Fish or Cut Bait, Robin

Tags

Blogging Break, writers, writing

Must you be published before you can call yourself a writer? Of course not!

People who golf have no problem calling themselves golfers even though they aren’t on the pro-circuit with Tiger Infidel Woods. (It is a little known fact that Tiger’s ex-wife insisted he change his middle name as part of the divorce settlement.)

Never mind Tiger . . . we writers are a funny lot.

Being comfortable calling myself a writer took a long time. I’m still not completely comfortable with saying it. When people ask me what I do and I say, “I am a writer,” I hold my breath. I cringe and wait for them to say, “Oh yeah? Sez who, smarty-pants?”

That isn’t my point here. My point is, if you write, you can call yourself a writer.

My problem is I’m not writing.

Oh sure, I write the occasional blog post or grocery list. But . . . I am not working on my novel or pulling the Strong vs. Weak Word posts together for the next best writing-style book since Strunk and White sliced white bread.

Something’s gotta give.

I love blogging and reading your blogs. My writing is better because you all set the bar high in terms of getting ideas across. Plus, having an audience makes me not want to flub my lines.

But blogging takes So Much Freaking Time. I preach to the choir here, I know.

My novel, In Search of Beef Stroganoff, is 99.9% finished. The Strong vs. Weak Words book is all but written. All I need to do is pull them off my blog, spit polish those puppies, then et viola. C’est fini.

What is stopping me from finishing my two books? You . . . you, selfish, selfish people. How dare you write interesting blogs, post fabulous photos, and tickle my funny bone. Harrumph. Stop that.

You know where I am going with this.

I am taking a blogging break.

Oh sure, I’ll lurk in the shadows and stalk you when I need a writing break, good laugh, or belly rub. I will post something when the spirit moves me or to give you an update on my progress. But I have to give you a break from me and give the writer in me some attention.

As Arnold Infidel Schwarzenegger said, “I’ll be back.”

Let me leave you with a parting gift. Want to speak with an Australian accent so you can impress your friends? It is easy.

In your normal speaking voice say, “rise up lights.” It helps if you say it out loud.

You just said “razor blades” so Keith Urban, Nicole Kidman, and Huge Jackman can finally understand you.

You are welcome.

On a side note, Keith and Huge don’t use a razor blade (or “rise up lights” for us Americans) often because Nicole is fond of their 5 o’clock shadow.

See you in the funny papers.

Robin Resorts to Cute Puppy Videos

Tags

writers, writing

It is Friday!

Want to start your weekend out with a smile? Watch this video. Seriously. Watch this video. So freaking cute.

Why, Apple? Why?

Tags

Apple Power Cord Change, writers, writing

Did you hear that Apple Computer has $137 Billion in cash on hand? That is not a typo. I said $137 Billion with a capital “B.” Holy shopping spree, Batman!

Apple owes my family a thank you note, at the very least.

Between my husband, our three girls, and me, we own:

5 Apple iPhones

4 Apple MacBooks

3 Apple iPads

2 Apple Desktops

And a partridge in an Apple tree . . .

That doesn’t count the iPods and various dead Apple products around here. The least Apple could do is say, “Thank you, Coyle family, for adding to our massive coffers.”

I’m plugged in now! (Photo credit: e.r.w.i.n.)

But what do they do instead? Pull a fast one and change the size of the charger-dealie on their newest products.

If you don’t know about this, let me explain.

I recently bought an iPhone 5 because my first generation iPhone was dying a slow and painful death. The humane thing to do was put it out of its misery. Of course the new phone came with a charger, so no big dealio . . . until my new phone’s battery ran out of juice while I was driving. I tried to plug the new phone into my old car charger. Darn you, Apple. It doesn’t fit! $30 later, I am the proud owner of a new car charger. Thank you, Apple.

Our daughter’s MacBook Pro, worn out from FaceBooking and Pinteresting schoolwork, was on a death spiral. We bought her a new MacBook Pro over spring break. Same thing! The power cord is a different size from her old MacBook. This isn’t an issue. But it is an issue when you spent $80 six months ago on a new cord because the old one was shot from plug in, plug out, plug in, plug out.

Why, Apple? Why?

Don’t you have enough of my money? With an evil glint in your eye are you thinking, “Let’s change the power cord so we can get $3 Billion more from the Coyle family. Make it a cool even $140 Billion in our cash reserves and we’ll be happy. Muhahahaha.” I bet the sellers of ancillary Apple accessories are happy too.

I read an article that said that the new power cords are better. I see no difference.

Does this move by Apple bug anyone else? What do you think Apple should do with their huge cash reserve?

P.S. My daughter had this existential conversation recently with Siri, the magic iPhone lady.

Wow. That is deep, Siri.

Nobel Prize . . . Here I Come

Tags

Empty Nesters, writers, writing, Zest Literary Journal

Guess whose name is in print.

Come on.

Guess.

Give up?

Yours truly!

Our dear blogging friend Kate Alexander-Kirk and her colleague Amy Sibley started an on-line literary publication called Zest Literary Journal.

I am in the debut issue. Woo hoo!

I would be honored if you hopped on over here to read my piece in the publication. It is a short essay where I reflect on what to do now that my husband and I are empty nesters. Read the other articles too. I promise you . . . a visit is worthy your time.

Also, check out www.zestlit.com for submission guidelines for future issues. Kate’s blog can be found at Before I Forget. Stop by her blog for a cup of tea.

Thank you Kate and Amy for inviting me to submit to your publication. Good luck as you catapult into literary history!

People. People. Quit pushing. I’ll sign autographs after my spa treatment.

Careful. It is hot off the press. Don’t smudge the ink.

England’s Battle Over The Apostrophe

Tags

Apostrophe, Apostrophe Protection Society, writers, writing

Have you heard about the heated battle going on in Great Britain? I guess jolly olde England ain’t so jolly.

Note lack of apostrophe in “Regent’s”. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Government officials in southwestern England want to abolish the use of apostrophes on street (and other) signs to avoid confusion.

What?

“St. Paul’s Square” would be known as “St. Pauls Square.” How is that less confusing? The point of proper punctuation is to avoid confusion.

The issue is a hotbed of controversy. Outraged grammarians ask, “What is next? A war on commas?” An indignant former council member said, “It is just sloppiness. It sets a bad example from people who should not be setting a bad example.”

I interviewed Queen Elizabeth to get her take on the apostrophe debate. She said, “Come on, people. You all agreed to use the “Queen’s English,” not the “Queens English. I’m the only queen around this joint.” She didn’t say so, but I could tell she was miffed. She left in a huff before I could ask my follow-up question, “What DO you carry in that handbag? It isn’t like you need bus fare.”

The Grammar Police at work in England. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I didn’t know this, but misuse of the noble apostrophe abounds in England. They even have a term for it . . . the “grocer’s apostrophe.” Signs in shops, such as “tomato’s for sale,” are common. Government agencies and business omit and add apostrophes with willy-nilly abandon. For example, the London Underground has a stop called Earl’s Court and another is called Barons Court.

An apostrophe advocate in England said, “The correct use of the apostrophe isn’t simply nitpicking; the tiny punctuation mark can make an out-sized difference, as in this sentence: ‘If you’re late for dinner, you can eat your son’s.’ If you don’t put the apostrophe in ‘son’s,’ it’s cannibalism, isn’t it?”

The kerfuffle over the misuse of the apostrophe in England bugged former newspaper copy editor John Richards so much he founded the Apostrophe Protection Society. The society’s website, www.apostrophe.org.uk, has had more than 1.6 million visitors.

Mr. Richards has this to say about the government’s recent proposal to abolish apostrophes from signs. “I don’t see how keeping the apostrophe can cause confusion. They don’t say confusion to whom. It baffles me. I’m all for evolution, as long as it evolves into something better. Change just for the sake of convenience, because people are too lazy to learn to use it properly, isn’t evolution. It is going backward.”

I don’t have trouble using the apostrophe properly. Commas are my bugaboo. However, “it’s vs. its” hangs me up. Every. Single. Time. I have a mental block with the damn rule.

Grammar at its worst!(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Related articles on the apostrophe War

• End of the road for the misunderstood apostrophe (thetimes.co.uk)
• Council accused of ‘murdering’ punctuation mark after abolishing apostrophes from street names (telegraph.co.uk)
• In the lanes of Devon, the signs aren’t looking good for the apostrophe (independent.co.uk)
• Apostrophe lives to fight another day for good grammar (yorkshirepost.co.uk)
• Dropped Apostrophes Spark Grammar War in Britain (rendezvous.blogs.nytimes.com)
• Humble apostrophe reprieved in council U-turn (thetimes.co.uk)
• You: Outrage at local authority plans to abolish apostrophe (guardian.co.uk)

Is Social Media Hurting the Auto Industry?

Tags

Social Media Hurting Auto Industry, writers, writing

Now I’ve heard everything. Did you know that social media and electronic devices are hurting the car manufacturing industry?

Lindsay Kirchoff, 23, from the software company HubSpot and a millennial trend marketing consultant said, “The Internet has made the freedoms that comes with getting a (driver’s) license anticlimactic.”

When folks ages 18 to 34 were asked, 65 percent said they would rather do without a car than their phone or computer.

These days, kids’ social life is on the information highway, not on an actual highway.

Really?

Were you like me and COULD NOT WAIT to get your driver’s license? If memory serves, I waited outside the DMV on my sixteenth birthday for the doors to open. My license meant a ticket to freedom.

I’m pretty sure I went to high school with these guys. (Photo credit: Whiskeygonebad)

When I went to Bedrock High School with Fred Flintstone, we took driver’s ed. in school. Now, kids/parents have to pay for driver training and fit the lessons in around an already jammed schedule.

Thirty years ago, nearly half of sixteen-year-olds had their driver’s license. In 2010, the number dropped to 28 percent. What is wrong with these kids?

The shift is blamed on the way kids can now stay connected via smartphone or computer instead of gathering at the malt shop for entertainment on a Friday night. Why go to a drive-in movie theater when you can watch a movie on your laptop? You can stay at home with your boring parents and still hang out with your friends via Skype, Twitter, Snapchat, etc.

Teenage apathy about driving has serious consequences for the car industry. Automakers have to convince teens that they need a car at all.

“Mom will drive me (geez, entitled kids these days).”

“Gas is expensive.”

“I buy everything on-line.”

“I talk to my friends on Facebook.”

In l985, 3.4 percent of new-car-sales were to drivers aged 15 to 20. In 2012, the number dropped to 2 percent.

Really?

What happened to watching submarine races? What happened to cruising a la American Graffiti? What happened to sneaking in the house when you missed your curfew?

I get that kids have a hard time finding a job in this economy. Ergo, they can’t make car payments or afford insurance. Heck, you need a Swiss Bank account so you can pay for gas. But why not want to get their license and drive their date to the prom in mom’s mini-van?

Oh, yeah. Mom pays for a party bus to take you to the prom so you don’t drink and drive. (I’m okay with the no drinking and driving thing, but party bus? Isn’t that encouraging drinking?)

Status among the teen-set is now measured in gigabytes instead of horsepower. Making lasting memories in the backseat of a car is a thing of the past. If you have a retina display on your iPad, who needs to make-out with the high school star-quarterback to be one of the cool kids?

Researchers say this also has long-term implications for automakers. Because this generation isn’t forming an emotional attachment to cars, they will buy fewer cars over their lifetime.

Some also blame teen’s decreased desire to get a driver’s license on the lack of time. Kids nowadays are over-scheduled with sports, tutoring, AP classes, and SAT prep. Read: College application padding.

I was an anomaly among my peers when our kids were of driving age. My fellow moms dreaded the day their children could drive. With three kids, three school start times, three soccer practices, and three whatever’s, I spent more time in my car than in my home.

But kids these days would rather Tweet than get their driver’s license?

Related articles

• Smartphones, not cars, drive teens’ social lives (seattletimes.com)

The Latest Schoolyard Craze

Tags

writers, writing

Y’all know how I like to keep you up-to-date on the latest trends. What’s that you say? I don’t post about what’s trending in the world? Oops, you are right. This is as good a place as any to start.

The latest must-have toy for kids and teens doesn’t have a game console, wires, or require a power outlet.  They are calling it the anti-Xbox. Thank GAWD for that.

This newest fad is a Japanese toy dating back to the 1500s. It is similar to the old-fashioned ball and cup game we used to play. It is called a kendama, and in certain parts of the U.S. (dare I say world?), they are flying off the shelf. Want to be the cool parent, grandparent, or fairy-godmother to some kid in your life? Duke it out with a fellow fairy-godmother at your nearest toy store and buy a child a kendama.

Rather than describing what this craze looks like, take a gander here:

 The kendama also doubles as a fashion-statement. All the cool kids where them around their neck. Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The object is to swing the ball up into one of the cups or to have the ball land on the spike (see the hole in the ball?) Easy-peasy, right? Not so. It takes hand-eye coordination and hours of practice. This toy also comes in handy when you misplace your egg cup or need a meat mallet.

But most importantly, in this age of rampant childhood obesity and a generation of zombie-like teens transfixed to various forms of electronic devices, this toy gets kids off their rear end and moving.

We have a kendama club in Sacramento and they meet . . . get this . . . at a library! Not only are kids not epoxied to their game console, they are talking to each other in a place that houses books! Books, I tell you! You never know . . . a kid might knock a book off a library shelf with his kendama, wonder what it is, and then read it.

More good news for parents is a kendama is cheap . . . they run $1.50 for a plastic version, $13.00 for an entry-level (whatever that means) kendama, and $28 for the cherry-wood Kendama USA Pro Model.

Richard Gottlieb, a toy industry consultant and analyst in New York said, “I’d put the kendama in the same continuum as the yo-yo or hula hoop. They require skill, mastery, and coordination.” Wouldn’t you love to see that guy’s office?

What I like about the kendama is they don’t plug into the wall.

Remember, you heard about the kendama here first.

 

My Interview with Robert Louis Stevenson

Tags

Strong vs Weak Words, writers, writing

Robert Louis Stevenson practicing his Mr. Hyde evil-eye. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I am honored that Robert Louis Stevenson came back from the dead to grant me an interview. Some say he is pimping my blog to jack-up his book sales on Amazon, but I know better. He has long been a follower of this humble blog and he wanted to pay homage to a fellow Strong vs Weak Word advocate. Plus, Oprah was busy interviewing Lance-Romance Armstrong.

Without further ado, I present my interview with Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson.

So, Bob, if I may call you that, I understand your unpublished essay, “Books and Reading No. 2. How Books Have to be Written,” was recently discovered in the Syracuse University library.

Don’t call me Bob.

What is your essay about?

Like the title says, you dingbat, the essay is about “how books have to be written.”

No need to start with the name-calling. What was your motivation for writing the essay?

I was bored with the glut of so-called literature of my day.  There is such a thing as vampire, werewolf, and bondage over-kill.

Okay, I get that you aren’t into S & M. What did you say to writers about the craft of writing?

Since you were too lazy to read my essay, here is a snippet for you.

“In the trash that I have no doubt you generally read, a vast number of people will probably get shot and stabbed and drowned; and you have only a very slight excitement for your money.”

Your idea of excitement sounds rather violent. Do you have serial killer leanings?

“ . . . if you really want to know what a murder is – to have a murder brought right home to you – you must read of one in the writings of a great writer. Read Macbeth, for example, or still better, get someone to read it aloud to you; and I think I can promise you what people call a ‘sensation.’”

In your writing, you must simulate reality on paper.

Since I haven’t murdered anyone, writing about it would be hard for me. Next question: How do you recommend I make my writing interesting?

“Leave all the dullness out.”

Easy for you to say. Can you give me an example?

“Suppose you were to be asked to write a complete account of a day at school. You would probably begin by saying you rose at a certain hour, dressed and came down to morning school. You would not think of telling how many buttons you had to fasten, nor how long you took to make a parting, nor how many steps you descended. The youngest boy would have too much of what we call ‘literary tact’ to do that. Such a quantity of twaddling detail would simply bore the reader’s head off.”

I understand you wrote the essay while you were working on Treasure Island. Do you think pirate genre will make a comeback?

Outside of romance novels, no. “The famous buccaneers were not chivalrous, but lubbers and downright dunces.”

Thank you, Mr. Stevenson. You may return to your grave now.

All jokes aside, this long-lost essay will be published in Strand Magazine on Friday.

Related articles

• Long-lost essay by ‘Dr. Jekyll’ author published (sacbee.com)

Green Beer and Corned Beef

Tags

writers, writing

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day to you.

Isn’t it fun to have one day a year where we don’t have to make up an excuse to drink green beer and eat corned beef? Everyone is a wee bit Irish today.

This photo we took in Dublin answers an age-old question. Yes, even leprechauns read my blog while they should be working.

“Hmmm . . . I wonder what witty thing does Robin has to say today?”

A New Pope on the Block

Tags

writers, writing

I am a non-practicing Catholic. My mom is quietly devout and she dragged me kicking and screaming made me go to church every single stinking Sunday. Scratchy dress, Mary Jane shoes pinching my toes, and a scarf stapled to my head with a bobby pin. If I recall, when I was a little girl back in the dark ages, mass was said in Latin. I’m not sure. I’ve tried to blot the experience out of my mind. The only thing I liked about going to church was the music. The rest of it was torture.

I now don’t like to go to church because of the music. Breast cancer took my dear friend at age 36 and she left behind three young children. Sweet Cathy’s funeral was in a Catholic church. Her friend sang Amazing Grace a cappella and it laid me low. Read: box of Kleenex worth of sobbing. Cathy’s funeral gave me Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. If I hear music in a church, I start crying. I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

Mom made me go to catechism from age five until I was a teenager. The church fancied up the name and now calls catechism C.C.D. The only thing I liked about catechism was snack time.  I’m scarred for life from when one of my teachers, Brother Ignatius (or some other holy sounding name), told us to draw a picture of the Virgin Mary. Crayon in hand, I was stumped. I had colorer’s block and stared at the blank paper on my desk. Brother Iggy rapped my forehead with his knuckle and commanded, “Think!” They teach that excellent student motivational technique in seminary. It is the unit after “Wielding a Ruler.”

I don’t want to get in a religious debate here, but the Catholic Church has to reform. Don’t get me started on the child abuse issue.

Is it just me, or is this a little creepy? (Photo credit: alykat)

So why, I ask you, why did I tear up when Pope Francis came out yesterday? No, not when he told the world he was gay, you silly. When he came out onto the balcony. It was the strangest thing. Me crying, not him being gay. (Let the record show, your Honor, I have no idea if he is gay.)

I dried my one tear and my next thought was, “Oh great . . . the cardinals elected another automaton.” I’ll cut the guy a little slack. I’m sure he felt sucker-punched and was thinking, “Holy shit. What have I gotten myself into?” Can the pope say shit?

Do you want to know why it took over an hour from the white smoke to getting to see who was behind door number two? You’ve come to the right place.

• The Vatican can speak to God, but they can’t predict the pope-to-be’s size. They had cassocks made in three sizes . . . Sacrament Small, Meditative Medium, and Liturgical Large. The popetress (that’s Latin for seamstress) whipped out her sewing machine and hemmed the cassock that fit Pope Francis the best across his shoulders and six-pack abs. There is a lot of material and layers involved, so the job took time. Can’t have the pope tripping on his hem at his debutante ball. Think of the YouTube hits that would generate. 2.5 seconds and it would be viral.

• Vatican scholars needed time to teach Pope Francis “The Wave.” No, not “The Wave” you do at football games. The official God-approved wave technique. Fingers together, small side to side movements, don’t look enthusiastic, keep your elbow tucked in . . . that sort of thing. Because Frannie, as I like to call him, is of Italian descent, teaching him “The Pope Wave” was a challenge. You know how Italians love to talk with their hands.

• You’ve heard of a pope room, right? According to UrbanDictionary.com:

“In a Portuguese or Italian family there is always a room that nobody goes into and sometimes has plastic on the couch. This room is designed and maintained strictly for the rare occurrence of the pope entering your home.”

“Get the cat out of the pope room. It’ll leave fur everywhere.”

“Go get the baby Jesus statue out of the pope room. I want to clean it, just in case.”

Come to find out, the Vatican has a pope room too. It is room with the balcony. Francis’s mom was there for his big day. She scolded the cardinals to stay off of the furniture in case the pope comes. She wouldn’t let Francis go out to play with his new friends, the masses, until he helped her move the furniture so she could vacuum. She gave him a dust rag and said, “Use the Pledge, not the Liquid Gold.”

I wish Frannie the best of luck in his new job. He has his work cut out for him. Little boys all over the world are counting on our new pope to keep them out of harm’s and lecherous priests’ way.

Go in peace and serve the Lord, Pope Francis. Amen.

Strong vs Weak Words ~ Part 43 ~ Turn

Tags

editing advice, editing tips, Self-editing, Strong Verbs, Strong vs Weak Words, Strong Words, Weak Verbs, Weak Words, writers, writing

Okay fellow word wranglers. I have another Strong vs Weak Word for you. Don’t turn away. Please turn to me for help, turn to me for love, and turn to me for affirmation.

Is your head spinning from turning so much?

You guessed it . . . today’s word is “turn.”

“Turn” is a nice enough word. You can have a turn of phrase, turn on your heel or, as I do, turn men’s heads. But “turn” is one of those words that “turns” up everywhere if you aren’t careful.

As per usual . . . here we go.

Robin turned to me and said, “Thank you for following my blog.”

Are you an idiot? Robin is a nimrod.

Robin grabbed my chin with her boney fingers and twisted my face so she could give me the evil eye. She said, “Follow my blog, or else.”

 ~~~~~

Turning her head over her shoulder, Robin said, “I love that you love me.”

You love her? Here is the name of my therapist.

Onion-breath washed over me when Robin said, “How dare you un-follow me.”

 ~~~~~

My love of Robin’s blog turned into an obsession and I thought about her while I was in bed.

Please. Too much information.

My love of Robin’s blog morphed into fearing for my life.

~~~~~

I turn to Robin for advice on all things writing.

That is why agents aren’t returning your calls

Robin is my guru when it comes to how not to write.

Sure, Mr. Roget and his pet dinosaur, Thesaurus, have words we could use instead of “turn.”

Twist

Spin

Rotate

Twirl

Etc.

But why say “she turned her head over her shoulder” when she could bathe someone in onion-breath?

Excuse me . . . I need to brush my teeth.

Punography

Tags

Jokes, Puns, writers, writing

I love a good joke. Who am I kidding? I love a dumb joke too. My favorite type of humor is dry wit. I don’t like mean-spirited dry humor. That’s just not funny.

When something/someone makes me laugh out loud, my day is complete.

Why is it that jokes are hard to remember? But here is one I heard years ago and it makes me laugh every time. It is one of the few jokes I can remember.

Cue dumb joke . . .

A man went to Antarctica and decided to bring home a penguin for his penguin-loving son. His son sets the penguin up in the bathroom tub with plenty of fish. The thoughtful boy put March of the Penguins on a continuous loop.

The dad becomes tired of Morgan Freeman’s voice and the stench of fish coming from the bathroom. He tells his son to take the penguin to the zoo. The boy and penguin are gone all day and when they walk in the house together the dad says, “I told you to take the penguin to the zoo.”

“I did take him to the zoo, Daddy. Then we went to the movies.”

~~~~~ 

I am also a fan of puns.

Punography at its finest.

So, heard any good jokes lately? Share ‘em here. Happy Friday all!

Death of a Mailman

Tags

Cuts in Mail Delivery, writers, writing

Ah . . . the good old days. (Photo credit: Smithsonian Institution)

Are you like me and go to your mailbox day after day to find only ads, bills, come-ons for credit cards, and catalogs? Silly me, I still walk to the mailbox with a song in my heart and the hope there will be something of interest waiting for me there. I’m a slow learner.

Gone are the days of mailing invitations to your party. Why waste stamps and your time when you can whip out an e-vite?

Greeting cards are dying a slow death with advent of e-cards. Dancing cats, pink-cheeked elves, and shimmying grannies doing the Macarena now wish you a happy whatever. (I’ll note here I have never sent an e-card.)

Thank you notes and letters are almost a thing of the past. We communicate by email, text, Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, and a bazillion other electronic means. A guy wearing blue shorts, no matter what the weather, doesn’t deliver these missives to our door. But those trendy shorts sure serve to showcase the mailman’s hairy legs and knobby knees nicely.

We lamented (some did less lamenting than others) the death of cursive writing in response to my post about the elimination of cursive from many school curricula. What a conversation we had about that. (Don’t worry. I won’t mention again that the post was Freshly Pressed.)

Oh the thrill when a Netflix movie is in the mailbox. Or, when there is a package from your favorite adult bookstore.

Think of the many collateral businesses suffering from the change in how we communicate . . . greeting card companies, invitation and stationery printers, paper manufacturers, and makers of return address labels. What about all those dead horses and envelope glue manufacturing plants? Hallmark greeting card verse writers are standing in the unemployment line as we speak.

Where else is this era of byte-sized communication hitting hard?

Mailmen around the world are sitting in their mail trucks and twiddling their thumbs. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night keep these folks from the swift completion of their appointed rounds, but technology has stopped them in their tracks.

According to an article in the paper, the decline in mail volume and the grim budgetary impact is far-reaching. In France, mail volume is down 30% since 2008. Sacre bleu! Japan’s mail volume is 13% less than in 2009, and our friends, the Danes, are mailing 12% fewer letters than in 2012. Worldwide, letter volume dropped 4% in 2011.

The article goes on to state, “The United Kingdom is preparing to wash its hands of mail delivery entirely by selling the Royal Mail, which traces its roots back nearly 500 years to the reign of King Henry VIII.” The article fails to tell us who is buying the Royal Mail. My guess is Piers Morgan.

In a bold move, the United States Postal Service plans to stop Saturday letter delivery, thereby saving about $2 billion a year in losses. Then they went all mamby-pamby and decided to keep post offices open and will continue to deliver packages Saturdays. Why not cut that out too? Or, if you are going all the way to my house to deliver a package, why not deliver the rest of my mail while you are at it?

New Zealand is considering more drastic cuts and may deliver mail three days a week instead of six.

As Bob Dylan famously said of the postal service, “The times, they are a changing.”

It makes me sad to see the rather rapid demise of the postal service. However, I am a realist and we can’t keep racking up debt for a service fewer people use these days. I say scale back capacity to the level of demand. Or, we could helpkeep our mailmen gainfully employed and write letters to our grandmas.

P.S. There is still time to vote for your favorite Valentine’s Beer Photo. If you’d like, you can mail in your ballot and help save the Postal Service one envelope at a time.

Valentine’s Beer Photo Contest

Tags

Valentine's Beer Contest, writers, writing

Remember the “Coolest Beer in the Cool Place” Valentine’s Day challenge my husband issued our girls?

The gist was this . . . on Valentine’s Day my husband sent our girls See’s Chocolate Hearts, cold hard cash, and a note that said, “Coolest beer in the coolest place . . . take some of this money and buy an interesting beer. Take a photo of yourself drinking the beer in a cool place and submit your photographs to me. I will judge the competition.”

Well folks, this year YOU get to judge the competition. Given the entries’ creativity and diversity, my husband decided the magnitude of such a decision is best left in your capable hands. He feels the decision is too important to leave to a mere mortal.

In other words, he can’t decide on a winner.

And the entries are:

My husband wants you to notice Nancy Reagan and Jimmy Carter applauding his beer choice. Also, note the Marine Corps in the background protecting his beer.

~~~~~

Amanda played a round (note: not played around) with Tiger Woods at Pebble Beach.

~~~~~

Drinking beer while snowboarding helps Jill get air on the slopes. The X-Games are considering making Beer Boarding an event next year.

~~~~~

Some people buy a six-pack of beer. Others buy it in a keg. Paige doesn’t mess around and goes for the vat of beer. She wants you to know the owner and brewer of Payette Brewing Company took her photo.

~~~~~

Okay, it is up to you my blogging friends. Vote below for the beer you think is the coolest and in the coolest place.

Don’t forget to comment to defend your vote!

Special thanks to Paige Coyle, our resident graphic designer, for the artwork.

Related articles

• Valentine’s Day Traditions (robincoyle.wordpress.com)

Strong vs Weak Words ~ Part 42 ~ “And” vs “To”

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editing, editing tips, Self-editing, Strong vs Weak Words, Strong Words, Try to vs. Try and, Weak Words, writers, writing, Writing Advice

I was about to fire off a post about my pet peeve when people say “try and” rather than “try to.” “Try to” carries a different meaning than “try and.” Let’s look at two examples . . .

I try and find value in Robin’s blog.

The above sentence means you find value here. You are welcome.

However, if you mean you tried but failed miserably to find any value here, the sentence should read:

I try to find value in Robin’s blog, but it is a vast wasteland of rubbish.

See the difference?

Given my recent misuse of the word “gerund,” I thought I should do my due diligence and research the “try and/try to” issue on Smarty-Pants Google.

What I found by consulting Mr. Know-It-All was a firestorm of controversy over the so-called “and vs to” grammar rule. I’m glad I didn’t trip over my panties on that one.

The rule is mushy and it is a matter of style preference. There are cases where “and” and “to” work equally as well in sentences, but “and” comes across more folksy.

Come to see me after cooking class.

Ooh, what are we making?

Come and see me after the cooking class where I use teaching as my excuse for overeating.

~~~~~

Watch to learn how I make potpie.

Yeah! Potpie! I love potpie!

Watch and learn how I make a potpie with more calories than your recommended daily allowance.

~~~~~

Exercise hard to work off your potpie induced weight gain.

Damn you. I hate exercising.

Exercise hard and work off those extra pounds caused by our caloric orgy.

Brilliant writing here? Nope. Not even close.

But I hope it makes you think about when you want to use “to” as opposed to “and.” Each has their place, but if you aren’t careful, using the wrong one changes what you are saying.

 

Spring is Springing Here

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writers, writing

Spring is springing in this neck of the woods.

Robin Coyle, aka Peeping Tom.

The birds have a dance party going on in our backyard today. The robins (no, not me and my multiple personalities) are doing shots at the birdbath. Three are using the fountain as a Jacuzzi. A randy mourning dove is chasing some poor girl and he hasn’t picked up on her birdy language that she just isn’t interested. Our yard is like a bird speed-dating session with a lot of flirting, drinking, and carousing. Club Med at Spring Break doesn’t get more action than this.

The daffodil bulbs in the garden pushed tender shoots through the soil to check the weather. They liked what they found and decided to lift their frilly yellow petticoats over their heads. After last week’s frost, a few of the less hardy plants in the garden understand what George Costanza meant by “shrinkage.” But in today’s warm sun, they are raising their plant-y faces to the sky and singing, “I Will Survive.”

All ready for the Easter parade.

The trees are celebrating this glorious spring day by wearing their pink bonnets while bees hum a summer tune in their ear. I love this time of year where the days get longer, the nights get stronger than moonshine. Oh wait . . . I can’t use that. Those are the lyrics to “Ventura Highway.” But I do love the longer days and not looking at my watch at 5:30 to see if it is time for bed.

This all makes me a tad nervous though. It is only the end of February and Mr. Winter might just be on a cigarette break. But in the mean time, I think I shall go dig in the garden and look for worms. Hey, I’m a Robin. It is my job.

Bad Manners

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Bad Manner Pet Peeves, Bad Manners, writers, writing

Let’s talk about manners. Specifically, bad manners.  More specifically, bad manners that make me peevish.

We all know to say “please” and “thank you.” Those good manner policies have been around since Eve asked, “May I please have an apple?” When Adam handed Eve the apple, she said, “Thank you, my fig leaf-festooned friend.” To which Adam said, “You are welcome, darling Eve, but I think you better start packing your bags.

What are some of your bad manner pet peeves?

Do you see any cell phones here? Of course not! Well, maybe the guys on the stairs are texting. Hard to tell.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Here’s one of mine . . . people talking on their cell phone while they pay for their groceries. It is disrespectful to the clerk who feels invisible, and rude to the folks who are forced to listen to the inane phone conversation.

While we are on the subject of the grocery store, where I spend most of my waking hours, why do people leave their carts in the middle of the aisle and make passage impossible? Their carts must come with blinders and earplugs because they don’t seem to notice my discreet, “Ahem. Move it, lady.”

If I have a full cart of groceries and the person in line behind me is buying a pack of gum, I let them go ahead of me. Why do they rarely say thank you?

Back to cell phones. Sure, we all need to use our cell phone in public places, but why is it some people feel the need to talk on their phone so all the world can hear what they are saying? What about cell phone use in restaurants? Public Restrooms (ew)? What about those nearly invisible Bluetooth dealies? More than once I’ve thought someone was speaking to me only to discover they were on the phone with Aunt Mabel.

Or, how about when you break your neck to arrive on time for an appointment with a doctor, lawyer, or Indian Chief and are informed he/she is running an hour behind schedule. Couldn’t they call to let you know you had an extra hour to read blogs?

Don’t get me started on thank you notes. Too late. Our niece was married in November. I purchased a lovely gift and had it sent to her house. To this day, I have no idea if it arrived. Sure I can ask her about it, but why no acknowledgement? Not a Tweet, Facebook comment, email, text, note, phone call, carrier pigeon  . . . na da. Not that it really matters, but the dang gift was expensive.

I always stop to let people cross in front of my car while driving in a parking lot. Always. Most people don’t look up, wave thanks, or nod their head. When someone stops for me, I acknowledge their kindness for not running over me.

Why is it some people think it is hunky-dory to let precious Fido poop on your lawn and leave it for you to deal with?

My husband is a big guy. When we travel by plane, it never fails that the person in front of him reclines their seat, thereby ruining our vacation because my husband’s kneecaps are broken. Sure, the seat is designed to recline, but it doesn’t mean you are required to hurt the person behind you.

I sound like Andy Rooney here so I’ll stop. Let me put a twist on bad manners so they are good manners.

Hang up the damn phone.

Call when you are running late.

Make room for people.

Acknowledge kindness of any kind.

Don’t let your dog ruin someone’s green pastures.

Oh, and hang up the damn phone.

 

I’ll save bad table manners for another post.

What’s on your good/bad manner list?

Strong vs Weak Words ~ Part 41 ~ Word Endings

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editing tips, Self-editing, Strong vs Weak Words, Strong Words, Weak Words Editing Advice, writers, writing

We’ve talked about words that have cancerous growths on either end. The good news is, dear writers, the growths are operable. What words, you ask? Here are a few.

Irregardless

Orientated

Preventative

Combatative

Argumentative

Exploitative

You get the idea.

But there are some Mr. and Mrs. Webster approved words that don’t need to be . . . well, so wordy.

I challenge you to look at your words that end with –ical, -ity, -ize, and –ive.

Let’s try some on for size.

Robin is a wiz at doing mathematical problems in her head.

Not the last time we split our lunch bill.

Robin can’t do math, even with a calculator, abacus, or on all her finger and toes.

~~~~~

Is there any potentiality Robin will be Freshly Pressed again?

Nope.

Is there any potential Robin will be banned from Word Press?

~~~~~

Robin utilizes her blog as a place to educate, enlighten, and amuse.

Oh, please.

Robin uses her blog to blather on about inane subjects.

~~~~~

Robin gave me a definitive answer when I asked her to be a guest on my blog. She said, “NO.”

She is funny that way.

I gave Robin a definite answer when she asked me to read her book. I said, “No way, Jose.”

As we’ve heard before, don’t use a big word when a diminutive word will do. Make that, don’t use a big word when a small word will do.

Love, Las Vegas Style

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Valentine's Day, writers, writing

No one ever accused Las Vegas of being politically correct.

Let’s take the kids to “Sin City,” hon! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Remember the short-lived campaign promoting Vegas as a kid-friendly destination? Yes, bring the kiddies to a God-forsaken flat place in the desert where gambling is legal!  (I was under the misguided understanding that prostitution was legal too, but I stand corrected. Sorry Las Vegas locals. ) The casino moguls built video arcades, staged swashbuckling pirate shows, and installed elaborate pools where little Johnny could get an eyeful of fake bazooms. Big Johnny enjoyed that too.

Why travel to Paris, New York, or Venice when you can visit all three dream-vacation spots in one day? And lose your shirt at the roulette table, take in an all-nude male revue, and wonder if you can sneak little Johnny into the all-you-can-eat buffet?

The kid-friendly campaign was replaced with “What happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas.” Oh, and it is best to leave the kids home.

The debate over gun control hasn’t phased Las Vegas. Nope. They embrace the discussion and say, “Heck, let’s use it as a promotional tool.”

I know I am late in sharing this wealth of armed and dangerous Valentine’s Day celebration ideas for this year, but you can plan your trip with your one true love for next year.

Where else but Las Vegas can you go to a shooting range and partake in a “take a shot at love” package for Valentine’s Day? The special offer includes 50 submachine gun rounds. At another range, loving bride and groom couples can pose with an ammunition belt and Uzi. Brings a whole new meaning to “shotgun wedding,” doesn’t it? And a third (good lord, how many shooting ranges does Las Vegas have?) offers hopeless romantics the chance to renew their vows by the “Pistol Packing Preacher” and shoot a paper zombie in the face. Ain’t love grand?

These tempting wedding/vow renewal offers aren’t limited to Valentine’s Day. The shooting ranges will take your money any day in exchange for a chance to pose with your blushing bride while you hold an AK-47.

Or, if love isn’t in the air for you, you can shoot a fully automatic weapon at your ex-wife’s photograph. Nice.

Let’s not get into a heated debate about gun control here. Let’s just stand back, scratch our heads, and say in unison, “Are you freaking kidding me?”

Related articles

• As others pull back, Vegas amps up gun promotions (sacbee.com)

Valentine’s Day Traditions

Tags

Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Beer Contest, writers, writing

Aren’t holiday traditions grand?

Like leaving Christmas cookies out for Santa, and carrots for his reindeer on Christmas Eve. Santa always stops at the Coyle house because we also leave him a shot of Jack to warm his cockles, whatever those are.

Or dying two dozen Easter Eggs, staging an Easter Egg hunt in the backyard, and recovering only 23 eggs.

Then there is always the bewitching evening of carving Halloween pumpkins at the kitchen table and my annual fear of having to make a trip to the emergency room to reattach a severed finger or two.

Around Chez Coyle, Valentine’s Day is also rich in tradition. Ever since our three girls could say “Balentime’s Day,” my husband would get up before anyone was stirring and put together a breakfast extravaganza. The family party included heart-shaped pancakes, flowers and balloons at every place at the table, the candles lit, See’s candy, and a book. The books were always a classic. I love that man for good reason.

When our oldest daughter went off to college, she said in a wistful voice with a far-off look in her eye, “You know what I’m going to miss most about home?”

My mind raced through a myriad of possibilities.

1. My warm embrace.
2. Sleeping in her own bed in her room that looks more like a war zone than an inhabitable space.
3. My home cooked meals.
4. Gas money.
5. Being grounded for two weeks after going to a beer bash.

Nope . . . none of the above. She said (cue far-off look), “Dad’s Valentine’s Day breakfasts.”

Now that the girls are scattered in three different states and because heart-shaped pancakes don’t ship well, my husband sends them a mini-celebration that always includes See’s chocolate hearts and cash.

Last year he started a new Coyle Valentine’s tradition. In addition to candy and money, he issued a challenge.

“Cool beer in cool places . . . take some of this money, buy an interesting beer, and take a photo of yourself drinking the beer in a cool place.  Submit your photographs and I will judge the competition.”

My husband is the only guy I know who can take the day to celebrate love and romance and turn it into a cutthroat competition.

What do the girls make of this? They are all over it. The deadline to enter the contest is next weekend and I’ll post the photos once the battle is over.

I thought you might like to see last year’s entries.

Daughter One: On stage at a comedy club in Los Angeles. No, she isn’t a stand-up comedian but was dating one at the time.

Daughter Two: Snowboarding in Vail. Yes, she is a snowboarder.

Daughter Three: Fishing the Snake River in Boise. Yes, she is an angler. And beer brewer.

Husband: Striking a goofy pose in the backyard of Chez Coyle.

Happy Valentine’s Day folks!