The other night my husband and I were discussing the economy.  (Keep in mind that we’re armchair economists, not professionals.)  We decided that the current bad economy got started because of shady dealings by greedy people, and continues to be bad because of fear.

People are afraid they’re going to be laid off, or they have been laid off and fear they won’t find another job.  Either way, they cut back on spending.  Because people are spending less, sales are down and so companies let employees go.  And the cycle perpetuates, a self-fulfilling prophecy of doom.

So we how do we break the cycle? 

Recently I came across The 3/50 Project (www.the350project.net) and I think it might help, at least on local levels.  It’s certainly made me re-think where I spend my money.  Essentially, the project coordinators want each of us to choose three locally owned, independent businesses that occupy a physical building.  Of the money we’re planning to spend anyway each month, spend at least $50 (total) of it at those stores.

According to the site, if just half of the employed population spent $50 per month, it would generate more than $42 billion in revenue for small businesses.  That could help a lot of them stay in business.  The site specifies local independents because $68 out of each $100 of their income is returned to their community in taxes, wages and other expenditures.  By comparison, only $43 stays locally when you spend at a chain business, and if you buy online, most likely nothing stays in your community.  This really opened my eyes to some things I hadn’t before considered. 

Recently I asked a clerk in a national chain baby store where their cloth training pants were, and she pointed out the disposables.  No, I said cloth.  She looked at me, mystified; You want what?  When I inquired at a local, independent baby gear shop, the gal who owns and runs it and had greeted me as I entered the door had a dozen options plus information about each to help me choose. 

Don’t get me wrong, I like chain stores.  Among many favorable factors, their leverage in negotiating prices from wholesalers allows me to buy stuff I might not otherwise be able to afford.  But as big as their selection may be, there are some things you just can’t get at the big box stores or chain restaurants.  I would be sad if the family-run café on Main Street or the independent baby gear store closed.  I don’t go there often, but I buy stuff from her I can’t get at many places, certainly not at the chain stores. 

Now when I write my shopping lists, I think about whether a locally-owned store stocks an item for a comparable price.  I’m not spending more money, I’m just spending it in different places.  A friend likes a particular all-natural toothpaste that’s sold at a natural foods chain store, but it’s also sold by a local independent store which happens to be close to her favorite dry cleaner, so she combines her errands.  There’s more than one way to get one stop shopping.

I’m enjoying this re-discovery of local, unique stores where the person ringing up your purchase might even be the store owner.  Since I live in a large metro area, it’s also nice to recognize the shopkeepers and be recognized.  It makes me think of how things were for my Regency characters, who shopped entirely in the days before chain stores existed.

On a different note … this is my last post as a Jaunty Quill.  Regular readers of this blog know there have been some major events in my personal life the last couple years.  I’ve been thinking things will quiet down again, but instead things just shift.  It’s become like the arcade game Whack-A-Mole.  Family is my top priority, so something else has to give. 

I am still writing, and you’re welcome to drop me a line through my web site, www.ShirleyKarr.com or directly, Shirley@ShirleyKarr dot com.  I love to hear from readers!

Auf wiedersehen,
Shirley

June is half over, and in two weeks the year will be half over. How are you doing on your goals and resolutions?

In an effort to improve my health, this year I’ve been focusing on exercise and sleep. I love going to Jazzercise. Classes begin at a set time, someone tells me what to do and in what order, and when the class is done, I’m done! I’ve fulfilled my exercise quota for the day so I don’t have to feel guilty. The workout music is fun (none of it is jazz, btw) and loud enough that it drowns out any grunts, groans and gasps. The routines incorporate elements of dance, kick boxing, yoga and other disciplines so I’m never bored. I’ve made many new friends.

Last year I hit my target of 100 workouts, though I didn’t start until April. This year I’m aiming for 150. There’s a free t-shirt if I make it. I’m behind on the year-long goal (had a couple nasty viruses this winter) but am on track for the short-term summer goal. If I and my partner attend 60 classes between us, June 1 – July 31, we each get a free tote bag.

Last summer we had a similar challenge, but it was 30 workouts (no partner) to win a water bottle. Woop-de-doo, you say? People carry that distinctive green water bottle to class like a badge of honor. I wanted it. Alas, I came up two classes shy of earning the bottle. It hurt, and I’m not just talking about sore muscles.

I already have dozens of bags so I need this tote bag like my husband needs another screwdriver. But it turns out I have a competitive side and it needs to win that bag.

This personality trait is sometimes detrimental but in this instance it’s driving me to do something positive. I’m working out more often than I would otherwise, and reaping both physical and emotional benefits.

The other side of my resolution involves getting seven to eight hours sleep per night. There’s much research touting the health benefits of getting enough sleep, everything from fending off illness to clearer thinking. Not nodding off at my desk would sure be nice, too.

I am by nature an owl, not a lark. Before becoming a mom, I used to do most of my writing between 7pm and 2am. Hearing my neighbor leaving for work at 4:15 would often remind me it was time to turn in.

With an infant, I slept whenever the opportunity arose. But now he’s a toddler and my hubby is perfectly capable of keeping the two of them alive for a few hours in the morning, and I’m a firm believer that fatherhood does not end at conception. So I’ve slid back into some old habits. I often stay up too late.

It would be one thing if I were reading a good book, working on my own masterpiece (ahem) or even watching a favorite show or a movie. But too often I realize what I’m doing is not only not productive, it’s not even fun. I’m stalling, just like my toddler.

Even worse is that I’ll acknowledge that I need to go to bed now, that otherwise I’m going to be tired the next day. If I’m tired in the morning, I’m less likely to work out, and there’s a good chance I’ll be too busy or [insert excuse here] to go to an afternoon class, so I’m actually sabotaging two goals for the price of one.

And I’ll keep telling myself that, as it gets later and later. Or earlier, as the case may be. I’m self-actualized enough to realize I’m shooting myself in the foot, yet apparently not high enough on Maslow’s Hierarchy to stop myself.

A year before I sold my first book, a friend and I were discussing ways we sabotaged our writing careers. We both were (okay, we still are) master procrastinators and perfectionists. We’d take far too long to revise and submit. She could research so thoroughly she could tell you where a particular general stood at any given point in a battle, whereas I found thousands of tasks that absolutely had to be done before I could write the next scene. We staged an intervention for each other. Put your gun away, we said to each other.

Maybe I just need to find an incentive program willing to give me a t-shirt or something if I log XX hours of sleep at night. Apparently I need a tangible carrot, not just “health benefits.”

Have you ever shot yourself in the foot, discovered ways in which you sabotage your own goals? And more importantly, have you found a way to stop yourself?

I debated about which blog to post today. I had another one written and ready to go, but this is eating at me so I have to share. Pardon for being less than jaunty today.

A friend of mine and her husband are self-employed. Work always slows in the winter, so they prepare during summer by socking away money and stocking up on non-perishable food and other supplies. They strive to live within their means year-round.

The construction field in which her husband works has been hard hit by the bad economy. Work usually starts picking up by early February, but not this year. On top of that, Murphy and his law have been very busy with her family. They’ve had a series of unfortunate events, from the minor (a flat tire was not repairable) to the major (her husband was diagnosed with a serious medical condition). They had the double whammy of racking up medical bills and missing out on work while he recovered from surgeries. They carefully evaluate every dollar before spending it and cut out everything non-essential. I thought I knew how to pinch a penny, but she’s shown me how to make it squeal. They’ve canceled and consolidated, even tried to refinance his truck — but it’s just a little too old, has a few too many miles. Banks all turned her down.

My friend is an optimist. Each month that went by with not enough money coming in to cover their fixed expenses like the mortgage and truck payment, she believed things would get better soon. The economies they practiced reminded her of the feisty Regency heroines she loves to read about — how those heroines will do anything to keep their families fed and sheltered, like going to bed at dark to save on candles. “Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without” became her mantra.

Despite their best efforts, by May their savings were depleted and their credit line maxed out. They had just enough money left to either make the mortgage payment or pay the other bills, but not both. (Wells Fargo doesn’t accept partial mortgage payments, they told her so when she called.) She chose to keep their home secure even though that meant incurring late fees on the other bills and left only $100 to feed a family of five and put gas in the truck when her husband could find work. He’d recently done a couple small jobs with the promise of more. Checks would be coming in within a few weeks.

This is it, she said, the tide has turned. It’s almost summer, prime construction season. We just have to hang on another month.

Early last Sunday morning – yes, Sunday, on a holiday weekend – their phone rang. It was a collection agent from Wells Fargo reminding her the truck payment was two weeks late and could they make the payment over the phone now? Two weeks late. Not 30 days, just a couple weeks.

Rather than make a rude suggestion and hang up, as I probably would have, my friend explained why she couldn’t pay. I can help, the agent said. She told her about the bank’s policy regarding extensions on auto loans. They could move the May and June payment to the end of the contract with no late fees, no ding on their credit.

Fabulous! A bank that’s finally helpful. She breathed a huge sigh of relief, thinking of the other bills she could catch up if they could skip two truck payments.

To qualify for an extension though, she had to have paid a certain amount within a certain number of days. She was $30 shy of meeting the requirement. Pay it now, the agent said, and you can call back tomorrow after it has posted and ask for the extension.

Even though it would leave them with less than twenty bucks on hand, she followed the agent’s instructions and made the payment on Wells Fargo’s site. She called the next day, but no one was available, it being a holiday. She called Tuesday, but her payment hadn’t been processed yet, so he couldn’t help her. Call back tomorrow, he said.

She called Wednesday morning, certain her payment had been processed because she’d received the e-mail confirmation at 11:46 pm Tuesday night. Yes, it was processed, but you can’t have the extension because now you’re one day past the limit.

Excuse me? she sputtered. You’re one day past the limit, the Wells Fargo agent said. You’ll need to make another full payment before we can give you an extension.

Wait a sec. Monday was a holiday, and you were so backed up because of said holiday that you didn’t process my payment in a timely manner on Tuesday, and now you’re telling me I’m ONE DAY past the limit and you can’t make an exception? My friend waited on hold ten minutes for a manager to confirm, nope, no exceptions.

But wait, this gets even better. Less than five minutes after hanging up, the phone rang. It was Wells Fargo, informing her the truck payment was late and could she pay it over the phone right now?

In yesterday’s Oregonian, there was a big article about the demise of Joe’s, a Northwest regional sports and automotive retailer that’s going out of business after 50 years. It could have been prevented and all those jobs saved, experts say, if Joe’s creditors had just been flexible. The main creditor? Yep, Wells Fargo.

This is how they’re helping out when we’re all in this sucky economy together? I have officially lost any sympathy I may have had for banks wanting a bailout.

I considered writing something deep and meaningful for today, like maybe discussing my husband’s birthday tomorrow and how morose he is about turning *cough cough* years old, or perhaps share some of the joys and sordid details as we begin potty training our toddler.

But, no. Anne got me hooked on checking out LOL Cats on my lunch break, which turned into a gateway for getting hooked on LOL Celebrities. Blame these on Anne. Shall we begin?

(Please note: my selection of which pics to share today was not at all influenced by Robyn’s post yesterday. Nosirree, not at all. Ahem.)

Below might be tough to read on some monitors. “Charisma: When you never shower, you’re always drunk, and you prance like a fairy — and women still think you’re sexy.” If I knew how to make these, I’d redo this one.

Okay, I did have to throw in a LOL Cat.

I have mixed feelings about the movie Chocolat. Juliette Binoche’s Vianne annoys me in that she doesn’t show much character growth — she runs away again at the end — but I love Dame Judi’s character. Oh yeah, and there’s this gypsy named Roux…. When you see Johnny playing Minor Swing, that really is his playing you hear, not some other musician.

I debated adding this one, since we generally try to keep things rated PG or above ’round these parts, but since the pic was published in People or some such mag, I decided to share. He’s relaxing on his yacht while filming Pirates II and III. (Note the skull-and-crossbones motif on his bandanna. You did see the bandanna, didn’t you?)

A British reporter once asked JD on camera “Boxers or briefs?” He ducked his head, grinned, and declined to answer. I think we now know the answer is … neither.

Have a good day!

A few years ago a co-worker went to night school to get her degree in English. (For those who need inspiration, she was over 50 at the time.) Terri and I had some great discussions about language being alive and how English evolves and adapts.

For instance, a few centuries ago “ain’t” was considered acceptable and Evelyn was a masculine name, not feminine (so was Shirley, btw). The T in “often” was pronounced until the 17th century, when educated speakers made it silent. But people started pronouncing often the way it is spelled so much that now the T sound is considered acceptable again. (Don’t get me started on names being spelled phonetically, like Antwan instead of Antoine. Grr.) “Ain’t,” however, is still non-standard.

Words evolve from being two separate words, to hyphenated, to one word. Determining which stage a word or phrase is at has caused many a hair-pulling session with critique partners, copyeditors and contest judges. Does my duke reside in a town house or townhouse? Does he sleep in a bed chamber, bed-chamber, or bedchamber?

Raising a toddler, I hear language evolving on a daily basis. Years ago I saw an actress on a talk show describing how she was teaching her infant son the American Sign Language sign for milk and a few other words, and how it made life easier for all parties. How cool, I thought. If ever I have a kid, I’m going to teach him sign language, too. I’ve always thought babies are like blank computer hard drives in that they’re born with full intelligence in place, and simply lack data. Their comprehension of speech is much greater than most people think, and they can make hand signs long before they can coordinate tongue and lips to form words.

When Daniel was six months old, I began using the signs for Eat, More, and Milk every time I used the words. My mom and husband gave up after a few months but I kept at it. Our preemie was behind in hitting physical milestones like sitting up but I was certain the intelligence was there. And I was frustrated trying to decipher his “feed me” cry from change me/hold me/I’m teething/I’m tired/I have gas/I’m-bored-and-want-to-yank-your-chain cries. His spoken vocabulary was limited to Mama and Dada – sweet but not very helpful in most situations.

I learned that hearing kids who sign as babies and toddlers tend to have a larger vocabulary and higher IQ when they start school, and have an easier time learning overall. There’s something significant about engaging more parts of the brain as they hear, speak, *and* move their hands to communicate. My dad and brother are both dyslexic and struggled in school. I want to stack the odds in Daniel’s favor as much as possible.

After eleven months my efforts paid off. On December 17, shortly after waking up from a nap, he put his fingers to his mouth in the sign for Eat. About ten seconds later he made the sign for More. Within a month he used five signs, in three months he had a dozen, and in just the last month he’s doubled that. (Eat and More are still his favorites and most frequently used.) At his 18-month checkup our pediatrician said Daniel was ahead of the curve in vocabulary. I tried not to be obnoxiously proud.

Between spoken and signed, he now has over 50 words. Signs often help clarify what he wants because he sometimes mixes up the sounds and/or leaves off the last sound. He’s learning to say Sock but often starts it with a K sound. (Yeah, try keeping a straight face on *that* one.) A favorite bedtime snack is cheese, which he can ask for clearly. But one night he started throwing the cubes on the floor in frustration. Turns out what he really wanted was peaches. So now we confirm what he’s asking for by speaking *and* signing the word.

As his vocabulary expands we’ve encountered a new problem, that of explaining words that sound alike but have different meanings. For example, a lion says roar but when we speak the name of the yellow flowers growing in the lawn that make Daddy say bad words, Daniel says “Roar!” (Several of his words are animal sounds – maybe we sing Old MacDonald too much.) A Dr. Seuss alphabet book shows a lollipop, but we can’t read that page aloud without Daniel asking for a drink of pop. And poop is the result of going potty, is smelly and needs to be cleaned up. But this nice-smelling liquid for washing your hair is called shampoo? And where do we begin with Winnie the Pooh…

On the bright side, we’re still years away from trying to explain the drive-on-a-parkway, park-on-a-driveway nonsensical side of English.

No, not a mental breakdown. A mental break. Maybe you call it a mental vacation? This week is spring break in our area. We’re both self-employed and our son is under two so school vacation schedules don’t mean much to us yet. But vacations — especially mental vacations – are critical. A trip to the coast isn’t feasible right now but I can always take a few moments to peruse my humor file when I need a lift.

Since Mondays can be rough, here’s a peek at a few items in my downloaded Humor file. (You have one of these kinds of files too, right? If not, here are a few to get you started.)

For those with small monitors or bad eyes, the text reads:
“Lola, it’s that time of the year. We should start thinking about swimsuits.”
“Yep.”
“I thought about Johnny Depp’s. How ’bout you?”
“Viggo Morntensen’s.”

Are you reading this at home because you chose not to venture out today?

Friday the 13th is probably the most common superstition found today. I tried finding the origins of Friday being unlucky and 13 being unlucky and Friday the 13th being the unluckiest of all, but I think it can’t be pinned down. Maybe it’s the culmination of many true incidents compounded by myths and legends.

Some point to Norse mythology, where Loki the troublemaker crashed a dinner party of 12 people (making him the 13th) and started a fight that ended in someone’s death. There were 13 people at the Last Supper. In pagan Rome, Friday was execution day. Christ was crucified on a Friday. And there was the mass arrest of the Knights Templar on Friday, October 13, 1307. Thousands of Templars were chained and tortured because of trumped-up charges.

The whole topic of Friday the 13th got much more press in the 20th century than probably all its previous press combined. Something that may have stuck in the cultural sub-conscious was a novel published in 1907 titled Friday, the Thirteenth. From the source I found: “The book, all but forgotten now, concerned dirty dealings in the stock market and sold quite well in its day. Both the titular phrase and the phobic premise behind it — namely that superstitious people regard Friday the 13th as a supremely unlucky day — were instantly adopted and popularized by the press.” Shady stock market deals? Hmm, maybe it was prophetic. But I digress.

One urban legend involves the HMS Friday. Sailors are well known for being a superstitious lot, and no sailor worth his hardtack would willingly begin a voyage on a Friday — it’s bad luck. To combat this once and for all, so the story goes, the British Navy commissioned a new ship and named her the HMS Friday. Her keel was laid on a Friday. Her captain was James Friday. She was launched on a Friday. She even set out on her maiden voyage on a Friday … and she and her crew were never seen or heard from again. (Totally untrue but it has a good punch line.)

A 1993 British study measured the volume of traffic and the number of hospital admissions following traffic accidents on Friday the 6th and Friday the 13th in one region for several years. The results showed a marked decrease in traffic volume on the 13th but a marked increase in the number of hospital admissions. Fewer cars on the road but more accidents. “Friday 13th is unlucky for some,” the researchers conclude in their article. “The risk of hospital admission as a result of a transport accident may be increased by as much as 52 percent. Staying at home is recommended.”

I tend to think of superstitions as self-fulfilling prophecies. If you think you’re going to have bad luck, you probably will. Used for good or bad, the sub-conscious mind is possibly the most powerful weapon ever created.

Let’s just be thankful this Friday the 13th does not also fall on a full moon. Lunacy is a topic for another day, but I will say that a veteran police officer I once met would do almost anything in order to not be on duty on any Friday the 13th that coincided with a full moon.

So… are you superstitious?

You can’t hide your lyin’ eyes.

So say the Eagles in their hit song, though there are some top-notch poker players who would heartily disagree.

Last weekend I attended a great writing workshop that got me thinking about lovers, liars, and poker players. What do they have in common?

All three are fascinating subjects for studying body language.

When talking to someone, studies show only about seven percent of what we communicate is through the actual words used. 38% is through the voice — tone, inflection, volume, etc. (which helps explain why emoticons have become so prevalent in texts and e-mails). That means 55% — over half — of what is communicated is non-verbal. Silent.

Chatting with the friend sitting next to me, we realized our guys are better at reading people than we are – both are men of few words, while we talk and tell stories for a living. It makes sense that these guys understand the silent language. Mothers (and evolved fathers) tend to be good at reading body language too, since they rely on non-verbal cues to take care of their babies (as well as toddlers who say “ca-ca” when what they want is a cracker, not a diaper change).

Test what you already know about reading body language:

1. Someone is trying to convince you of something (“This is the investment opportunity of a lifetime!”) using gestures wherein their hands are mainly palm-down. Should you trust them?

2. It’s easier to tell if someone is lying to you over the phone than in a face-to-face conversation.

3. Upon seeing a man to whom she is very attracted, a woman’s pupils will contract.

4. Gestures such as touching his forehead or clasping his fingers and rubbing his thumb along his opposite hand indicate he is comfortable, open, and honest.

5. Arms folded over the chest always means the person is feeling defensive, hostile, or cold.

I’ll post the answers later. If you’ve been watching Lie To Me on Fox (it’s on tonight!) you probably got them all correct.

Much of what was conveyed in the workshop was a refresher since of course I people watch -– I think it’s one of the required habits before you can consider yourself a writer. New to me was the concept of honest feet. You can consciously school your expression to be neutral or convey something false; you probably think about what to do with your hands, too. But do you think about what to do with your feet?

A foot pointed away from your conversational partner often means you’re uncomfortable, ready to bolt at any second. If you’re in a group and amenable to a newcomer walking up to join said group, one foot is probably pointing to the newcomer. Open. If you don’t want them to approach, your feet are pointed straight at your current partner. Closed.

An exception might be “happy feet.” If you’re happy and excited, there’s a good chance one foot has the toes lifted high, often pointing at an angle away from your body.

A couple who are sitting with opposite legs crossed so they’re mirroring each other are in accord. If you see this in a hotel lobby bar and her shoe is also dangling from her toes, exposing her heel, there’s an excellent chance he’ll get her room key.

Back to the quiz. The answers are all “no.” How did you do?

Did anyone else spend the 80′s glued to the TV Thursdays at 9, watching Magnum PI? I’m not saying I had a crush on Tom Selleck, but the hero in my first attempt at a novel was a blend of MacGyver and Magnum.

(Pardon this tangent – did anyone else get a big kick out of the MacGruber skits on Saturday Night Live last week? I squealed when I realized that really was RDA in a mullet wig. They aired one of the skits as a Super Bowl commercial for Pepsi.)

So, back to Magnum. Private investigator, drives a Ferrari, lives on an estate in Hawaii. Big dude. Stands 6’4″ and no one has looked as good wearing short shorts since. Put the “Oh!” in Oahu. His deep, gravelly voice goes up an octave at times in a way few men can pull off and still be macho. (I’d happily listen to him read the phone book … or even narrate orange juice commercials.)

He has a playful sense of humor, which is advertised in the opening credits. You know the part, where he looks back over his shoulder at the camera and … just how do you describe what he does with those thick eyebrows? Magnum may giggle but he does not waggle. “A lift of the eyebrows” doesn’t do it justice, either.

I’m often stymied when trying to describe my characters’ facial expressions and movements. I’ve spent way too much time cross-referencing words in my thesaurus, both online and in Word, and the Synonym Finder, struggling to find more precise ways to describe a smile, a lift of the eyebrow, a crinkling of the eyes. Have even resorted to The Romance Writer’s Phrasebook at times, which offers many suggestions that went out of vogue probably about the time Magnum went off the air.

There’s another gesture for which I’ve been seeking the precise description. Our intrepid hero has attempted to escape only to be caught in the act by the villain with a wicked sense of humor. Said villain moves his right index finger. He did not “shake his finger” as you would at a dog who’s misbehaved. The villain’s right palm is not facing left. His palm is instead facing the hero, and his finger is moving side to side. (In a commercial, the frustrated mom whose kids keep throwing away their rollover minutes does the same thing.) It’s the Holy Grail of description, right? At lunch with several writer friends I demonstrated the gesture, and none of them could come up an efficient description, either.

In the name of research (ah, the sacrifices we make for our art and craft…) I’ve started watching an intriguing new show on Fox called Lie To Me. Anyone else hooked? Dr. Lightman, the lead character, is billed as a human lie detector. He runs a consulting firm specializing in deception detection. He doesn’t need to hear police interrogate the suspect, he just needs to see. To watch the body language. Something like 70% of all communication is done non-verbally, so it makes sense.

The cool thing for me is when they study film, and stop-frame when a character gives something away. They back up their hypothesis by showing still photos of other people giving away the same thing – people we know well from the six o’clock news. (The guest actors must get a lot of extra coaching to get the tics and gestures just right.) And they identify the gestures and expressions by name. It’s like learning a new language. How cool is that?

I’m going to start taking notes while watching it. Many of the descriptive terms they use are new to me but make sense. I might even be able to apply them in my fiction. Yes, that’s all I need to make my writing always go smooth and easy. (I can dream, can’t I?)

The winner for the autographed copy of Elisabeth Naughton’s STOLEN FURY is Pat. Please email elisabeth@elisabethnaughton.com with your snail mail address so you can get your book!