The Crotchety Old Man

New Location

2011-07-15T13:42:00.001-04:00

New posts from the writer of The Crotchety Old Man are now available at http://rupured.com/

Hope to see you there!

The End

2011-06-10T18:13:00.000-04:00

In September of 2008, I stumbled across blogspot.com. Fifteen minutes later I created the Crotchety Old Man. Including this one, I've since written and posted 357 short essays.

From the start my blog had no purpose. There's no money in it for me from ads and I wasn't trying to sell anybody anything. I blogged entirely for fun.

At first concealing my real identity was a priority. I worried that freely expressing my opinions might cause problems at work. It hasn't, mostly because my coworkers are too busy to pay much attention to my rants.

Getting on Facebook in April of 2009 blew my anonymity. Yeah, it didn't have to. I could have kept blogging in secret. Well, maybe somebody else could--but not me.

The topics I write about have changed. Early posts were the kind of things you'd expect to hear from a crotchety old man. I haven't written a real crotchety rant for a long time. I'm just not that angry anymore.

Sometimes I write about my garden. On occasion I throw in things that are happening in my life. A lot of my recent posts revolve around Glass Houses, Addicted, and my journey toward becoming a "real" writer.

Writing for this blog has been fun. Unfortunately, writing for fun is no longer enough. My circumstances have changed. When one of my books gets published I'm going to need a blog to promote it, future books, and the author I hope to become.

Thanks for popping in over the last few years to see what I have to say and for your comments. Without your encouragement and support, Glass Houses would not have been written. I am eternally grateful and hope you'll still come around when I come up with a replacement for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Adventures in Dieting, Week One

2011-06-05T11:12:00.000-04:00

Today is weigh-in day after my first full week on Weight Watchers. The scale revealed I'm now four pounds closer to my goal than I was a week ago. That's eight pounds all together since I started trying to lose weight back in the middle of May.

My first week was a learning experience. You already know about the Memorial Day dinner that cost more points than my entire daily allotment. I also went over by eight points on Friday, mostly because I screwed up by using too many points for breakfast. Fortunately, the plan allows enough extra points in the week to cover these overages.

In the first week I earned a total of 93 activity points for six and a half hours of exercise. Activity points get wiped out at the end of every week. I had until midnight last night to use them. Although I was tempted to get a bucket of chicken, I ended up using just three of those points for a low-fat Quaker granola bar.

Today starts a new week. My daily allowance dropped from 46 points to 45. I have 49 extra points again this week and hopefully will not go through them the way I did last week. This morning I rode my bike for 75 minutes (15 miles) which earned me 20 activity points I don't intend to use either.

Losing four pounds in a week is twice what Weight Watchers recommends. I credit at least two of those four pounds to the huge increase in my activity level rather than the diet. I'm also guessing most people lose more weight in the first few weeks than in later weeks.

After a week I have to admit I'm pleasantly surprised. I certainly don't expect to lose four pounds every week. As long as I keep losing, you won't hear any complaints from...

The Crotchety Old Man

Back in the Saddle

2011-06-04T13:43:00.000-04:00

I hate exercising. More precisely, I'm not a fan of getting hot and sweaty which rules out everything but swimming. Since I don't have a pool, swimming isn't terribly convenient. In truth it wouldn't matter because I'm not that great a swimmer.

Back in 2006 I decided to try bicycling. Noting the room full of unused exercise equipment I'd accumulated over the years, I went to Walmart and picked up a lovely red model for about $100. Honestly it was the nicest bike I'd ever had.

Before long I was riding eight to twelve miles a day. Yeah, I got hot and sweaty but didn't mind because I moved fast enough to generate a nice breeze. After a few months of riding, due to the steady stream of sweat hitting the gears and pedals, my red bicycle literally fell apart.

I took it to the cycle shop to see about repairs. They laughed at me and said the replacement parts cost more than the bike was worth. So I upgraded to a much nicer model and started riding twenty or thirty miles a day.

Two or three years ago I stopped. I'm not sure why. It was too cold or too hot or raining or something. My bike sat unused in the garage until last month when I dropped it off at the cycle shop for service. It's been back in three more times since then for minor repairs. Apparently a lack of activity is no better for bikes than for people.

Getting back in the saddle after a two or three year hiatus has been a challenge. Having spent the majority of time since I stopped riding on my ever-widening ass, I had to ease back in. Between all the repairs, the hot weather, and my schedule it's been a slow process.

Before when I was riding I got down 206 pounds--my lowest weight in years. Back then, the more I rode the more entitled I felt to eat fattening foods. Now that I'm on Weight Watchers and riding regularly, I'm hoping to see my weight fall below 200 pounds.

Today I made it all the way to Watkinsville and back. That's 24 miles in two hours. My legs are a little stiff and my butt hurts. The padding in those little bicycle shorts isn't nearly enough. A nice tractor seat would sure make biking more pleasant for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Adventures in Dieting, Day Two

2011-05-31T16:47:00.000-04:00

As you probably know, I started on Weight Watchers Sunday. This week I'm allowed 46 points per day. I finished Day #1 with one point leftover. Skinny here I come!

Day #2 started off great. I rode my bike for 15 miles which earned me a whopping 17 extra points. I only used three points for breakfast, and got by on ten points for lunch. I felt so good about my progress I splurged, burning up ten points to eat two cake pops. To make cake pops you bake a box cake, mash it up with a can of icing, form the mix into little balls, then after freezing the balls, dip them in white chocolate. I'm telling you they're great.

Friends invited us over for dinner last night. Unaware of our dieting status, they went all out. We had steak, a delicious floret salad (broccoli, cauliflower, bacon, cheese and mayo), a carrot and horseradish casserole (more sour cream and mayo and maybe some heavy cream), a baked potato casserole (still more sour cream, bacon, cheese and butter), and a good old-fashioned banana pudding with meringue on top for dessert (along with a couple of cake pops).

After we got home my partner took the recipes and went online to figure out how many points we'd eaten. Because I had seconds of the floret salad and the baked potato casserole, my total for just that one meal was (drum roll please)...56 points. Yeah, ten more than my allowance for the day.

Talk about eye-opening. I got to thinking that before Sunday there have been lots of times when I probably had dinners worth a good 50 or 60 points--like maybe five nights out of seven. No wonder I'm obese!

So yesterday I burned a total of 87 points. Fortunately, Weight Watchers allows 49 extra points for the first week plus any points I earn for exercise. I still have eight of my 49 splurge points and 23 points I earned riding my bike.

Today has gone a lot better. I got by on four points for breakfast. At lunch I ordered my usual Zaxby salad, minus the fried onion rings and with lite vinaigrette instead of honey mustard dressing. I refuse to give up the Texas toast. The changes cut the salad from 23 to 14 points.

In terms of points, yesterday I learned an expensive lesson. Giving up would have been a failure. I didn't fail because I started over today, wiser than I was the day before. Failing to lose weight is no longer an option for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Fat Man in the Bathtub with the Blues

2011-05-30T12:50:00.000-04:00

My weight has bounced around since at least high school. Working at two different ice cream stores and a movie theater caused the first big uptick. These jobs were a doubly whammy on the old waistline because my activity level dropped at the same time my caloric intake went way up.

Due more to a shortage of guys than my talent or ability, I was recruited for several dancing roles in our high school's production of "Oklahoma!". Increasing my activity level helped me to get the weight off. I gained most of it back when I started college due largely to a dramatic increase in my consumption of pizza and burgers.

Coming out produced the next big drop. Going to Johnny Angel's six nights a week was good for my waistline in two ways. Dancing for a couple of hours pushed my activity level up. Low wages forced me to choose between going out and eating. In pictures from that era I look like a poster child for malnutrition.

Before moving to Georgia my activity level remained fairly high. I still went out dancing once or twice a week and spent most of every weekend working in the yard. Back then I bragged about being able to eat whatever I wanted. Bragging about anything is an invitation for Karma to intervene.

Here in Athens it's too damn hot to work in the yard other than for an hour or two early in the morning. Instead I spend the bulk of my time on my ever-widening ass watching television, chatting with friends on Facebook, and engaging in other equally strenuous activities.

High school reunions force me to action. In advance of our 30-year reunion five years ago, I started riding a bicycle. With our 35-year reunion just months away, I've started riding again. Only I fear I've waited too long to get the desired results by October.

According to the nasty Body Mass Index Calculator, I'm obese. Not just overweight. Obese. Karma can be a real bitch.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Yesterday I started Weight Watchers. In the past I've gone through phases of paying more attention to what I ate. But this is the first time I've ever gone on a real diet.

The Weight Watchers plan revolves around point values assigned to various foods. I can have a total of 46 points a day. I'm learning that many of my normal food choices eat up a significant portion of those points. The healthy salad I get from Zaxby's for lunch most days is a whopping 23 points (including two packets of honey mustard dressing and Texas Toast you can suck the butter out of).

Awareness is half the battle. Calculating the number of points (available as an app for my phone) forces me to pay a lot more attention. Paying more attention requires me to make better choices. Twenty weeks from now, I hope you'll see a much slimmer version of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-05-28T09:48:00.000-04:00

Extremely dry weather this month has dramatically slowed progress in the garden. We finally got some rain Thursday night, along with severe winds. I had a lot of small branches down but no serious damage.

Day lilies are one of the big bloomers this week. I only have three kinds (yellow Stella D'Oro, solid orange, and yellow with a red throat), but because I keep dividing them have lots of each kind. Not sure where this one came from as it doesn't look a thing like any of the others.

Butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa) has become one of my favorite flowers. Heat and dry weather don't faze them, and the bright orange flowers last for weeks. I might have to try some of the cultivars that bloom in different colors.

It wouldn't be a southern garden without magnolias. The first few years I was lucky to get one or two blooms from the three-foot tall plant I bought. Now it's probably teen feet tall and blooms continuously for weeks. I love the lemony fresh fragrance.

Hopefully we'll get more rain in the next week or two. If not, we may face watering restrictions (again). Drought has become the new normal in the garden of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Good News, Bad News

2011-05-25T14:47:00.000-04:00

I've blogged before about the advanced macular degeneration in my left eye. The six weeks in-between treatments passes too quickly. Today I had my sixth appointment with the retina specialist.

My vision has deteriorated over the last three visits. Today my left eye couldn't even make out the letters on the top row of the eye chart. I was shocked and more than a little concerned.

Paralleling the deterioration in my eyesight, the retina scans I get every visit show my condition has worsened. Linda, the delightful "little girl" who does the scans showed me the images from today and my last two visits. Even my untrained, nearly-blind eyes could see the progression from bad to really bad. I knew I was about to get another shot in the eye.

The retina specialist explained that after an initial positive response, some patients stop responding to the Avastin injections. Apparently I'm one of those patients. A subset of these patients have success with injections of Lucentis. Hopefully I'm one of them.

Except for the one time I didn't have to have an injection, each visit to the
retina specialist costs about $2,000. Of that, $75 is the Avastin. Lucentis costs nearly $4,000 per dose. Like that's not bad enough, I'll need the treatment every four weeks instead of every six.

Thankfully I have good insurance. Still, I had to fill out a ton of paperwork, including an application for assistance from the Chronic Disease Foundation which will cut my $400 per injection copay in half. I have to send them a copy of last year's tax return, too.

Increasing the frequency of my visits is upsetting. But the idea of losing my vision upsets me even more. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the Lucentis treatments will work.

I've been asking my partner and others to either drop me off or pick me up from the appointments. I really hate putting people out, especially as often as the appointments roll around. Everyone I know works during the day.

Today I drove myself home from the appointment. I took scotch tape with me and taped two pairs of the freebie shades available from the office inside my giant, old man sunglasses. It worked well enough to get me from the doctor's office to the home of...

The Crotchety Old Man

My World & Welcome To It

2011-05-23T20:36:00.000-04:00

Saturday the writer's group discussed the first 5000 words of Addicted, my first work of fiction. By and large the comments were positive. Especially considering it's my first attempt at fiction, I was very pleased. Since Saturday I've been working on revising the manuscript based on their feedback.

Except for me, everyone at this meeting was female. They said they needed to know more about what Josh (the main character) is thinking and feeling--especially during or immediately after the one sex scene they read. Adding his reaction to the situation never would have occurred to me and I'm grateful to the group for pointing out specific paragraphs where more insight is needed.

The group gave me a lot of minor edits and pointed out my tendency to go overboard describing action. They offered several specific suggestions to strengthen or tighten up specific scenes. To the best of my knowledge, all their suggestions have been incorporated in the revised draft.

The biggest criticism was that Josh comes across as more than a little whiny. I tried to show how devastated he was by the recent (bad) ending of his 17-year relationship. Since almost everyone felt the same way, I was forced to agree I'd probably gone too far. Again, I'm grateful for the input (and equally glad they didn't see the earlier versions where even I thought he was too whiny).

They also encouraged me to eliminate the first chapter. The purpose when I wrote it was to lay-out all the back story. Essentially it's written like my memoir, Glass Houses--all telling and no showing. Once I got past the first chapter I felt a lot more comfortable writing fiction. Tossing out the first chapter made sense. It took a lot of effort but I finally managed to incorporate all the important parts into the second chapter (now Chapter One) and cut the rest.

Some found Josh unlikable because of his behavior. He smokes pot like crazy to fill the void in his life since the break-up and in the opening chapters has a couple of drinks. The clincher for some was Josh driving while stoned and drunk. I'm sticking to my guns on this one but did go back and add more about his motivations for the behavior.

A few readers outside of the group have been upset about Josh having unprotected sex. Again, I'm not backing down. However I did add more about what he was thinking and feeling to cause his reckless behavior.

Addicted is a work of fiction. The characters and the story are made up. But the world where the characters live and in which the story takes place is real. The things that happen may not be pretty or moral or politically correct, but they reflect a certain reality. I know that reality is foreign to many potential readers, but once upon a time it was home to...

The Crotchety Old Man

Ready for the Rapture

2011-05-20T17:44:00.000-04:00

According to Harold Camping and his followers, the rapture will take place tomorrow with a ginormous earthquake. He cites his extensive research of the Bible and guarantees the date. He has since added the big event will occur at exactly 6:00 p.m., Eastern time.

Mr. Camping is a Christian radio broadcaster and President of Family Radio. Unlike the Westboro Baptist Church which is composed mostly of Reverend Phelp's family, Camping has followers across the United States and around the world. I searched but was unable to determine whether his followers number in the hundreds, thousands, or hundreds of thousands.

You don't have to be one of Camping's followers to be raptured. Good Christians and 144,000 Jews will apparently make the cut. Since I'm neither Jewish nor Christian, I'm absolutely certain I won't be among the elect.

I'm not upset. Having been excluded from all things Christian for most of the last thirty years, I'm used to being left out. I do, however, have some concerns.

How will I know which of my Facebook friends were among the elect? If the rapture occurs I'm sure several of them will go. If so, will they disappear from my list of friends?

Same for Twitter. I'm now following more than 1000 entities resulting in more than 150 followers who I'm sure read every Tweet. Will the elect vanish from Twitter, too?

I also worry about the impact of the rapture on my blog. I'm up to 33 followers, including several who never read it because I pissed them off a long time ago. Will the elect disappear from my list of followers?

Will the rapture cause a big drop in my blog stats? My numbers have dropped lately because I've been working on my second book, Addicted, instead of writing blog posts. A bigger fall-off in my numbers would make blogging feel like an even bigger waste of time than it already does.

What about my writer's group? We meet at 5:30 tomorrow. I submitted the first 5000 words of Addicted for review and discussion. I'll be totally pissed if at 6:01 the only person remaining is...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-05-16T18:35:00.000-04:00

I see a lot of people trying to take garden pictures on sunny days. Too much light washes out all the colors. Cool, cloudy weather today means it's a great day to take pictures in the garden.

Lollipop Lilies are the first of the lilies to bloom in my garden. They multiply like crazy and should probably be divided after blooming this year. We'll see if I remember!

My hydrangeas are doing great this year. Here is a close up of Forever Blue Hydrangea. With a little lime around the base of the plant the flowers would be almost purple.

This hydrangea is better than seven feet tall and at least as wide. I call it Big (Forever) Blue Hydrangea. Go Big Blue!

Something keeps eating the goldfish out of my half-whiskey barrel fountain. Yesterday I got six more goldfish and a Guard Owl. We'll see if it works.

Most the hollyhocks you see in gardens today look like the pompoms cheerleaders use. They seed everywhere and the offspring have reverted to singles. I like them better than the original plants.

And that's what you'd see today if you were walking through the garden of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Six Sentences Sunday

2011-05-15T18:40:00.001-04:00

The following is my second excerpt for Six Sentences Sunday from my work in progress, Addicted. After meeting friends for cocktails, Josh Freeman has a little too much to drink. Sexy Michael DeLuca volunteers to walk him home.

Inside the apartment the pair embraced again. Josh untucked the t-shirt from Michael’s jeans, pulled it over his head, and ran his hands over the furry, muscular chest he had uncovered. Michael yanked Josh’s shirt over his head in a swift motion, kissing him thoroughly while he, too explored Josh’s naked chest with his hands.

Josh moaned, caressing the muscular arms and tracing his fingers down Michael’s spine as the two kissed like teenagers at a drive-in movie. Pulling away, Josh looked Michael in the eye and saw lust equal to his own. Taking Michael by the hand, he led him through the apartment to the bed.

Inside the apartment things get too hot to share here on...

The Crotchety Old Man

On Becoming a Writer

2011-05-14T20:10:00.002-04:00

Nearly a year ago I started writing my first book. It was a memoir because the only thing I knew was to write about what I know. I finished Glass Houses in a matter of months and after submitting the manuscript to the agent of my dreams, less than two weeks later received a rejection.

After receiving the rejection I joined a local writer's group. We meet twice a month. I've been going to the meetings since March and have really learned a lot from the other writers. I submitted Glass Houses to a publisher and am waiting to hear back from them.

Because of what I learned from the group I started writing my first work of fiction. I'm still writing what I know, which means my book revolves around gay characters. One of the people in my group invited me into a couple of Facebook groups; one for writers of male/male romances and the other for people who write erotic romance novels I'd describe as kinky.

Since joining these various groups I've been reading a lot of blogs, excerpts, and posts on Facebook written by other writers. It's been a real education. I had no idea the market for erotic romances about other than traditional male/female couples was so vast.

I had to leave the group for kinky writers. Frankly, much of the discussion either freaked me out or gave me the creeps. Whatever floats your boat and to each his own but swinging, group sex, and kinky scenes are just not for me.

I don't think I'm a male-male romance writer, either. Many of the writers in this group seem obsessed with gay sex. The irony is that most are women, including many married women.

My manuscripts do contain gay sex scenes. However, the stories are not about sex. I write about people who happen to be gay and sometimes have sexual encounters. In every case the sex scene is supposed to show something about the main character.

The biggest surprise is the quality of much of the writing I see from published authors. I'm not talking about a typo here and there--we all make mistakes. Many of the errors are just sloppy or careless while others reflect a limited knowledge of grammar I had to learn in middle school. Some of it is just awful.

For better or worse, exposure to all these different writers has helped me to see what I've always known. I was born to write. It may not happen next week, or next, month, or even next year--but one day you'll be able to buy a book written by...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-05-11T19:04:00.000-04:00

The calendar may not say so but summer has definitely arrived here in Athens. Highs this week in the 90s will likely mean the demise of pansies, violas and other winter-blooming annuals. Daffodils and other spring bulbs have already gone dormant for the summer.

Hydrangeas like this "Forever Blue" are just coming in to bloom. I bought one a year or two after I moved in. A vase full of blooms sprouted roots so now I have several.

Because weeding it became a full time job, I put Preen in the butterfly garden which will likely mean an end to the larkspur, silene, and California poppies seen here. The Stella D'oro Daylilies are just starting to bloom. The silver stalk is Lamb's ear.

My neighbor gave me a bunch of red hot pokers two years ago. They've done really well and are now approaching full bloom. You can also see a hollyhock approaching bloom and a groundcover rose I'm sorry I bought because it wants to sprawl all over the garden with 12-foot long thorny stems.

Lilies are budding up all over the garden. Normally the deer eat the flower buds. Thanks to Deer-Off, this will be the best year yet for lilies. When they start blooming, you can count on seeing a few pictures right here on...

The Crotchety Old Man

The Verdict

2011-05-08T16:31:00.000-04:00

Yesterday the Athens Writer's group met. Since we meet on the first and third Saturdays of each month, everyone had three weeks to prepare. At long last, Glass Houses made it to the agenda for discussion.

To my surprise and delight, the feedback was overwhelmingly positive. The group really liked the story and offered some very constructive criticism. As anyone who has read the manuscript knows, they also felt like they really got to know me.

One of the bigger problems they pointed out I've heard many times before. Except for my family, readers have trouble keeping up with all the people. The group suggested cutting out and/or combining some of the less important characters. It's a great idea that would be a lot easier if they weren't real people who played significant roles in my life.

The group also pointed out specific problems; some I knew about, others were new to me. What I considered to be foreshadowing sometimes went too far. There are also lots of times when I confuse the reader bouncing back and forth between a specific occasion and what was typical for that occasion in other years. I get what they're saying and agree.

I also tend to treat minor and significant events the same. This equal treatment makes the turning point of the book (my discussion with Aunt Judy) fade into the background rather than stand out as the pivotal moment it was. They would like to see me spend more time writing about my feelings and reactions to some of the most important events--especially coming out. Again, I completely agree.

The final recommendation was to submit the manuscript 5000 words at a time for discussion by the group to enable more specific suggestions for how to resolve these issues. At two meetings per month, it would take eleven months to get through the 110,000 word manuscript. Everyone agreed spending the time would help me turn a good read into a great read.

Again, I agree. However, I'm reluctant to follow this advice because Glass Houses is currently being considered by a publisher. Given the publisher's promise to have at least two editors review every manuscript, I remain optimistic about my chances of getting a contract.

Until I hear back from the publisher, I'm not doing anything with Glass Houses. If accepted for publication, the publisher will have their own suggestions for edits that may or may not align with suggestions from the group. If that were to happen I'd feel like very busy people had wasted time they could have spent on their own manuscripts.

The bottom line is that my time for writing is limited. Unless and until something changes (i.e., I get a rejection or a contract), mentally I'm done with Glass Houses. I'd rather spend my writing time working on the next manuscript, including sending it to the group 5000 words at a time. It's a gamble, but one I'm willing to take. Besides, taking big risks is nothing new for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Who's Side Are You On?

2011-05-05T16:49:00.000-04:00

I'm not optimistic about the future of our country. Never mind what passes for politics. I'm more concerned with the breakdown of civil society.

When I was in college if a police officer stopped me for any reason, my response was to be as polite and respectful as possible. Anything else was asking for trouble I didn't want. Yes sir, no sir, thank you very much sir.

To see how much things have changed in the last thirty years, check out Campus PD. Or maybe just watch your local news. The standard now is to become as belligerent and uncooperative as possible.

If cussing at the police doesn't work, go ahead and hit them. Make sure you have a friend with a cell phone nearby to record the incident. You could be the next Rodney King.

Last week the Atlanta cops were in the news for hitting a woman in a restaurant. Never mind that she was uncooperative and combative and that she hit the officer first. The assumption was that the cop was out of line.

A couple of weeks ago one of the blogs I follow posted a video of two women beating up a transgendered individual at a McDonald's in Maryland. Instead of breaking up the fight, the employees egged on the thuggish girls as they kicked the victim in the head. Toward the end of the clip, as the victim is having a seizure, the employees warn the women to leave because the police were coming.

Somewhere along the way police officers got an undeserved bad reputation. The police are not the enemy. They get paid near-poverty wages to protect us from criminals. I'm not saying they are all saints, but there are many more good cops than bad cops.

The ghetto-rati claim the cops are racist, even when significant portions of practically every police force in the country are minorities. Racism isn't the problem. The issue is a flagrant disregard for authority and the idea that it's OK to assault another person or take property that doesn't belong to you.

Don't break the law and you won't have run-ins with police. It's just that simple. And if you do for some reason get stopped by a police officer, show some respect.

The Crotchety Old Man

Another Epiphany

2011-05-03T16:20:00.000-04:00

Writing Addicted continues to be a lot of fun. I've written about 13,000 words in twelve chapters. Even I'm surprised by the direction the story has taken.

Addicted is the story of Josh Freeman, a 39 year-old gay man who finds himself suddenly single after a twelve year relationship ends. Josh assumes his life is over and that he'll never know love again. The three sex scenes in the first 13,000 words are not gratuitous--they serve a purpose in advancing the story.

Earlier this week I shared the first ten chapters with two of my most trusted straight female friends. I warned them about the sex scenes and worried they might be offended by the graphic content. I've been on pins and needles waiting to hear back from them.

They e-mailed me today with their reviews. They love it. In fact, though both are big fans of Glass Houses, they say Addicted is much better. One admitted to a blush or two and said she might never read Danielle Steele again. You could have knocked me over with a feather!

Upon further investigation, turns out that something like ninety percent of the people who read male/male romances are straight women! I had no idea. I figured the only people with any interest in reading gay romances were gay men.

If I'd have thought about it for even five minutes I could have figured it out. Gay men don't read romances--they watch porn on the Internet. Straight men don't read gay romances either, and until their wives find out also watch porn online. I don't see lesbians panting over male/male romances either. Straight women are the only group left.

I mentioned a few posts ago that Adrienne Wilder, future New York Times bestseller, invited me to join a Facebook group for people who write male/male romances. Very few members of the group are men. The majority of members are women.

When it comes to sex scenes in gay romance novels, I can ALWAYS tell if it was written by a woman. The good ones get 99.9 percent right...enough to fool the straight women who read this stuff. But to perhaps most men and any gay man, that .1 percent gives them away every time.

After sharing the reviews I received from my friends with her, Adrienne told me male writers of male/male romances are in high demand. In fact, many of the women who write in the genre use male pseudonyms and otherwise try to mask their gender. Nice to know the advantage goes to...

The Crotchety Old Man

Six Sentences Sunday

2011-05-01T10:02:00.000-04:00

Every Sunday various writers from the Naughty Romance Writers Facebook group post six sentences from a work in progress. I searched through Glass Houses last week and couldn't find six sentences to share. The problem was finding six sentences to make the reader interested in reading more.

This is my first stab at Six Sentences Sunday. The excerpt comes from Addicted, my new work in progress, about 39 year-old Josh Freeman who, after splitting with his partner of twelve years feels like he's over the hill and his life is over.

After a hard day moving into his new big city apartment more than 500 miles away from his ex, Josh calls one of the many massage ads featured in the Washington Blade for something to sooth his aching muscles. The scene picks up after a surprising massage:

Josh thought about what had just happened. He couldn’t believe he had paid for sex. Getting an anonymous blow job in a bookstore was one thing. Paying for sex was in an entirely different category. In truth, he hadn’t really paid for sex. He paid for a massage—the blow job was not part of the deal.

And that's six sentences from the first work of fiction from...

The Crotchety Old Man

Myth Buster

2011-04-30T18:41:00.000-04:00

I just finished knocking out another chapter for my new book, Addicted. When I sit down to write my goal is to get through at least one chapter. Today's chapter was number ten.

Writing Glass Houses only took me four months. Since it's a true story, all I had to do was write down what happened. The problem was deciding what to include and what to leave out. Mostly I included everything.

By comparison, writing Addicted is a little more challenging and a lot more fun. I sit down to write with only a vague idea of the purpose of the chapter. Somehow, the chapter comes together--usually taking off in an unexpected direction.

Even when I have more time, ending a chapter usually forces me to stop writing. I have to let what I've written float around in my head for a while. The challenge is figuring out how to start the next chapter.

Sleeping on it helps. By the time I start writing again, I still have no idea where I'm going but know where the chapter needs to start. Some chapters come out easier than others, but eventually, I get to where I'm supposed to be.

Believe it or not, I still have no idea where the story is going. I'm not worried. The story is somewhere inside of me waiting to be told. All I have to do is keep writing and it will come out.

Before I started writing I thought you had to know the whole story before you started. That little misperception kept me from even trying to write for a good fifteen years. Busting that myth has been very liberating for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-04-29T19:59:00.000-04:00

We're blessed here in Athens to have escaped the massive tornado that came through the Southeast earlier this week. We did have a tornado warning at 1:15 in the morning, but there was no sign of a touchdown anywhere in Athens. I feel for everyone impacted by the storm, especially those who lost loved ones.

The only damage we experienced from the storm is shown here. Just as the prettiest peony in my yard hit full bloom rain, wind, and the weight of the flowers bent all the stems to the ground. Next year I'm going to try to figure out a new way to stake them up.

Otherwise, it's rose season. I've already featured Knock-out roses and the plain but wonderfully fragrant Rugosas. I ordered these "groundcover roses" from one of the cheapy tabloid catalogs I sometimes get in the mail. They're quite robust--I cut them back to nothing two months ago. They're just starting to bloom.

These landscape roses are called Bonica. They're not fragrant, but the multi-bloom clusters keep going for most of the summer. The plants do well without any spraying or special care--a real plus in my opinion.

Annual dianthus are the other big bloomers in my yard this week. Technically tender perennials, these were planted last year. This week they've really come into their own. I have a lot of them but this picture really shows them off.

Spring flowers are fading fast with summer bloomers coming on strong. I should have a ton of lilies blooming in the next week or two, right here in the garden of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Getting My Genre On

2011-04-27T20:07:00.000-04:00

You may have noticed a drop-off in the frequency of posts here on the blog. The reason for the decline is that I'm spending every spare moment working on my first novel, Addicted. Regulars might recall the same thing happened when I got rolling with Glass Houses.

As Glass Houses is a memoir, the challenges I faced in writing it revolved around making sure the time line and events were accurate. A couple of times I got stuck. The struggles involved figuring out whether or not particular incidents--all part of my life history--were relevant to the story I was trying to tell.

I was also acutely aware that some fraction of the potential audience for Glass Houses were or would know the people I wrote about--especially me. Consequently, there were certain boundaries I wouldn't cross. People don't need to know everything.

Those who've read the book know I share a lot about my past others would have kept to themselves. To the best of my knowledge, everything I write about is true. But it's not the whole truth--in some cases I left a lot out.

With Addicted, those barriers and limits are gone. Writing without fear is liberating, exhilarating, and more than a little shocking. I've written just over 7,000 words (about 25, double-spaced pages) which include tons of dialogue and two sex scenes. I thought the first scene was graphic...until I wrote the second one.

It has never been my intention to write erotica. Yet just seven chapters into my first work of fiction, that's exactly what I'm doing. I can hardly believe it myself. Even worse, I'm already thinking about at least three other books along the same lines.

The stuff I'm writing now makes me blush. Before sending it off to a publisher, I'm going to have to come up with a nom de plume. Ain't no way I'm going to let folks know this stuff comes from...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-04-24T14:43:00.000-04:00

The temperature and humidity are both in the 80s today. Even with the late start to the season, early spring flowers have vanished. Late spring and even a few early summer bloomers have stepped in to fill the void.

Last time I featured a dark maroon peony I got from Walmart. The package contained three eyes, allegedly of the same variety. This photo features a lighter-colored bloom from the second plant from the same package.

I tossed a package of California poppy seeds into the butterfly garden years ago. The original plants are long gone, but seedlings continue to come up and bloom. The bright two-toned yellow blossoms (sometimes white or solid yellow) close up after the sun goes down.

Below is the third peony from the package of three purchased from Walmart. I didn't realize until this year that all three plants are different. This one features single rather than double blooms which really highlights the bright yellow stamens.

I noticed this plant blooming just outside my backdoor in the vacant lot next door underneath the peach tree we claim as ours. I have no idea what it is or where it came from. There are probably half a dozen plants blooming, each a good three feet tall. If you know what it is, let me know.

Finally, the first bloom on my oldest peony. This one also came in three pack from Walmart or Lowe's but is the only survivor. The stems barely support the blossoms, especially after rain or a heavy dewy. The more it blooms, the more likely the stems are to break and fall to the ground.

The 2011 season has already been spectacular. It ain't over yet. The best is yet to come in the garden of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Toil and Trouble

2011-04-23T17:31:00.000-04:00

OK. That comment I made a few posts ago about having a blast writing Addicted? I take it back.

With the technical writing I've done for the last 25 years, the first few paragraphs are always the hardest. I breezed through the first and second chapters of Addicted and amazed myself with an ability to write dialogue that must have been hiding in a dark corner of my mind. So far, so good.

The next day I knocked out two more really good chapters. I blogged about my surprise at how easily the characters resolved the struggle I was having to get from where I was to where I wanted to be. The success must have gone to my head.

Yesterday I banged out a horrible fifth chapter. Nothing about it came easy. Instead of getting easier, each paragraph was harder to write than the one before. I wrote myself into a corner from which there appeared to be no escape.

Today I forced myself to work on the next chapter. The gum surgery I had last year was more enjoyable. But I labored on and pushed my way through, sentence by sentence until I finally ended up where I needed to be. Hallelujah!

The first four chapters are really good. The next two kinda suck, but got me from point A to point B. Writing them wasn't fun...it was work!

The lesson learned? Don't think, write. Keep writing and sooner or later, things will work themselves out.

Having reached point B, I'm now ready to jump into the meat of the story. The stage is set. It was a bumpy ride, but now Josh Freeman is exactly where I need him to be. The rest of the story lurks somewhere inside...

The Crotchety Old Man

Rubbing Elbows

2011-04-22T18:20:00.000-04:00

To be a successful writer requires quite a lot more than simply writing a good book. Finding a publisher is just half the battle. Once the book is published it's up to the writer to promote the book.

Toward that end I've been trying to increase visits to Chez Crotchety. My foray into the world of Tweets and Twitter hasn't been very successful. Despite having more than 100 followers and regularly tweeting new posts to the blog, in the last month Twitter has produced a total of 14 visits.

Aside from blogging about my writing experience, I've shared the final draft of Glass Houses with about anyone who wanted to read it. In On Writing Stephen King suggests all writers are needy. He's right, which explains why I'm constantly asking those with the draft if they've finished and if so, what they thought.

Today Adrienne Wilder, my mentor and friend, invited me to join a couple of groups for writers on Facebook. What a friendly and loquacious bunch! They have welcomed me with open arms. I'm enjoying getting to know them and especially, checking out their websites and blogs--all of which make this blog look amateurish.

Regular visitors to my amateurish blog may have noticed changes to the blogs on My Blog List. I've added lots of blogs by writers from these groups, most focused on the books they've written and how to get a copy. Check them out and if you see something you like, buy a copy! Many offer electronic copies online for less than $5.

Getting to know real writers, through the writers group and now the Facebook groups has been and will likely continue to be an education. I'm impressed with the generosity of all the writers I've met online and in person. Hopefully, rubbing elbows with published authors will result in some of that success rubbing off on...

The Crotchety Old Man

Don't Think, Write!

2011-04-21T17:03:00.000-04:00

Thinking about writing a book? Well, stop thinking and start writing. Thinking is the single-biggest obstacle to writing a book.

I know this is true from experience. For years...make that decades...I thought about writing a book. During all those years of thinking I didn't get a single word on the page. Not one word.

In On Writing, Stephen King says writing a book is like an archeological dig. The story is there. The writer's job is to unearth it. Using plot to unearth the story is like bulldozing the dig--you'll get everything out, but the fine details will likely get destroyed in the process.

That was certainly the case with Glass Houses. Being a memoir, all I needed to do was write down what happened. Once I started writing it only took four months to finish. The story didn't really become visible to me until I was more than halfway through the book.

Frankly, writing a memoir is a lot harder than writing a novel. A memoir is based on a certain history. I spent a lot of time researching when things happened to make sure I got it right...or at least, close to right. I had to deal with a lot of problems too, like too many characters, being true to the characters without pissing anyone off, and masking the identity of certain individuals.

Last night I fell asleep trying to figure out how to advance the plot of my new book, Addicted. I knew where I wanted to go but couldn't figure out how to get there. The answer didn't come to me in my dreams, either.

During my "writing hour" today, I decided to divert from the plot with the introduction of a female best friend. Before the hour was up I'd written two more chapters that landed me exactly where I wanted to go. Even more amazing is that better than 85 percent of what I wrote today was dialogue.

Josh Freeman and Linda Delgado are entirely made up. Josh started out being loosely based on me, but now he's very much his own person. The idea for Linda came from my life as well but she, too, has become her own person. Like real people, there are things each character would and wouldn't say or do.

The first chapter I wrote today was about a phone call from Linda inviting Josh to join her at the swimming pool.The second chapter is about the conversation they had around the pool. Almost every single word in both chapters is dialogue.

Conversations go someplace. They have a purpose, even if it's just catching each other up on recent events. The characters, Josh and Linda in this case, drove the story in a particular direction which solved all the problems I'd created in my head thinking about how to advance the plot.

Writing Glass Houses was hard--a labor of love and sometimes painful remembering. I'm having a blast writing Addicted. There are no walls or boundaries, just Josh, Linda, and...

The Crotchety Old Man

On Public Discourse

2011-04-20T17:39:00.000-04:00

Last week I had to go to Atlanta, twice. Depending on traffic, the trip from my house to downtown can take anywhere from 70 minutes to three hours. Thanks to a fast trip home Thursday evening, my average time (one way) was about two hours.

Music--mine or whatever is on the radio--gets old. Listening to talk radio makes the trip go faster. My preference is something on National Public Radio (especially Fresh Air). If NPR is not an option I'll switch over to 95.5.

With luck The Clark Howard Show or Dave Ramsey Show will be on. As a personal financial management educator, it's interesting to hear what people are asking about. Sometimes I even learn something.

Other options are less enjoyable. The absolute worst is Neil Boortz. I don't object to his politics so much as his style. Last week he went on a rant about all the people who will blindly vote in 2012 to re-elect President Obama (all federal employees, anyone in a union, and all women--especially single mothers because they need the federal teat to survive). The only surprise was that he left gays off the list.

A listener called in to object, saying whatever Neil Boortz was paid was too much because he added absolutely no value to society. I happen to agree. Boortz blew up and said the caller was a low-wage-earning idiot, called him a communist, and made several other less-than-flattering remarks about the man's character. The caller never got a chance to defend his character--that's not how these shows work.

On the trip home I got to hear Mark Arum. I don't know who he is or what his claim to fame might be. Steroid use by Barry Bonds was the topic when I listened in. Arum suggested everyone would take a shot of steroids if it would enable them to reach a life-long goal. As an example he asked who wouldn't take steroids if it would guarantee winning the lottery.

Never mind it's a stupid comparison. When folks called in saying they would never cheat to get ahead, Arum said they were liars. Clearly he would do anything if it made him richer or more famous. Again, anyone who disagreed was called names without being given the opportunity to defend their position.

The next topic on Arum's show was the disappearance of a Muslim woman who turned up in another county and didn't want her husband to know where she was. Somehow, the fact she was Muslim made a difference. The majority of callers said horrible things about her based entirely upon her religious beliefs. Most of these hateful rants ended with a plea for her to find Jesus. Yeah...after what you just said I want to be more like you...NOT!

Sadly, this kind of one-sided ranting is what now passes for debate in our country. We should be ashamed. Intolerance, and prejudice are the tools of the ignorant and uneducated. I'd call them dumbasses, but you expect more than name-calling from...

The Crotchety Old Man

A Serious Writer

2011-04-19T17:19:00.000-04:00

The gay publishing house where I submitted Glass Houses says they are only interested in quality works from serious writers. While quality is a subjective thing, the "serious writer" part means they expect more books to be forthcoming. In fact, they ask for information about works in progress.

I lied. At the time of the submission I wasn't working on anything. Rather than say so, I said I was working on a follow-up memoir focused on some of the addiction issues uncovered while writing Glass Houses.

It wasn't a barefaced lie. I'd been thinking about the follow-up memoir for weeks but hadn't written a single word. Due to the content, unless I wanted to get fired I had decided writing the follow-up wasn't going to be possible until after I retired.

My Aunt Judy (and others) have told me Glass Houses is a little raw. By raw they mean gritty. I talk openly but carefully about my past drug use and some sexual encounters. I felt comfortable doing so because the "true confession" stuff took place so long ago.

My lie to the publisher has been fixed. I have officially started writing my second book. Rather than a memoir, Addicted is a work of fiction about Josh Freeman and his addiction to relationships and sex.

Regular readers know I'm terrified of writing fiction. Just the idea of coming up with believable dialogue gives me nightmares. Or it did, until the incredibly talented Adrienne Wilder took me under her wing.

The turnaround moment came as I was reading Stephen King's memoir On Writing. Adrienne says it is required reading for any aspiring writer. The website of my publisher says the same thing. Even though I haven't yet finished reading, I have to agree.

Writing fiction is liberating. The story behind Addicted is loosely based on the same idea as the follow-up memoir. But because the characters exist only in my imagination, I don't have to worry about hurting anyone, incriminating myself, or getting the facts wrong.

Unlike Glass Houses, Addicted is primarily for gay or very gay-friendly audiences. It goes beyond raw and gritty to downright pornographic. The first 2000 words include dialogue and a graphic sex scene.

Who knew? A year ago the idea of writing a book seemed impossible. Now I have finished one and started a second. Just goes to show you anything is possible, even for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-04-17T15:48:00.000-04:00

Most my garden photos are taken an hour or so before the sun goes down. Today I went out at 3:00 to get some shots in full sun. Normally I have no trouble narrowing the field of photos down to three. Not today.

Years ago I planted some Beidermeir Columbines. The original plants and several generations since are long gone. The complex blossoms are among my favorites.

I have no idea what kind of peony this is. It's supposed to be a pink with single blossoms. The other two that came in the same package are pink.

I've planted half a dozen native azaleas. Three still survive--this is the only one that blooms. I think they get too much shade.

You've seen this combo before--in my last post about the garden. I'm in love with the deep red azaleas and think they look great with the pansies. That's one of the benefits of blogging--I decide what goes in!

This combo was featured in the last garden post, too. The Beauty Bush blooms look white but are actually a very pale pink. Beneath them you can just make out the amsonia blue star just coming into bloom.

Finally, a single white iris. These were growing in the lot when the house was built. I suspect my backdoor neighbors threw them over the fence.

And that's what's happening today in the garden of...

The Crotchety Old Man

A Serendipitous Set-Back

2011-04-17T10:52:00.000-04:00

The local writer's group met last night. Unfortunately, we didn't get to discuss Glass Houses. You can imagine my disappointment.

As you'd expect from ole Crotchety, I was also more than a little pissed. With the exception of the delightful Adrienne Wilder, nobody was able to finish reading my book in time for the meeting. Bummer.

I was also disappointed that the two writers most like me in terms of style and genre weren't able to attend. One is familiar with memoirs and the narrative style I use. The other is starting her own memoir. I value everyone's feedback but was especially looking forward to hearing their comments.

Once we got into discussing the other submissions, my anger and disappointment faded. Hearing what everyone had to say about the pieces we're critiquing is interesting. I'm learning a lot about writing good fiction.

We did spend a few minutes talking about Glass Houses. Some members asked about other memoirs to read to become more familiar with the genre. I didn't offer any suggestions. In my opinion, originality and good writing are what make a memoir interesting. A good read is a good read.

The feedback from those who had read part of the book was positive. They think the structure is fine. That's a huge relief. As I've said before, I wasn't in favor of a massive reorganization of the book.

The group typically works with manuscripts 5,000 words at a time--3,000 if there are a lot of submissions for one meeting. At just over 110,000 words, my manuscript is longer than most. Depending on the number of submissions per meeting, we're talking 22 to 35 meetings for a full critique.

In the final moments of the meeting we came up with a new and improved plan for workshopping Glass Houses. After everyone finishes reading the manuscript--probably a month or so from now--we'll select the sections most in need of work for discussion at future meetings. This will likely cut the number of meetings needed by half if not more.

Things always work out for the best. I need to remind myself of this truth whenever I start blowing a fuse. No matter how often I think otherwise, the world does not revolve around...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-04-13T20:15:00.000-04:00

The dogwoods are fading fast. We had a wind advisory over the last few days. All the dogwood petals look like snow in my back yard.

Ready for some red, white, and blue? Blue pansies, the darkest red azaleas I could find, and a white azalea (Girard's Christina) with enormous, lightly fragrant blooms. The red azaleas are just two years old--can't wait until they reach full size.

I had to include this picture. It's really hard to get a good picture of blue flowers. These blue delphiniums look great at dusk. I got them at Lowe's a few weeks ago. I doubt they'll return next year but you never know.

The flowers on banana shrubs are hidden deep inside the plant. I had to pull a branch back to get this photo. I knew they were in bloom because of the fragrance--like Juicy Fruit gum.

This is a close-up shot of the beauty bush in full bloom. The Knock-out roses behind it are at least seven feet tall. The roses are almost too plentiful but who's going to knock a rose that blooms all summer?

And that's what's happening today in the garden of...

The Crotchety Old Man

No More Leaf-Clicking

2011-04-13T17:14:00.000-04:00

Nine months after signing on to ancestry.com, I've been able to trace my ancestors back farther than I ever thought possible. Not counting copying and printing charges, I've spent about $180. No telling how many hours I've invested clicking leaves.

Before ancestry.com, beyond my grandparents I was completely ignorant about my family tree. Not anymore. I've traced some lines back several hundred years and in a few cases, more than a thousand years.

Is the information accurate? Maybe. The more recent the person lived and died, the better I feel about the likelihood he or she is actually related to me. The farther back I go, the less confident I am about the results.

Learning about my ancestors has been interesting. Along the way I made some very interesting discoveries. I know more about my family history than anyone in the family, including things nobody wants to know.

My family tree research answered a lot of questions.It also raised a great many more. Unless traveling through time becomes possible, most will likely remain unanswered. Dead men (and women) tell no tales.

The curiosity that kept me clicking those damn leaves has been satisfied. In fact, I haven't clicked another leaf for a couple of months. After thinking about it for a while, I've canceled my membership to ancestry.com.

I did export the file with all the records to a GEDCOM file. If I want, I can buy software (for about $25 I hear) that will allow me to upload the file to peruse the records in my family tree. For now, I know all I care to know about the origins of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Dog Training Disaster Averted

2011-04-12T18:54:00.000-04:00

To sign Toodles (and me) up for classes, I Googled "obedience training" and my zip code. All the options but one were on the other side of town. With gas prices the way they are, I figured what the heck and went to the web page.

The trainer's business is called Sit Means Sit. I sent her an e-mail message about Toodles (including that she weighs five pounds), indicated the kind of problems we were having, and asked if she could help. She called me back a couple of days later, assured me she could help, and set up an appointment for a demonstration this coming Sunday.

Having committed, I returned to Google to see if I could find any reviews of Sit Means Sit. Boy did I. Turns out, Sit Means Sit is a franchise opportunity involving--get this--SHOCK COLLARS!!!

I pity the fool who tries to put a shock collar on my baby. I sent the trainer an e-mail asking if the training involved a shock collar and before she could respond, sent another telling her to cancel the appointment. I'd made other arrangements.

We're registered for Beginner Classes at the fabulous Pawtropolis starting April 28 for seven weeks. They offer a variety of training classes, doggy day care, a spa for dogs, boarding (which they call overnights), and more. You can even watch your dog via a webcam.

If the lessons go as well as I hope, we'll be dropping Toodles off every few weeks for Doggy Daycare. My partner is looking into classes for Tico, too. We want going to Pawtropolis to be something they get excited about.

Hopefully Toodles will learn to play with other dogs instead of screaming bloody murder. I hope so. If so, the folks at Pawtropolis will probably see a lot of Toodles, Tico and...

The Crotchety Old Man

Let the Waiting Begin--The Sequel

2011-04-12T17:20:00.000-04:00

Since early March when I received a rejection e-mail from the agent of my dreams for Glass Houses, nothing has happened. I've shared my memoir with several more friends and joined a local writer's group. Barring unforeseen delays, we'll discuss my book at the writer's group meeting this coming Saturday.

I really don't know what to expect. People who have finished the book tell me Glass Houses is very well written and that they thoroughly enjoyed the read. The positive feedback means the world to me.

Two-thirds of the people I shared the book with haven't said one way or the other. I have no idea if they hated it and quit reading, never had any intention of reading it, or are just busy and plan to read it later. Wondering drives me crazy.

It would be different if I'd given them a book somebody else wrote. I might even feel differently if my book was a work of fiction. Given that it's a memoir in which I bare my soul, the silence is deafening and a little frightening.

I asked the writer's group to give me a thumbs up or down on the entire manuscript. Is Glass Houses OK more or less the way it is? Or do I need to go back to the drawing board to start over again?

My own opinion varies with the day of the week and whoever I last talked with about the book. More and more, however, I'm standing behind the book as it's written. Yeah it needs some editing--but not a major rewrite.

My friend Adrienne Wilder just received a contract and an advance for her latest book. I'm thrilled for her. Since she's already read my book, I sent her the query and one-page synopsis I'd sent to the agent of my dreams. Her comments and suggestions helped tremendously.

Today I submitted my revised query, an improved one-page synopsis, and the complete manuscript to a small, gay publishing company. I researched my options and believe this company is a good fit for me. The fact that at least two editors review every submission makes me feel better about my prospects with them, too.

Even successful writers receive a lot of rejections before they find a publisher. Since the editors will have theoretically read the entire manuscript, a rejection from this publisher will sting a bit more than the one I received from the agent of my dreams. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

In the meantime, I'll listen to what the writer's group has to say. If they give me the thumbs up I'm expecting, we'll figure out how to go about improving the manuscript. Getting a thumbs down from them would be a surprise, and likely result in a lot of push back from...

The Crotchety Old Man

Well-Trained

2011-04-11T16:53:00.000-04:00

Today I want to tell you about my little five-pound chihuahua, Toodles. She'll be two years old in a few weeks. She's the first dog over six-months old I've ever called my own.

To say I'm crazy about her would be an understatement. She feels the same way about me. Together we're quite a pair.

Mostly she's a good little dog. She's kennel-trained, and enthusiastically jumps into her kennel on command before I leave for work. She's great on a leash and loves going for walks. If she thinks a treat is involved, she will sit on command and on occasion, knows what stay means.

Sometimes I'll kennel her up but most nights she sleeps with me. She's taught me that when she goes to the foot of the bed, she needs to go outside...now. Wait more than a few minutes and she'll poop in the bed. Now means now.

Unless she has to go really, really bad, she's not inclined to go outside if it's raining, snowing, or dark. I've learned that when she lays a certain way with a particular look on her face, it's time. Again, failing to respond in a timely manner is unwise.

I carry her out and set her down in the designated poop zone. She'll immediately assume the position and push one out. Then I have to pick her up--she doesn't like to walk in the wet grass to go back inside.

She's terrified of other dogs. She screams bloody murder until I pick her up if another dog comes within about five feet of her. She screams so loud the neighbors come running to see how badly she's hurt.

I'd take her everywhere with me if I could. Unfortunately, I can't. There isn't a soul on the planet I could leave her with, either--even my partner. Toodles has taken to screaming when he carries her outside in the dark. Unless she met them when she was a puppy, she won't let anyone else even come near her.

As much as I love her being a one-man dog, I had to do something. We start obedience school in a few weeks. Apparently Toodles has a few more tricks to teach...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-04-10T20:28:00.000-04:00

I was maybe a tad late taking pictures today...got caught up in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof with Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman. The first and last hour or so of light are best for garden pictures. These are a bit dark but you get the idea.

My delightfully fragrant beauty bush (kolkwitzia) started blooming today. You can see my ginormous Knock-Out roses to the right and azaleas in the background. The predominant smell in the area (like Pond's Beauty Cream) comes from my rugosa roses which unfortunately close up at dusk.

My azaleas will be at peak bloom sometime this week. The white Kurumes in the background were featured last week. These are a little orangey. I'll post a picture of a dark red variety later in the week.

These pink Rutherford azaleas are the biggest in the yard. Rutherfords are often sent as potted plants by florists for funerals. They're very lightly fragrant but it's the double blossoms that make set them apart from other azaleas.

Sorry about the dark photos. I'll try to get out a little earlier next time. Believe it or not, blogging isn't the only activity for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Regrets

2011-04-08T16:58:00.000-04:00

Dear Boy Scouts of America (local council),

Thank you so much for the invitation to the upcoming banquet to honor the Eagle class of 2010. Having received my Eagle some forty years ago, I know what it means to have accomplished this important goal. Particularly in this day and time, I'm glad young boys have the opportunity to participate in the character-building path to Eagle.

My involvement with Boy Scouts from 1969 to about 1979 was all good. I write about some of my experiences in Glass Houses, a memoir about my life. My time in scouts helped me to develop leadership skills, instilled a sense of pride in my abilities, and fostered relationships I maintain to this day.

Unfortunately, I won't be attending the banquet to honor the 2010 class of Eagle Scouts. Nor will I be sponsoring any of the boys to be honored at the banquet. Frankly, I'm surprised you even asked.

The Boy Scouts of America has made it quite clear there is no place in your organization for people like me. You see, I'm gay. In your organization that little tidbit of information overshadows my Eagle and all my accomplishments since.

Never mind that the character I developed through Boy Scouts helped me to survive an extremely difficult time in my life. Even with a pedophile for a scoutmaster I learned the value of being trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent. Until people with beliefs like yours convinced me I'd burn in hell for all eternity, I tried my best to do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout law; to help other people at all times; and to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.

My time in scouts shaped me into the man I am today. The integrity I gained through scouting prevents me from supporting yours or any other homophobic organization. It's a shame, too, I know many current scouts would likely be inspired by my story.

Until your organization changes its position and opens scouting to ALL boys, I won't be attending your banquet. No matter how deserving they may be, I can't provide financial support to the new Eagles, either. Please extend congratulations to them from...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-04-07T19:43:00.000-04:00

My first clematis of the season started blooming a few days ago. I love them and have about a dozen different varieties. I think this one is 'Nelly Moser' but wouldn't swear to it.

My early azaleas are in full bloom. The red Kurumes are still too small to make much of an impression. The white Kurumes are about four foot tall. I love the small, double flowers and that they bloom first among the azaleas.

I couldn't get a good shot of everything together. This picture shows the clematis blooming behind Rutherford azaleas (the largest in my garden) beneath a dogwood. You can't see the red snapdragons and the just-emerging hostas. Oh well.

And that's what's happening today in the garden of...

The Crotchety Old Man

As Seen on Television

2011-04-07T17:14:00.001-04:00

I'm not happy about a recent trend on television. Perhaps you haven't noticed. Let me give you some examples.

America's Funniest Videos bills itself as family entertainment. A significant percentage of the featured videos revolve around men taking hits to the family jewels, projectile vomit, and basketball-sized snot bubbles. None of this strikes me as entertainment, much less something for the whole family.

OK, the ball-bashing is pretty funny, especially when caused by some stupid act. Holding a pinata for a blind-folded three-year-old with a baseball bat is unwise. Ditto trying to ride your bicycle or skateboard down a stair rail. The clips are funny because the dumbass deserves the consequences.

Puking, pooping, and snot-sliming are not funny. AFV is just following the trend. Gross-out television is in. I don't know about you, but I don't see the entertainment value in grossing people out.

I blame the Jackass movies. Gross-out pranks, ball-bashing stunts, and general idiocy prevail. The latest version was filmed in 3-D. I haven't seen it--and won't--but I'd be willing to bet there is at least one projectile vomit shot.

Tosh.O would be absolutely hysterical if it wasn't for his gross out clips. Some are so gross all you see is the studio audience retching and gagging. Given the grossness of the clips we can see, I can't even imagine what the audience must be seeing.

Silent Library is about as bad. Some of the stunts are funny. The rest are either abusive or just gross. Eating or drinking nasty concoctions is a regular feature which usually leads to barfing from the contestant. Again, how is this entertainment?

I guess the next thing is a live show featuring projectile vomit into the audience. People will probably pay extra to sit in the puke seats. After the show you can have the star sign your puke-stained shirt.

Call me old-fashioned, but I'm not a fan of the gross-out trend. No doubt things will get worse before they get better. I promise you will never see projectile vomit or other gross-out clips posted here on...

The Crotchety Old Man

Damn My Eyes

2011-04-06T16:40:00.000-04:00

After a grade school vision test, I was hugely disappointed to discover my eyesight was fine. My disappointment was not about a desire to see better. Somehow I got the idea glasses would improve my appearance.

My parents and I never got the memo about regular eye exams. My next trip to the eye doctor was about six years ago. Increasing difficulty in reading small print drove me to make the appointment.

Following the exam the eye doctor told me to pick up some reading glasses from the drugstore. I did. Problem solved.

Last summer I went back to the eye doctor. My vision had deteriorated to the point that even with glasses, I couldn't read small print. The harder I tried the less I could see.

After several tests, the eye doctor said I needed to see a retina specialist ASAP. The clincher was my inability to see a dot on a piece of graph paper. Actually, unless and until I tried to focus on it, I could see the dot. I later learned this is a classic symptom of my disease.

The retina specialist performed several tests, including a number of scans. He told me I had macular degeneration in both eyes with a severe case in my left eye. Follow the link for a more detailed description but it is essentially a swelling of the retina caused by plaque deposits.

My vision, per se, is fine. My right eye is 20/15. The left bounces around from 20/15 to 20/30. Glasses don't help.

My peripheral vision is fine--the swelling interferes with my ability to focus. Without treatment I will eventually lose my ability to see details, such as words in a book and faces. There is no cure.

The treatment is an injection in the eye of Avastin, a colo-rectal cancer drug which shrinks the swelling. They numb my eyeball first. Still, getting a shot in the eyeball is only slightly less horrifying than it sounds.

I had to have the injections the first four times I saw the specialist. In February the swelling had gone down enough to skip the injection. Instead of a six-week follow-up, I didn't have to come back for two months. You'd have thought I won the lottery.

My two months was up this morning. I knew when my left eye tested 20/40 that I wasn't going to get a pass on the injection this trip. The scan turned up even more swelling than was evident on the first scan. Damn.

No part of the procedure hurts--it's just uncomfortable. The worst part is the wire clip they use to hold my eye open. Think Clockwork Orange. From prep to finish the entire procedure lasts about two minutes.

While waiting in a dark room for my eyes to dilate I've met a lot of senior citizens who share my condition. Most have had macular degeneration for decades. Unlike me, all are legally blind in at least one eye because there was no treatment when they were diagnosed.

Horrible is a relative term. Compared with losing my vision, the eyeball injections every six weeks aren't so bad. At least when I look in the mirror I still see the face of...

The Crotchety Old Man

The Sound of Silence

2011-04-05T16:47:00.001-04:00

We had quite a thunderstorm here in Athens last night. I don't know what time the storm hit. Toodles woke me up to take her out around 11:30--it was windy and more than a little balmy, but the rain hadn't started yet.

If I'm asleep when it starts, thunderstorms rarely wake me up. Frankly I doubt even an earthquake would wake me from a sound sleep. I've even slept through a hotel evacuation that included fire alarms, door-pounding, and phone calls to my room.

Last night I woke with a start. The thunder and roaring winds didn't wake me. Like I said, noise almost never bothers me. Silence is another matter. I woke up when we lost our electricity. The silence was deafening.

The power must have gone off between 1 and 2 in the morning. I got up and walked around the house, peeking out the windows to see if anyone else had power. The people on the street behind us did, but our street was dark.

Back in bed the steady drip of the shower in the master bathroom kept me awake. Normally white noise from a small fan on the dresser masks the sound. Last night it was like Chinese Water Torture.

I tried to focus on the sound of the wind and driving rain. I worried about branches from the tall Georgia pines around our house coming through the roof. Then I thought about how much trouble re-setting all the clocks would be. That got me to worrying we would oversleep and be late for work.

Next my mind wandered to the contents of the refrigerator. Would that half gallon of yummy Mayfield ice cream be OK? Maybe I should go ahead and eat it. No, opening the freezer door would only make things worse.

Both dogs were restless. Normally I put them in their kennels when they get antsy in the night. I worried a tornado would hit the house and decided I'd rather have them with me.

For the next hour my mind rotated between the dripping shower head, the Caramel Sundae Crunch ice cream melting in the freezer, and where I would get coffee when I got up. In between I groused at Toodles and Tico to settle down after both apparently felt an intense need to thoroughly clean themselves. It was a long night.

Finally the storm passed. I put the dogs in their kennels. It was 4:30 in the morning. Now to sleep, perchance to dream.

But no, Toodles was intent on noisily rearranging the contents of her kennel. She clanked her metal bowls around and at one point, decided to try to dig her way out through the kennel's plastic bottom. Who knew five pounds of dog could make so damn much noise?

I drifted off to sleep just as the alarm on my partner's iPhone went off. He must have gotten up and set it while I was roaming the house. Had I known, I would have had one less thing to worry about.

Pulling the covers over my head, I tried to go back to sleep. Just as I was nodding off the power came back on. At least the coffeemaker would work.

Good thing. I can live without sleep. But doing without my morning coffee would have been too much for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Anger Issues

2011-04-03T16:17:00.000-04:00

I've come to believe anger is cumulative. Something happens to piss me off. Rather than dealing with it, I keep my mouth shut, stuff my anger somewhere it doesn't belong, and go on like nothing happened.

Sometimes expressing my anger is simply inappropriate. It's not OK to bite a coworker's head off for wasting my time in a faculty meeting talking about stuff nobody cares about. Keeping my mouth shut doesn't make the anger go away.

Sometimes expressing my anger is, at best, ineffective. Laying on the horn when someone cuts me off in traffic doesn't change a thing. Ditto flipping off the jerk who's front bumper is practically in my back seat. Given the number of people around here who carry guns, expressing my anger with these drivers could get me killed. So I don't.

In other cases there is no place to direct my anger. Politicians piss me off on a daily basis. I've taken my anger to the ballot box--none of my current representatives at the state and federal level received my vote. I won't vote for any of them next time around either. Calling them is a waste of time. Changing a position to win my vote would turn-off the people who will re-elect them next time around.

Sometimes expressing my anger is just a waste of time. Lots of people believe a bunch of bullshit that simply isn't true. Many have opinions on subjects about which they know absolutely nothing. They accept as gospel anything someone forwards them in an e-mail message, unless of course it's contrary to the crap they believe. Arguing with idiots is a fool's game.

Stuffing my anger kinda sorta works--at least for a while. I carry it around with me, keeping the lid on tight to avoid a blow up. You might see a little steam escape now and then, but mostly I keep it bottled up pretty tight.

The exceptions, unfortunately, are the people I love. For unknown reasons I seem to think it's OK to blow-up at the people who least deserve my anger. It's the thing I hate most about being...

The Crotchety Old Man

Fact or Fiction?

2011-04-01T18:09:00.001-04:00

At my first meeting with the local writer's group, I really hit it off with one of the members. Adrienne Wilder writes urban fantasies about a world with dragon-human hybrids. Although I'm not especially an urban fantasy devotee, I find her work to be highly imaginative and beautifully constructed.

I sent Glass Houses to her after the meeting. She read it right away and met me for lunch a couple of days later to share her thoughts. We had a delightful conversation about her work and mine. I haven't yet decided if I agree with her suggestions, but I understand exactly why she made them.

The critical question is whether or not Glass Houses should stay a memoir or be reworked as a piece of fiction loosely based on my life. She also suggested starting in the middle with the earlier sections turning up as either flashbacks or recollections. Switching to fiction would also mean writing dialogue--lots of it.

I don't even know where to start. I'm such a linear thinker that starting in the middle is really hard for me to wrap my head around. The very idea of writing dialogue frankly terrifies me.

The convener sent Glass Houses to the rest of the group last week. Normally they only get 5000 words at a time. I want them to read the entire piece as is so they can help me figure out which way to go. A message to that effect was included with the manuscript.

We meet tomorrow night. I won't know if my book will be discussed until I get there and find out if everyone had a chance to read it. If not, we'll talk about it at the next meeting.

I'm really looking forward to hearing what the rest of the group has to say. I'm torn. I get what Adrienne wants me to do and why.

I'm leaning toward keeping it the way it is. I want people to get to know the innocent kid I was before they meet the reckless wild-ass I became. By the end, I hope the reader has a better understanding of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-03-29T18:08:00.000-04:00

Much cooler weather has slowed things down in the garden. Three-plus inches of rain over the weekend washed blossoms from plants that were blooming last week. Consequently, there's not a lot going on.

Camellia season is drawing to a close, at least in my garden. I've had better years. The unusually cold weather in December took out most the buds on my biggest tree. 'Victory White' (below) is still blooming.

All over Athens the earliest azaleas are already blooming. Mine are just getting started. Here you can see the blossoms of this Kurume hybrid just starting to open. I have a red one, too but it's still too small to make much of an impression.

Dogwoods are at peak bloom all over Athens, too. I lost a couple of mature dogwoods during the drought years. I need to start watching more closely for the seedlings.

The queen of the garden this week is my tree peony. Unlike the peonies you are familiar with, tree peonies don't die back to the ground over the winter. The flowers are huge!

With the weather warming and all the rain we've had, things should really take off over the next few days. I'll keep you posted, right here on...

The Crotchety Old Man

Alien Nation Right Here at Home

2011-03-28T18:16:00.002-04:00

Last Tuesday something horrible happened in Athens. Two police officers were shot as they responded to a carjacking. Senior Police Office Elmer Christian, a 33 year-old father of two (ages two and five), was killed and another officer was seriously wounded.

Jamie Hood was quickly identified as the perpetrator and a massive manhunt was launched. The media reported Mr. Hood had been released from prison two years ago after serving a 12-year sentence for armed robbery. He held up a pizza delivery driver and got three dollars.

While he was in prison, his 22-year-old brother was shot and killed by Athens police. If his weapon hadn't jammed, the brother would have been a cop killer, too. My heart breaks for the poor mother.

After a three day search, Mr. Hood was determined to be holed up in an apartment with ten hostages. The hostages were friends and family members he intended to use as human shields. Negotiations went on all day.

A search for "Jamie Hood" on Twitter during the negotiations turned up hundreds of comments. Believe it or not, the vast majority with an opinion believed Mr. Hood was the victim of racism. Many hoped he would come out with guns a blazing and take out still more police officers.

After a long stand-off and a lot of cocaine, Jamie Hood turned himself in on Friday. Knowing police don't take kindly to cop killers and afraid for his safety, he demanded his surrender be televised live on an Atlanta television station. The police complied, bringing an end to a very scary time here in Athens.

Yesterday, as officer Christian was laid to rest, a fan page for Jamie Hood sprung up on Facebook. After a mention on Atlanta's Fox News channel, the number of people who "like" the page jumped into the thousands. The overwhelming majority see cop killer Jamie Hood as a hero.

Ignorance is a factor. As an educator and a writer, the absolute absence of proper spelling and grammar is appalling. The sentiment behind the comments is frankly terrifying.

On both Twitter and Facebook, the racist comments--from both sides--are among the most offensive I've ever seen anywhere. They reflect a world that is foreign and unfamiliar to me. I'm shocked and horrified.

Race isn't the issue--it's an excuse. The real issue is poverty. The poorest Americans live in a world that doesn't resemble mine in any shape, form, or fashion.

Poverty is the single-largest problem facing this country. You'd never know it. Listening to our politicians talk you'd think that abortion, gay marriage and Muslim terrorists were the biggest threats to our society.

Just another reason I am...

The Crotchety Old Man

Crotchety on Twitter: Part Two

2011-03-27T14:45:00.000-04:00

My last post was about following people and other entities on Twitter. I'm only following 176 entities and could spend all day every day keeping up with the Tweets. With Facebook I usually manage to read all the status updates and posts from friends I haven't hidden or unfriended. With Twitter I don't even try.

Selecting Twitter accounts to follow is easy enough. Once I was following enough people, Twitter started recommending other accounts to follow. Getting folks to follow me has been a lot more challenging.

I hear a good way to get followers is to post (frequently) on trending topics. The more brilliant the post, the more likely it will be to result in a new follower or two. Talk about pressure...

Right now I have 28 followers. Of those, eleven (including two porn sites) appear to be businesses hoping I'll return the favor by following them. Another thirteen (all women but one)look like they're probably real people. Four are people I know.

Whenever possible I've been posting links to my blog. If the trending topic hits something I wrote about in the past, I'll post that link, too. According to Google Analytics, this strategy has so far attracted four people to the blog.

Twitter isn't nearly as much fun as Facebook. In fact, building a presence on Twitter is hard work. I'll stick with it for a while, but extra work really wasn't on the wish list for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Crotchety on Twitter: Part One

2011-03-25T19:48:00.000-04:00

Today marks the end of my first week on Twitter. Frankly I don't know what to think. It's a lot to take in.

The basic idea is to find people (or entities) you want to follow. When you follow someone, his or her tweets show up on your timeline (like your wall on Facebook). As of this moment I'm following 107 including a bunch of different news outlets, quite a few celebrities, the literary agent of my dreams, a few friends, and several others related to my various hobbies and interests.

The trend list is one of the more interesting parts of Twitter. It shows the top eight to ten topics currently showing up in Tweets. You can check trends worldwide, by country, or pick from a list of the largest U.S. cities. Click on the topic to find out what people are saying.

Some of the trends are marked with a hash tag (#, what people my age call a pound sign). Many of these on the trend list are hash tag games. Right now #100FactsAboutMe (to use the proper Twitter terminology) is trending. Some of the games are downright offensive.

I definitely see things on Twitter before they show up other places--including television news, the blogs I follow, and Facebook. Elizabeth Taylor showed up on the trend list Wednesday morning. Before the news showed up anyplace else I found out she had died, that the Westboro Bigot Church planned to protest at her funeral, that she was 15 minutes late for her funeral, and that the Westboro Bigots didn't show up.

I didn't get on Twitter to be able to follow Dolly Partin and the like. My real purpose in joining Twitter is to get people to follow me. Next time I'll tell you how that's working for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Flower of the Week

2011-03-23T17:43:00.001-04:00

Today I took my camera with me on a short road trip hoping to see some big stands of wisteria. These photos were snapped from my car so they're not the best. Still, I think you'll get the idea.

Wisteria is definitely the most spectacular early spring bloomer here in Athens. Before moving south I'd seen a wisteria "tree"--a vine trained to have a trunk so it grows like a small tree. If the tree-form is all you've seen, then you've really never seen wisteria.

Wisteria spreads like wildfire. Frankly, I'm afraid to grow the stuff. You have to cut the vines back hard every year or it will take over. In some parts of town, the entire tree canopy is blanketed with lovely lavender wisteria blooms. They smell good, too.

Despite its rampant growth, other than when it's blooming wisteria is largely invisible. The blooms appear on bare vines--the foliage appears later. If you know where it is growing and you look hard enough, in the summer you can see the foliage.

Wisteria typically blooms before most the stuff blooming now. This year everything else was so early I thought maybe the wisteria wasn't going to bloom. I'm glad it did. Spring without wisteria would not be good for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today's Anti-Gay News

2011-03-22T17:38:00.000-04:00

Remember Victoria Jackson? She was the dumb blond on Saturday Night Live ages ago. Today she's all over the news thumping her Bible, blasting Glee for the big gay kiss, and lamenting that her teenage daughter has nothing to watch on television.

Reports surfaced indicating Chick-Fil-A provided more than $1 million of support to anti-gay groups. I've met Stuart Cathey and because of all the work he does with orphans, frequented his restaurants. Having found out my money was subsequently used against me, there will be no more Chick-Fil-A for me.

Republican presidential-wannabes Mike Huckaby and Tim Pawlenty say if elected, they'll reinstate Don't Ask Don't Tell. Huckaby is the torch-bearer for religious conservatives. Both men are opposed to same-sex marriage--for religious reasons.

Today Bill Donohue, President of the Catholic League, denounced a proposed U.N. resolution supporting gay rights--for religious reasons. He's particularly concerned that adopting the language of the resolution will make it harder for states to reject same-sex marriage. I'm guessing he doesn't want to see priests leaving the church.

Various religious groups are organizing conferences and other forums to talk about the success gay activists have had in labeling them as haters. The groups have names like Focus on the Family, Americans for Truth, the Liberty Council and the Westboro Baptist Church. They whine about the power of gay activists, claim to be oppressed, and work diligently to make sure gay people remain second class citizens without the rights of our straight friends and neighbors.

Fortunately, I have many religious friends I admire and respect. If they agree with all the anti-gay rhetoric, they haven't said so around me. I'm inclined to believe they support my rights as an individual and would come to my wedding.

We have freedom of religion in this country which means you can believe whatever you want. So can I, and what I'd like more than anything is freedom from religion. I'm sick and tired of the hate-based rhetoric and the ignorance behind it. Your right to believe what you want stops when it interferes with my ability to live as...

The Gay Crotchety Old Man

My Affair with Facebook

2011-03-21T16:48:00.001-04:00

In late March or early April I celebrate my two-year anniversary on Facebook. I bet Hallmark or somebody makes a greeting card. Save your money--I'm not planning any parties or special events to mark the occasion.

Facebook has been a lot of fun. I've reconnected with old friends, become friends with old acquaintances, and made new friends who have no connection to my past. Facebook has brought me closer to some of my extended family, too. Not bad for a free service.

Over about the last year I've noticed a significant decline in the number of people who comment on posts. Because I tend to believe the entire world revolves around me, at first I took the absence of comments on my posts personally. I assumed my friends had hidden my posts because they were tired of hearing from me so much.

While some probably did hide my posts, I recently discovered the problem is more likely the result of a change to Facebook. They're always changing something. I don't know about you, but I liked the version we used two years ago a lot more than the Facebook of today.

There's an obscure "edit options" button at the bottom of the news feed. The default setting is "show posts from friends and pages you interact with most." Unless you change it to "show posts from all your friends and pages", you're probably missing posts from people you'd like to hear from.

To make matters worse, it's unclear exactly what Facebook means by "interact with the most." Since several of my regular chat buddies weren't seeing my feeds, chats must not count as interactions. Looks like commenting on each others' walls or posts is the only thing that counts.

I could set up a schedule and rotate my comments through all my friends. Even for me that seems a bit obsessive. For the last two weeks I've barely commented at all.

My affair with Facebook has about run its course. I'll continue to send birthday greetings to my friends and will keep an eye on the status updates that still show up on my wall. I may even comment now and then. But the thrill of using Facebook is gone for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-03-20T17:41:00.000-04:00

Thanks to deer, drought and other challenges, for the last few years my garden goal has been to maintain the status quo. Fixing the sinkholes boosted my spirits and forced me to change things up. Now I'm making major changes throughout the garden.

The rush is on to get everything moved. Without at least a month to settle in, new plants don't stand a chance of surviving summer. By then it's too hot to do much work outside, too. I'm excited about the changes and will point them out in future pictures. Until then, take a look at what's blooming today in my garden.

Old-fashioned Bleeding Hearts would definitely be on my top ten list of the most beautiful flowers. Only one of the five I had last year returned so the flowers are especially precious this year. Not sure what happened...I'll get more.

I selected this variety of Flowering Quince for the apricot flowers. They bloom a bit later than the red but aren't nearly as showy. Mine are still young...we'll see if they get any showier as they age.

I love star flowers. Mine drifted over from my neighbor's yard. I meant to divide them last fall. Maybe I'll remember this fall.

Lungworts are pretty little plants for shade. I like the silver splashes on the foliage all year. The tiny flowers started blooming last week and will continue for another four to six weeks.

Hope you enjoyed today's stroll through the garden of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Stepping Up My Game

2011-03-20T16:22:00.000-04:00

Mom finished Glass Houses yesterday. No yelling or screaming was involved. We had a nice conversation after she'd read about half the book and again after she finished. All in all she handled the story better than I expected. To say I'm relieved would be a huge understatement.

She said she enjoyed the book. Parts were hard for her to take. Some I anticipated, a few shouldn't have surprised me but did. I was especially impressed with Mom's nearly always successful effort to be upbeat and positive about the book even with her many concerns. Now she's afraid something in the book will be the reason I get passed up for some big political appointment.

In more book news, last night I attended my first meeting of the local writer's group. The other participants--three with a fourth joining toward the end--are obviously far more knowledgeable than I about both writing and the writing profession. They're very nice and made me feel like part of the group right away.

Even though I didn't submit anything for discussion, we talked about my book and the challenges of breaking into the memoir market. I learned more about getting published in ten minutes than I knew before the meeting. The feedback was so good I'm now looking forward to them reading and discussing Glass Houses at future meetings.

One message I got loud and clear is that success comes down to marketing and self-promotion. I need to get my name out there. It's time to step up my game.

Sharing links to this blog on Facebook has been fun. However, it hasn't helped me to attract new readers. I ain't saying it's your job or anything, but sharing links to my better posts with your friends would sure be helpful!

You may recall I'm picky about who I will and will not friend on Facebook. Remember the big unfriending? To accept all friend requests now would just add insult to injury.

Now I'm on Twitter--it was really the only option. You can follow me @CrotchetyMan. Thanks to some crotchety wannabe, my nom de plum wasn't available. I don't care. I'm still...

The Crotchety Old Man

Instant Research

2011-03-18T10:17:00.000-04:00

I wrote my first term paper in ninth grade--on acupuncture. We spent several class periods in the school library researching our topic. Acupuncture wasn't in any of the available encyclopedias. I spent weeks tracking down magazines from listings in the most recent Current Periodicals Directory to find enough articles to hit the required minimum.

Fast forward four decades. No matter the number, finding the required number of sources today would be a piece of cake. Google produces a list of more than 78 million links for the word "acupuncture" in 0.14 seconds. Welcome to the Information Age!

Of course the first three links are paid ads for acupuncture services available in the surrounding area. The Wikipedia entry for acupuncture is next--we'll save my true feelings about using Wikipedia as a resource for a future post. For now I'll just say, don't.

Finding information is easy. The greater challenge is determining the quality of the information you find. There's a lot of crap out there--and industries devoted to producing more of it(a major issue with Wikipedia). As a result, a fair number of people believe crap that simply isn't true.

The stakes are particularly high when the facts aren't on your side. If you happen to have a lot of resources and easy access to a major media outlet or two, the facts don't matter. Public opinion can be bought and will eventually trump the facts every time.

People quickly reject ideas different from what they already believe to be true. Skepticism is a good thing, but it needs to be applied equally to everything you see and hear. Believing something is true with all your heart or simply repeating it over and over doesn't make it true.

I know. Believing myself to be a much younger man to the point I look 25 years younger in the mirror doesn't change anything. I'm still...

The Crotchety Old Man

What Would Your Momma Say, Revisited

2011-03-16T16:04:00.000-04:00

Well...I finally did it. I got a copy of Glass Houses printed and in the mail to my mother. She should get it by Friday--Monday at the latest.

For reasons obvious to anyone who's read the first 50 pages, I've been dragging my feet about sending Mom a copy. We've talked about most everything in the book at one time or another--but never all at once. Laying things out the way I have won't be easy for her to read.

Some people write memoirs they won't share with anyone until certain people they know have died. I can certainly understand this line of reasoning. Had my book been about someone guilty of unspeakable crimes against children or anything equally heinous, I would want to wait, too.

Nobody in my book was guilty of anything more than being human. Most people do the best they know how to do. People are neither all good nor all bad. Even good people sometimes make bad decisions.

Some who have read Glass Houses say it is a tribute to my aunts and uncles--especially Toodles. While that wasn't my intention, I have to admit the fact it's true makes me feel even better about the book. Writing about the deceased is definitely a lot easier. Even with my reverential descriptions, not having to worry about how the deceased would react was liberating. Aunt Dee would NOT be pleased!

Mom is still a young woman who I hope will be with us for a long time. She has to read the book sooner or later--or at least, have the option to read it or not. I've had enough feedback from readers, some who know her and some who don't, assuring me I didn't throw Mom under the bus to be ready to share it with her.

I know she won't agree. She'll probably get a little angry, too. With more than five decades of experience dealing with her on those fronts, I can cope.

No matter how old I get, she'll always be Mom to me. Making her mad amuses me more than frightens me these days. I would never want to hurt her, even if I am...

The Crotchety Old Man

Aging Like A Fine Wine

2011-03-14T18:03:00.000-04:00

We crotchety old men are a lot like white wine. Pop the cork and the longer we sit around the worse we get. Even the best white wines eventually turn to vinegar.

I'm not bitter, I'm pissed. Bitter comes from within and is focused on the past. Pissed is based more on current events. I wouldn't have anger issues if people would quit pissing me off. Let's look at some current events that have set me off.

The Weather Channel pisses me off. It really chaps my ass when they run "Local on the 8's" on the 7's. Having to wait ten more minutes for the next local forecast gets my day off to a great start first thing in the morning.

Red Lobster is advertising seafood specials like crazy. Clearly the television adds ten pounds. The dish I'm served is like a miniature of the dish I saw on television. For this I drive all the way across town? Captain D's is at least as good and a lot cheaper.

I'm pissed that Biggest Loser, Celebrity Apprentice, and American Idol are two-hours long. The length of the program wouldn't bother me nearly so much if they didn't repeat the same crap and clips three and four times a show. Dragging things out the way they do makes my butt pucker.

Biggest Loser and Celebrity Apprentice are available OnDemand, but you can't fast forward through the commercials. No thanks. I'm not sacrificing two hours of my life for 45 minutes of entertainment and 75 minutes of commercials.

Commercials are just one big pain in the ass. According to Wikipedia (so it's just as true as the Bible) the typical hour show has shrunk from 51 minutes to 42 minutes. On some networks--and I'm sure you've watched one or two, the standard is 36 minutes.

I pay handsomely for basic cable. Paying for an hour of television that includes as little as 36 minutes of program ain't right. Paying to watch the cable company's commercials is just another way I feed...

The Crotchety Old Man

Going Crotchety on the Flower Thief

2011-03-12T15:03:00.001-05:00

A few days ago I noticed about half a dozen pink hyacinth blooms were gone. Upon closer inspection, the stems had obviously been removed with scissors or some other sharp device. I was pissed.

This morning we found a couple of daffodil blossoms on the ground. Again, they had obviously been cut with something sharp. I was beyond pissed. Someone was apparently helping themselves to my flowers.

I mentioned the missing flowers to my partner on the off-chance that he'd maybe taken some to work. Nope...it wasn't him. We both had a pretty good idea who had done the dastardly deed. We just needed proof.

Later I saw my neighbors out and asked if they had noticed anyone cutting flowers in my yard. They had not but had a pretty good idea who the flower thief probably was--the lady with the little black dog. They had the same idea as me and my partner.

She's the mom of the dyad we like to call the parents of the year. I've blogged about them before. Judging from my good neighbors, I'd say their reputation has not improved since that post.

If it was anyone else but them, all they'd need to do is ask if they could cut some flowers. From someone else I'd consider it a compliment and be happy to share. But these people piss me off.

She knows I don't like her. Up to now I haven't gone off on her. I just glare when she and her mangy little dog walk by the house--just waiting for her to walk off and leave a pile. She knows I'm watching, too.

I'm sure she is the flower thief. I can't prove it, but everyone in the neighborhood agrees it was probably her. I'm sure enough that the next time I see her, we're going to have a little one-sided discussion about it.

I haven't had a really good reason to go off on someone for a very long time. Now I'm looking forward to running into her. When I'm done she'll know that under no circumstance is it ever OK for her, her husband, her kid, her dog or anyone she might know to ever set foot in the yard of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Try, Try, Again

2011-03-11T19:59:00.001-05:00

More than a week has passed since the rejection e-mail turned up in my in-box from the agent of my dreams. Rather than the disappointment you would expect, I'm humbled. There's a lot more to this writing thing than just writing a good book.

I did not take the rejection personally. The 'no' didn't have a thing to do with Glass Houses. The simple truth: I got rejected because of my amateurish query and synopsis.

There's no point in trying to submit Glass Houses anywhere until the issues with my synopsis and query are resolved. It only took about six months to write the book--a remarkably short time. I've rushed into a thousand different things only to discover too late I was in way over my head. I'm OK with the delay. Failure is just not an option.

Take the synopsis (please!). I wrote a one-page Cliff's Notes version of the book. I didn't realize the synopsis is for the inside cover of a hardback book or the back of paperback to entice you to read more. My synopsis is so complete you don't need to read the book. Now that I know I can fix it.

Improving the query is a bigger challenge. Online resources are just too generic to be very helpful. The only way to move forward is to get individualized help from someone more knowledgeable than me.

A few friends have suggested finding a local writer's group. So I Googled "Athens Writer's Groups" to investigate my options. I e-mailed the convener of the only group I could find about my dilemma and attached Glass Houses. He replied a few days later with positive comments about his "quick glance" at the manuscript, a brief note about the group, and an invitation to attend the next meeting. I was in.

The group meets next weekend. The convener invited me to submit part of Glass Houses for discussion. I thought submitting anything without having attended a meeting or two would be rude and declined.

Yesterday I received an e-mail message with submissions for discussion from three members of the group who are ready for feedback. I've already read all three. One is the beginning of what could be a very interesting memoir, the second is several chapters from the middle of a vampire novel, and the third is part three of a fantasy novel.

I had no trouble finding something to like about all three pieces. Even coming into the middle, both novels were interesting. I was especially impressed with all the dialogue in the novels. Having written Glass Houses I had a much greater appreciation for the work involved. I look forward to sharing my opinions with the writers when we get together and hope my comments will be helpful.

It might take a few months for me to get some feedback on Glass Houses. I don't mind. In fact, a little time between the rejection e-mail and my next submission is a good thing.

I figure that first query and synopsis were forgettable. In fact, I'm counting on it. I'm trying again with a new query and synopsis. The agent of my dreams hasn't heard the last of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Help Wanted: Personal Trainer

2011-03-09T18:02:00.000-05:00

A few days ago I foolishly blogged about having made it through the winter without gaining any weight. Guess I counted my chickens before the eggs hatched. Since then, out of nowhere seven pounds just appeared on my person.

Apparently I'm retaining carbs. I blame all the lunches I had to attend with candidates we're interviewing for several different positions. I know it's true because I've done the math: Seven lunches = seven pounds. I'm sure of it.

My birthday was not a factor. Everyone knows sweets given as gifts don't have any calories. This is SCIENCE and you can't argue with science. Because they were gifts the birthday cake, half gallon of ice cream, and several boxes of girl scout cookies I've eaten over the last couple of days did not contribute to the weight gain. To suggest otherwise would be unbirthday-like.

Eating less would make a difference. It would help if I exercised. Wanting to exercise would be even more helpful.

I need a really good personal trainer--someone who can move mountains. It has to be a guy, and he has to be really cute. A glimpse of his washboard abs or perky pecs might be just the carrot to get this mountain moving. Call it sick if you want...desperate times call for desperate measures.

Besides being hot he's going to need to be smart, determined, and committed to see this through to the end. The commitment part is especially important. As I understand it, one of us has to have it...and I sure don't.

He's going to need to be very creative too. I've spent most the last thirty years trying not to sweat. Breaking this well-established habit is going to take some serious motivational skills.

I shouldn't need any more motivation. My 35th class reunion is coming up in October. I looked great at the last reunion. I need to get on the stick. Can't have people wondering what the hell happened to...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-03-08T19:21:00.000-05:00

Mild weather has persisted here in Northeast Georgia for the last few weeks. Pear and cherry trees have exploded into bloom with spireas, forsythia and several kinds of magnolias. Spring is definitely on the move.

My star magnolia (Magnolia stellata) is in full bloom. On windy days you might miss the delicate fragrance. On calmer days I catch glimpses of the sent all over the yard.

I ordered Magnolia loebneri from a picture-less catalog based on the description several years ago. In truth, I thought it was an evergreen magnolia with pink flowers. Doh. Check out the beautiful blossoms.

Depending on the variety, camellias bloom from October to May. I keep planting more varieties hoping to have one in bloom throughout the season. In the foreground is 'Candycane' which this year has dark pink blooms on the east side of the plant and light pink blooms on the west side. In the background, 'Victory White' has been beautiful for more than a week.

Last weekend I finally got to spend a some time cleaning up flower beds. Pictures don't do this area justice. To really appreciate it you need the sun behind you as you stroll down (in the morning) or up (in the afternoon) the path.

The wisteria should start blooming any day now. You won't find a prettier sight than a mass plantings of wisteria in full bloom. Hopefully some good pictures for all y'all up yonder will turn up right here on...

The Crotchety Old Man

Nanu Nano

2011-03-06T16:54:00.000-05:00

My loving partner got me an iPod Nano and an iTunes gift certificate for my birthday. He told me he was going to do it. Frankly I didn't know what he was talking about and just nodded my head. I do that a lot when I don't know what's going on.

Unwrapped, the device looked like a nice lapel pin in a clear plastic ring box. I slowly turned the box around, admiring it from every possible angle. Really I was trying to figure out how the damn thing opened. I was glad when my partner finally asked if he could open the box for me. We're both tired of the disappointment that comes from me breaking stuff trying to get it out of the packaging.

The tiny little device includes an FM radio, a pedometer with several functions, and of course, music. You can even watch DVDs though doing so requires much better vision than mine. The wafer-thin touchscreen is maybe 1 1/2 inches square and amazingly easy to use. Trust me...I mastered the device in seconds and I'm a slower learner.

Setting up the iTunes account was a little more complicated, mostly because I have the patience of a gnat. My partner set up the account and even copied a bunch of albums from his collection to mine--he's sweet like that all the time. I was set.

Had it not been raining yesterday, I would have put my earplugs in and headed out to the yard to get some weeding done. Instead, I spent the morning shopping at the iTunes store. I focused my search on upbeat music from the late 70s and early 80s. Before long I'd purchased 19 golden oldies including a few rare treasures I hadn't heard for decades.

I had the house to myself while my partner ran some errands. Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out how to connect the Nano to our stereo system (a problem since rectified). I just plugged in the earphones, cranked the volume all the way up and returned to 1980.

For the next hour I shook my money maker and sang at the top of my lungs. Both dogs freaked out...Toodles wasn't herself for several hours. Me singing full-on is hard on the ears. It couldn't possibly have been the dancing.

Today the sun came out. I popped in my earplugs and spent several hours pulling weeds. I sang along, of course, and on the good parts stood up and danced like I was back at Johnny Angel's. I'm sure the neighbors were impressed.

With my luck, one of them probably caught it on video and posted it on YouTube. If so I have no idea how you'd find it. Maybe you just search for dancing and...

The Crotchety Old Man

Life Begins at 50 for Dummies

2011-03-05T15:53:00.000-05:00

Aunt Toodles always said life begins at 50. Rather than dreading the inevitable, her positive attitude kept me looking forward to the big five-oh. I couldn't wait!

A bunch of medical issues surfaced shortly after my 50th birthday. I had gum surgery, started taking statins to lower my cholesterol, realized my vision was failing, and endured several procedures and surgeries too embarrassing to mention. Turning 50 was a real pain in the ass.

Since that awful birthday I've worked through or learned to live with the health issues. I still eat what I damn well please and refuse to exercise...but am getting better about both a little at a time. I made it through the winter without gaining any weight for the first time in decades...possibly ever.

Today I turned 53. I look around and realize I've lived in this house longer than anyplace I ever lived, been with the same employer longer than any other, and done the same work for more than 25 years. I've also been in love with my partner longer than anyone before him. It ain't bad being me.

Life happens. Each day brings new challenges. Dreams change, fade, and fall by the wayside while we work to pay the bills, keep the car running and hopefully have a little fun along the way. Taking time to look back and reflect on the past is a luxury most people are too busy to afford.

Thirty years ago I knew I wanted more. The life I'm living today seemed impossibly out-of-reach. Writing Glass Houses reminded me of leaner times and gave me a greater appreciation for how far I've come. Frankly I'm amazed.

There will always be things I don't have--you can't have everything. I'm grateful today for what I do have, and I don't mean worldly possessions. I'm grateful for my wonderful partner, each and every member of my huge extended family, a fun and caring group of friends, and two adorable chihuahuas. I'm rich beyond measure.

Toodles didn't lie to me. She might keep her mouth shut and say nothing but she would never outright lie. She just forgot about me being a slow learner. If you're like me, it might be a few years after 50 for you, too.

Thanks for giving me this platform to say what's on my mind. We've been together for quite a while now. According to blogspot, this is the 300th post on...

The Crotchety Old Man

The Pension Problem

2011-03-04T17:13:00.000-05:00

The retirement benefits of government workers have been in the news a lot lately. I've heard more noise than substance. Today I want to talk about some of these plans and why they are a problem in need of a solution.

Retirement plans come in two flavors: defined benefit or defined contribution. To understand the problem, you need to understand the difference between the two. If you already understand the difference, skip the next two paragraphs!

With a defined contribution plan you contribute every month to a tax-deferred retirement plan--like a 401(k) or 403(b). Your employer may match some or all your contributions or otherwise contribute to the plan on your behalf. After a few years (usually seven) you are 'vested' and the employer-provided portion belongs to you. Then you keep working until you save up enough money to last until you die.

With a defined benefit plan, the employer promises to provide a salary for life. Depending on the plan, you may or may not be required to contribute a portion of your earnings. Generally you work for so many years and then receive a retirement benefit based on a formula, such as the average of your three highest years of earnings. Most plans also include annual cost of living increases.

Defined benefit plans came about at a time when most people tended to work for the same employer for life. The plans were cheap for employers because few workers lived to retirement age. Those who did live long enough to retire tended to die shortly thereafter. The dramatic increase in life expectancy over the last five decades made defined benefit plans huge liabilities for employers.

Many defined benefit plans allow workers to retire after 30 years of service. Start the job at 22 and retire 30 years later and you will easily cost the employer more in retirement than you did when you worked. When that employer is a city, county, state or federal entity, the rest of us foot the bill.

Today defined benefit plans survive primarily in the government sector and in selected industries with strong unions. A few large corporations with defined benefit plans and strong unions were forced into bankruptcy. Everybody else shifted to defined contribution plans years ago.

Solving the pension problem is tricky. Nobody wants out of a defined benefit plan. Unless other provisions are made for individuals approaching retirement, it's not fair to just pull the rug out from under older workers.

Part of the solution is to require workers under a certain age (say 30) to participate in a defined contribution plan. When it comes to saving, time is definitely on your side. Defined contribution plans offer an incentive because the more you save, the sooner you can quit working.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I have both types of plans. Most my retirement income (unless my book hits the bestseller list)will come from money stashed consistently over many years in one of several tax-deferred accounts. In addition to Social Security, I have ten years of federal service from a prior job that will likely add less than a couple of hundred dollars a month to my retirement income.

I'll admit the idea of having to save up enough money for a comfortable retirement was intimidating. Having now contributed to a tax-deferred retirement plan for more than three decades, what once looked impossible is now within reach. Retirement is more than just a dream for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Rejected!

2011-03-02T17:14:00.000-05:00

Yesterday an assistant to the literary agent of my dreams sent me a polite rejection e-mail. While a teeny little bit disappointed, I wasn't really surprised. The bigger disappointment was that the boiler-plate language was so unhelpful.

"We apologize for the long delay in our response and thank you for your patience." No problem. I know the literary agent of my dreams is busy. Besides, less than three weeks seems like a pretty quick turnaround.

"Please be assured we have carefully considered your project." Carefully my ass. If that were true, the assistant would have addressed the message to Mr. Crotchety rather than to my mother--the only Ms. Crotchety I know. Or maybe Ms. was a typo. Either way, nothing about it says careful to me.

"Unfortunately we don't feel the manuscript is right for us at this time." As I only sent the first 50 pages and am reasonably certain the assistant never even opened the attachments, it must have been something I said in the query letter. Or maybe it was something I didn't say. "Not right for us" could mean anything.

"Because we receive more than 200 submissions per week, it is necessary to be extremely selective on a very subjective basis." In other words, they can do whatever they want and it is pointless to argue with them. Gotcha.

"We wish you the best of luck. There are numerous excellent agents that might be the right fit for your manuscript. Don't give up!" Where we face-to-face I could no doubt find someplace where my manuscript would fit rather nicely...

The assistant just follows orders. Knowing a little more about exactly why he or she rejected my query would make this more of a learning experience. However, with more than 200 submissions a week I can understand why more specific feedback simply isn't possible.

Thanks to many of you, I know the manuscript is not the problem. Glass Houses is well-written with a story that keeps people reading to the very end. Is it a little long? Definitely. Could a professional editor cut out chapters and parts of chapters to improve the narrative? Absolutely.

The assistant never saw the manuscript. The problem is with the query. Until I can come up with a one-sentence hook that describes the book and makes people want to read it, the rejections will likely continue. Obviously I have some homework to do.

I said I wouldn't try another literary agent. I changed my mind last night and set about finding the first runner-up literary agent of my dreams. As you know, the first runner-up assumes the official duties in the event something happens to the literary agent of my dreams. Something happened...the bitch rejected me!

Within the next few weeks I hope to submit a completely revamped query and synopsis along with the first 50 pages to the new literary agent of my dreams. I'm allowed to change my mind. Call me fickle if you want, but most people call me...

The Crotchety Old Man

Crotchety on Television

2011-03-01T17:30:00.000-05:00

Despite promising never to do so again, recent events force me to blog about the world of television. I can't help myself. With politics and religion off the table and nothing new to report on Glass Houses, I simply have no choice.

Worst Cooks in America recently wrapped up season one. Because the absolute worst were the most fun to watch, the show started off strong and faded as each bad cook was eliminated. Joshy was the winner. Yeah. Joshy. Like Josh wasn't informal enough. Anyway, if Joshy ever opens a restaurant, don't go. He never kicked his habit of re-using his tasting spoon to stir the pot.

You're Cut Off wrapped up season two last night. A group of women competing to be the next "it" girl (a la Paris Hilton) learn in the first episode they have been cut off by their parents (or the boyfriend in one case). Outside of the Real Housewives franchise, you'd be hard-pressed to find a more unlikable group of over-indulged women. Two contestants didn't make it through the season--one announced she'd just find a new boyfriend and the other was too psychotic for anything but a padded cell. Watch for Marissa and her mother to get a spin-off show.

American Idol has kicked off season 97 or whatever. I've only watched bits and pieces but believe Steve Tyler and Jennifer Lopez were excellent replacements for Lala Abdul and Simon Scowl. Now Randy needs to go. Nobody believes he ever did anything anyway. From what I've seen the 24 finalists look like the most attractive and most talented cast yet.

Atlanta is the only Real Housewives show I'll let myself watch...and maybe a New Jersey now and then. Nene needs to move on. Maybe she'll win Celebrity Apprentice. Bwahahaha! Sheree needs to go, too. She's getting a little long in the tooth for what I gather is her only real talent. Kim is ready for a spin-off but will likely finish her career back in the line up at the Cheetah Club, the Atlanta strip club where she got her start.

The new Dancing with the Stars cast will include Wendy Williams, Kirstie Alley, Ralph Macchio, Sugar Ray Leonard and a bunch of others I really don't know. For me, I'm in until Wendy goes home. I'm pretty sure she'll outlast Kirstie.

Stick a fork in Two and a Half Men--I'm calling it done. We love Charlie Harper because he's just so adorable. The Charlie Sheen we've seen on television lately isn't very likable at all. Turns out he was acting a lot more than anyone thought.

Tabitha's Salon Makeover is always good. She finds salons in all different flavors filled with the flakiest hairdressers on the planet. No matter how dysfunctional, Tabitha cuts to the root of the problem and turns things around. If she was born in the U.S. I'd want her to run for president.

I'm watching Top Chef All Stars, too. The Top Chef franchise is the best of all the cooking shows if you ask me. Up until the last episode or two the returning cast members have all been very collegial and cooperative. I expect the drama to intensify as we wind down to finding a winner (who will surely be Richard Blais).

Yeah I know--it's all crap. Back when we only had four channels, television was better. If not, you turned it off. It may not be good, but now there's always something good enough for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-02-27T18:00:00.000-05:00

Highs in the 70s all this week have really cranked things up in the garden. The pace of change has really picked up over the last couple of days. Here's what's happening today in my garden.

The hellebores are in full bloom. Locals may have gone to Hellebore Days at nearby Picadilly Farms this weekend to see thousands of these beautiful winter flowers at the peak of bloom. I have maybe 25 or 30 rather than thousands.

Early magnolias are starting to bloom, too. I'll share a picture of my pink one in a few days. Here's a nice shot of Magnolia stellata blossoms.

With the warm weather we've had the windows open. The six Daphne odoratas I planted across the front of the house haven't reached full bloom yet. These tiny little blossoms pack a powerful punch of a delightful fragrance.

Winter bulbs have taken off, too. Here you can see fragrant hyacinths, daffodils, crocus and a few grape hyacinths starting to bloom. I still have some cleaning up to do--the quick start caught me off guard!

I hear cold weather is still giving people fits elsewhere. For those of you vicariously enjoying spring through my blog, I'll keep the flower pictures coming. Just a little gift from...

The Crotchety Old Man

My Make-Believe Lawn

2011-02-27T16:53:00.000-05:00

Our house was new when I moved in a bit more than twelve years ago. My backdoor neighbor caught me in the yard soon after. Among other things, he said the builder had illegally buried a forest full of trees in a giant hole in my yard.

A month or two later the builder came over with a bobcat tractor and re-contoured the yard. The goal was to change the grade so water would drain into a dry stream bed at the bottom of the lot rather than into the street. He evened out all the humps, filled all the dips and otherwise leveled things out.

I threw grass seed across the top but didn't water it enough and for a couple of years, just pretended I had a lawn. Dust from the Georgia clay stuck to my sweat-covered body like a bad spray tan when I mowed and ran off in orange rivers when I showered. I fertilized regularly, sprayed for weeds and mole crickets and otherwise treated my dust bowl like a lawn.

Starting out I didn't know you had to spray for mole crickets. These nasty little bugs devoured my entire lawn by eating the roots. I didn't even know I had a problem until the grass vanished seemingly overnight.

I'm not a fan of pesticides. Having grown up with the pansy pests of Kentucky, before coming south I looked down my nose at anyone who resorted to spraying for bugs. Not any more. One encounter with a colony of pissed off fire ants turned the tide. The mole crickets perished.

The yard started dropping--so gradually I hardly noticed. The first sign of trouble was pooling during a heavy rain. The weight of the standing water caused the ground to fall still more. Then the pace quickened. Here's the before pic:

The nicely leveled yard dropped--by several feet in some spots--making it almost impossible to mow. I quit fertilizing and let the weeds take over. Recalling my neighbor's words about the illegal tree cemetery, I called the builder about the sinkhole last fall. He said he'd fix the problem.

Yesterday he and two buds finally decided the problem was three adjacent sinkholes. The three men spent most the day walking around, gesturing broadly and reaching agreement on a master plan. It was all way over my head. The actual work didn't take long at all. This is essentially the same view as above, today.

Today we raked, limed, fertilized and seeded the newly-graded yard. I've got the sprinkler set up so I can keep it watered. Hopefully the lawn will be established enough by June to withstand our summers. If not, I bet you'll hear about it from...

The Crotchety Old Man

Two Down...

2011-02-24T17:13:00.001-05:00

Now it's been two weeks since I submitted the query, one page synopsis and the first 50 pages of Glass Houses to the literary agent of my dreams. As of this moment, she still hasn't responded. I'm not surprised.

Every day without a rejection e-mail message from her (or her assistant) is good news. I know the number of days neither increases nor decreases the likelihood of rejection or acceptance. I don't care...for now I'll hold on to what I can.

If it's not a rejection message, the e-mail will contain a request for the complete manuscript. Although the likelihood of anything but a rejection with my first attempt is slim to none, I'm ready. I went through the whole manuscript one more time fixing typos, adding commas, and changing a word or two here and there.

I enjoy the read each and every time. Given the subject of the book, my enjoyment probably comes as no surprise. The pleasure comes more from the writing--the way the story is told--than from the actual story. It's definitely my best work.

If you want to read Glass Houses, don't be afraid to ask. I'm happy to share the manuscript (as a PDF). Just send a message to...

The Crotchety Old Man

Dealing with Deer

2011-02-23T16:17:00.000-05:00

We have a lot of wildlife in our wooded subdivision. The incredible variety of birds is a plus. Some of the other critters aren't quite as welcome.

In the absence of predators and hunters, over the last 12 years the deer population in our subdivision has substantially increased. Instead of the overnight forays I used to see evidence of now and then, my garden has become a popular eating and recreation spot for an ever expanding herd.

This little shrub is about eight years old. It had leaves until the day we cut the ornamental grasses back that normally keep it hidden from view. Planted any place else and it would be three or four feet tall and at least as wide. Bless its heart.

Perhaps the unusually cold weather this winter reduced the available food supply. Or maybe the population growth is responsible for the excessive hunger. This is the first year the little buggers have gone for my tulips. On the right you can see the deer nibbled them nearly to the ground.

I have no idea what kind of recreational events take place. There are hoof prints and gouge marks all over the yard. Garden statues get knocked over...our local deer are clearly a rowdy bunch.

Given the size of the bucks I've seen, the over-sized prophylactics make sense. Fewer deer would be a good thing. Perhaps I should scatter more condoms throughout the garden of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Southern for Dummies

2011-02-22T17:40:00.001-05:00

I have always identified myself as a southerner. Kentucky was a border state, but as far as I know most of Lexington and nearly all my family lined up on the Confederate side of the Mason-Dixon Line. To imply or suggest otherwise would be heresy to any of my aunts and uncles.

About a month after I moved to Athens someone called me a Yankee. The term sent me from zero to crotchety in about a half a second. I told her she could call me a lot of things but I was not and never would be a Yankee.

I still think being from Kentucky makes me a southerner. However, living in the Deep South for more than a decade has made me more southern than I was when I got here. I'm pretty sure this is a good thing.

A recent out-of-town visitor had dinner with a group of people I know. Afterward, the visitor told me she was impressed with how well the diverse group got along with each other. They might have acted like the best of friends but I happen to know better.

I kept the truth to myself--something I've learned to do here in the south. If you can't say something nice, don't. I struggle with this but with practice, have improved. My partner and most my Facebook friends hear what I really think later.

If you're not from the south you may jump to the wrong conclusions. For example, the fact nobody disagreed with your ten-step program to save the south doesn't necessarily mean everyone is on board with the plan. The silence could also mean everyone thought you were an idiot.

Words have different meanings down here in the south, too. Tell me how far behind your unemployed, meth-abusing ex-husband is with child support and I'll shake my head slowly and say, sorry. Yeah I'm sorry you married his sorry ass, but mostly I'm shaking my head because he's just so damn sorry. It's two different things.

Bless his (or her) heart sounds like an expression of caring concern. Down here we say bless his heart instead of things like idiot, loser, and dumbass. There are many, many occasions when no other phrase will do.

For example, your slutty neighbor tells you her sorry boyfriend is in jail again. It's not his fault because his friend bought the meth--he was only smoking it. Bless his heart.

Nothing else works quite as well. I swear. Just remember you heard it from...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-02-21T18:05:00.000-05:00

Downright balmy weather the last week or so has made a big difference in the garden. Every day something else pops out of the ground or breaks dormancy. Here are a couple of the highlights from today's tour.

Last spring (or maybe it was the spring before) I added several camellias. They're still small but a couple have a few buds. One opened this morning. The variety is 'Americana' and I expected more white and less pink.

My Daphne odoratas started blooming today, too. The clusters of tiny white flowers are intensely fragrant. Mine are just starting to bloom--I'll post a picture when they're a bit farther along. Unfortunately, I can't post the lovely fragrance.

The last post featured a photo of a Lenten Rose (Helleborus orientalis) in bloom. Here's a fuzzy close-up of the bloom from a pink plant. The darker pink is hard to photograph but I'll keep trying for a good shot.

I bought the house new and found this miniature daffodil blooming in the wooded part of my yard. I've since divided the clump several times. Toodles weighs five pounds and stands maybe ten inches tall--just to give you some perspective on the sizes.

Given our 70-degree temperatures, hearing about all the snow way up north is a little surreal. Seems like it should be this nice everywhere. If it's snowing where you are, you'll get nothing but sympathy from...

The Crotchety Old Man

Just Sex?

2011-02-20T15:35:00.000-05:00

Last week I caught part of a local talk show on an Augusta radio station. Two men hosted the show--I didn't catch their names. I gather the purpose was to talk about local news stories.

When I tuned in they were talking about an alleged inappropriate relationship between a 14 year-old student and a staff person at one of the schools. The victim was a boy, the adult a female secretary. I couldn't believe the discussion that followed.

In essence, the two men agreed a boy having sex with an older woman really wasn't that big a deal. Not that they would know--both said they had been grown men when they had their first sexual encounters. They also had children at home--at least one boy and one girl each.

The men agreed they would want to kill any adult who had sex with an under-aged daughter. But with a son, pressing charges would be enough. Killing the kindly older woman wouldn't be necessary. Chuckle Chuckle.

The two men admitted the double standard and talked about possible reasons. Both agreed young girls fell in love and would be emotionally damaged by the relationship. The little darling could be ruined for life.

With little boys, however, it wasn't about being in love. Everyone knows boys don't form emotional attachments. All they want is sex.

I nearly wrecked my car. Adults having sex with children is just wrong. Never mind the gender of either individual. The adult is taking advantage of the child...period.

Over the years several decidedly straight men have shared stories with me about early sexual encounters they had with older women. Once the sex started each and every one quickly fell in love and was devastated when the relationship ended. In retrospect, all see the adult as a sick individual--and rightly so.

I couldn't believe two fathers would see it any other way. That they did makes me so embarrassed for my gender that today I'm closing as...

Just Crotchety and Old.

One Down...

2011-02-17T19:56:00.000-05:00

A week ago I submitted the query, a boring one-page synopsis, and the first fifty pages of Glass Houses to the literary agent of my dreams. The week has flown by. So far I haven't heard from her.

She's a busy lady. I'm sure she has an assistant--or two or three--who do nothing but screen submissions. Hopefully my query was on target enough to get the assistant to open one of the two attached files.

If they start with the synopsis, I'm doomed. It's really boring and for what it is supposed to be, not very well written. If the query gets them to open the file with the first fifty pages, my chances improve dramatically. Anyone who's read Glass Houses tells me they were hooked in the first 20 pages.

No doubt, the very second the assistant finishes reading the first fifty pages, she will forward my package to the agent of my dreams. She'll include a note about ignoring the crummy synopsis and close with a plea to expedite the request for the full manuscript because she can't wait to read the rest.

These things take time. The website specifically says to be patient and guarantees a response to every submission. For now I'm saying that's one week without a "no". I'll take it. Even if it's not what you'd expect from...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today in My Garden

2011-02-16T17:54:00.000-05:00

As expected, the much warmer temperatures have made a difference in the garden. The pansies and violas I planted last fall are starting to bloom again. Bulbs are exploding from the ground. The forecast is calling for highs in the 70s on four of the next seven days so the blooming trend will continue.

I'm not sure what these are. They're supposed to be saffron crocus and as such, should bloom in the fall. Don't let the dainty appearance fool you!

These little dwarf iris weren't even visible this weekend. Now they've popped up and exploded into bloom in several spots around the garden.

Finally, my Helleborus orientalis (aka Lenten Roses) are just starting to bloom. The dusty mauve-colored blooms are harder to photograph. Here's a good view of a white one.

And that's what's happening today in the garden of...

The Crotchety Old Man

Deja Vu in the 'Boro

2011-02-15T18:34:00.000-05:00

Today I went to Statesboro, Georgia in Bulloch County for an 11:00 meeting. Bulloch County has a great Agricultural Center that includes the county extension office and nice meeting rooms. We use the facility often for various functions in the southeast corner of the state.

Devoted fans will recall a previous trip to the same location a while back. I fought with the GPS Navigation app I had on my phone the entire trip. In return the GPS dumped me in a pasture in the middle of nowhere rather than my desired destination.

Since Christmas I've been using a Garmin for road trips. The selected route is sometimes odd. Today I got routed over a gravel road for about three miles. I've learned to trust these little detours since they trim a minute or two off the total travel time. Doesn't sound like much but when you're driving 350 miles round trip, knocking a few minutes off here and there can add up.

I LOVE having my estimated arrival time displayed and constantly updated. As with the detours, experience has taught me to trust these estimates. Knowing I was going to arrive at my destination thirty minutes early made it easier to enjoy the drive today.

When the Garmin is on I really don't pay much attention to where I am or where I'm going. The little lady will get me there. My mind wanders...

At 10:28 I started looking around for the Bulloch County Extension office. The little lady in the Garmin told me my destination was immediately on my right. Where the office should have been (according to the GPS) a small herd of Black Angus cattle grazed. It was the same damn pasture I'd visited before.

I back-tracked about a mile to a gas station for directions. About a half mile past the Angus herd was the road to the office. After making the turn, I had to go another three miles to get to the office.

Fortunately, I arrived in plenty of time for my 11:00 meeting. The Garmin worked fine for the trip home, but took me on a completely different route than the trip down. I guess the selected route depends on the little lady's mood or something.

Even with the glitches, I made it down and back in record time. Normally, missed turns and unplanned detours add an hour or more to my travel time. Getting home on time is the perfect antidote for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Style Snaps for Men

2011-02-14T19:07:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I saw a commercial for Style Snaps--a device that enables you to wear the same pair of jeans with both flip flops or five-inch heels. Little plastic snaps attach to the inside of the pants leg and allow you to change the hem length. At the time they struck me as totally worthless devices.

Then I got to thinking. My clothes just don't fit like they did when I was 22. I've added a belly and a decent rack since then and my ass has all but disappeared.

The biggest problem is drift. My t-shirt and shirt refused to stay tucked in. If I have anything at all in my pockets, my pants drift downward. My underwear for some reason tends to climb. I spend half my day yanking and tugging to keep everything where it's supposed to be.

Style Snaps might be the answer. I can attach my t-shirt to my underwear and my shirt to my pants. One well placed snap would prevent my boxers from creeping up into my crotch, too. I could even attach one to my socks and snap them to my pants to keep them from falling down.

Brilliant! I think I'll contact the folks at Style Snap with my suggestions. In the meantime, if you call to order a set, tell them you were referred by...

The Crotchety Old Man

Better than a Groundhog

2011-02-13T15:46:00.000-05:00

Whether the groundhog sees his shadow or not, as we all know, is an extremely important factor in predicting the arrival of spring. There are other factors, too. A better predictor than the groundhog is the arrival of the first blooms of the year.

Growing up in Kentucky, I came to expect spring flowers to bloom in a certain order. First you had your snow crocus, than your giant crocus, followed by fragrant hyacinths, then daffodils and finally, tulips. The order was the same year after year after year.

Here in Athens daffodils almost always bloom before crocus. I suspect it has something to do with the ground temperature. This year it's been unseasonably cold. My daffodils are up but nowhere near blooming.

Winter this year has been an Athens version of those I remember from Kentucky. We've had 14 inches of snow so far. Unlike my pals in Lexington, I can wear shorts and t-shirts outside at least a few days a month which makes the cold spells a lot easier to take.

Apparently I'm not alone in my belief about our winter. The very first flower of the year in my garden is a snow crocus. This little yellow snow crocus was joined by two more blooms a few hours later.

By next weekend I'll have daffodils blooming, too. But for now, the only color in my yard comes from three tiny little snow crocus. They are beyond a doubt the most beautiful blooms I've seen in months!

Starting the season with snow crocus reminds me of Lexington. It will likely be a few weeks before snow crocus bloom in Kentucky. Until then, here's one from...

The Crotchety Old Man

The Day the Music Died

2011-02-12T20:28:00.000-05:00

My first music came on 45 RPMs that I listened to on a turntable that when not in use, closed up to look like a little suitcase. Most the discs in my collection were passed down from an older cousin. I remember "Big Girls Don't Cry" was a particular favorite.

Eventually I graduated to LPs, aka 33 1/3 RPM records. Carole King's Tapestry was the first album in a collection that eventually numbered several hundred. By then I had replaced the suitcase with a unit that included an eight-track player/recorder so I could make my own mixed tapes.

Before long eight-tracks gave way to cassette tapes. Having been burned buying now unplayable eight-track tapes, I bought very few cassettes. Nearly all the cassette tapes I ever had were poorly made homemade copies of music I had on albums.

Next thing you know, cassette tapes had been replaced by compact discs. At the time you couldn't make your own. I stuck to buying albums until they became almost impossible to find.

I lost all my albums (it's a long story), got rid of my turntable and started buying CDs. I ended up with thousands (another long story)--most I never listened to or simply didn't like. I picked out the hundred or so I did like and let a student sell the rest online for half the proceeds.

When I got my MP3 player, we burned all the CDs onto the harddrive on my desktop computer. Over the next couple of years the CD players on my living room stereo and in my car quit working. The desktop died, too.

My MP3 player has maybe 60 songs on it, the newest recorded sometime before 2005. For some reason it seems to play the same 20 songs over and over again. I only use it for the FM radio to listen to NPR while I'm working in the yard.

The only new music I listen to now is on the radio, the VH1 top 20 countdown or from a video someone posted on Facebook or a blog. I've still got CDs, but other than my computer, nothing to play them on. Well, that's not entirely true--I did buy the little boom box so I could listen to books on CD in my car when I travel.

Unless I start a new music library with digital music downloaded from the Internet, I'm without music of my own. At about a buck a tune, it will cost a fortune to replace all the songs I'd really like to have. Dirty rotten bastards.

I ain't doing it. I figure about the time I download a good-sized library, the technology will become obsolete and I'll have to start over again. Guess I'll just have to whistle. Whistling is one of the things you do when you're...

The Crotchety Old Man

Keeping Secrets

2011-02-11T18:25:00.000-05:00

The finished manuscript of Glass Houses is now in the hands of more than fifty people. Every few days I receive a super sweet e-mail from another friend who just finished reading my first book. To say I'm touched would be a huge understatement.

I'm amazed, humbled, and elated all at the same time. Being friends, colleagues and family members, these early readers are a friendly crowd. Still, the positive feedback has been deeply gratifying.

Some have shared bits and pieces about struggles and challenges they faced growing up. Everyone has a story to tell about living with a "great curse". If I wasn't gay it would have been something else. Parents mess their kids up in unintended ways. We all struggle with personal battles. Some battles are more public but we all struggle with something.

In Glass Houses I reveal my struggles, my bad decisions, and my soul. Acquaintances who read the book have become dear friends. Until they write their own memoir, they know me quite a lot better than I know them but I'm working on it.

Life-long friends and family members feel like they abandoned me and tell me they had no idea. Of course they didn't. Until now I didn't want them to know.

Every story is about the resilience of the human spirit. People deal with stuff every day a hundred times worse than anything I ever experienced. They live next door to you, stand in line with you at the grocery story, attend your church, send their children to school with your children and believe they are entirely alone with their struggle.

There's nothing new under the sun. We all struggle. Sharing may not change your circumstances but it will certainly let you know you're not alone. Any fight is easier with a crowd backing you up.

Some people believe in keeping secrets. I'm sure some things are better left deep in the back of the closet. But most the time, shining a bright light in the darkest corners will be more likely to help than hurt. So far it has worked that way for...

The Crotchety Old Man

Let the Waiting Begin

2011-02-10T17:56:00.001-05:00

Today I took off work to focus on writing a one-page synopsis of Glass Houses. Man. Boiling 378 pages of narrative down to one page is no easy feat.

My first attempt ended up being six pages long. I kept cutting and condensing until I got it down to a page and a quarter. Finally I played with the margins and fonts to get it all on one page. It doesn't look squeezed...honest.

With that mean task accomplished I focused on writing the one-pager for my e-mail query to the agent of my dreams. The opening is supposed to be a one-sentence synopsis of the book. Thanks to the comments and feedback I received from many of you, I ended up saying:

Glass Houses is a humorous coming of age tale narrated by an earnest but confused child of the sixties from a large dysfunctional southern family about his struggles to find himself, come to terms with his homosexuality and reconcile his new reality with the Catholic faith of his youth

With that done and a few suggestions from helpful websites to guide me, the rest of the query came together quickly. It's honest, straight-forward and hopefully interesting enough to get her to open one of the attachments.

The first attachment is the dreadfully dull one-page synopsis. The second attachment is the first fifty pages of the book, polished to a high shine. I feel great about those pages because earlier parts of the manuscript are much more polished than later parts.

I went back to the agent's website to make sure I was following directions. I composed a message to the correct e-mail address, used the requested subject line, directed the query to the attention of the agent of my dreams as requested, pasted my query into the body and attached the files with the synopsis and first fifty pages.

I reread both the attachments to make sure there were no typos or grammatical errors. Terri looked over the query and synopsis for me--it's always good to have a second set of eyes and none better than my mentor, cheerleader and biggest fan. I went over the first fifty pages again, tinkering with a word or two now and then but mostly just making sure everything was perfect.

For some reason, I couldn't hit send. When my partner got home I was rocking on the sofa in front of my laptop with my hands clenched to my sides. He understood immediately what was going on and after confirming I was ready, clicked send.

Glass Houses now sits in the in-box of the literary agent of my dreams. The way I keep tearing up and getting emotional about it, you'd think I'd just had a baby or something.

It's more like I just found out I'm pregnant. Now the waiting begins. Few would say patience comes easy for...

The Crotchety Old Man

One Drop

2011-02-09T16:53:00.000-05:00

I've made no progress toward finding a literary agent or publisher. It ain't for lack of trying. I've spent hours staring at the computer screen trying to come up with the requested pieces with absolutely no luck at all.

Usually this kind of frustration means I'm making something harder than it needs to be. I suspect that's true here, too. Making things harder than necessary is one of my gifts and a possible explanation for the slow learner thing.

Generally speaking, submission requirements differ depending on whether the book is fiction or nonfiction. For nonfiction, you submit a query, a book proposal with a complete table of contents (including descriptions of each chapter), a complete biographical sketch, a marketing plan and a bunch of other stuff. Arrrrrrgggghhhhh!!!

Now I'm rethinking my decision to classify the manuscript as nonfiction. Glass Houses isn't entirely true. I changed some names. I also took liberties here and there with the way things happened. If even one sentence is fiction, doesn't that mean the entire manuscript is fiction?

If it's fiction, all I need to do is submit a one-page synopsis and the first fifty pages of the manuscript. Coming up with a one-page synopsis is no easy feat, but at least it seems more doable than the stuff required for a nonfiction manuscript.

Yeah...Glass Houses is a work of fiction. Just ask Emmy, Tim, Wendy, Calvin or even Mom. I'm sure they'd agree with...

The Crotchety Old Man

Another Wish Comes True

2011-02-08T17:55:00.000-05:00

About five years ago I was having trouble reading some of my favorite comics and any kind of fine print. I went to the eye doctor for a check-up. Having never received the memo about regular check-ups, it was my first eye exam since grade school.

That grade school eye exam was a huge disappointment. I really, really, really wanted glasses and was dismayed to learn I had 20/20 vision. Careful what you wish for.

Anyway, after various tests the optometrist said my deteriorating vision was just a normal function of aging. He encouraged me to pick up some reading glasses from a drugstore. My childhood wish came true...just four decades later. I picked up some reading glasses and was delighted to see close-up again.

My vision steadily deteriorated. Stronger glasses didn't make any difference. I went back to the eye doctor in October and was referred to a retina specialist. After a series of tests the specialist said I had macular degeneration in both eyes. The condition was particularly advanced in my left eye.

Imagine the eye as a coconut. Macular degeneration is a swelling in the meat of the coconut. The swelling blocks the pupil, thereby obscuring vision. The ability to focus on fine details is especially hard hit. Peripheral vision is usually unaffected. Get this...the swelling is caused by a build-up of cholesterol.

The treatment for macular degeneration is to inject Avastin into the eye. Avastin is a colon cancer drug that coincidentally shrinks the swelling. That's right--an eye shot. Just kill me.

Minutes after telling me I needed an eye shot, the specialist gave me that first injection. I'm glad. Having to wait would have allowed me to spend entirely too much time in my head freaking myself out about what was to come.

Since then I've gone back every six weeks and had three more injections. No matter how many times I tell myself the injection is no big deal, I still freak out. It doesn't hurt...it's just the thought of a needle in the eyeball. It's not like I can close my eyes while it's happening.

Things have gone a little easier since I befriended a plus-size African-American lady who assists during the injections. Now that she knows to hold my shoulders down so I don't jump, the injections aren't quite as bad. I think I love her.

Six weeks rolls around fast. Last Wednesday I went in for my fifth injection. After the examination, the doctor told me I didn't need an injection. I could have kissed him! I nearly did when he said I didn't have to come back for two months.

My vision is now 20/15. I don't know what it was in October. I still have problems with some close-up stuff but can see much better than before.

I go back in April for another check-up. Maybe I'll need another injection. Maybe I won't. I'll worry about that later. For now I'm celebrating the shot I didn't have to have, the extra two weeks between appointments, and all the wonderful friends who care about...

The Crotchety Old Man

Facebook & Karma Unite

2011-02-07T17:40:00.001-05:00

Today I want to talk about the dreaded "u" word: Unfriending. For any of you who haven't yet created a Facebook profile, unfriending is what you do after you change your mind about adding someone as a friend. It's ugly business.

In recent months I've been unfriended on Facebook a number of times. A political conversation on my page pissed two people off enough to dump me. I knew why right away. One of them took it a step further and blocked me. Thanks for reinforcing my opinions about tea baggers.

Others dumped me for no apparent reason. Wild asses from my past, old running buds who have since found religion, and a certain type of dumbass redneck apparently disprove of my lifestyle too much to remain friends. We wouldn't have anything to talk about anyway.

I ain't gonna lie. Being removed from someone's friend list, even someone I don't especially like, stings. I blame them but always wonder what I did.

Of course, most of you know I sorta have it coming. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn I'm in the top 100 unfrienders of all time. Last March I clicked "remove" to dump about a third of my Facebook friends.

Saying I didn't know what I was doing would be a lie. I knew. hehehe There was a reason for each and every one.

The mistake was friending certain people in the first place. Being a tad competitive, I thought the goal was to have more friends than anyone else. I happily befriended strangers, acquaintances and people I barely knew like they were long lost pals.

Getting to know some people better doesn't improve the relationship. I don't accept friend requests from coworkers, period. Reconnecting with old party pals can be risky. When you're trashed enough, little things like psychopathic tendencies can slip through the cracks.

I thought last March's massive unfriending episode was behind me. But in the last few days, posts from the previously unfriended have been appearing on my wall. It's creepy--like Facebook is somehow taunting...

The Crotchety Old Man

Delayed Gratification

2011-02-06T11:59:00.000-05:00

Camellias, pansies and a few others usually start blooming in my yard in November or December. Unless the temperature drops below freezing for more than a few hours, they'll keep blooming through April. Having color in the garden in January is one of the great joys of life in the Deep South.

Thanks to a January cold snap that kept the mercury below freezing for several days, the 2011 gardening season is off to a late start. The only color comes from a few scattered pansies. This is the second year in a row cold weather has delayed the start of the blooming season.

Last year the delay upset me. Those first blooms are somehow the most precious flowers of the entire season. January is depressing without color in the garden.

January came and went again this year with nary a bloom in sight. Unlike last year, however, I'm not depressed. In fact, I'm a little excited.

I still patrol barren flower beds in search of signs of spring. And I have to admit, I am just the tiniest little bit disappointed by the absence of color. But I've learned that good things will come if I just wait.

Carefully tended gardens always improve with age. The joy of gardening comes from watching the season unfold. Each comes with its own mysteries and surprises.

Sooner or later, every variety will bloom. In milder winters it's a slow and gradual build-up of color over many weeks. The delayed start this year means everything will come on all at once.

I don't know what the groundhog saw, or what the Farmer's Almanac has to say. I don't care either. It's going to be a spectacular year in the garden, or I'm not...

The Crotchety Old Man

Wanna Bet?

2011-02-05T08:55:00.001-05:00

My search for an agent continues. Yesterday I told you about the query--the first step in my journey to get Glass Houses published. If the query catches the eye of the agent I'm trying to land, she'll take a look at the book proposal.

The book proposal includes a table of contents with complete descriptions for each chapter, the entire first chapter and additional sample chapters. The whole package, including the marketing plan, an interesting bio and a "dynamic" photo is not to exceed fifty pages. Pulling the package together will take longer than it took me to write the book.

I'm starting with the annotated table of contents--a Cliff's Notes version of the book. Boiling each chapter down to the essential elements has been helpful and I've barely even started. More revisions will likely come from this process before I'm done. Tasks that make the book better don't bother me--I want it to be my best work

Coming up with a solid plan for marketing and promotion is more challenging. Success will require getting off my ass and will likely involve a great deal of smiling and hand-shaking. My bowels clench at the very thought.

If my dream agent likes what she sees, she'll ask to see the manuscript. It would be a lot easier if I could just submit the manuscript now. But that's not how it works. As with many things, the process is designed to screen out all but the most determined.

Am I Determined? Yes. Determined enough? We shall see. But, if I was a betting man, I'd put my money on...

The Crotchety Old Man

Call Me Unpublished

2011-02-04T17:19:00.000-05:00

I thought all I had to do was send Glass Houses to a couple of major publishers and wait for the bidding war to begin. The resulting six-figure advance would enable me to retire from my day job. I'd move to a beach house somewhere in South Carolina, Georgia or northern Florida to write all the time.

That's what I get for thinking. Nobody accepts unsolicited manuscripts. For "the unpublished" (said like you have a mouth full of something unpleasant), writing a great book isn't enough. With or without a proven track record, you need a solid plan to market and promote the book.

"The unpublished" are unknown entities, a writhing mass of author-wannabees all clamoring to join the chosen few. There are lots of different paths to publication. Before I'm done I may try them all. For now I've decided to try to find a literary agent.

The first step is to research literary agents to find a good match. They have niches, too. Submitting my book to an agent who specializes in Christian works of fiction, for example, would be a profound waste of time. Aside from the obvious, a memoir is considered nonfiction.

A variety of tools enabled me to produce a list of agents who like memoirs and either gay authors or subjects. Internet searches turned up additional information, including bios and statements of interest. A literary agent without a web site in 2011 seems fairly useless to me. Striking them cut my list in half. Upon closer inspection many of the rest were easily struck from the list, too. The also-rans seemed like a good enough fit in a bland, generic sort of way.

I felt a connection with two agents--both from the same agency. It's like they were speaking to me. The one I really like said she "is looking for exceptional writing [snip] that touches the heart and makes us feel something." Sounds like Glass Houses to me.

The next step is to write and submit a query to her. The query is a one-page pitch to sell the book, my writing ability and the marketability of the book. If the query fails to stand out from the hundreds she receives every week, it's over (at least with this agent). Talk about pressure. I've written a first draft and have already changed it a thousand times.

I'll keep you posted on my progress. In the meantime, you keep reading. And keep sending those comments to...

The Crotchety Old Man

My Humble Opinion

2011-02-01T17:50:00.000-05:00

A lot of people believe requiring health insurance is a bad idea. Some judges say it's downright unconstitutional. Requiring citizens to carry health insurance, in my humble opinion, is an essential part of health care reform.

Hospitals and other medical professionals can't refuse care to people who lack insurance. Uninsured patients fill emergency rooms around the country. Who do you think pays for their care? We all do.

You can't have it both ways. Either everybody pays (with some kind of assistance or tax credits for low-income individuals) or we continue to subsidize free riders through higher health care costs. I can't understand why conservatives aren't all over this one.

There appears to be confusion about the difference between investing and spending, too. Spending means using money for things you used yesterday or need today that likely won't still be around tomorrow. You spend money in a grocery story.

Investing is a particular kind of saving used to reach long-term goals. The value of the money invested today increases over time. The more time you have, the more you stand to gain. Spending for infrastructure and workforce development is an investment because the pay-off increases over time. China gets it.

Unfortunately, our well-insured, overpaid politicians believe investing is building big campaign war chests for re-election. Spending is what the other party does. It's all smoke and mirrors to conceal the transfer of income from the people to the multinational corporations that line their pockets with ~~bribes~~ campaign contributions.

Don't know the difference between spending and investing? Good luck spending your way to retirement. I recommend lottery tickets. If you win, since it was my idea be sure to send a few bucks to...

The Crotchety Old Man

Pets in Glass Houses

2011-01-31T07:48:00.000-05:00

Gus

Mehitabel

Penelope

More People in Glass Houses

2011-01-30T17:45:00.000-05:00

Dad and Granny

Uncle Charles and Aunt Judy

Steve at the fishing cabin

Tim, me, Daniel and Joel

Toodles and Alex

Introducing Glass Houses

2011-01-30T09:39:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I finished writing and editing Glass Houses. In the days and weeks to come I'll surely think of little details or anecdotes to add. But for now I'm calling it done.

Glass Houses is the single-largest creative endeavor of my life. The "finished" product is 505,825 characters in 110,806 words on 524 pages in 103 chapters. A copy center charges $40 to $45 to print a copy.

The book is about me. I included a lot that will likely end up on the cutting room floor because I couldn't decide if it was part of the story or not. A good editor will have an easier time snipping events that have nothing to do with the story.

The number of chapters will likely drop, too. Currently most chapters are three to five pages, with some as short as two pages. Again, a good editor will drop some and combine others to improve flow and readability.

Having birthed this baby, now I want people to read it. If you read this blog, whether we've met or not you're part of my inner circle. Yeah, I've always had boundary issues.

Getting published is important because it will allow me to reach a larger audience. But until then, I am happy to share a PDF of the book with my inner circle. Word of mouth is an author's best friend.

If you want to read Glass Houses, shoot an e-mail to...

TheCrotchetyOldMan@gmail.com

Casting Call

2011-01-29T11:10:00.000-05:00

About ten days ago I finished writing Glass Houses. More accurately, I wrote an end to the story. Reaching the ending for the first time felt really good.

Originally I planned to end Glass Houses at a point in time early in my thirties. The closer I got to my imagined conclusion, the more obvious it became that too many loose ends remained to end there. I kept writing.

Writing a memoir was supposed to be a way to share how I discovered and came to terms with being gay. It turned out to be that and more. Reliving my past dredged up a lot of unresolved feelings and emotions. Writing about and working through them has been an intensely emotional journey of self-discovery that ain't over yet.

There is another book in my story. I haven't pieced it all together but know the gist of what it's about. The idea for the second book helped me see how Glass Houses had to end. The story took on a life of its own. Decisions about what to include or leave out were much easier to make.

Since reaching the end I've been working with a hard copy to make final edits. I finished those the other day and am about halfway through making the changes to the file. I should finish this weekend.

Writing the book was easy. Getting it published is going to be an uphill battle. At the moment I'm overwhelmed by all the information and choices.

I could self-publish Glass Houses as an e-book on Amazon.com tomorrow. That and other self-publishing options will always be available. Perhaps I'm deluded but I'm confident enough to want to aim higher.

Glass Houses showcases my talent as a writer. I happen to think it's also a moving story with broad commercial appeal. Readers tell me it would make a great movie.

I like the idea of a movie. It does, however, raise one important question. Who would play...

The Crotchety Old Man?

Bounced!

2011-01-26T16:58:00.000-05:00

Every morning I use Google Analytics to check my blog statistics. The daily report shows how many people visited the blog the day before, the posts they viewed, the amount of time they spent on each page and lots of other information. It's interesting more than useful.

One of the more interesting statistics is the bounce rate. The bounce rate is the percentage of people who visit the blog only to exit within seconds. Apparently they weren't interested in what they found. The lower the bounce rate, the better.

Yesterday's post about current television shows had a bounce rate of 100 percent. In other words, it took visitors to the blog about a second to decide they weren't interested. That's a first for me in more than two years of blogging. I get it--no more crappy blog posts about what I'm watching on television.

Having lost all but one of my right-wing friends on Facebook, I'm also avoiding political posts. Things I say get misconstrued, tempers flare and next thing you know I've lost another FB friend. Pissing off readers is counter-productive. In the end, what I think is unlikely to change what you think anyway.

Same with religion. I believe in God, but the particulars tend to rub those with different views the wrong way. They take offense, see my views as an attack on what they believe and get all defensive. So I keep my views to myself.

Work-related matters and office happenings are out-of-bounds, too. My momma didn't raise no fool. I talk about that stuff at work, just like everyone else.

I'm out of the always popular nostalgic posts. Everything I can think of is in Glass Houses. In the context of the larger story, they're also a lot more interesting than a blog post would be.

About all I've blogged about for months is the book. I figured you were tired of hearing about the damn book and were ready for something else. Clearly it's not what I'm watching on television.

I'll try to do better. I promise. I know it's what you've come to expect from...

The Crotchety Old Man

Today on Television

2011-01-25T18:51:00.000-05:00

My favorites on television right now are nearly all reality shows. I know, it's sad. Unless I change my viewing habits soon, my brain will surely turn to mush.

You're Cut Off is my favorite train wreck. This is a female version of my all-time favorite reality show, Tool Academy. The participants are all over-indulged bitches whose parents never learned to say no. It's the best case I've seen for passing a hefty inheritance tax.

I've stopped watching all but the Atlanta edition of Real Housewives. Nene and Phaedra, both from here in Athens, are just irresistible. Throw in Kim and several bottles of alcohol and we're talking good times. Cram the lot of them into a tour bus and it's a laugh a minute. They should open a charm school together.

RuPaul's Drag Race started it's third season last night. We don't get Logo so I have to wait for the repeats on VH1. It's sure to be a favorite--I've always loved a good drag show.

Thanks to Steven Tyler, the new American Idol is a riot. We'll see how things go once the real competition gets going. Frankly, I think the best years of American Idol are behind us. I'm done with Biggest Loser, too. Two hours is just too long.

Top Chef All Stars is probably my all-around favorite television show. A few of my favorites have already been eliminated (don't ask me why but I've always thought Dale was just darling). Still, the engaging cast keeps it interesting. We're also watching Worse Chef in America, mostly because it makes me feel better about my own cooking skills.

Fashion Police with Joan Rivers has become a favorite, too. Joan is a riot, especially if you enjoy hearing an octogenarian repeatedly drop the F-bomb. Kelly Osborne is a great co-host. The gay guy and what's her face who lost on the Apprentice don't add much.

For situation comedies I'm a fan of Modern Family. It's not the gay couple that keeps me coming back. It's Gloria--the vibrant and nearly psychotic Latina wife of Jay, played by Ed O'Neill of Al Bundy fame. She cracks me up.

I watch Jersey Shores, too, mostly to see Ronnie without his shirt and to watch girl fights. I don't normally enjoy violence but something about watching these women pound each other brings a smile to my face. It's almost as fun as Jerry Springer.

Maybe one day I'll get my own reality show. I could audition old men from all over the country. We'd go through various competitions with weekly eliminations to crown...

The Crotchety Old Man

A Piece of Work

2011-01-24T17:37:00.000-05:00

I started sharing drafts of Glass Houses with selected friends and family members back in November. A very few get back to me within a day or two. They've finished and loved the story.

Knowing nobody in the world has anything better to do than read my book, after I didn't hear from the rest I assumed they had given up or maybe didn't like it. So I sent the draft to a few more people, and then to a few more. I'm keeping track and have now sent it to more than thirty people.

This weekend I got e-mail messages from readers all the way back to that first group. Some are busy people and it took them a while to get through the 500+ page draft. Several included detailed reactions.

I ain't gonna lie...the compliments and praise are wonderful. I know my current critics are a friendly group. Still, the encouragement and support is very gratifying.

My initial reaction to some of the readers' reactions was that I had messed up! People were not seeing the story I thought I'd written. A couple of times I even tried to argue. No, you're wrong. That is NOT the book I wrote. Maybe not, but it is most definitely the book they read.

Two things happened. I focused on the words of the book--the narrative and plot elements. I'm laser-focused on the details, not the patterns or the overall picture. Between the lines, the patterns reveal a lot more truth than I ever intended.

Second, the reader brings their own "stuff" into the book. If they have experienced something similar, they bring that in. If they haven't, that tilts the story in a different direction. Some hone in on very specific memories evoked by something they read in earlier parts of the book. Others talk about universal themes in ways that make me wonder if we're talking about the same book.

Glass Houses is like an impressionistic painting. The sum of the parts is greater than the whole. I have created a work of art. Whether it's good art or bad remains to be seen.

Thanks again for reading--the blog and the book. Keep those comments coming. It's still a work in progress though I am fast closing in on calling it done. Until then you can keep calling me...

The Crotchety Old Man

New Beginnings

2011-01-22T12:03:00.001-05:00

Toodles always said life begins at 50. Everything up to then is just training. If you haven't wised up, figured things out and become financially secure by your fifth decade, it probably ain't gonna happen.

Thanks to her positive attitude, I stopped dreading my 50th birthday in my thirties. Rather than the beginning of the end, the big five-oh would mark the beginning of a more enjoyable time of life. Stability has its advantages.

My elation at turning 50 was offset by an onslaught of health issues. After lots of tests, several outpatient surgeries and countless follow-up appointments a host of medical professionals assured me I'm good to go for at least another ten years. One or two also told their children not to worry about college expenses.

With the medical drama behind me for now, I've decided I don't entirely agree with Toodles. Saying life begins at fifty ignores or diminishes half a century of activity. I prefer to think of the fifties as a time for new beginnings.

Life sometimes gets in the way of pursuing dreams. Maybe you've always wanted to be a ballroom dancer, a painter, a school teacher or perhaps even a writer. If the desire has been there all along, in your fifties life quietens down enough to again hear its siren call.

It's easy think it's too late. In some cases it probably is. Although never is a word I prefer not to use, it's safe to say I will never be an Olympic gymnast.

I'm not talking about something for a bucket or BIG (Before I Go) list, either. I'm talking about a slumbering passion that for one reason or another, you've always ignored. Give it a shot. You'll never know until you try.

What's the worst that could happen? You find out your passion and your talents are mismatched. At least you know and can cross that one off the list of things you want to be when you grow up.

I wrote a book. Oddly enough, whether the book ever sells a copy doesn't matter. Writing a book someone else would ever read was something I never thought I could do. I did it, and people tell me they really enjoyed the read.

I'm on cloud nine.

And therein lies the problem. If I find a publisher and the book becomes successful, things will change. It will no doubt be the end of...

The Crotchety Old Man

People in Glass Houses

2011-01-20T18:18:00.001-05:00

The early chapters....

Dad...photo taken sometime in the 70s

From left to right Junie, Betty, Peggy, Mary and Toodles

Uncle Gene with me and my sister...around 1968

Toodles & Me

Angels from the Hereafter

2011-01-20T16:39:00.000-05:00

I don't know what happens to you after you die. When I die, I'll try to do a blog post all about the experience to fill you in. Until then I can only guess.

I'm inclined to believe in some kind of hereafter. Whether it's heaven or hell or something in between I couldn't say. Ditto for whether it's your soul or something else that lives on. I'll try to answer these questions in that first post-death blog post.

I'm pretty sure there's some kind of afterlife. It's more than just a hunch. I have circumstantial evidence I'm calling proof.

This week I finally wrote an ending to Glass Houses. To finish the last sections I had to re-read my journal about the last year Aunt Toodles was alive. Tears slowed the reading down quite a lot. The writing, too.

Years before she died when we talked about things that happened back in the day, she would often say "be sure to put that in your book." I promised I would. In the last weeks of her life she brought the book up again. I forgot about that, too, along with my promise to her that I would write it.

But Toodles never forgot. I'm not quite sure how she managed from the other side of the grave, but she did. If you knew her you wouldn't be at all surprised.

Based on what happened, after you die it looks like you have some kind of control over people with birthdays near your own. I know it sounds weird but it's true. Hey, people believe in a lot stranger stuff and nobody says a word.

Terri's birthday is just two days before Toodles' More than anyone else, she's the one who planted the seed in my head that I could write a book. Then she lovingly nurtured the tender new growth until it finally bloomed. You have no idea how many drafts she's read...

Larry's birthday is the day before Toodles'. When I got stuck and couldn't figure out where I was going and what the story was about, he asked fewer than five simple questions that set me on the right course. I guess you could say he provided a lot of fertilizer to keep the plant growing.

Without Terri, Larry and of course, Toodles, there would be no book. I hadn't seen Terri or Larry in more than 30 years. We didn't run in the same circles even then. They both reappeared in my life after Toodles died.

Coincidence? I'm inclined to believe there's no such thing as coincidence. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe one day we'll figure out the reason I am...

The Crotchety Old Man

Transformed

2011-01-16T09:40:00.000-05:00

Last year I started writing little stories about my past and posting them on this blog. It was fun for me and readers enjoyed them enough to encourage me to write a book. I decided to give it a shot.

I approached the task as a technician. Step one was laying out an elaborate timeline of significant events. My job was to simply relate what happened. Or so I thought.

Turns out relating what happened involves a lot of decision-making about what to include or leave out. Technical writing skills help. The real challenge is crafting an interesting story. I promoted myself to craftsman and went back to work.

The biggest surprise was how often readers of early drafts said they could relate to the story. Turns out, I wasn't as different from other people as I thought. Who knew? Instead of a biography about me, it became a story about growing up and the path to self discovery.

Contrary to what I thought starting out, the book is not a factual recounting of my life with snapshots. It's more like a series of impressionistic paintings. Certain tints and tones are dialed way up while others are muted to evoke a certain response.

It's art. To my amazement and surprise, I have become an artist. Whether I'm a talented artist or not remains to be seen.

It's time to return to the cone of silence to do some more writing. I hope the cone is big enough for the beret and smock I've ordered from Amazon.com. After all, the clothes make...

The Crotchety Old Man

Back to Work

2011-01-13T07:49:00.000-05:00

Mild winters are a big reason to love living in Athens. Most years it doesn't snow at all. When we do get snow, nine times out of ten it's usually just a dusting that quickly melts away after the sun comes out.

Snow started falling Sunday night as I was going to bed. When I got up at five o'clock, Athens had received nearly nine inches of snow--the most in any 24-hour period in recorded history. The snow turned to freezing rain, glazing the thick blanket of snow with a layer of ice.

We're talking epoch. Except to shovel off the driveway and to take the dogs out, I haven't left the house since Sunday. Judging from my neighbors and comments on Facebook from friends in the area, I'm not alone.

Since the big snow the temperature has rarely warmed above freezing. The sun finally came out for an hour or two yesterday--enough to melt maybe half the snow and ice from our rarely traveled street. Re-freezing yesterday afternoon caused police to close major roads all over Athens.

Being trapped in the house with three unexpected days off was a great opportunity to work on the book. I stayed in my cone of silence to write for hours at a time every day and have almost finished. The time may not have passed as quickly for my partner.

Today it's supposed to be sunny with a high around forty. The University of Georgia opens for the first time this week at eleven o'clock this morning. I'd be pissed but thanks to a holiday Monday, we have a three-day weekend coming up.

I must be mellowing. Since getting my driver's license, few things piss me off more than a big snow storm. Not this time.

There's still plenty of stuff to keep my blood boiling. Good thing. I know you'd hate to lose...

The Crotchety Old Man

Too Busy to Blog

2011-01-09T21:12:00.000-05:00

I've been too busy working on the book to blog. My Facebook friends have been treated to re-posts of some of my favorites from the past. The rest of you probably thought I'd died or something.

Nope. I'm fine and focused on my resolution to finish the book. I'm in the final turn, preparing to enter the home stretch to the finish line.

Subject to change without notice, I'm calling it Glass Houses. It's an autobiographical tale about growing up in the 60s, coming of age in the 70s and coming out in the 80s. If you like this blog, you'll love the book.

If I wasn't so busy, I'd have to blog about the tragedy in Arizona. For now I'll just extend my condolences to the grieving and hope this incident is enough to make both sides dial down the rhetoric about half a dozen notches. We should demand it.

I'd say something about the Skating and Gymnastics Spectacular we watched on television. Two of the former Olympian gymnasts on the show competed for Georgia. I'd blog about how the watered-down routines are an embarrassment to the sport if I wasn't so busy.

Re-reading my journals could have triggered half a dozen posts about the stupid things I did in the past. Nine times out of ten I walked into stupid situations with my eyes wide open. The older I get, the dumber I realize I am.

There are half a dozen things that have pissed me off already this year. If I wasn't so busy working on the book, I'd blog about them, too.

But I don't have time. You gotta do what you gotta do. I hope you'll be OK for just a while longer without...

The Crotchety Old Man

Resolved

2010-12-31T15:21:00.000-05:00

Instead of easily broken and quickly forgotten resolutions, I try to identify priorities for the coming year. The emphasis shifts to sticking with a plan rather than accomplishing specific goals. For 2011 I'm reverting back to resolutions. Instead of the dozens I could and should make, I have one: to finish my book.

My four-day write-a-thon has ended. Despite devoting more than sixty hours to it, I didn't make it to the end of the story. I did, however make significant progress in that direction.

Reading what I'd written before my little hiatus was more enjoyable than expected. Previous re-reads always resulted in significant revisions with massive rewrites and completely reorganized sections. This time I corrected a few typos, made some minor edits and that was it.

After reading the draft, most people comment on my amazing memory. I've blogged about my memory before. Since then I've come to appreciate that creating the illusion of detailed memories is part of the art of writing.

I do recall some things in vivid detail. But mostly not. Things that happened often like Christmas, family reunion picnics and school dances, get all mixed up together in my mind and are difficult to tie to specific years. I piece something together from my memories that feels real to me and move on.

Most details about my early life come from stories I heard over and over and over again. Friends from every stage of my life have been very helpful and often trigger new memories by asking about something I had until that moment forgotten all about. Readers ask questions that either trigger a memory or cause me to research the answer.

The amount of research required, even for a story about me, is astounding. The Internet helps a lot. Google provides the answer to most my questions. Sometimes Wikipedia is sufficient. If not, digging a little deeper often turns up links with historical information that comes in handy.

Ancestry.com has been surprisingly useful. Information provided by relatives about the dates some people were born or died turned out to be wrong. Except for my Aunt Mary, I was easily able to locate birth and death records that cleared up any confusion.

To make whatever part I'm working on make sense, I often go back and insert paragraphs in chapters I thought were done. Finding the right spot to insert the detail can be time consuming, but adds richness and texture to the story. The reader has no idea half the paragraphs were inserted after the chapter was already "finished". Just another way the illusion is created and fostered.

Besides getting to the end of the story, there's still work to do. One of the chapters is too long, several chapters end rather abruptly and a few don't really add anything to the story. Knowing chapters have a way of changing after I thought they were done, I'll wait until I make it to the end to deal with these issues.

But now it's back to my old journals. They're very useful for turning up little tidbits of information and for the sequence of events. Mostly they bore the hell out of me. No wonder I'm...

The Crotchety Old Man

Matters of Style

2010-12-28T15:26:00.001-05:00

I started working on the book again today. More precisely I started reading the manuscript from page one with a pencil in my hand. Re-reading helps me to catch a lot of wrong-word problems (like right instead of rite) and typos.

I'm home alone for the next few days and am really hoping to get to the end. Given my goal to finish I'm paying a lot more attention to sentence structure and punctuation. Thanks to early drills, lots of reinforcement throughout my school years and tons of practice, my writing tends to be grammatically correct.

That I continue to write the way I was taught back in high school sometimes causes problems. Different publications use different rules. Having written in multiple universes, there are a few areas that are particularly problematic.

Do you go the park with Wendy, John, and Mary? Or did you go with Wendy, John and Mary? In my opinion, the first version with the comma after John is technically more correct. Most editors, however, prefer the version without the comma. I have it both ways in my manuscript.

I often beg to differ with editors about the placement of punctuation in relation to quotation marks. With few exceptions, I place the punctuation after the quotation mark rather than before. She went to the store to buy a copy of "Lord of the Rings".

If the quotation was a complete sentence rather than a phrase, I'd include the punctuation inside the quotation marks. "She went to the store to buy a book." Most editors always want the punctuation inside the quotation marks.

If everyone did it my way the world would be a better place. That they don't is just another reason I remain...

The Crotchety Old Man