Smooching - How much can you take?

Kissing

Last month on the blog I discussed the average attention span. Picking up on that theme, I heard another interesting statistic. 

This one has me equally baffled. According to a survey, people are willing to watch a kissing scene for twelve seconds. Now granted, twelve seconds doesn't sound very long but think about it. 

This survey wasn't using a couple having short sweet kisses while talking or giggling. We are referring to a full-blown, wet, get the heart-pumping kiss. 

I challenge you. Set a timer for twelve seconds.

Ready?

Now, imagine watching a couple go at it. Not a couple on the big screen, but an average couple. 

One thousand…two thousand. 

Keep watching that couple.

You're not even halfway there yet. 

When you've had enough, how many seconds are left on the timer?

There is a reason the camera angle changes during a 'Hollywood' kissing scene. You've watched the characters in that relationship grow and develop, but still, enough is enough. I think that is why the director uses sheer curtains, a fence, something, anything to add dimension to the scene. Even the character's hands get in the way of the lip lock. 

As you can guess, twelve seconds, in my mind, is way too long to watch. 

So, back to the 8.5-second attention span. I think during the kiss the viewer's mind is wandering for at least 3.5 seconds. 

The Joys and Challenges of Writing - Part II

     On my last blog, I had given my latest attempt at writing to my husband. An avid reader, he gets the first look at my work. If he likes it, I celebrate. If he doesn’t, well, been there, don’t think much of it.
     He took his laptop into the living room, sat on his favourite chair, and began reading. Being the good, patient wife I can be, not, I bit my bottom lip and left the room. I went to the lower level of our home to watch some television. All was quiet on the upper floor. A half-hour later I couldn’t help but think, is he still reading or did he get bored. Is he surfing the net? An hour and a half later, I couldn’t wait any longer. I slowly crept up the stairs, ever so quietly, listening for signs of movement. I almost made it. Almost.
     Woof.
     “It’s just you’re mom,” hubby lectured the dog. “She’s being silly.”
     I stepped into the kitchen and looked toward the living room. The dog was curled up on the couch, her chin rose as she looked toward me. Hubby was still sitting on his chair. He hadn’t moved. It’s a good thing it’s comfortable or he’d have pins and needles in his butt.
     “Well?” I asked. “Are you still reading it?”
     He looked up from his computer. “Yes–”
     “What do you think of it?” I knew he wouldn’t be done the entire book, yet. “I like it, so far.”
     “Hallelujah!” I bellowed silently. “Yes.”
     He was only ¼ of the way through the book. He had a long way to go but it was like the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders.
I watched a documentary on the band The Eagles a little while ago. One of the artists discussed handing lyrics and music to the rest of the band and the awful feeling in the gut. Will they like it?
I supposed all artists experience the same anxiety.
     Anyway, when hubby finished the book, he gave me the thumbs up. Now we have to work on editing it. He’ll point out the silly mistakes that I have made. The type that an author simply misses. He will make suggestions and I will rewrite sections. This isn’t a short process but I want it to be the best it can be before, well before I cross my fingers yet again.
The next step isn’t any easier. Anxiety round 2. Finding a publisher… Publishers reject a lot of manuscripts. As an author, I look through their website and try to get a feel for the company. I search for reviews of the company.  I want a publisher that will market my books in places I’m not capable of reaching on my own. I don’t want a publisher that will be looking for a new manuscript every three to six months. I don’t need or want that kind of stress in my life.
Sounds fun, doesn’t it! Not!

The joys, and challenges of writing

I finished my latest manuscript and gave it to my husband. I crossed my fingers, toes, and every other body part. He probably assumed I had to urinate given the intense expression on my face. It’s always a nervous time. Writing isn’t only creative, it’s a  personal endeavour. Each manuscript is a labour of love. Allowing someone else to criticize it, takes thick skin. I don’t have thick enough skin. I doubt I ever will. This manuscript had to show that I had grown as an author. That I had read the reviews from The Natasha Saga and applied what I had learned.

I remember writing my novel and thinking, ‘what will hubby think?’ Given the amount of time I’d spent on it, I didn’t want him to say. ‘Seriously? This is what you’ve been doing? What a waste of time’ Of course my husband would be far more diplomatic, but the point would be there. I’d need another hobby. Worse still, he may consider sending me back to full-time employment.
No-o. Don’t make me!
He didn’t say that. He finished my novel and said, ‘I like it, but you can’t stop it there.’
Shock to the system, he liked it. Hubby Liked it! I jumped up and down for joy that day, and then I continued working on the manuscript. The plot grew. 

   I always had a problem classifying my novel into a specific genre. It has a romance component, but it isn’t a romance. The plot breaks the rules of a traditional romance. It’s a family saga. 

 When the book was ready, I sent it to three publishers. I never considered self-publishing. In my mind, if it was a worthy plot, I’d find a publisher. Mission successful, one of them accepted my manuscript. I was assigned not one but two editors and a cover artist. Today, I’m a traditionally published author.

  With my first book behind me, I finished my second novel, more than a little optimistic. 

Hubby read my second labour of love, yet to have an official name, while I kept myself entertained. When he finally finished reading it, he said, and I quote, ‘You’ve done better.’
It was as if he hit me with a sledgehammer. That comment could have sent us to divorce court. Boom, you’re out of here. It didn’t. Common sense kicked me in the butt. It brought me back to earth with a hard thud. Plunked me down, right on my arse. That plot is still on the back burner, otherwise known as a file on my computer. I haven’t decided what to do with that story, yet.
So you understand my fear of handing another manuscript to him. Officially, labour of love number three.


   Well, you will have to wait for the second part of this blog post for his reaction. 

Happy 2017.

Emotions

As I lay in bed this morning, thinking about this blog post, a commercial came to mind. West Jet Airline is known for their emotional ads and this one is fantastic.
A little girl and her family are checking in for a flight. She is holding a plastic, transparent container filled with live greenery and her tiny pet turtle. Yes, a pet turtle. A real live turtle. It’s not exactly a service animal that can board and remain with the owner.
Hmmm.

The marketing team behind West Jet used facial expressions with internal thoughts to relay their message.

The father; what will they do?
The mother; they can’t hurt it / flush it
And two employees; oh, dear. How are we going to handle this unique situation without breaking that little girl’s heart?
The little girl doesn't have a voice, but she does have facial expressions. Her eyes speak to the camera. See my turtle. Don’t make me leave him behind.
The camera zooms in on the turtle. The little guy looked directly at the viewers, pleading with the airline personnel.




The entire commercial is brilliant.
Near the end, one employee finds her real voice and speaks, solving the dilemma.
I give the marketing team at West Jet full marks and high praise.

Authors use emotions when writing. We write words that evoke fear, laughter, make a person think, or simply warm a person’s heart. Through the gift of words, we develop our characters, making them three-dimensional.
We describe the scenes, so the reader can visualize the picture in the author’s mind.
Technology has given us audiobooks. These allow the visually impaired to listen to a story without inconveniencing anyone else. Someday, I’m hoping I can afford to have my books released in audio.
I’m not visually impaired, but I love inserting my earplugs, closing my eyes, and listening to a story unfold while my husband listens to his music. Good quality time with my guy.

I’d like to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas, from my family to yours.
Personally, I wish for world peace, patience, and love. It’s a crazy world out there.
Take a moment, breathe deeply, and relax. Your body and mind will thank you. Fingers are crossed for the New Year.

For the Love of Tomatoes

  I love the summer with all the fresh vegetables, straight out of our garden. I normally have luck growing tomatoes and zucchini. I plant zucchini seeds and watch like a kid for the sprout to shoot up out of the ground. I buy tomato plants and nestle their step and roots into the earth.

  By mid-summer, I'm in the garden, picking and eating my harvest, With more tomatoes than my tummy can handle at once, I picked the ripened vegetables and put them into a storage container for future use. 

  

  Hungry and ready for lunch, I placed the container on the counter, planning to have toasted tomato sandwiches. Even the small but sweet and flavourful cherry tomatoes work well in a sandwich. 

Hubby stepped up to the counter to give me a hand with the meal.

  I happened to notice him grab a tomato with this thumb, forefinger, and middle finger, and scrutinize it. It obviously did not pass his eagle eye. I don't have issues with that. Our garden is organic. Some things look rather 'used' and need to be tossed into the 'organic waste bin'

  He tossed that tomato back into the container. Before I realized what he was doing, he took the new tomato in his hand and raised it toward the good container, attempting to toss a second small tomato back. I found my voice.

  "Don't you dare put those back in there. Pitch them out," I lectured.

He chuckled. One of those, 'busted' chuckles.

  "You bugger," I cursed. "You were going to put that back in."

  "I want to pick out good ones."

  I turned my head slightly and glared at him. I didn't say a word, but my glare spoke volumes. He unsuccessfully fought his grin.

  "Once you put it back with the rest of the tomatoes, you'll have to hunt to find it again. How many times do want to handle the rotten ones?"

  "You're right," he admitted, giving in rather easily.  

  Not at all pleased, I was relentless. "You're not at the grocery store. You can't leave it there for someone else to find it. For someone else to get rid of it."

I watch him tilt his head sideway, and then wiggle it back and forth as he scrunched his nose. The signal for 'Blah blah blah.'

  "Agh," I groaned. Men. Then I giggled. "Where did I find you? Why did I marry you? What was I thinking?"

  "The grocery store," he reminded me.

  Yes. Although we knew each other as social acquaintances, the first time he asked me out was in a grocery store. It was April and I was shopping for tomatoes of all things.

Just for Giggles, and a Good Cause

I spent a Sunday volunteering at a local fundraiser. To say 'the day' is a bit of a stretch. But, I set my alarm for 6am on a Sunday so I'm rolling with it. My friend knew where we were going so I followed her like a lost puppy. Once in the storage room, it was actually more like a huge garage, I saw two tables to my right with pink disposable table cloths. I entered the room. Adjusting to the lights, the back of the room was filled with canoes, kayaks, and stand-up paddleboards, all organized on wooden shelves. To the right, just as we entered were paddles and life jackets of all shapes and sizes. Sign me up. Let me into the water. But, I had an assigned job.  Kind of. I was to help my friend set up the silent auction table. Turning my attention to the left, the one table was half-filled with items. We were handed a pile of sheets with pictures and descriptions of a number of items, waiting for bids. At a quick glance at the pics and the items, there was a problem. 

"I'm a bit confused. These don't match," I said, holding the papers out and pointing at the table.

"Some of these things are gifts." The coordinator began pushing items to the side. 'Gift prize... gift prize."

"Okay, so what about the rest of the stuff?"

"The auction items are coming," the organizer assured us.

She was super cool without a care in the world. For a woman running the entire event, not delegating anything to anyone, that amazed me. 

The auction wouldn't close until 3pm, so, I suppose there was time. I've been involved in volunteering for more charity events than I care to admit. I could handle this. Kathy and I could handle this. "Okay. We will do what we can."

We were left to work. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, more items slowly drifted in and we shifted things around. 

My work was more or less concluded within a few hours.  We weren't about to stay in the garage while the bulk of the activity took place near the water. 

One of the best parts of the day were the costumes. We saw a lot of TuTus. On women, men, and even the dogs. Yes, I did say dogs. Most of the critters wore life jackets. They all wore TuTus. 

I can't imagine trying to get my dog to wear that. I think she'd swear at me as I attempted to put it on her. She certainly doesn't think much of her winter coat. These dogs were troupers. 

  

















The games were the most comical part of the day. Paddleboard races. The ladies were 'nice and sportsmanlike' on the water as they paddled around a buoy and returned. The men on the other hand were more fun to watch. They were more competitive and more willing to tumble into the water. They attempted to jump onto each other's boards. Have you ever tried to steady yourself, on long inflatable material, let alone jump from one to another? They tip, and tip easily. It isn't a sport for those without balance, That was apparent as I watched them. The better the boarders were, the more willing they were to go in. And they tumbled and went in with a splash.

There were a lot of fit people that were huffing and puffing after the races.

Overall it was a great day. Kathy left with a new paddle, a silent auction item that we kept an eye on. Her hubby would be one happy man. The dark clouds blew over without releasing a drop of water on our area. We never heard a single crack of thunder. The dogs appreciated that. The charity raised 22K, so mission successful.

See you next year. 

One of the stand-up paddleboard instructors. His dog also works with The St. Johns Ambulance as a therapy dog. Dogs with jobs.

Country Life

I love living in the country. The sights the sounds and yes, most of the time the scents. Although I must admit there are those lovely spring days when the farms are spreading liquid manure, yup, the fancy name for liquid poop. Nope, I don't think so much of those days. When I walk outside outdoors I could swear we've had a massive sewer backup. I step back into the house, take a deep breath of nice clean air and go outside again. Yup, the farmers are busy. I can only pray mother nature is kind and supplies a bit of a breeze. Blow that stink away. 

Living in the country, I never question where Walt Disney got his inspiration. Nature does not live in harmony. Ever. Critters are bossy. Especially the female birds. Their colouring allows me to tell some of them apart, but not all. Our blue Jays have me baffled. 

The other day, a blue jay flew to our jelly-filled oriole jelly feeder. Normally, he or she is a seed eater. I watched as he took a bite of the jelly, swallowed it, and proceeded to try another. 

I could hear his voice in my head.

"Ugh, that is too sweet.  Why do Adam and George and Lila eat that stuff?

He flew away.
The conversation in my head continues when that lovely blue and white bird gets home. Settling in with it's partner, the loud, smelly toots begin. 

"Where have you been and what have you been eating?" The blue jay mate shifts it's wing to cover it's beak. I suddenly sympathize with them. "I can't even send you outside. We live outside. Go.  Stay away until the rumbling in your stomach stops."

And the blue jay is all smiles as it flies off. It has an excuse to continue to gorge itself. 

See, critters are more human than we give them credit for.