You’ve not only finished your book, but it was published. It wasn’t a best seller, but literary types – like us writer/bloggers – read it. Of course you don’t make any money, but writers are supposed to struggle.
At least until they get an offer from Hollywood, that is. And a flight to Palm Springs to discuss the film option with the head of a major studio and a cast of characters straight out of, well, Hollywood.
Vickie Lester (of Beguiling Hollywood) has a new book! It’s In His Kiss reads like a vintage photograph. Light and dark, blended into a page turner. Palm Springs in full bloom, Hollywood, stars and wanna-bes. Oh, and did I mention murder?
Available at Amazon.com
It’s out and available at Amazon.com . A perfect book to take out to the cee-ment pond with you this summer.
Yup it’s your fantasy and mine. Except maybe the murder part.
You guys know that I am a fake medical expert who does drugs. In a safe, legal way only, of course.
But I saw this over at my friend Father Kane’s blog, and I just couldn’t resist sharing it with you. Not that any of you need this advice, but someone you know might be wondering. Someone you don’t know well. Someone you don’t even like. But still, it is important to keep folks safe.
First, thank you all who read my post Immoral Dilemma and offered words of comfort, advice and all manner of expressions that showed that my bloggin’ buddies really get me!
To anybody who didn’t read that or click on the link: On Saturday, a GOP primary was held to choose the GOP’s candidate in my congressional district. I detest the front-runner (I’ll show you why later on in this post). Virginia primaries are open primaries — regardless of how you register, you can vote in either side’s primary. However, this time, if you voted, you were required to swear an oath to support the GOP candidate in November. My question was basically is swearing an oath, an illegitimate, possibly illegal, unethical oath binding? Could I just go and vote and swear the oath and do as I pleased in November? Could I go there intending to lie, even if I felt it was for an important goal.
Comments were on both sides of the question — and if you look at my answers to them, you will see that I went back and forth with each one. Apparently, I sway with the gentlest of breezes. Thank you all. Truly. Did I say that? Yeah. Well, thanks again.
I tossed and turned Saturday night, and did a lot of soul-searching for most of the day. I read and considered everybody’s comments and realized that both sides were right, which is why I was having such a hard time. But then just as I had to really make my decision, I read Mae’s (of Maesprose) comment:
Do what you feel is right but when you call someone a liar or not truthful – like the Republican party – remember, what you hate may become your own definition. Just sayin.
And I realized that she summed up (at the 11th hour as it were) just what I thought. I’m not a liar. And I don’t want to take on the characteristics of the GOP that I find so disgusting. So, while on a long, thoughtful walk, I decided against going.
When I got home, though, I found that I had a little elf at home who was helping me. My husband John had learned that, while they were calling it a “primary” it was really more of a “straw poll” — there were about 6 places around the district (which is huge) where Republicans were meeting in a large room where they would vote — no voting booths, no anonymity, no semblance of a real primary. Names and registration were taken.
I would have been turned away at the door.
So in fact, the decision was made for me. But I wouldn’t have gone — as much as I loved how Val of QBG Tilted Tiara suggested I look at it:
You do know acting like the enemy is nothing more than ‘going undercover’. Perfectly acceptable during wartime.
Predictably, the candidate I most feared won. Barbara Comstock. She is currently in the VA House of Delegates, where she has voted consistently against women’s interests, and bizarrely, against spending funds for transportation here in NOVa. She worked as an opposition researcher for decades. In fact, was one of the main people working on Travelgate and other Clinton-era scandals. She is a pit bull. If she ends up in Congress, she will make Daryl Issa look like an amateur. She is a nasty piece of work. And this district is so heavily gerrymandered, that she will be there for the rest of her life.
So it looks like I will be busy in the fall.
Thanks again to everybody who offered opinions, options, words of comfort. You guys are the best. Can I come and live in your political district?????
You guys know that I take voting seriously. I believe in it with every fiber of my being, actually.
it’s not just that if you can’t be bothered to show up and vote that you lose your right to complain, although you should. But it remains everybody’s right to bitch. Look it up — it’s in the Constitution.
but really, I think it is important to pay attention, and express your preferences in local, county, state and federal elections. Primaries count too — because in these screwy days, primaries are often more important than the actual election in November.
which brings me to my immoral dilemma:
Tomorrow is the Republican primary in my congressional district.
Now Elyse, you are saying, “you are too smart to be a Republican!” Which, of course is true.
However, in Virginia, all primaries are open; I don’t have to be a Republican to vote in tomorrow’s GOP primary!
And frankly, since there is a good chance that whoever is chosen on Saturday will end up representing me in Congress, well, I want input. And the field is wide open and filled with lunatics. Some of the lunatics like Bob Marshal are known crazies. But the front runner, Barbara Comstock, is hardly any better, and she looks like she is always sucking on a lemon. So I don’t want her. If I go and vote for one of the real way out loonies, the Democratic candidate stands a better chance.
Are you still awake? No? Then how come you’re answering my question?
Now I am getting to my immoral dilemma.
If you vote in Virginia’s GOP primary, you must swear an oath to support the GOP candidate in November.
It is, of course, un enforceable. They will not know if I break my vow. Personally, I don’t think it is either legal or ethical of the to ask for such a vow.
Still, I try not to lie, especially when swearing oaths.
But does it count to knowingly make a vow you have no intention to keep because the vow shouldn’t be asked for to begin with?
****
Sorry for all the typos. My computer died. Obviously a Republican.
My sisters and I never saw eye to eye; rather we heard heart to heart through our telephone receivers. We lived a good distance away for most of our lives. And so our connections, close as they were, were nearly always via long distance calls.
The ear pieces on the phone grew increasingly warm and comforting with each laugh, each tease and each word we spoke. We spent hours on the phone, twisting the curly, stretched cord around our body parts, spilling out our hearts and our triumphs and our woes. But there is no record, no evidence, and sadly fewer clear recollections.
So I made up some memories.
* * *
I began to question the wisdom of this trip as soon as the line went dead.
The call Thursday night was unexpected. Sam and Dave – customers from the burger joint I’d worked in back home — had tracked me down in Boston. I’d left home six months earlier, and was surprised that the guys had found me. They had said they were in Boston often and promised to look me up – but so had a lot of people.
Six months away from home hadn’t been nearly as fun as I expected my “coming of age” to be. I hesitated to admit that I was lonely and would love some company. But I hadn’t even thought about Sam and Dave – forgotten them, in fact. Well, I barely knew them to begin with. Sam was tall, blond, nice smile. A well done hamburger with fries; Dave was shorter with shaggy brown hair that he often pulled back. He liked his cheeseburger rare with onion rings. Both drank Coke. One of them drove my favorite car, a 1974 Datsun 240Z. Blue.
“Great, we’ll pick you up Saturday at 10,” one of them said. Was it Dave? He and Sam were on separate extensions and kept finishing each other’s sentences like an old married couple.
“Yeah, Steve gave us the address along with your number. See you Saturday!” said the other – Sam, I guessed. And then they hung up.
They didn’t leave a number so I couldn’t call them back. For that matter, they didn’t leave their last names. First names, a car (cool as it was) and burger preferences. That was all I knew. Yet I had just agreed to spend the weekend with them at the Cape.
At only 19, I hadn’t done too many stupid things with guys yet. So I called my older sister, Judy, 24, who had.
“This is ridiculous,” I told Judy, pacing back and forth across my tiny apartment like a bobcat in the zoo. “I can’t possibly go. I don’t know who they are. And I can’t possibly call them back – they didn’t leave their number. They didn’t leave their last names. They didn’t even tell me where I just agreed to go. God, this has all the makings of a Hitchcock picture.”
“Are you Tippi Hedren or Janet Leigh?” Jude roared at her own joke. “You’ve known these two cute guys for three years and never went out with them? Either of them? Or both of them – together?” she teased. “God you’re boring. You’d be Doris Day in a Hitchcock movie.”
“I’m just going to have to talk to them when they get here on Saturday.”
“Ok,” said Jude, swallowing her laugh. “You’ll talk to them on Saturday. Good plan,” she burst out again, “especially because you can’t talk with them before that because you didn’t get their number,” she said, gasping for breath.
I began to relax. Somehow, when I told my troubles to Judy, they stopped being problems and became situation comedy.
“You’re a huge help. I’ll call you back next time I need abuse.”
“Anytime,” Judy said, hanging up.
I spent Friday at work bouncing between laughing and worrying. I didn’t pack. Of course I wouldn’t go with them – I didn’t even know their last names!
At 10 am Saturday the doorbell rang. “Shit.”
“We’re here,” Dave or Sam said through the intercom system. Another reason not to go – I couldn’t keep them straight. I buzzed them in, and took a deep breath. I still didn’t know what to do.
Did it take an hour for them to climb the two flights or were they upstairs in a flash? Suddenly I felt queasy. “Oh God,” I thought as I shut the bathroom door, “what would Judy do?” I sat on the toilet for the longest time, trying not to panic. At last, I smiled, shrugged and said “oh, what the hell.” I walked back into the main room and said “I’m not quite done packing, but I’ll be just a minute.”
I threw a bathing suit, a change of clothes, and a couple of other things in a backpack. “There’s just one thing,” I said, smiling at my dates, “I’d love to drive the Z.”
* * *
Me, Judy, and Beth, a while ago
*****
This is a reposting. Today would have been my sister Judy’s Earth Day Birthday. I wish I could call her up and give her grief.
FiftyFourandAHalf 