For the Victims of the Oklahoma Tornado....

My friend and fellow author Shelly Arkon came up with a great idea: donate the royalties for her ebook, Secondhand Shoes, for the summer months to help the victims of the EF-5 tornado that hit Moore, Oklahoma yesterday. Collin and I thought it was such a good idea, we decided we'd join Shelly in her effort to help and donate the royalties for two of my novels, The Unicorn's Daughter and Angels at Midnight for sales between today and September 1st, 2013, to the American Red Cross.I'm looking into donating royalties from other books to other charities as well....

Here's the links for The Unicorn's Daughter...

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/The-Unicorns-Daughter-ebook/dp/B00860WC7U/ref=la_B002BMF4CO_1_9_title_0_main?ie=UTF8&qid=1369179806&sr=1-9
Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Unicorns-Daughter-1-Norma-Beishir/dp/1478387505/ref=la_B002BMF4CO_1_8_title_0_main?ie=UTF8&qid=1369179806&sr=1-8
Smashwords:https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/288159

and Angels at Midnight:
Amazon:http://www.amazon.com/Angels-at-Midnight-ebook/dp/B008JLF2SC/ref=la_B002BMF4CO_1_3_title_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1369179806&sr=1-3
(sorry, no paperback as yet)
Smashwords:https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/277298

We've also set up a Facebook Causes page so that donations can be made directly to the Red Cross:
Authors for Oklahoma.

This is Really for the Birds!

I miss my birds. It's only been two days, but I miss them terribly.

We received notice from the leasing office Tuesday that we can no longer feed the birds and squirrels on our patio. We've been feeding them there as long as we've lived here--seven years as of next week--and though the birds are not causing a problem, it's a case of guilt by association. The squirrels eat the bird seed, too--and the squirrels, it seems, have been chewing into the electrical wiring in the buildings.

Feeding the wildlife is a way of life for us. My parents did it for as long as I can remember. When Collin was little, we adopted a family of squirrels--or they adopted us, I was never quite sure which. The day we moved, the male squirrel kept running through the doggy door, frantic, trying to figure out what was happening. My dad missed the little furball til the day he died.

One day, a few years after Dad died, Mom, Collin and I found an injured dove when we were out for a walk. We took her home with us, and I took care of her until she was able to be on her own again--but when we set her free, she kept coming back. She was there on the kitchen windowsill every morning for breakfast, and before long, she was bringing her friends with her.

So now, after almost twenty years of having mourning doves outside my window every morning, impatiently awaiting their breakfast, no one is there. When the snow comes this winter, there won't be any tiny footprints in the snow outside our door, making circles as they wait. Now, we're feeding them in the cemetery across the road from the complex. Once I'm sure they're finding the food, I'll stop worrying about them...but I'll still miss them.

But the squirrel problem won't end for management. For one thing, we're not the only ones feeding birds. There are bird feeders on several of the balconies. Collin and I are the only ones feeding doves, who are ground dwellers. For another, there are lots of trees on the grounds. Where there are trees, there are squirrels. And there's the matter of the hole in the roof. It was there for quite a while. If there's an opening, squirrels will use it.

I wish we could move to the country, where we could be surrounded by birds and animals instead of annoying people. Chewing or not, I'd take the squirrels over my neighbors any day!

*Also published at Wordpress.

Movie Review: IRON MAN 3

Before I start, allow me to direct you to my partner in crime William Kendall's review of this movie at his blog, Speak of the Devil. William's reviews are far more professional than mine. I tend to judge movies, TV shows and books quite simply on how they make me feel. In short, I review with my gut.

Darker than the two previous Iron Man movies, Iron Man 3 is a cautionary tale. It reminds me, oddly enough, of an episode of the TV series Touched By An Angel, in which the angel Monica, in an uncharacteristic bad mood, snaps at someone, setting off a chain of events that results in a woman's suicide. One never knows what impact a seemingly unimportant act or comment might have on another.

At the start of the film, Tony Stark (Robert Downey, Jr.), in voice-over, says that he created two of his own demons. He recalls the events of New Year's Eve 1999. His callous treatment of two idealistic young scientists, Aldrich Killian (Guy Pearce) and Maya Hansen (Rebecca Hall), at a party in Switzerland set into motion a thirteen-year quest for revenge that would lead to countless deaths and destruction.

When Tony must face those demons, the timing couldn't be worse. He's been struggling with post-traumatic stress disorder since his all-too-close brush with death in New York (in The Avengers). He's unable to sleep. He's plagued by self-doubt. He builds one Iron Man armor after another, for a grand total of forty-eight. He worries that he can't protect the one thing--the one person--he can't live without: Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow), now CEO of Stark Industries. Yet in his manic state, he seems to be neglecting her, and that worries his friend and former bodyguard, now head of Stark security, Happy Hogan (Jon Favreau)--especially when Aldrich Killian shows up at Stark Industries one day, presumably in search of funding for his Extremis project (which reminds me a lot of the supersoldier project in Captain America: The First Avenger).

Extremis is one of those discoveries that, in the right hands, could have been a gift to humanity--but it's in the hands of a madman, and it's dangerously flawed. But is the madman the Asian terrorist who calls himself The Mandarin (Sir Ben Kingsley), or is it Killian himself? Not everything in Iron Man 3 is what it appears to be.

The movie could be subtitled Tony Stark Finally Grows Up, because until now, he's been, for the most part, a big kid with a lot of really cool toys. He's the boy who never thought his father loved him. I've often wondered what his relationship with his mother was like, and what role it played in his inability to commit to Pepper through two movies and countless comic books. A shrink could make a career of this guy.

Iron Man 3 is more about Tony Stark than it is about Iron Man. As he searches for the identity of his enemy, he also searches for his own identity in his post-Avengers world, and what he discovers in the midst of all the explosions, battles and confrontations is, I think, as surprising to him as it will be to his audience. I loved it--as always, RDJ delivers the rapid-fire wit in abundance, and though there's less banter between him and Paltrow this time around, there's some funny dialogue between him and best buddy Rhodey (Don Cheadle), who hates having to trade in War Machine for Killian's flashier Iron Patriot armor--Rhodey's password, WARMACHINEROCKS, pretty much says it all. There's also some great scenes between Tony and a young Tennessee boy (Ty Simpkins) that makes me wonder--could there be a baby in Tony and Pepper's future?

Also posted at Wordpress.

And the Doctor Says, "Up Yours...."

I've come to the conclusion that doctors get kickbacks on colonoscopies.

Seriously. They'll order a colonoscopy for just about any reason. Backache? An immediate colonoscopy is in order. Got a hangnail? Colonoscopy. I've bailed on five of 'em so far. I keep telling the doctors I can't do the prep. It never gets past my ultra-sensitive esophagus, which immediately expels anything that doesn't taste or smell right.

They just don't listen.

Anyway...last Thursday, I was sent to the Center for Advanced Medicine at Barnes-Jewish Hospital for a consultation. Last month, I'd had a scary bout of what my doctor believed to be diverticulitis. I had no reason to believe she was wrong. Collin and my friend Carolyn went with me for this consultation.

Collin wisely chose to stay in the waiting room. I wish I could have. Carolyn and I were shown into an examining room and told the doctor would be with us shortly. Carolyn found herself wishing she'd made a pit stop in the restroom as I had before signing in. I found myself wishing I'd stayed home. I had a feeling it was going to be a waste of time. I hate it when I'm right about these things.

The nurse returned, apologetic. We had to move. Something about needing a bigger exam room. Bigger exam room? Why? I wondered.

We moved across the hall. The room was slightly larger...and it had an adjoining bathroom, which I pointed out to Carolyn. She was making use of it when the doctor arrived...with three or four medical students, interns, residents, I'm not sure. We were never properly introduced. A larger exam room was definitely needed. The Coliseum might have been a good option.

Carolyn...the doctor's here. No, there will be no rectal exam today.

In fact, there was no exam of any kind. He asked me a few questions and decided my symptoms did not match those of diverticulitis. Really, Doc? According to their website, the Mayo Clinic disagrees...but then, what does the Mayo Clinic know? (Yes, I'm being sarcastic.)

No x-ray, no CT scan, no white cell count...just a colonoscopy. Once again, in spite of my explanation as to why I can't do it, I've been told it's being scheduled.

Wanna bet?


(Originally published at WordPress, 4/30/13)

Excerpt: SUPERHERO IN TRAINING

Author's Note: I've always loved romantic comedies...TV shows like Gilmore Girls and The Big Bang Theory...the novels of Janet Evanovich...and anyone who knows me knows I'm a huge fan of The Avengers--all of them! A little of this, a little of that, and soon I had the story of Charlotte "Charlie" Markham, owner of a comic book store in a Midwestern college town, and William Harwood, grad student and closet comic book creator whose superhero creation is about to turn the oddball community upside down....
(Originally published at Beishir Books, 4/22/13)

The funeral procession had begun.

The funny part was that nobody had died. Brenda Walker, who lived down the street, had just found out she was pregnant. Okay, in 2013 that's not exactly the big deal it was in 1953, but Brenda's ultra-conservative Southern Baptist Republican parents would have disowned her seven ways to Sunday if she'd publicly embarrassed them with an out-of-wedlock baby—so Brenda's hero of a hubby, who married her in a quickie ceremony the day before he got shipped off to Afghanistan, was conveniently killed in action. Now, she was mourning the death of her hero, who had given his life to save his fellow soldiers. She looked good in black. She'd probably wear it until the baby was born. She'd play the grieving widow to the hilt.

"Who died?"

"Nobody," I said without thinking. Then I turned around. The guy standing behind me wasn't bad looking. Not the geeky sort I was used to seeing in the store. Too good-looking. No thick-glasses, no pocket-protector, none of the usual awkwardness. He was tall, smiling, wearing a leather jacket and a baseball cap. He had a backpack that looked to be filled to capacity. Nobody filled their backpacks anymore, I observed. Everybody used tablets or e-readers. I silently hoped he wasn't a mad bomber or something. I didn't know what to do if he was. Tony Stark would know what to do. Bruce Wayne would know what to do. Me? I'd just panic and open the cash register. And then he'd probably kill me for not having much in the way of cash.

"Are you lost?" I asked without thinking.

He looked puzzled by the question. "I don't think so," he said slowly. "But maybe they are...if nobody actually died...."

"It's a long story. A long, boring story." I decided to spare him.

"I see."

I could tell by the expression on his face that he really didn't, but he changed the subject then. "I'm looking for the new Marvel releases—Avengers, Iron Man, Captain America, whatever you've got." He was still looking past me, through the window toward the faux funeral procession in the street.

“The widow there—she's the one in black—her parents are very strict, very religious,” I attempted to explain. “She, on the other hand, is, well, a tramp.”

He looked at me and tried not to grin. Tried. But failed.

“She got sort of...knocked up.”

He gave me an odd glance. “How does one get 'sort of' knocked up?” he wanted to know.

He could tell I was embarrassed. I could tell he was enjoying it. I wanted to kick his ass, but I had a feeling he could become a regular customer. I was hoping, anyway. I could use all the business I could get. Bite your tongue, Charlie, I told myself. “She was playing Vatican Roulette with the local boys.”

“Boys? Plural?”

“Oh, great. An English major?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Psychology.”

I rolled my eyes. “It figures.”

“So...Trudy the Tramp is pregnant,” he said, guiding the conversation back to the mock funeral. “Her parents think she was married?”

“No. They just want everyone else to think she was,” I said, searching for the comic books he'd requested. “They'd be content at this point if she could just tell them who the father is.”

He shook his head and chuckled softly. “This looks to be an interesting neighborhood, at the very least,” he decided.

“The girls are all in mourning,” I attempted to explain. “Her dead husband gave his life for our country, you know. He was a hero.”

“Was he rich?”

I looked at him. “I don't think so. Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “If she's going to fabricate a husband, she might as well go all the way,” he suggested.

“Nah,” I disagreed. “Easy to fake a dead husband, but if he's a rich dead husband and her car gets repossessed, that's going to be hard to explain.”

He laughed. “You have a point.”

I handed him the comic books. He looked them over and nodded with satisfaction, then reached into his pocket for his wallet. He gave me his credit card. I looked at it. William T. Harwood. “New to the neighborhood, Mr. Harwood?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual. I ran the card through the reader and received a quick approval.

He smiled and nodded. “Call me Will.”

“I'm Charlie.”

He grinned. “You don't look like a Charlie.”

“Charlotte.”

“You don't look like a Charlotte, either.”

I hesitated. “What do I look like, then?” I wanted to know.

He studied me for a moment. “An Annie, maybe. A Dorothy, possibly.”

“A Toto?” I asked.

He shook his head, grinning. “Your ears aren't long enough.”

“Thank Heaven for that,” I said. “Let me guess. You just blew in from Kansas.”

“I had that coming, didn't I?” he asked. “No, actually, I'm from Vermont.”

“Ah, I should have realized—the New England accent.”

“I just moved here last week. I'm postgrad at the university. I'm just getting acclimated before classes start,” he said. “One of the first things on my list was to find a good comic book store.”

He took the credit card I returned to him and put it back in his wallet, then looked back toward the window again as the funeral procession returned. “Does this sort of thing happen around here often?” he wanted to know.

I laughed. “Better get used to it,” I advised. “It's a community of oddballs.”

He grinned. “The perfect place for a writer.”

“You're a writer?”

“Aspiring,” he said.

“Haven't you published anything?”

“I haven't finished anything yet.” He was looking toward the bar across the street. “What the—” he started.

I looked, too. One of the regulars was attempting to enter. Tuffy, a pit bull belonging to one of the neighbors, was, as usual, blocking his path. “Tuffy won't let Fred in until Fred buys him a beer,” I explained.

“The dog drinks beer?” Will asked, surprised.

“He's got a bit of a drinking problem,” I confided. “He hits all the guys up for a beer.”

“And they buy them for him?”

“If they want to get into the bar, they do.”

“And if they don't?”

“Depends on how much beer he's already had,” I said. “Tuffy's a mean drunk.”

Will looked at me. “Does he...bite?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. "Tuffy knows where to bite to inflict the most pain."

He winced. "Ouch."

"I've been thinking of hiring him as my night watchdog," I said then.

"Good call. He'd work cheap. Get him a six pack and he's happy."

I gave him my business card. "Hope your introduction to our more—interesting—residents hasn't scared you off coming back here," I told him.

He grinned. "Quite the contrary, Charlotte. I think I'm going to like it here."

Charlotte? He was going to call me Charlotte?

"Come back soon, Sir Wills," I told him.

The Road to Hell and the Worst of Intentions....

I had a blog planned for yesterday...but then some sick bastard decided to detonate a pair of bombs near the finish line at the Boston Marathon. There are so many things I could say, so many things I want to say, so many things that have already been said...but words are inadequate right now, really. I think this says it all:

And the Cheese Stands Alone...Literally!

It all started innocently enough.

Collin wanted spaghetti for dinner. Now, as anyone who's been following this blog knows, I have never made any claims to being anything even remotely resembling a good cook. However, my spaghetti is passable. Collin likes it, and his stomach has never been pumped.

He also wanted garlic cheese bread. We had the bread, but no cheese. We were having lunch at McDonalds at the time...there was a dollar store next door...they sold food.... I could just pick up a bag of shredded cheese there, right?

I really need to learn to read labels.

No problems with the spaghetti. I then turned my attention to the cheese bread. I sliced the bread thick, topped it with the cheese and put it on a cookie sheet in the oven, expecting it to be ready in a few minutes.

After five minutes, the cheese hadn't even started to melt.

Five more minutes. Still nothing.

Another five...nothing. Well, not exactly. The bread was toasting...burning...but the cheese was still not melting!

Huh?

What was this stuff, anyway? I got the package from the fridge and started reading. See for yourself....

Cheese that doesn't melt? Whoa!

There's no way I'm eating this crap, whatever it is--but Collin and I have been kicking around some ideas for alternative uses for it. I can see the headlines now...

NASA PROBE ARRIVES SAFELY ON VENUS WITH PROTECTIVE SHIELD MADE FROM DOLLAR STORE CHEAP CHEESE!

Hey--you never know where the next great invention will come from....