again. (I was about to up to the next size in shorts)

Now my life is sunshine and puppy dogs. Well, not completely. My next makeover involves sleep. Or the lack there of. Perhaps my insomnia is linked to my caffeine intake. Hmmmmmm.

Are you a tea drinker? Have you got a favorite flavor to recommend?

Drink lots of tea and Write On,

Melissa

 

 

 

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Avengers to the Rescue

With so much sadness and despair in the news recently, I thought it was the perfect time to call in a few heroes. Please welcome David Vick, my first guest blogger. David, a marital artist, choreographer and teacher, is part of the group, Arizona Avengers. Members use cosplay (dressing up as favorite film, novel or video game characters) to bring smiles to kids in need at events like the SuperHero Age of Empowerment: Superhero Shopping Spree

Today, David talks a little bit about what brought him into the world of superheroes.

Avengers Assemble!

****

Icons and Representation: An Arizona Avenger’s Journey

img_1727 Comic books were never a big thing for me when I was younger. They loomed in the background occasionally rearing up here and there in various ways, from animation to companion books with toys. I never sought them outright. Then, in the summer of 2005, my brother got me a ticket to San Diego Comic Con and I got a nerd reset!

Ten years later, I took the plunge into costuming as a hobby when working at a daycare center in a resort and having to craft things for and with the kids. And when my friend Jessy, who I knew through my martial art of Capoeira, needed a costume buddy to pair with her comic version of black widow, I had to say yes. It was a great excuse to bleach my hair!

Representation Matters

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That lightbulb was lookin’ at me funny

When I read issue 19 of Fraction’s Hawkeye, I saw a perfect representation of the isolation I have felt most of my adult life thanks to my hearing issues. (Hawkeye becomes deaf in a 4 issue miniseries in 1983 and in the modern comic version uses hearing aides) It struck me in a way I didn’t expect and not only made me appreciate Clint Barton as a character, but the creators of that issue who touched on a sensitive subject with such a high level of respect and skill.

To finally see someone dealing with an issue similar to mine was a profound experience about how comic books can affect perceptions of others and of the self in a positive way. One of my favorite moments in cosplaying was signing with a deaf person as the character Hawkeye.

Right now, I cosplay many different Marvel characters, but Hawkeye will always be my favorite. It was the first costume I put together. I have Matt Fraction, David Aja, and Matt Hollingsworth to thank for that. This is what led me to the second motivation in life.

Altruism and Iconography

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Yeah, that kid was shocked

For a hobby to stick with me, there has to be some element of altruism involved. Otherwise, I feel somewhat selfish; I’ve learned to give in order to get.

Have you ever seen the face of a person, young or young at heart, see a character they held to a high regard in their own lives in person?

It’s a mesmerizingly splendid experience, to bring that sense of wonder and happiness to a person, especially if they’re in a condition when they need it the most. Volunteering with the Arizona Avengers and becoming an officer for the organization has been rewarding on a very deep level.

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Those nurses and doctors put up a good fight

Doing our best to make these people happy for charity is all the payment I need. They’ve kept me motivated to do my best, and now I have 18 or so characters thanks to help from others in the costuming community. I didn’t do everything by myself.

It can be a challenging hobby, but it has been a rewarding one so far. Who knew all these good things could happen when I was able to embrace my inner nerd?

***

Thanks David!

If you are in the Southern Arizona area, and need the Arizona Avengers at your next charity event, you can get in touch with David here.

In the meantime, don’t let your cape get caught in any airplane engines and Write On,

Melissa

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Saying Goodbye to a Friend

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Rum Induced Red Eye

 

The Yellow Brick Road

A few Saturdays ago, I got a birthday card from one of my favorite people, James. On the front, Dorothy, the Scarecrow, Tinman, and the Cowardly Lion are gazing up at something wonderful. Probably Oz. Inside, James made a joke about pickings being slim at the Winn Dixie at one am. To me, though, the card was perfect.

Key West, where James lived and were I spent two wonderful years, was my Oz. I’d left the bleak brown desert of Arizona, crossed the country via the Yellow Brick Road (A.K.A. the Interstate Highway System) and arrived on Duval Street where the colors were brighter, the rum smoother and the smells smellier. By the time I left the island, twenty-five months later, I was a women who’d found all that her heart desired. Two amazing friendships and the best orange rum cake in the universe. (I already had true love)

When I opened James’s card that Saturday, it was late. I sent a quick message telling him that the card had arrived on my actual birthday, I loved it, and that somewhere over the rainbow there was lots of rum. He didn’t reply. I didn’t think anything of it. Sometimes we went days between replies.

The next morning, I woke up to an email from a mutual friend. James was no longer with us.

I had to sit up, read the message twice and then wake my husband. Did this really mean what I thought it meant? Sadly, it did. Sometime between mailing my card and my birthday, James had taken his own life. I can’t say I was completely surprised. There was a lot of sadness in his soul.

I can say that I was pissed.

And then sobbing uncontrollably.

And then pissed again.

When someone dies, it’s easy for the survivors to only remember the good stuff. James wasn’t perfect. He could be argumentative and exhausting and difficult. But he was also funny. And cheeky. And sarcastic. And above all else, fiercely loyal to those he called his friends. And that circle was wide and eclectic. In the days that followed his death, those friends began sharing their James stories. And so many of them began the same way. I saw him and I knew I had to be his friend. It was that way for me too. He had an intoxicating energy that you just had to be a part of.

Rolling a piano down the street and stopping to play for traffic. Strolling to the bar with two great danes and a parrot on his shoulder. Wearing a top hat to the grocery store, just because. Teaching a friend to embrace Madonna: take control, don’t be second best, express yourself. 

All hail Matti Makkonen, inventor of the text message

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oh that Lucy

For the last few weeks, my days have been filled with so many I need to text that to James moments.

There’s an I Love Lucy special being advertised on tv. Does he know? Is he going to watch? Oh my God, some toy company made wide eyed Joan Crawford and Betty Davis, Whatever happened to Baby Jane dolls. Has he seen the ad? The dolls eyes are amazingly creepy. That actor from that tv show has a bio out. Has he read it? The writing is the absolute worst. He needs to grab it from the library so that he can leave one of his scathing catty reviews. It’ll be so hysterical!

I pull out my phone. Poise my thumb over the keypad and then suddenly remember.

Did I text him that much during the four years that I knew him? Probably not. But knowing that he’s no longer there makes each lost moment feel devastatingly important. Something that only he would understand. And appreciate. And love.

Put it in Print

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scoping out a house that was inspiration for a setting in our book

James was a writer. That’s how we met. I joined a little critique group and there he was. He wrote essays. Sometimes they were gut wrenching; the loss of his beloved Great Dane left me in tears for days. Sometimes snort inducing; his annoyed take on the idiocy of organized meditation made me want to sign up for a class. Just for a laugh. We’d talked a lot about what he’d include in a second volume. It would have been good.

I’m crushed that he and I will never write the book we plotted out about a girl who steps off a cruise ship in Key West and meets a bartender who inspires her to rethink her life. We joked that it was our story.

 

Lady Sings the Blues

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Martini Me

James had a thing for Diana Ross. Her attitude. Her amazing voice. Her voluminous hair. Her attitude. I know I’m not the only one out there with a mix CD of her songs compiled by him for my specific needs.

And though he loved her best, it really wasn’t just Diana that did it for him.

The man simply loved music. It defined each moment in life. It set the mood. It lifted the spirit. It gave one the strength to go on. For a time anyway.

Not long ago, one of his dear friends, DJ Donna Flaggs of WHCP radio out of Maryland dedicated an entire show of smokey blues to James. If you’re not already a member of soundcloud, you can still listen with a free 30 day trial. He’d have thought the fuss was silly but I know he would have secretly loved the selections.

I’ll miss you the most, Scarecrow

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It’s only been a month. The urge to text James my every waking thought will probably go away soon. I’m going to finish the book I’m currently writing and then revisit the outline we wrote for our book. Maybe I’ll contact his sister about pursuing the story on my own. Maybe not. Right now, it’s still too soon. I’m thankful for the new friends I’ve found through James. They’ve made the loss bearable. I’ll be back in OZ, a.k.a. Key West in the fall and I hope to connect with many of them. We’ll talk about James and drink rum and probably sing some Diana Ross. And maybe I’ll text him about it.

 

Sing along and Write on,

Melissa

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Running out of Days

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Disney world at Christmas

I woke up this morning and realized I’d lost 12 days. My sweetie has been getting us ready for our next races, so it’s write, run, sleep, repeat. We did take a day to zip down to a caption theater in Appleton for a showing of Zootopia. It was one of those nifty theaters that have recliners for seats so we basically drove 3 hrs roundtrip for a nap. (you may recall I’m hearing impaired so I live and die by the caption) Okay, we didn’t sleep through the whole movie. Just bits and pieces. Despite it being adorable. It’s just that those seats are dangerous and I know that one day I’m going to wake up and discover that I’ve snuggled an innocent seat mate.

So, what races are we readying for? How sweet of you to ask. On the 20th of this month we have a 10k down near Milwaukee and on April 17 we’re running the inaugural Star Wars Half Marathon – the Dark Side at Disney World. (think villains) I have no idea what to wear for that one. I’m toying with a t-shirt that reads something like, ask me about the light. Or, have you accepted Yoda as your savior? We’re still deciding.

In the meantime, I’m pushing hard to finish How to Sex Your Snake this week. (yeah, my sweetie doesn’t believe me either) One of my kids is prepping for an IT test and we have a personal challenge going as to who will be done first. The deadline is Thursday at midnight, so we’ll see. Loser takes the winner to the movies. Which is perfect. Cause, come Friday, I’ll be ready for a nap.

Keep track of your days and Write On,

Melissa

ps

Disney World is our go to spot for relaxing and we’re counting down the days till we’re Florida residents again and can renew our annual passes at those lovely local rates. What’s your go to spot? To be perfectly honest, if we had the money, we’d buy a place in Puerto Rico or one of the US Virgin Islands. So, how about if money was no object? Where would you be?

 

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Super Tuesday!

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You’re gonna vote right?  Don’t make me smack you. 

Today is Super Tuesday! That means that people in 12 more states get to make decisions for me. I’m really tempted to move to Iowa so that my primary vote actually counts. But snow. So. I’m not gonna. I hate to think that by the time they get to my state, there won’t be a choice anymore.

So, go forth people of Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Colorado, Georgia, Massachusetts, Minnesota, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Texas, Vermont, Virginia and  American Samoa, a U.S. territory in the South Pacific.

If you live in one of these places, get your hiney to the polls. I don’t care about your politics or lack thereof.  And no, don’t think that your single vote doesn’t count. Less that 60% of eligible voters show up. Don’t let 40% of Americans continue to be losers.

Get up early, stay out late, bring a book for the line, just get your freakin’ ass to the polls.

GO VOTE. Now. Make the time.

Vote. And Write On,

Melissa

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Dreaming of Key West

fantasy-fest
During one of the Fantasy Fest parades in Key West, 2012. I’m laughing at something epic the pink haired girl just said. Or maybe just checking out their body paint. Wish like hell I could remember which it was.

Yesterday, yet another of my facebook friends posted that they were vacationing in Key West. For jealousy inducing proof, they included a beach themed photo with their announcement. That’s my 3rd friend to visit the keys since early December. As winter has moved into Northern Wisconsin, I’ve been treated, via my Facebook newsfeed, to tanned bodies lazin’ on the beach, romantic boat rides at sunset, and happy people getting their drink on.

And it’s killing me. Seriously.

You see, from 2012-2014 Key West was my stomping grounds. Thanks to my husband’s job, we were renting a little house on Raccoon Key (aka Key Haven) just a mile and a half from Duval Street and living life completely in the moment. At least, when he was in town. Though the perks of his job were great, he was out of the country more than he was in. Six weeks gone, 4 weeks home, lather, rinse, repeat. When he wasn’t around, all the lazy bike rides, magical sunsets and getting my drink on didn’t make up for…wait, where was I going with this? Just kidding. Being alone all the time gets old really fast. After two years, we’d had enough. He retired and we headed to Northern Wisconsin to spend some time near family. Yeah, I got a lot of ribbing from folks reminding me that we were heading in the wrong direction.

But despite all the sour grapes I’ve been drinking watching happy friends in my former playground, it’s been nice reconnecting with my not so distant past. If you’re headed that way and looking for things to do, spend a little time on the blog that Mark and I wrote while we lived there, A Twist of Key Lime. (It was easier to blog than to have to repeat the same stories over and over and over and…) The last entry posted in July of 2014, but according to friends still there, not much has changed. If you’re stuck at home or bored at work, check out some of the island’s more eccentric offerings.

NSFW – Fantasy Fest is a week long party where everybody lets down their hair. And most of their clothes. There’s so much nudity, that after a few hours, you don’t even realize you’re surrounded by naked people. In part that’s because everybody is covered in elaborate body paint. The photo at the top of this post is from one of the parades in 2012. I forget what the theme was that year but most people did their own thing. Don’t worry about painting yourself or your best friend. You’ll find stalls up and down Duval Street with artists charging a variety of prices. Check out several for the best deal. For 2016, the week long party is set for Oct 21-30th. And the theme is one I will be sorry to miss: Political Voodoo and Ballot Box Barbarians. With a national election so close to Fantasy Fest, it’s the logical choice. If you plan on going, remember – leave the kids at home. The place gets pretty raunchy as parties let out and the streets fill up with revelers. Though, we’ve seen nakedidity as early as 8 am. And remember, if you take your unclothed self outside of the nudity zone, you will end up in jail.

SFW – If you need to get your drink on, here’s a list of 18 of our favorite bars. Check out the one on the World’s Smallest Bar. We had a friend come all the way down to the keys just so she could have a drink there! (I think they were closed that day. Pretty sad, right? But don’t worry, as I remember, we found some pretty good alternatives)

SFW – Critters. There’s lots to choose from. Feral cats, Iguanas, sea life, chickens. Oh those chickens. Back in the old days, cock fighting was a thing. The story goes that after it was outlawed, everybody just set their birds free. Nowadays, you’ll find the feral fowl strutting their stuff all over the island. Restaurants, (I’ve seen them wandering around inside), outdoor patios (where they rule) and even at the beach. The locals hate them. The goofy things never seem to shut up. Even after they fly up into the trees at night. We’ve been downtown at 3 am and heard roosters still crowing madly away. Oh and for your own safety, don’t pick them up. They have spurs on their legs and they will hurt you. Nothing makes the locals snicker louder than the look of terror on the face of that silly tourist who’s holding a wiggling chicken and wondering, okay, now what do I do?

SFW – Ah, sunsets. They happen almost every night. Thanks to Key West’s tiny size, you can catch one from pretty much anywhere on the island. For craziness, head to Mallory Square. For a zen like experience, you need to be on the pier at Southernmost Beach Cafe.

There’s lots more but I’ll leave the rest of the discoveries up to you.

While Key West is my idea of paradise, I have a friend who thinks that the promised land is frosted with snow. Bless her heart. 

What makes your paradise work for you? Leave a comment and Write On,

Melissa

ps

the girls in the photo at the top were sporting full frontal body paint. You’ll find their photo on the Fantasy Fest page listed above.

pps

No. I didn’t partake in the body painting. It was much more fun wandering with my camera and recording the madness.

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Holy freakin’ wipeout Batman Scrivener saves the day

middle finger to PCWell, I finally got fucked by my computer. I was writing at a mcd’s and closed my little PC to go meet my huband at the gym. He was running (I’m still recovering from a cold) and I was going to write while I clicked off his laps for him. There’s a lovely chair with a foot rest in the corner on the upstairs track and I got myself all setup, opened my laptop and stared at a blank screen.

Now, I’ve always been one of those people that is a little too liberal with the F word. I like to say it. Alot. It’s my favorite word in the whole fucking universe. But, as I stared at my computer and silently begged for the screen to come to life, I was stangely calm. This continued even when the computer finally started up and I opened up scrivener to discover that two chapters had been wiped clean. Maybe it’s the lack of energy thanks to my cold or maybe I’ve found some unknown inner peace but whatever the explanation, I didn’t use the F word a single time over the next 90 minutes as I tried to recover what was lost. In a way, I feel kinda cheated.

Scrivener is a really neat program. It has lots of backup features. And if you have dropbox, you’re even luckier because that program keeps old versions of files for 30 days. So, I had 4 places to look for the lost chapters. And that’s what I did for most of those 90 minutes, patiently working my way through tons of rtf files.

In the end, I recovered all of one chapter, thanks to the rtf files and 2/3rds of another thanks to snapshots, one of the lovely features in scrivener which creates uneditable copies of your work. If you rewrite something, and you’ve saved the previous version in a snapshot, you can revert to an earlier version or just use it as a reference. If I had taken a snapshot of the chapter when I deemed it officially finished, I’d have been able to restore the entire thing. But….I stupidly shut my computer without doing that. Or without creating a pdf of the entire book and emailing it to myself, which I always do when I change locations or go home for the day. Hopefully, I’ve learned my lesson and today’s writing will end with snapshots and pdfs.

Did I learn anything else? Why yes I did, thanks for asking. I learned that PC’s are unrealiable. Well, I knew that. You see, last night wasn’t the first time this computer has crashed. Twice before, it failed to turn on. I wasn’t as concerned though, because all my writing is stored in dropbox. I figured, if the computer was dead, I’d just go buy another. My husband, who uses a MAC and has always used MAC, has never had his computer crash. Ever. So, until I can afford to buy my own, I’m stealing his Macbook Air. Well, starting tomorrow. Today, I grabbed my PC as I was walking out the door. Fuck. I’ve really learned nothing, have I?

Learn from your mistakes and Write On,

Melissa

PS

My word count hasn’t changed much. I’ve been working, but most of Nov was lost to nanowrimo ( I wrote the outine for my next book) and to our annual trek to Disneyworld, a 10k on the east coast and some touristy stuff. I’ve been sick since we got back and it’s hard to write when you’re constantly sneezing. And cleaning the drippy stuff off your keyboard. And screen. And the table around you. And your pjs when you’re holding your laptop. The dog took care of herself. Now that I’m almost back to normal, and my next book is outlined, I’m ready to finish this sucker. My daughter comes to visit in ten days so that’s my new deadline. This time, I think I can do it. I tell you, I can zip out an excellent feature length script in no time at all. Well, 1-6 weeks and when I did a webseries I was writing a 22 page script a week for production. Switching to prose has almost been the death of me. And my husband. He’s tired of me saying fucking almost when he asks if I’m done. So am I sweetie, so am I.

PPS

I didn’t use fuck in the title because I grew up watching reruns of Batman and Robin and I just couldn’t see that Dick Grayson cursing.

PPPS

Fuck. Imagine that repeated about a zillion times. Okay. Now I feel like myself again.

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Rolling with da Mangos

mikes mango
Better than a thesaurus

For the last couple of weeks,  we’ve been drenched in rain here in the north woods. (This has been the rainiest spring in decades) I blame the weather for my lack of progress.  Cause, you know, I’m certainly not at fault. Due to the rain, neither hubby or I have been able to work on the golf course as much as we normally do.  You’d think that would mean more time at the desk. But, sadly, no. It means more games of hand and foot with the in-laws and binge watching entire seasons on netflix.  (Looking forward to season 2 of Sense8 and in love after the first ep of Star Talk)

Today is the first sunny day in ages and I’ve already gotten a ton done. Well, not really a ton but I fixed a paragraph that was really buggin’ me.

I’d been deep in 12 when I realized I’d gotten off track. I retraced my steps to the last thing that felt right and I found myself at that crappy non June-feeling paragraph in 10. I have until about 9 tonight to work uninterrupted so I’m hoping I can keep rolling through small fixes in 10 and 11 and get back to 12. Mike and his incredible mango are along for the ride.

Until Sunday.

Write on,

Melissa

P.S.

I plan on waiting until I finish the last few chapters before I send anything else to my editor. I’m really close now. Total word count should be between 30 and 40K.