Skip to content

what a morning!

It seems rather silly to vent piddly daily events, but I found it a rather frustrating morning.
The day started out well enough. I made a cup of coffee and played a little solitaire to wake up, having an hour before my friend would call. I said a short prayer for traveling safety. The phone rang at nine sharp. Rebecca and I made our breakfast plans.
My coffee was only half finished when she called and I had yet to take a shower. I finished that hand of solitaire, gulped down another swallow or two of coffee and got ready.
The weather was nasty. The hard rain had stopped, but a fine mist with cold blowing wind took its place. My first worry was if there was enough gas to get to a station. (Even though I had prayed about it, I’m never sure if God will answer it correctly.) My husband and I had been out the other day and we planned to get gas, but were back home before either of us remembered.
Luckily, it was more above the empty mark than I thought. I almost decided to get gas on the way home, but when I glanced at the gauge again it was on the red line. The station was busy and there was only one pump free. I had to go in from the far driveway which put me pulling in at an odd angle. The truck sound changed, like it had stalled, but I gassed it a bit more to get up the slight incline (at this point I felt like climbing up a 45º hill while trying to make a 180º turn). The truck cooperated and made it to the pump.
I got to iHop at the same time as Rebecca and we were seated quickly. The waitress was nice enough at the beginning of our visit. Our tab was given to us a few minutes after our food arrived. Don’t make me feel rushed or unwelcome!
This was one of the days I needed a primer on how to read a menu. It’s not like I haven’t eaten there before, but I thought that all I was getting for $9 was an omelet. When she took our order I learned there were a bunch of other options. I ordered fruit and a side of bacon. There was a bit of discussion about crepe versus omelet and the number of bacon slices. The bacon was pathetic and looked more like half slices. It had no flavor which was a first for iHop. I got grits which I did not want, but she whisked those away after noting I had not touched them.
When she came back to pick up the bill and wished us a Happy Easter, I told her I felt rather stupid with ordering. Her smile was plastered on, frozen in place, as she firmly stated, “I said Happy Easter.” I guess her first Easter greeting had gotten lost in the whole spiel she said because I never heard it. That time I wished her a Happy Easter as well, including another thank you; but she was long gone. Her job was done, she did not have to be nice anymore!
Rebecca and I were to meet at Belk’s in the mall to do some shopping. I couldn’t find her in Belk’s so I went to Penny’s thinking I had misunderstood. She was not there either.
I shopped around and saw a sweater top on sale. While walking to the dressing room I noticed two women with a toddler in a stroller munching away on whatever was in the little Chick-fil-a box. I checked my sweater again to be sure there were no grease stains. The little munching group was gone by the time I came out of the dressing room. At check out, I asked the clerk if there wasn’t a rule about eating and shopping. This is the second time Rebecca has stood me up with shopping. Should I take a hint?
Leaving the mall, I decided to take the back way which would bring me out at an easier place to enter the main highway. Following the outer edge of the parking lot kept me out of the main traffic flow. There are no dividing lines, but I was staying to the far right. A car is heading towards. Great! Just what I wanted–a game of chicken. I waved my hand for her to move over, at the same time veering right and driving across the painted parking spaces, thankful there were no cars.
After she passed I looked at the spacing, surprised to see it had narrowed down to one lane. For two cars to pass, one would have to drive over the parking lanes. There were no signs to indicate merger or one way. Maybe she was one of those people that believes when they’re right, they’re right. From her end, she was right and she wasn’t budging an inch.
As you can tell, I made it home in one piece. I’m going to work on my novel and get out of reality for awhile. Thanks for letting me vent.
Have a Happy Easter all.

Writers’ rights with Moral Rights – a quick guide


This is the first I’ve heard of Moral Rights as compared to a copyright.

Originally posted on M J Wright:

A reader asked the other week what ‘Moral Right’ meant. It’s an interesting area for writers.

Wright_SydneyNov2011Moral right differs from copyright. You own copyright on anything you create, by default. The copyright holder, alone, has the right to copy the work, but also has the power to grant a license to others to do so. When you sign a publishing contract, you – as copyright holder – are granting them a license to reproduce your material. Usually the copyright holder receives a royalty for each copy sold under that license. However, copyright is transactable – you can sell that copyright, along with the licenses, to somebody else. Then they get the royalties from the sales of the work.

That’s how the Beatles’ back catalogue ended up with Michael Jackson, for instance. It’s also how the film rights for The Hobbit ended up where they did, because apparently Tolkien sold that particular right in…

View original 338 more words

Thirteen Ways of the Desert


I liked this and thought I would share with you.

Originally posted on Poetry on the run:

The desert is painted
ocher, turquoise and white
in the right kind of light.
In the desert there are times
when the only sound
is the hollow wind.
In the desert
the heat of day
vies for your allegiance
with the cold of night.
What you see in the desert
is sometimes a reflection
of what you believe.
What you believe in the desert
is sometimes what becomes real.
In the desert there are ghost flowers,
barren cousins to the blazing star.
You must follow the bees
to know the difference.
Flowers are surrounded by needles,
the desert protects its own.
There are reservations in the desert,
places where the mind can go
when pain is unbearable.
Though the desert is harsh
sand is a soft bed
perfect for bleaching bones.

View original 91 more words


Talking about memories may seem like an odd choice for a Faith Filled Friday, but they are important in shaping us, helping us make decisions and choices.
I was working on cleaning my office today. For some unknown reason, I ended up paying the bills on the dining room table and my office became a junk room. Filing became piles, bags, and boxes crammed into any available space. I’m not certain how many hours I’ve already put into this project. Over the past few months, I’ve shredded 3-4 bags of paper; filed and reorganized the filing cabinet and desk filing drawer; and filled up at least three 13-gallon-size trash bags.
It’s a tiny room cluttered with craft and sewing supplies besides a large metal desk, horizontal filing cabinet, sewing machine with its own desk, a tall set of drawers, and a huge wire storage shelf. The two extra dining room table leafs lean up against a tall narrow set of shelves. The most recent addition, a new shredder (again), is stuck in the last bit of wall space between the door and the table leafs.
The room has one closet with two shelves. When that became full, the junk just got piled up and around. I remember a junk room in my grandmother’s house. Every other room was a neat as a pin, but that junk room was piled floor to ceiling with boxes, bedding, and whatever. I don’t think my grandmother even knew what was in it!
Isn’t that the same thing we do with our lives? We clutter our lives with junk–anger, hard feelings, even hate. Then, one day, we decide it’s time to clean house! Every new year we make resolutions, often resolving not to make the same mistakes we did the previous year and the year before that one. Maybe you revise your life on your birthday, or an anniversary of a special occasion.
The formerly organized boxes on the shelves now were jumbled piles of stuff. Since I had not looked at anything in that closet for years, I decided to look into each box. My plan was to put ‘used frequently’ things towards the front with the rest in back.
I found some toys I had bought for my grandson, who never got them. I’ll give them to a missionary family at our church with small boys about the right age. No sense keeping them for my great-grands!
I discovered my painting supplies which I thought I had gotten rid of, and filter replacements for an air filter that we don’t know if we still have. It wasn’t in the hall closet like I thought, so who knows when, where, or if I’ll find it. The fondest find I made was a shoebox of old letters and cards.
About fifty were in a paper bag; they were all cards from my wedding shower. What a treat to see all the love from so many people. My husband and I celebrated our 45th wedding anniversary just a few days ago. It was fun to look at them and read names, remembering faces for most of them, and the sadness for the loss of so many.
One of the saddest was reading Dan & JC’s card. It was a sympathy card (remember this is for my wedding shower!) addressed it to Sir Jackson and Lady Connie. I had forgotten about their nicknames for us. My husband was the singer for their band, Thrio. They both passed away far too young.
The other few letters were fastened together with a gum band. I was even more surprised that I kept those since they were from an old boyfriend. Not many husbands would be tolerant of their wife keeping old love letters. I have thought of Dave occasionally over the years, wondering how he was doing.
We were only 14-15 years old when we dated and decided we were in love. We never did more than hold hands and the occasional hug. For one of my birthdays I told him I wanted a bag of walnuts. Not much of a gift, but I had this craving for walnuts and could never seem to get enough of them. He gave me a bag of walnuts and a stuffed dog which I named Enoch. I still have the dog.
I’ve always had fond memories of our time together and occasionally wondered how things would have turned out if I’d married him. His dad was great and brought them to church where is where Dave and I met. His mother had a super negative attitude and refused to go. My mother thought we were too young and insisted that I stop seeing him. We broke up over a number of reasons–partly because of our parents and our age; we were too young. My deal breaker had been when he fell for Rebecca’s charms. I never expected he would look twice at another girl.
Rebecca was the daughter of a church deacon; a pretty girl with a mean heart. Yeah, you find that kind in church. Her younger sister Sally was sweet, but who knew how she was going to turn out under her older sister’s tutelage.
Rebecca’s trick was to charm another girl’s beau. She never bothered with the guy until he hooked up with someone else. She simply went around the group. Charm one guy, after he broke up with his current girlfriend to date her; she dropped him like a hot potato and moved on. I was the last one for her to mess with.
In David’s letters, he apologized for hurting me and repeatedly said he loved me. Inside a birthday card he sent was a “Smile A Day”–a short humor bit, I believe, from the Pittsburgh Press newspaper. This one read: “A dumb girl is a dope; a dope is a drug; doctors give drugs to relieve pain. Therefore, a dumb girl is just what the doctor ordered.”
Dave wrote me again when he was in the Navy. By that time I was married and pregnant. I don’t remember if I wrote him back, but I’d like to think I did.
Several things in his letters reminded me of what a stalker might say. That gave me needed ideas for my books. In “Jordan’s Justice”, she has a stalker after her and I needed some emails from him. I couldn’t think of anything that sounded right. Dave’s letters will help with that problem. Then for another Dana book, I’ll have a woman come across old letters using the same phrasing as a current stalker leaves at the murder scene. I think she’ll be a friend of Dana’s and talks to her about the old letters she found, including a peculiar phrase [which has not been put on the news].

Make today a great memory by accepting Jesus Christ into your heart. Becoming your Savior is why Jesus died on the cross, but you have to let Him in.
Romans 3:23; 6:8-18 and John 3:16

Keep your memories sweet. Don’t harbor hateful memories; they make wrinkles.

washington wine rocks – literally

Featured Image -- 1746


This is a fun theme for wine

Originally posted on grapefriend:

So everywhere I went in Washington I kept seeing a musical theme – in wines, in wineries.

At Gorman Winery in Woodinville, they have a bunch of guitars hanging on the wall. In fact, Black Sabbath was playing as we walked in and sampled some wines straight from the barrel. Chris wants to start a metal band and one of his new wines is called Hand of Doom, after the Sabbath song.

hand of doom gorman

We didn’t sample that one but we did sample the Kiona Old Vine Cab Sauv 2012.  The grapes come from the oldest vines on Red  Mountain, and it’ll be part of their Albatross 2012 wine which you should definitely buy when it’s released since this was one of the best wines I tried during my whole visit – and it was still in the barrel!

Then we hit Des Voignes Cellars, where they have a bunch of wines with music-related…

View original 131 more words

The Writer’s Nightmare


Well Said!!

Originally posted on In So Many Words:

Weekly Writing Challenge: Poetry

 The Writer’s Nightmare

No inspiration,
There is none,
I sit here, void, and
Twiddle thumbs.
It’s writer’s block that
Bogs me down.
The channel closed;
My smile a frown.
I patiently await a sign,
A notion that
Might just be mine,
That from the Ether
Will descend
And soon to Earth
Through me be penned.
But somehow it
Has missed
Its mark,
The channel
Unaligned; no
A shift in
Wave length
Must be wrought
Before the
Words flow
Into thought.
So ’til that time I
Wait and
Wait and wait and
Wait and wait and wait,
Til once again Muse
Can be free
With words and thus
Inspire me.


Thanks for visiting,


©Dorothy Chiotti, Aimwell CreativeWorks 2014

View original

The Potato


Such a conflicted potato. This is a new blog I’ve just started following because of this article. Hilarious!!

Originally posted on A Word Of Substance:


Photo by Luke Bultman

I was never as fancy as the onion. With golden rings of beauty, he would make all the girls cry. He had a taste of sophistication that I would never possess and although I once admired it, I now find myself settled.

When I was younger, I used to see myself in different ways. When I was exciting, I was a french fry. When I was boring, I was a pierogi. When I gave up, I was a potato chip.  I had a zest for life that was wild and still unused.

It was in my younger days when I first seduced the Ketchup. We became inseparable. We went everywhere together. I told her my philosophy on the beatniks and existentialism and she taught me how to be sweet. Together we strolled in and out of the cafe’s on thousands of dates. It wasn’t until we…

View original 505 more words


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 114 other followers