Month: November 2019

MJ’s Musings: The Watkins Man

If you’ve ever seen the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding, you may recall the heroine’s father believed Windex cured everything.

My father believes in this:

Cold season meant Watkins salve was rubbed on our chests instead of the ubiquitous Vicks Vapo-Rub. When I was injured in a snow mobile accident, Dad had me massage my swollen knee with the salve. Mom smears it on her face when she has sinus headaches. Dad uses it to cure boils, erase zits, and heavens only knows what else. It is the family cure-all.

When I was a child, there was a “Watkins Man” who came around with a suitcase full of products (another favorite was horse liniment). In our small town, the Watkins Man was actually a family. The Schuyler family. I remember them well. There was old Mrs. Schuyler with her frizzy gray hair, Harry Schuyler–I never knew if he was a husband or son–with his round wire-framed eyeglasses (this was in the era of horn rimmed spectacles, so I was fascinated by his “old-fashioned” look) and Norma, Mrs. Schuyler’s adult daughter, who walked with a limp.  Once a year or so, the Schuylers would pay us a visit and Dad would restock his salve.

I don’t remember what happened to the Schuylers. We attended the same church, but weren’t “friendly” with them, not like either of the town barbers, the bank president, or the owners of the hardware store.  All I know is that my father hoarded his last tin of Watkins salve.  He didn’t know what to do. The Watkins Man no longer made house calls.

Years later, I was wandering around the state fair when I discovered someone selling Watkins products. I immediately purchase two tins of menthol camphor ointment: one for Dad and one for me. I still have mine, and I periodically use it for all sorts of things. I am my father’s daughter.

By the time Dad was scraping-the -tin-with-a-fingernail low again, the world of on-line shopping had come into being. He complained he was almost out of salve, so I hopped onto the Internet and my favorite on-line retailer. Lo and behold, there’s my Dad’s panacea. The tin has been updated to a more retro look, but the contents remain the same. And Dad is happy because he has his salve delivered right to his door, just like the old days.

MJ’s Manuscript: Excerpt: BESIEGED BY THE MOON

“Just so you know, I’m allergic to strawberries.”
She must have been reading his mind, because he’d been frantically trying to think of a way to make the traditional mating offering of berries.
“I’ve never heard of a werewolf with food allergies.” He was an EMT. The only thing lycans were allergic to was alcohol, and even then the reaction wasn’t an allergy in the sapien sense. The homo lupus couldn’t consume a lot of things sapiens considered normal. Chocolate. Grapes in any form. Artificial sweeteners were deadly. You’d never find a millennial werewolf because avocado toast was poison. But none of these were allergies.
He had a mate. He needed to focus on what was important instead of being distracted by the trivial.
He needed to take Phoebe to Ethan’s house, where he’d better be able to treat her wound and access Selena’s stock herbal remedies. There was even a bed where he could do the deed.
He couldn’t think of a single reason not to mark Phoebe right away. Berries. Right. Not strawberries.
He jammed the key into the ignition and twisted. “Anything else I should know?”

BESIEGED BY THE MOON

Tentatively scheduled for February 2020

MJ’s Musings: Book Bingo-Single Word Title: BEACHCOMBER

One of the Book Bingo Squares this year was “Single Word Title.” I chose a Karen Robards romantic suspense I had not read before: BEACHCOMBER.

To be honest, I thought parts of this book were silly. Let’s see. There was a female attorney on the run from the mob and her ex-fiance (who turned out to be a mobster), an FBI agent posing as a beach bum, a serial killer, and a cranky stray cat. My favorite character was the cat.

I usually love Robards’ romantic suspense books–I own several–so I was surprised when this one didn’t do it for me.

Two stars.

MJ Monday: MJ’s Music-Something Rotten Sound Track

A couple of years ago, one of my crit partners saw the musical SOMETHING ROTTEN on Broadway. She immediately dashed out and purchased the CD of the sound track. On our next excursion into the woods, she shared the plot and the music with us.

We fell in love.  Several of us (myself included) also purchased the music. One of the songs, “It’s Hard to Be the Bard” has become our anthem. We listen to the sound track on every road trip we do together.

Last fall, a touring version of the show was in a nearby city. I dragged TV Stevie to see it. He enjoyed it. He didn’t love it the way I do,  but he enjoyed it, and even asked to listen to the sound track the next day.  I purchased a tote bag at the show.

I am my local RWA chapter’s Book-in-a-Week Babe this year, and I use the tote bag to hold the monthly prizes as I dole them out, while “It’s Hard to Be the Bard” blares from my phone.

 

Enjoy!

MJ’s Musings: If Her Nora-ness Can Write…

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I have been reading Nora Roberts’ Chronicles of the One and enjoying every word. Can’t wait for book three, The Rise of Magicks to come out in a couple of weeks.

Book one, Year One, reminded me of Stephen King’s The Stand on so many levels. Of course, every other reader of The Stand said the same thing. That doesn’t make the trilogy any less compelling. After all, there are only between six and 1,462 plots in the world (depending on who’s speaking). Everything else is a variation on a theme.  Story ideas, especially from the best, are going to overlap.

A couple of years ago, I had a disturbingly vivid dream. Upon waking I transcribed  the  dream as the opening scene of a novel and read it to my RWA chapter’s critique group later that morning.  One member said, “It sounds kind of like A Handmaid’s Tale.” I had heard of this book, but hadn’t read it. The series had not yet been shown on TV. It may have been in production at the time, but if so, I wasn’t aware of it.

I wrote the book in a couple of months. It’s a dystopian tale that went through several title changes before I settled on The Eleventh Sybil.  I thought the story was powerful. My critique group agreed. I started shopping the book to agents.

By this time, A Handmaid’s Tale was airing. Sales of the novel surged.  A sequel was in the works. I read Atwood’s book while I was writing mine. They are not the same story.

Yet one agent wrote back: “I’ve read this before.”

If I were Nora Roberts, submitting Year One, would the agent say the same thing?

Okay, I get it: she’s Nora,and I’m not. But that doesn’t mean my story doesn’t deserve a fair reading.