It’s the Little Things

Posted on August 9, 2013 by clubfredbaja

There’s this joke I used to tell as a kid that got me huge laughs every time I performed it. For the record, seven-year-old me rated “huge laughs at my joke” right up there with ice cream and ponies. For that matter, forty-four year old me feels much the same. Anyway, the joke was horrifically racist. I know that now but seven-year-old me used to eat at Sambo’s restaurant and had a black dog named Toby.

Thinking on this stuff makes me vaguely vomit-y, but those were the times. I don’t know how many people it took saying “Hey, this stuff is wrong!” over and over to make those sorts of jokes and names go away but I’m guessing lots. I’m also guessing an equal amount of people would say, “What’s your problem? It’s just a joke!” or “Sambo’s is funny because it has cartoon characters, that’s not racism.”

It’s super easy to believe discrimination and oppression doesn’t exist when you’re not the one being discriminated against or oppressed.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about things that are culturally acceptable today and yet blatantly sexist. Things that I have overlooked, things that I have said, or things I’ve validated by my silence. More and more, I realize how deeply ingrained the gender bias is and how it’s the littlest things that shape our views.

Strong woman with wahoo

Me and my big wahoo

Prez likes to tease his fishing charter clients in a fun, good-natured way. They’re almost all men. When one of them starts to whine about how heavy the fish is or how hard it is to reel, Prez will say, “Oh, would you like me to call my wife and ask her to reel it in for you?”

The guests always laugh at this. I laughed, when he told me. After all, I know I’m a kick ass angler and I’ve reeled in fish half my weight and almost the same length as me. I know it often shocks men when they see what I can do.

But then Prez and I stopped to think about what that statement means beneath the surface. It wasn’t so funny after that.

Strong women fishing

Strong Princess reels up a halibut

What makes, “Oh, would you like me to call my wife and ask her to reel it in for you?” so not funny? Well, “wife” is a woman and women are weak. In other words, the angler is question is SO weak that even a woman could do a better job reeling in the fish…and women are super weak, amirite?

Yay, thanks for reinforcing that stereotype!

As soon as Prez realized what he was really saying, he swore he would find a better funny, non-sexist jab. Not at my insistence, by the way. It was his idea, for which I love him dearly.

But how many times are men compared to women, usually by other men, as a means to insult them, whether seriously or in jest? Perhaps one of the worst insults out there is any one that compares a heterosexual man to a woman. What does that say about what we think of women?

Nothing good.

The next thing that got me thinking is an innocent bit of casual conversation, and one which I am 100% guilty of myself.

It happens when parents have an attractive young daughter. You’ve heard some variation of this conversation before:

Me: “Oh boy, you’re in trouble when she grows up!”

Parent: “I know! I’ll just make sure I’m cleaning the shotgun whenever a boy comes to the house to take her on a date!”

Ha ha! Right?

Just yesterday it hit me why this is such a bad statement to make.

First of all, the assumption here is that an attractive young female will attract a lot of male attention, which will possibly lead to groping and/or sexy time in the teen years. Fair enough, teen boys do not lack hormones, however, I have never, not in forty-four years, heard the same comment made about a good looking boy child.

So, it’s okay if your handsome teen boy scores but your pretty teen girl should be virginal until marriage?

What the what?

Parents, let me tell you something, I was a teen girl once. Shocking, I know. You know what else? I was as hormonal and horny as any boy my age. Maybe more than some. Well, definitely more than some. This is not me advocating for teen sex—though let’s get real, it happens—this is me saying take a close look at this accepted double standard.

Second problem with the above dialogue in its many forms is that it paints girls as stupid, weak (again), and incapable of making good choices. Only dad with a shotgun can fend off the bad horny teen boys, because there’s no way a pretty teen girl will have the guts, self esteem, or intelligence to either fend them off herself, choose boys that won’t maul her on the first date, or put to use the sex-ed lessons her parents and others have been giving her over the years.

Oh, and let’s not forget that we’re painting all teen boys as potential rapists.

Third, young kids hear us say this crap. So, from an early age we start hammering home the stereotypes.

There’s nothing at all wrong with raising kids to respect themselves and make informed sexual choices, there is something very wrong with continuing to feed the idea of pretty girls as helpless creatures with brains made of cotton candy and virtue in need of saving.

Yes, I know we project a lot of weird gender stuff onto boys, too, and we need to watch that, but boys don’t face the gender discrimination that girls do. So, I’m shining the spotlight on the females right now.

Dads, I get it. You remember yourself as a teen boy and the thought of someone like teen-you cozying up to your baby terrifies you. But if you want your daughter to grow up strong and confident, if you want her to be the kind of teen girl that would tell teen you to keep his hands to himself and “Back off now, Mister!”, you have to make her believe that she is that girl. You have to start young and constantly reaffirm your faith in her ability to take care of herself.

Because it’s those little words, those little jokes, that drill holes in our foundation. They reinforce, in an everyday way, that we girls are not equal to the boys. They, the boys, don’t need protection but we do.

So, I’m not going to start or participate in those kinds of conversations anymore and if you catch me doing so please feel free to smack me upside the head with a dead salmon.

The final thing that I’ve been thinking about is the pressure for girls to be “nice”. I know I got this as a child and I still struggle to overcome those “nice” demons as an adult. I could rant for a few more pages about that but Catherine Newman says it best with: I Do Not Want My Daughter To Be Nice.

If it seems as if I’ve suddenly become a lot more feminist lately it’s only because I’ve become a lot more feminist lately. I’ve taken a hard look at the world around me, at the sexism that I’ve dealt with all my life that I’ve just accepted because, hey, that’s the world, and I’ve realized I’m about done with it all. I’m done with being “nice”. If I can do one thing to help create a more equal and fair world for the generations to come after me, I’m going to damn well do it.

And I’m going to start at home. With the little things.

Until next week,

I hope this finds you healthy, happy, and lovin’ life!

The Princess

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Stop Giving Me What I want! A review of Blackbirds and some swirly thoughts

Posted on July 28, 2013 by clubfredbaja

Blackbirds by Chuck WendigWhen I finished my latest read, Blackbirds by Chuck Wendig, a swirly mass of thoughts that had been, well, swirling around in my brain suddenly solidified. The novel’s protagonist, Miriam Black is not your average hero. One Goodreads reviewer described her thusly:

She’s lurid, vile, bad-mouthed. She has an attitude problem, more than one.

Not exactly the type of character most of us would expect to cheer for, or even to like. But I did like Miriam. No, I loved Miriam. Miriam is one of my favourite kinds of heroes and her creator did one of my favourite things: he didn’t give me what I wanted.

This is the heart of my swirly mass of thoughts. I’m tired of formulas, reboots, and sequels. I’m tired of seeing the same stories re-packaged and slickly marketed with the sole purpose of parting me from my money. I’m tired of black and white cliché characters that never stray far from expectations. I’m tired of safe.

Art is not about safe.

I’d never heard of Chuck Wendig before I found Twitter. I’m not even sure how I found him there but his often-absurd tweets made me laugh. I checked out his blog, then his books, and then scrolled through some of the reviews for his work. I was intrigued—as much by the one-star pans as the glowing praise. (Actually, maybe more by the one-stars, with comments like: Miriam’s narrative is peppered with the amount of dick and dick-related tangents and jokes that are characteristic of only male-written books.)

Wendig took a risk with Blackbirds. It isn’t hard to see why some readers would be offended, (though if you think dick jokes are solely the domain of men I’ve got news for you). But to call the language and gory descriptions in the story gratuitous is to miss the point completely. If you’re writing about a character with a messed up childhood,a girl who eventually acquires the “gift” to see how people die in gruesome detail without either the ability to stop those visions or the power to change the outcome for the victims–if you write about that person and try to convince me that her life is in any way clean, normal, or G-rated, I’ll call bullshit. Wendig’s frequent descriptions of the deaths Miriam sees are part of what made me empathize with her. I was squirming after the first two or three, imagine living with hundreds? And her colourful language, as with so much else about Miriam, is self-defense.

Miriam Black is bent, if not broken, but she’s a hero in her own way. This is an uncomfortable story, yes, but it’s truthful.

The best art is about truth.

When I say that Wendig didn’t give me what I wanted, what I really mean is he didn’t write dishonestly. He didn’t tone down Miriam and make her more likeable so that I, the reader, would find her more palatable. You see, it’s not really what I want to which I refer, after all, but what other people think I (the reader, watcher, listener), want.

This is why we have not one but four Die Hard sequels. Because Hollywood thinks what I want is not something new, original, and risky, but simply more of the same story I liked back in … 1988. This is why for every ground breaking novel that defies the odds and becomes a bestseller, you’ll get a barrage of second-rate copies and rip offs. This is why pop music exists. This is why everything is wizards. And then everything is vampires. And then everything is zombies. And then everything is…?

Hey, if you liked that, obviously you want more of that, right? NO! I liked that because it was different, or challenging, or thought-provoking, or a hundred other things that appeal to me, not because it was exactly like something else I liked.

I love artists who take risks. I may burn George RR Martin in effigy every time one of my favourite characters gets killed off on Game of Thrones but…damn, he keeps me on the edge of my seat. Knowing that no one is safe, not even the best and most beloved characters? How exciting!

For an example closer to home, how about Can Lit darling Angie Abdou? Her novel The Bone Cage was a Canada Reads Finalist and featured two hard-not-to-love protagonists in a quintessentially Canadian storyline. So what did she write next? The Canterbury Trail, which is, according to a one-star Goodread reviewer:

…too (gratuitously, I feel) full of sex, drugs and bad language. If this is truly a depiction of west coast ski culture, I’m glad I’m not a part of it.

News flash: It is an honest depiction of west coast ski culture. Remember that thing I was saying about art and truth?

I loved The Canterbury Trail, not despite the drugs, sex, bad language, unlikeable (yet likeable) characters, rapidly shifting POV’s, and fittingly dark ending, but because of all that, and more. Truth, truth, truth, that’s what Abdou gives her readers. You can read my review for more juicy details.

I haven’t finished writing my review for Blackbirds, yet. Be assured it will contain the words “kicks ass” more than necessary.

Yes, there’s room in my heart for traditional stories and loveable protagonists, when they’re written from the heart and the story grips me. (Harry Potter, I’ll always love you). But if that was all there was to storytelling, I would wash my hands of it forever. Give me your Miriam Blacks, your Dexter Morgans, your Lisbeth Salanders, your Walter Whites, your Al Swearengen’s. Give me your ugly, vile, cussing, n’er do wells, and social outcasts. Show me your guts, I can take it.

Don’t give me what you think I want. Give me your truth.

p.s. I couldn’t post this without mentioning that I actually “listened” to Blackbirds on audiobook. With my limited amount of free time, I have become an audiobook convert – books while cooking, running, grocery shopping! (If you want to squeeze a few more books into your life, I highly recommend you start listening to them). I want to give a shout out to Emily Beresford, who narrated Blackbirds. Narrators can make or break a story and Beresford definitely made this one, for me.

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Book reviews, Entertainment, On Scribbling | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Get the Most From Your Writing Group

Posted on July 22, 2013 by clubfredbaja

Cat editing manuscriptWe love them, we hate them, we write funny blog posts about them, but the fact is that a good critique group can be a writer’s best friend with literary benefits. For indie authors, a writing group can also be one of your best professional resources. For example, I have one of my group members to thank for connecting me with a top notch copy/line editor who was willing to work within my limited budget.

How do you find a good group? Where do you find a good group? That depends on where you live and/or how comfortable you are with online communities. I like real life, meat-space groups, because a) I like the dynamics of live discussion and b) I spend a lot of too much time alone with my laptop, so I want to see human faces in 3D with surround sound. To find real life groups, I suggest you ask at the local library, book store, or arts center.

I’ve been fortunate enough to belong to three different critique groups, all of which were a perfect fit for me at the time. I’ll let someone else tell you how to find a good group, one that suits you, your genre, and your level of writing skill. I’m here to give you some suggestions to make the best of your group once you’ve found it.

 1. Show Up

That sounds obvious, right? But what if you’re not currently working on anything? What if your life is busy and you’d much rather spend that Sunday afternoon catching up on chores or missed episodes of your favourite TV series? What if the muse starts singing ten minutes before you have to leave for the meeting and you absolutely must write down your genius before it slips away?

Look, we all get busy now and then but if you are serious about your writing then you need to be serious about all aspects of the craft. Strong groups are a result of member dedication and there’s as much to be learned from critiquing as there is from accepting feedback from others.

Make group meetings a priority and set a goal not to miss a meeting unless you absolutely cannot be there on the specified date and time.

 2. Be Engaged

If you think your fellow group members can’t tell that you read their work the previous evening, during commercial breaks, and scribbled together your notes right before the meeting, don’t kid yourself. Reading for the purpose of critiquing takes time, energy, and focus and that will show in your comments. If you expect a thorough critique, you must return the favour.

I like to read all pieces I critique three times, in this order:

  • Read #1 –  As a reader, taking in the entire piece without making any notes.
  • Read #2 – As a stylistic/structural editor. Time to try and break down what’s working and what’s not and why.
  • Read #3 –  As a copy/line editor. Details, details, details!

If there are meetings when you genuinely do not have time to give your fellow writers’ work the time you should, be courteous and tell them so. Don’t make it a habit.

3. Keep Learning

In a good writer’s group, you’ll learn lots of new things about the craft and business of writing, but your education should not stop there. You’re part of a collective, and that collective works best when all the members are constantly acquiring new skills and ideas.

A stagnant group—where the learning curve has flattened, and everyone’s heard every nugget of wisdom their fellow members have to offer, and no one bothers to learn anything new outside the group—is a waste of time.

Read books, go to workshops and conferences, watch webinars, take classes, join literary organizations, and never stop acquiring knowledge about your craft. Then, share the best of what you learn with your group. If all or most of your members do this, you’ll create a super-charged learning environment.

4. Be Shameless

This one’s a bit tricky. Over the years, I have gone outside of group meetings to ask my fellow members for advice on everything from how to get an agent to proper comma placement. I am a prolific writer, which means I will submit as many pages for a meeting as I can reasonably get away with. And I almost always submit something. The way I see it, twelve times a year I have the undivided attention of intelligent and insightful professional writers and editors and I am going to make the most of that opportunity, damn it!

But hang on a minute. I’m shameless in my acquisition of knowledge, but I’m not pushy. There’s a big difference. When I say “be shameless” I mean “put aside your ego”, not “put yourself ahead of everyone else”.

When you know you’re asking for a lot, ask politely, and always with the clear understanding that any or all group members can say no. (Accept “no” graciously, by the way, or no one will believe you when you tell them it’s okay to say that). Also, make sure you give back when it’s your turn, even if it means you have to give up your own writing time. And don’t start making demands at your first meeting. Get to know your group and always be respectful with your requests.

5. Thicken That Skin

cat manuscript writing groupHonesty can hurt. There are ways to be kind and honest at the same time, and most of your fellow members will strive for that, but I guarantee you will get your feelings bruised at least once, (probably unintentionally), during a critique. The worst thing you can do is dwell on it. Without honesty, a writer’s group is just a bunch of people sitting around, talking in circles, and patting each other on the back.

You cannot get better if you do not learn what you are doing wrong. Group members must know that they can tell you what you are doing wrong without worrying that you’re going to fall to pieces, take it personally, or hold a grudge. Trust me, it’s not personal, and you’re going to be treated far less tenderly by agents, editors, publishers, and readers.

Try to think of writing as a sport. I pick tennis! You want to make it to the US Open? Well, you have to get out on the court, let your coach watch you play, and then listen to her advice. When your tennis coach says, “You’re not bending your knees and following through”, she is not attacking you or belittling you, and she’s not really saying, “Wow, are you ever crappy! Why the hell are you even here? Go home, loser!” No. What she’s doing is pointing out an aspect of your game that needs work in order to make you a better player.

Think of your fellow members as your coaches. Coach = help = GOOD!

5. Know When to Go

Sometimes you’ll outgrow a writer’s group. It happens. I’ve read that you should always be in a group that is slightly above your skill level. I disagree. I think a good way to measure your compatibility with a group is simply by how much you’re learning at every meeting. If three meetings pass and you feel you have learned little or nothing to improve your writing, then it’s probably time to bid a fond farewell, or at least to start looking for a new group.

Be kind when you leave and remember to thank everyone for what they’ve given you. It is a gift.

More resources on writing groups:

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, or How to Choose a Writers’ Group ~ Holly Lisle

Can Critique Groups Do More Harm than Good? ~ Kristen Lamb

The Top 10 Worst Types of Critique Partners ~ Donna Cooner

Finding a good writing group can take time, patience, and persistence. Even then, it may not be your “thing”. But if you do find a good group and want to get the most out of it, be engaged, active, respectful, appreciate what you have, and try to balance honesty with compassion.

“We are not put on this earth to see through one another, we are put on this earth to see one another through.” ~ Gloria Vanderbilt.

Are you in a writer’s group? What have you learned from the experience? Not part of a writer’s group? Why didn’t it work for you?

Posted in Indie publishing, On Scribbling | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

Jack and Jill Rising

Posted on July 18, 2013 by clubfredbaja

“What do you do?”

We all know this question. It’s one of those conversation starting points. By determining someone’s occupation, we can make a few assumptions about them and we gain a starting point for other conversation topics.

For some people, however, this question is difficult to answer without sounding like a complete flake. What if you “do” many things? What if you don’t have one definite career path?

When asked this question at one of my early get-togethers with my posse of Nelson girlfriends, someone else provided what I now consider the ultimate reply.

“It’s easier to ask her what she doesn’t do.”

These days, when asked that question, I say that I’m a writer.  Because I now have a published novel, something concrete and tangible I can point to, I can avoid the lengthy and embarrassing explanations about how I have published work, but not a book, yet, and I don’t make much money, but it is my career, and blah blah blahity blah. Before the book, however, my answer would have generally contained a grocery list of jobs.

I am a Jill of All Trades. And I love it. I can give your cat an injection, tile your floor, edit your website, and take you on an educational tour of a coral reef. I also know how to disarm you if you attack me with a knife. Which, for the record, I hope you don’t do. My resume reads like a list of career options for highschool students and if you think mine is bad, you should see Prez’s.

This career and hobby potpourri is not a result of laziness, indecisiveness, or stupidity, and I don’t think either Prez or I have ever been fired from a job. The reason for the variety is a combination of burning curiosity, nomadic tendencies, spirited independence, and a highly developed ability to adapt. When we want to move to a new city, country, or continent, we simply find a way to make a job for ourselves in the new environment. What the life of a Jack and Jill of All Trades lacks in stability, it more than makes up for in adventure.

But there is a dark side. Jacks and Jills in North America face an unusual prejudice. Our society has become one that increasingly equates success and respectability with specialization. Do one thing, do only one thing, do it well, do it for decades, and you’re a person worth admiring. Do lots of things? Even if you do them well? You’re a dabbler and a loser.

I have nothing against specialization. Believe me, if I go in for knee surgery I want my surgeon to have done thousands of knee surgeries, I want her to be able to do a knee surgery in her sleep, I want to see a “I heart knee surgery!” bumper sticker on her car, I want her to live and breathe knee surgeries! I’m simply saying that specialization isn’t the only model we should admire or aspire to, in fact, I think this trend of pushing toward more and more specialization as a societal goal is unhealthy.

With this opinion, I am in the minority.

The Look. I know it so well, I’ve seen it so often. It happens in conversations, most often with Prez, because he’s the more talkative (loud) of the two of us. The person(s) he’s talking to have heard him describe an incident from his stunt career, then maybe he mentions that he can fix their dishwasher, and then maybe he’ll sidetrack into website design and SEO, or any of a dozen of his areas of experience. The Look begins as amusement but soon morphs into derision. They think he’s boasting, they think he’s full of shit. He couldn’t possibly know how to do that, and that, AND that.

There it is: the prejudice.

Why? This is what intrigues me. History books are full of people (okay, mostly men), whose careers and fields of study spanned the spectrum. Benjamin Franklin was an author, printer, political theorist, politician, postmaster, scientist, musician, inventor, satirist, civic activist, statesman, and diplomat. Sir Francis Bacon was a philosopher, statesman, scientist, jurist, orator and author. Da Vinci, Copernicus, Newton, and many more famous names fall under the designation of “polymath”.

Benjamin Franklin polymath

Benjamin Franklin, famous know-it-all

Wiki says…

Polymath: (Greek: πολυμαθής, polymathēs, “having learned much”), is a person whose expertise spans a significant number of different subject areas. In less formal terms, a polymath (or polymathic person) may simply be someone who is very knowledgeable.

Or the less-flattering modern version: Know-it-all.

Don’t worry, I am not going to compare myself or Prez to Benjamin Franklin. I’m simply pointing out that there was a time when it wasn’t considered absurd  to follow many different paths of knowledge and interest.

I adore polymaths. What most people fail to understand is that polymaths, know-it-alls, Jacks and Jills of All Trades, whatever you choose to call them, love to learn. They may not learn in the traditional forms set by our society, but they live for learning. They’re individualists. They love to solve problems and figure things out on their own. They’re generally not content to accept things at face value. They’re not always right but that’s not the point for a Jack or Jill; the goal is to acquire knowledge and skills. And the most fascinating thing about Jacks and Jills is that their “big picture” thinking allows them to see connections between seemingly unrelated ideas and problems.

Hide not your talents, they for use were made. What’s a sundial in the shade? ~ Ben Franklin

I have this thing I love to do with Prez. I present him with a challenge: “I need X to do Y and I need it to look like Z.” He may shake his head and bemoan the impossibility of my request, but you can practically hear the wheels in his head turning. Challenge! Problem! Must figure out! It might take him a day, a week, or a month, but 99% of the time, he gives me exactly what I asked for, and often with a few extras and improvements.

Yes, some people do talk a big talk and pretend they know everything about everything simply to stoke their own ego. But, likewise, some doctors are quacks, a whole host of financial specialists routinely lose their client’s investments, and a long list of publishers turned down Harry Potter. Yet we don’t assume all specialists are inept, do we?

I say our society’s push toward greater specialization is unhealthy for two big reasons. First, humans have evolved so far, so fast because we are innately curious and to limit that curiosity is to limit evolution, (in my oh-so-very-humble opinion). Second, we’re creating a scenario where students view a university education solely as a means to get a high paying job and make money. I fully endorse post secondary education, but tying a degree with a paycheque is dangerous thinking. Young people, take note: Life comes with no guarantees.

“Not only is focusing on money the wrong basis on which to make a decision about attending university, it sheds light on a serious weakness in the rationale: the idea that most worthwhile jobs require a university degree.” – Maclean’s Magazine article The Graduate’s Million Dollar Promise

Knowing how to swing a hammer, fix a clogged toilet, or catch a fish may never make you rich, but if the economy tanks, (again), those simple skills might help pay your rent and buy groceries. The world is becoming more competitive and volatile by the day.  These are times when being a Jack or Jill is not such a bad idea.

Survival and economics aside, the heart of this issue is the need for humans to have meaningful work. Whether that work is in a highly specialized field requiring an alphabet of letters after your name, or whether it involves jumping around from job to job and place to place, if you love what you do, you’re a success. Jacks and Jills of the world hold your heads and your ten-page resumes high, and when someone asks you what you do, tell them: “Everything.”

By the way, the Women of Character series on the Warpworld blog has wrapped up. If you haven’t had a chance to read about these amazing women–including our own Miz Liz Meyer, former mayor and current dog-training specialist; mechanical engineer Amy Stevenson; and stunt woman Laura Lee Connery–I suggest you get your virtual butt over there!

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy, and lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Hobbies, Life at Work | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

The Secret to Being Happy Without The Secret

Posted on July 3, 2013 by clubfredbaja

By the time you read this, no matter what day it is, I will have already laughed at least once. If it’s late in the day, I’ve probably laughed several times.

I am a happy person.

I am also in debt. I am nearing my mid-40’s and I have no life savings and no “retirement plan”. I write novels, which means I have about a .5% chance of ever making a decent income. Wait, I indie publish, so cut that chance in half. My husband and I do not own a house, we regularly uproot, move, and change jobs. There is little stability in our existence. As we both age and our overly-abused, post-stunt career bodies begin to fail, our options to earn an income diminish. We have no children, which means that whatever happens to us, we’re on our own. Our future, really, doesn’t look all that promising. Even so…

I am a happy person.

Dalai Llama on happiness

Why? How does a person “become” happy? What is the secret?

First, if you have a copy of The Secret, burn it. For the good of your fellow humans, end its tyrannical rule here and now! I hate The Secret

I’m leery of all “self-help” programs, in general, but The Secret is the worst of the bunch. I cannot read statements like these…

“Remember that your thoughts are the primary cause of everything.”

“You will attract everything that you require. If it’s money you need you will attract it. If it’s people you need you’ll attract it.”

“Those who speak most of illness have illness, those who speak most of prosperity have it…”

…without wanting to force the author onto a plane and leave her in Afghanistan with a note that says, “Good luck and happy thinking!” Along with its first-world-centric, victim-blaming rhetoric, what I loathe about The Secret is the complete dismissal of one important and eternal fact:

Life is not fair.

It isn’t. It really isn’t. We do not live in a meritocracy. Good things happen to bad people, bad things happen to good people. There are lazy, witless jerkwads who will spend their lives stumbling from one lucky coincidence to the next, and there are hardworking, ethical, positive people who will face only obstacles and never see their dreams realized. All the laws of attraction in the world can’t undo the law of unfairness, for it is a random, uncontrollable law.

What a downer, right? Nope.

You can still be happy, genuinely happy, without wish-thinking health and wealth into your life. In fact, I say you can be happier if you let go of the idea of control completely. I’m not suggesting you give up on your goals or, more generally, give up trying. I am suggesting that you can still enjoy life even when it goes all Mike Tyson, gets you in a corner, and tries to bite off your ear. Because, every now and then, even when all your thoughts are SUPER POSITIVE AND AFFIRMING, for no logical reason, life tries to bite off your ear.

So here are my own little rules for being happy. Ignore them all or have them printed on a t-shirt, either way, it’s your life.

1. Make Yourself Laugh

If you’re waiting around for something to make you smile, you might be waiting a long time and some days you won’t smile at all. Find things that make you laugh and use them every day. Every. Single. Day. I joke about my penchant for funny cat videos but there’s more to my habit than just a need to cleanse my brain palette every now and then as I work. I know what kind of things make me laugh. Cats doing funny things or cats involved in funny things tops the list.

Cats on treadmills…

Cats diving into boxes…

Sad cats…

I watch. I laugh. I feel good. It’s nothing more complicated than that. Where the magical magicness comes in is when you make yourself laugh every day, more than once a day. It becomes a habit. Your body starts to expect it. You actually start laughing more easily and more often. You become addicted to the happy.

2. Do Nice Things

By now, you’re probably thinking Holy crap, this is the silliest list of fluff  I’ve ever read and I’m only on item two! Look, as much as we want things for ourselves, the real secret is that doing things for other people can be far more satisfying. You’ve heard of Random Acts of Kindness? I suggest these don’t have to be done on any grand scale – say something nice to the clerk at the grocery store check-out, drop a quarter into someone else’s parking meter, smile and say hello to a passing stranger.

Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own. ~ Robert A. Heinlein

There is a catch. (Isn’t there always a catch?)

You won’t get the full benefit of this rule until you learn to do nice things and expect nothing in return. Generosity for the sake of generosity. Taking a shift for a co-worker who needs a day off and then getting your nose out of joint when they don’t do the same for you won’t cut it. So choose your nice deeds wisely.

3. Be Okay With Being a Human

Being human means being flawed. Physically, emotionally, psychologically, we are all far from perfect. I distrust any advice that suggests otherwise. Sometimes, we need to be sad, or angry, or confused. Despite our best intentions, we make mistakes, let people down, let ourselves down. We fail. We break hearts and have our hearts broken. We lose people we love. This is all part of being human. We need the dark as much as we need the light.

It’s so hard to forget pain, but it’s even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace. ~ Chuck Palahniuk Diary

I am a happy person because I’ve been a sad person. I’ve been to that place where everything feels hopeless and grey and it’s all you can do to get out of bed in the morning. Because I’ve been there, I know how good here is, and I have room to empathize for those who suffer. My happiness is magnified by the absence of sadness.

Don’t beat yourself up if you’re in a bad place. Hunker down, do what you have to do. We’ll be here for you when you come back.

5. Move Your Booty

Let’s not say the “E” word, because I know how much some people hate it. I’m going to call it movement, and it can be walking, dancing, yoga-ing, skipping, competitive Twister, you name it. Whatever kind of movement you can do, that you like to do, do it. Our bodies feel good when we move, and when our bodies feel good, our brains feel good.

Moving can happen anywhere, no gym membership required. Ask my husband about my silly dancing. Yep, I dance. I dance alone, I dance while I’m making dinner, I dance when Prez is sorting fishing tackle. It’s a few minutes out of my day, it doesn’t cost me anything, and I’m usually grinning like an idiot when I’m done.

Crank this one up and see if you don’t feel like doing your own happy dance…

C2C – Happy Feat. Derek Martin (official video) from On And On Records on Vimeo.

6. Add Don’t Subtract

A lot of people think that making a positive change in their lives means they have to stop doing negative things.

  • I need to stop drinking coffee.
  • I need to stop sleeping in so late.
  • I need to stop eating fattening food.
  • I need to stop smoking.

Okay, you really should stop smoking. But I digress…

Start thinking in terms of adding good things to your life. If you like drinking coffee, then quitting is going to feel like punishment, even if you believe it’s a bad habit.

My trick? I try to always add positive things to my life. What happens from there is weird. Reading more books broadens my mind and makes me less inclined to waste my time with TV. Going for a run naturally makes my body crave good fuel, so I eat less crap. Planning something I love to do in the morning makes me WANT to get up early.

Add these positive things slowly, start small. Big change usually happens because of thousands of small changes, not because you wake up one day and, (thanks to your SUPER POSITIVE WISH-THINKING), decide you are going to be a completely different person.

7. Get New Glasses

What is the lens through which you view the world? This is the hardest step and some of you reading this aren’t ready for it because it involves being unflinchingly honest about who you are, and facing your biases and prejudices.

As I said at the beginning, there is one immutable fact: Life is not fair.

In your life, you are going to see and experience things that are unfair. Some, such as gender equality or environmental issues, you can actively work to change. Others, such as fatal illnesses or natural disasters, you can only accept and deal with as best you can. In the case of the Things We Can’t Change, our happiness depends on internal factors, and that boils down to how we look at the world.

Is the world out to get us? Or does the world, with its random acts of tragedy, simply exist and we occasionally get caught in the wrong place at the worst time?

Do you think, “Why is this happening to me?” or “This is happening and it happens to be happening to me.”

To be a happy person, I suggest it must be the latter. Sure, we all have moments of frustration, but in the big picture you need to have a sense that we’re all just tiny pieces of a very large puzzle.

I heard a wonderful, true story not long ago… but long ago enough that I’ve forgotten who told it and most of the details. The Premise of the story, however, is that two people visited a Buddhist temple in ______(?), in the middle of monsoon season. Crossing an open area during a deluge, the first person found a man with an umbrella. Huddling underneath, he complained, “Ugh, this weather is terrible!” The man with the umbrella looked up, and saw the second person leaping from stone to stone, to avoid the massive puddles, with a huge grin on her face. “Isn’t this delightful!” she exclaimed, as she made it to the umbrella.

The moral is pretty obvious: Two people in the same situation but with two ways of seeing it. No one’s thoughts caused the rain. Is the rainstorm terrible or delightful for you? What I’m getting at is simply that you will never be able to control all of the external world. If your happiness is dependent on things you can control, then you’re going to be at the mercy of fate, no matter what thoughts you send out to the universe.

Try on some new glasses. See if you can make the rainstorm delightful, if only for a few moments.

Once you feel you are going in the right direction, it doesn’t matter if the road is long or short. ~ Mattieu Ricard

I’m not going to patronize you. My “rules” are just things I do that seem to work for me. YMMV and all that. But happiness can be cultivated, and it’s worth the effort. There is no “secret” there is only a desire to smile and laugh more, no matter what the world throws at you.

Here are some other links to happiness:

Mattieu Ricard: Happiness is a skill

Shawn Achor: The Happy Secret to Better Work

This is Water

Or, you could always start by popping over to the Warpworld Comms and reading about our Women of Character. Today, featuring a Dam Good Woman, mechanical engineer, Amy Marcoux.

(Rule #8, don’t be afraid to shamelessly promote other happy people!)

Until next time, I hope this finds you HAPPY, healthy and lovin’ life!

The princess

Posted in Health and wellness, Warpworld | Tagged , , , , | 11 Comments

It’s All Good

Posted on June 22, 2013 by clubfredbaja

A short post to a) Say thanks b) BRAG

First, the thanking.

I find WordPress immensely confusing and non-intuitive. More than once I have ended up banging my head against the e-wall trying to figure out something that, later, turns out to be laughably simple. What WordPress does have going for it is some very helpful and patient folks in their support forum. One of those nice folks helped me out today, while I was in the middle of a full meltdown.

Timethief (assume that’s not his/her real name, duh) is the angel behind the new menu you see up top. Look up, look waaaaaay up. See that On Scribbling tab? Well, that’s where writers, book lovers, and word enthusiasts can go to read all of my literary-ish posts. Over the next few weeks, I’ll have all of my old posts archived in there.

Mr./Ms. Timethief blogs on One Cool Site , which has all kinds of tips for bloggers.

For anyone who, like me, may be having trouble figuring out the whole Custom Menu or Category Pages thing on WordPress.com here is the most excellent link she provided to me: Custom Menus

Now for the BRAG-ing.

Warpworld has been awarded a B.R.A.G Medallion from indieBRAG ! The acronym stands for Book Readers Appreciation Group and the organization is comprised of individuals and groups who want to recognize quality independently published novels.

Our mission is to recognize quality on the part of authors who self-publish both print and digital books.

Josh and I are Snoopy-dance happy about this news. You can find Warpworld on the indieBRAG site under Science Fiction. Here’s our shiny new medallion:

Warpworld science fiction novel BRAG medallion

Thanks so much indieBRAG readers!

You can also find Warpworld on my new Custom Menu at the top of the page! (Thanks again, Timethief!)

One more thing.

Okay, I forgot item C, which is the new blogroll I have on lower right. Look down, look waaaaay down. Under “Coconutty good blogs that I read a lot and like and stuff!” you will see some links. These are blogs I actually read and love, not just a list of people I’m promoting. Thanks to my crazy schedule, blog reading is a luxury for me (oh, the irony), so all the blogs on that list are deemed Princess Time Worthy. (Maybe I should create my own medallion?)

It’s a work in progress, so if you don’t see your blog on there, and it’s one I read, don’t despair.

Gotta get back to my “real” work now! Enjoy the New and Constantly Improving Coconut Chronicles. (Thanks again, Timethief!)

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Indie publishing, On Scribbling, Warpworld | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments

PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEE!!!

Posted on June 18, 2013 by clubfredbaja

When I was a child, if you had asked my parents what one trait of mine drove them the most batty, I’d give you Vegas odds the answer would be: “She fibs”. (A close second would be my complete scatter-brain-ed-ness).

Yes, I fibbed. I lied.

A lot.

When backed into a corner from which no mortal could escape, I would still try to lie my way out.

One of the best examples of this happened when I was fifteen. My parents had warned me not to ride my nice 10-speed bike to school but if I did to be sure to lock it up well because they couldn’t afford to buy me a new one if it was stolen. Of course, I rode the bike to school. Of course, being scatterbrained, I left it unlocked one day. (In my defense, it is hard to remember such details when your boyfriend is working as a techie for a band and invites you to the sound booth, in the school gym, to watch the magic unfold make out.)

My bike was stolen.

I was so worried about how mad my parents would be, that I made up a lie, insisting that I had left it at a friend’s place and would pick it up later. (Do not ask me where that one came from). I staunchly defended this lie, and found clever reasons why I could not bring the bike home, until the day we were supposed to drive to the airport to leave on summer vacation and my parents insisted the bike come home.

How long did I hang onto the lie? Well, I let my parents drive me all the way to the friend’s driveway before I broke down and confessed.

It was a wonderful drive to the airport, wherein my mother did not speak a single word to me after her (very logical) questions, “Why the hell did you lie? Why didn’t you tell us it had been stolen?” were answered only with dumbass teenager shrugs.

I still can’t answer those questions because, honestly, that was a pretty moronic thing of me to do. What I can say is that telling stories has always been my way to deal with just about everything, no matter how stupid or ineffective that tactic may be.

I just told you a story to explain the point of this blog post. See? I can’t help myself.

I’ll get to the point shortly. Just a few more stories, I promise.

I may have loved storytelling but growing up in a suburb of Vancouver, pre-internets, meant I did not get to rub elbows with professional writers. The closest I’d come was my highschool English teachers and a one-day creative writing seminar I attended in the eleventh grade. I knew nothing about the craft of writing, only that I loved to do it and that BOTH my mom and my English teachers said I was good at it, so that must be true!

I do not know how many thousands of hours of creative writing I have under my fingers, I only know that there will be thousands more before I die.

As I mentioned, I can’t help myself. Which brings me closer to the point of this post.

Josh and I had one of our head-butting moments not too long ago. (This usually happens in the later drafts of our manuscript, when we are both cranky-pantsing from too much editing). He pointed out something that got me foot-stomping pissed off. Simply, that it is as important to me to be thought of and recognized as a writer as it is to do the actual writing.

He was, of course, completely wrong about this. At least, that is what I intend for him to believe for eternity.

The truth? Oh man, you know how I am with this…

At some point, I don’t know where exactly, “being a writer” became as important to me as telling the stories. I’d like to blame Twitter or Facebook or video games or heavy metal music, I’d like to tell you the bike is at my friend’s house and I will pick it up tomorrow, (I swear!), but the truth is that it’s all on me.

I dove into the marketing of our novel confident that I could maintain a persona separate from my real self and remain unsullied by the outside world. But somewhere in the tweets and blog posts and articles I saw authors who were getting recognition from Credible Sources(!), exchanging witty repartee with other famous authors, selling thousands of copies of their books with just a wave of their gifted hand. They were known, they were respected, and I wanted to be one of them! NOW!

I felt like the dorky kid trying to smoke a cigarette to fit in with the cool crowd. You know, the one who just ends up coughing and looking like an even bigger dork?

What the hell had happened?

I found myself wanting to shout at the Twitter feed on my computer screen, “I AM A VERY INTERESTING AND COOL PERSON, YOU JUST DON’T KNOW IT YET! I GOT HIT BY CARS FOR A LIVING! I ALMOST DIED IN A WHITE SQUALL…WITH MY CAT! I’VE HAD CIGUATERA POISIONING! PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEEE!!!”

Josh was right (but don’t tell him that), I’d become a person to whom “being a writer” meant as much as telling the stories I loved, maybe more. Had I crossed to the dark side, never to return?

This morning, Josh and I sat down to work together. It was the first time in far too long that we had a big chunk of time to work on new material, completely unfettered from tight plot structure or editorial demands. It was…bliss. 3400 words flew from our fingers in a few short hours and I was magically transported to that other world where nothing exists but story.

Basking in the glow, I was reminded of why I chose to write at all: I love to tell stories. I can’t help myself.

So, the truth is, I’m some woman no one’s ever heard of. I live… well, I live in a lot of places, but right now I live in a town most people cannot even pronounce, (Ucluelet = Yoo-cloo-let), that’s so small we don’t even get mail delivered to our door. No one has ever asked for my autograph, (unless you count that time the dude in Cranbrook mistook me for Bridget Fonda on my lunch break from Snow Queen, and, even then, he was asking for Bridget’s autograph, not mine). The big name authors, the mid-name authors, and perhaps even the no-name authors on Twitter will never follow me back or even respond to any of my comments on their tweets. (Although, Chuck Wendig did once e-laugh at a joke I made. *swoons*). 99.9% of the world neither knows nor cares that I am a writer.

That’s okay.

At last, we have arrived at the point of this post, because I know there are some writers who read the little cranial gumballs I spit out here…

Story is enough. The rest is window dressing. I can’t tell anyone why they should write but I can say that if you’re one of those lucky folks who do it because you can magically disappear inside your own head, and your own words, then treasure that. No amount of Facebook likes can give you what creating your own world on a page or screen can give you. If you want to make a living at it, then you’ll have to do all the other shit that goes along with Selling Your Product, but don’t get lost in it. Don’t take it personally when the author you admire doesn’t reply to your tweet or your blog post comment, that’s their perogative and it probably has nothing at all to do with you. Unless you’re a creepy stalker. (Don’t be a creepy stalker). Stop obessing over numbers, stats, rankings and all that other bullshit. Who you are will never be as important as what you do.

Write your stories. Get better. Write more. Get lost in your head and love it. Have fun. Don’t forget what matters.

Oh, and while I was busy obsessing over being a writer, the 10th anniversary of the Coconut Chronicles snuck up on me. Yep, it’s been ten years of Kristene Perron’s Cranial Gumballs From Around the Globe! Thanks to all the Nutters who’ve stuck around to listen to my stories from the beginning, and welcome to all you new Nutters just joining the madness!

Here’s where it all started…Krsitene and Fred Perron get ready to leave for the Bahamas

10 years ago, the Nuttiness began

I suspect I’ll be writing this blog for another ten years.

I just can’t help myself.

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

p.s. Sorry about the bike, Dad.

Posted in On Scribbling | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

The Plane It Never Come

Posted on June 14, 2013 by clubfredbaja

The most memorable trips are the ones where everything goes wrong.

These words, from a friend, have proved hilariously true over the years. It’s not that I don’t remember the good trips, the ones where everything went perfectly and fun was had by all. No, I like those trips and I want more of them. It’s just that there’s something about surviving the bad ones that bonds you with your travel partners and provides conversation fodder for years to come.

Prez and I had one of these recently. A quick hop across the border to pick up some boat trailers for our new boss, while enroute to Ukee, turned into a two-day cluster that ended with Prez and the boss making the trailer exchange in the middle of a torrential downpour.

Fred Perron picks up boat trailers

A bit behind schedule but so far it’s going smoothly…

Fred Perron with Customs documents

Uuuuuurch! Welcome to Canada Customs. Please fill out these quick 287 forms.

So, in the spirit of celebrating life’s curve-balls, I present…

Princess’s Top 3 Trips That Went Wrong

1. The Plane It Never Come

For years, Prez and I avoided flights to our little beach house in Baja because of the expense and complex flight schedules. In 2001, when we heard Canada 3000 had started a charter flight from Vancouver to Loreto, we rejoiced. Sure, we’d be packed in like sardines for the five hour flight but it was cheap and easy. We could pop down for a few weeks, then pop back home. How wonderful!

Our inaugural run was a success. We landed in Loreto, cramped but happy, and were picked up by Mom II and HQ, who shuttled us off to Posada in style.

It’s important to note here that we were the only two passengers who were not on a package vacation with the all-inclusive resort in Loreto. Important because we were the only two passengers who would be completely cut off from the outside world for two weeks.

Two weeks later…

We arrived back in Loreto, said a tearful goodbye to Mom II and HQ, and walked into the tiny airport.

Which was empty.

I mean…empty.

Had we gotten the date wrong? Where were all the sunburned, hungover, resort dwellers? Never mind that, where were the airport staff?

Eventually, the fellow who ran the chip stand (the only food at the Loreto airport) noticed us at the pay phone, gaping, as we listened to the Canada 3000 answering machine message informing us that no one was available to take our call.

“You wait for the plane?” he asked.

“Yes!” we cried.

“Ah, the plane, it no come today,” he explained.

Just as we expected. Probably some kind of weird Baja screw up, like the time Aero California forgot it was Leap Year.

“Oh, when is it coming?” we asked.

“The plane, it never come,” the chip vendor said.

Unlike the rest of our flight mates, who had been close to a telephone during their stay, and had therefore been apprised of the situation well in advance, we learned of Canada 3000’s bankruptcy and mass passenger stranding via an airport snack food vendor, 48 hours before Prez was scheduled to be at work.

Canada 3000 goes bankrupt and strands passengers

Thus began a frantic dash to get home. With the help of the chip vendor and some angels working in a nearby office, we got the last two seats from Loreto to La Paz on a small charter flight. Next, we sprinted to pick up a rental car (which was out of gas) in La Paz, came inches from hitting a cow as we floored it to Cabo San Lucas, got lost trying to return the rental car at the airport, missed our flight but caught the next one, and arrived in LA so late that we spent the night on the floor of the international terminal so we wouldn’t miss our 7am flight to Vancouver.

Interesting fact: The night time temperature in the Tom Bradley Terminal at LAX is set to “discourage cheap tourists from sleeping on the floor by freezing them” degrees Fahrenheit. At least we didn’t have to worry about missing our flight, as the gas-powered floor buffer kindly woke us, (and everyone else in a two mile radius), at 4am.

A lot of stress, miles, and $3200 later, we eventually made it home. We have never flown on a charter flight since.

2. The Perfect Storm

In 2003, after our promised work permits failed to materialize, Prez and I decided to load up the Mako, leave our tiny key in the Bahamas, and return to Florida. Travel from Florida to the key had been long but mostly uneventful. Our biggest worry—crossing the Gulf Stream in a 25 foot fishing boat—had not been any kind of problem and so, for the return trip, our confidence was high.

Yes, it was September and hurricane season was brewing, but we double, triple, and quadruple checked the weather forecasts to be safe. We had PFD’s close at hand, with flares cable-tied on…just in case.

The morning of our departure, we couldn’t have asked for a better day. Blue skies and calm water bid us a friendly farewell. Even my cat, Emily, seemed less unhappy than usual, as she rode in her crate at the bow. With music blasting, we put our feet up and laughed about the stacks of clouds far, far behind us.

And then the wind picked up.

“OH NO! It’s getting rough!” we joked, as a teensy chop slapped playfully at the hull.

And then the wind picked up some more.

“Better shut off the music,” Prez said.

And then a big motherhumping storm cell dropped right on our heads.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, we were inside a vicious white squall. The screaming wind tore the tops off the waves and threw them into our boat. Emily and I huddled under the shelter of the bow’s canopy, while Prez battled to keep our bow from plowing under the water. Both Prez and I wore our PDF’s with the flares strapped on, seriously wondering if we would need them.

Emily was not amused.

I do not have photos of the experience but I think this is an accurate depiction of what we went through…

Fred and Kristene Perron in a white squall

Just imagine there’s a cat onboard

This went on for over an hour.

And then the sun came out.

We arrived in Grand Bahama, soaked and shivering. Emily and I dried off as Prez checked the weather for the last, and most worrisome, leg of our journey. Once again, despite my death grip on the seat and constant neck craning, the open water crossing was uneventful.

There would be more “events”, however. Our entry back into sheltered waters, through what we would learn was one of the most difficult cuts along the Florida coast, drenched us. So did the thunderstorm that arrived late that night, while we curled together in the bow, desperate for sleep.

Note: If you’ve never chased a terrified cat through a marina, in a thunderstorm, in your pajamas, I don’t recommend it.

The next day’s journey, to Key Largo, came with more drenching. When we finally arrived at our rental home, the lovely neighbour responsible for giving us the key was vacuuming and didn’t hear the phone ring. We could see her, just across the canal, in her house, vacuuming away, so close and yet so oblivious to the wet, bedraggled, and exhausted Canucks waiting outside.

Eventually, we settled in and dried out. Even with very diligent waterproof packing and stowing, every piece of electronic equipment we owned got fried in the salt water. Every item of clothing we had was soaked.  And Emily did not speak to us for weeks.

Which, if you knew Emily, was not that unusual.

Emily as Grumpy Cat on a boat

3. Welcome to Panama! (Almost).

In 2004, Steve and Judi, aka “The Fergs” joined us in Costa Rica to check out some resorts/land we were considering buying. When none of the Costa Rican leads panned out, we turned our eyes to Panama and, in particular, to 35 beachfront acres on the beautiful Caribbean.

The plan was to take a bus to the Costa Rica/Panama border, cross on foot, catch another bus to David, Panama, spend the night, take a flight to Bocas Del Toro in the morning, and arrange for a boat ride to our future island paradise shortly after that. This was going to be business, vacation, and adventure all in one!

It began not with a bang, but with a stamp. Every time we thought we were ready to cross, we’d return to the main border crossing, only to be told we needed to buy a stamp, or a return bus ticket, or some coloured slip of paper. This information was not given out all at once. No. That would be easy. Instead, we’d be given an elaborate confusing set of directions, which sometimes took us through back alleys or warehouses, to a desk, where, after waiting in a long line up, someone would sell us a needed item. We’d return to the main crossing and then be given another set of directions for the next item. It was like some weird Panamanian scavenger hunt.

When all the items on the list had been collected, we were allowed to cross. Whew! We got on a bus…which stopped one mile later to allow the nice Panamanian men with automatic weapons to check our documents. (What would they do if you were missing a stamp?)

Our hotel stay included a small earthquake. It was kind of a letdown after the 6.3 shaker Prez and I had lived through a few weeks earlier but enough to wake me up in a panic.

We made it to Bocas Del Toro the next day. It was cute. It was touristy. It was humid. There were no real beaches there but that was OK, we were on our way to 35 acres of beachy splendor!

OK, make that 35 acres of swamp with a small stretch of sand.

Boat in Bocas Del Toro Panama

The Bocas Del Toro’s Yacht Club…it should have been an omen

We went back to Bocas Del Toro. I moped. We wandered the tiny spit of land and discovered that right behind the cute touristy area was a big ol’ heap of poverty. We got a taxi to take us back to David.

Our taxi driver was unimpressed with the black licorice Fred gave him. Maybe that’s why he kept passing on all those uphill corners? Maybe there’s some Panamanian tradition about killing someone who makes you eat something you find repulsive?

Taxi driver in Panama

You will pay for this foul black candy, amigo.

Still, somehow, amid the bureaucracy, the humidity, the poverty, and the terrifying taxi ride, we and the Fergs found plenty to laugh about.

Steve and Judi Ferguson with Kristene Perron in Panama

We’re going to diiiiieeeee!

Last I heard, Panama was a hot spot for real estate development. But something tells me that 35 acres of beachfront swamp land is still unsold.

That’s my top 3. I’m sure you have some travel horror stories of your own. Feel free to share/vent.

And speaking of travel (nice segue, eh?)…

This week on the Warpworld Comms, you can meet global traveler extraordinaire, Leslie MacKeen, as our Women of Character series continues!

Until next time, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

*I’ll leave you with a picture of Leslie (right) and Ironwoman Benson (left) making the worst cake in Costa Rica.

The Princess

Leslie MacKeen and Janine Benson make a cake

Women of Character, not Women of Baking

Posted in Aitutaki - Cook Islands, Baja - Mexico, Travel, USA | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Life at the Speed of Prez

Posted on June 5, 2013 by clubfredbaja

Like rolling stones, Prez and I gather no moss. And, like The Rolling Stones, we are once more preparing to take our show on the road.

If you read my previous post about the Top Secret movie Prez was working on, you’ll know we were down on the coast for a spell. I still can’t tell you the name of the movie but it starts with a G and rhymes with ‘odzilla’. Anyhoo…while Prez was busy being squashed by the monster-who-shall-remain-nameless, he received a call from our pal Murray in Ukee.

Murray had a lead on a job. Would Prez be interested in spending the summer on the wild west coast of Vancouver Island, working as a fishing guide?

Two days and a handshake later, he was hired.

Off we go again! The lists are out, the Rubbermaid containers are being loaded, the suite is being cleaned in the hopes we can sublet it, and Mom is adding yet another address (in pencil, always in pencil) for us in her little book.

That’s the first bit of cool news.

Want to know the second bit?

For a while now, I’ve been working on a project that has me jumping-up-and-down excited. Since Josh and I have such a kick-ass female protagonist in our book, I wanted to talk about some of the gutsy, fun, and all-around fabtastic women who have inspired the creation of fictional females such as Ama.

Starting today, you get to meet them on the Warpworld Comm! The Women of Character series  launches here.

(By the way, I stole that title from Miz Liz Meyer–former Mayor of Twenty-Nine Palms, current dog training specialist–who is also one of the aforementioned Women of Character.)

Over the next several weeks, I’ll be posting interviews with entrepreneurs, adventurers, humanitarians, and more. If you’re a long-time Nutter, I guarantee you’re going to see some familiar faces. I encourage everyone to learn what makes a strong woman who she is. You might just be inspired to an adventure of your own.

Ever dreamed of flying? Today you can meet pilot and instructor, Bobbi Powers, the woman who took me on this jaw-dropping flight over Estero Coyote, in Baja, in 2004, and who even let me take the stick! (Brave, brave woman).

Kristene Perron and Bobbi Powers in Baja flying

That’s Prez and Dave  in the boat not so far below!

You’re also welcome to share any Women of Character stories of your own. We’re friendly that way.

I’d love to stay and chat but the Rubbermaid containers are calling and if I don’t hurry Prez will start ‘organizing’ before I can stop him.

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy, and lovin’ life!

The Princess

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Princess’s BIG Bus Adventure in 3D, With Maps and Stuff!

Posted on May 29, 2013 by clubfredbaja

I’m a transportation snob. I will travel by train, plane, car, boat, bicycle, hovercraft, covered wagon, rickshaw, or elephant, but I will not travel by bus. Even the Skytrain is pushing it.

I came by my snobbishness honestly. Growing up in the untamed wilds of North Delta, tens of miles away from civilization, I and my friends relied on the bus system to get around. And by “get around” I mean “go to the mall”. I have vivid and horrifying memories of long, frozen/wet waits at the Scott Road bus stop. One winter afternoon, my friend Trina and I, both of us in the early stages of hypothermia, cracked and simply climbed onto the first bus that appeared. The name Bridgeview 335 will go down in Princess legend. The sign said the #335 bus went to Guildford Mall. The sign neglected to say the #335 bus went to Guildford Mall via River Road, Liechtenstein, and Hell. I don’t know how long Trina and I were stuck on that bus, but it was long enough to compose, (and sing) an entire song about the journey. Sung to the tune of Alice’s Restaurant, the chorus went like so…

You can get anywhere you want on Bridgeview three-three-five…except for Guildford.

Then there were the smells, the mess, the lack of seating, the scary people, the cranky bus drivers, the endless stops and starts, the limited routes, and the crazy people singing songs they made up about being stuck on the Bridgeview 335. The vast majority of my mass transit memories provoke a PTSD-ish cold sweat when I revisit them.

And so I don’t revisit them.

Except now.

But I have a reason for this.

Wait for it…

This week, Prez and I are staying at the Kozak Mansion™ while Prez does some stunt work. (Thanks to a six-page confidentiality agreement, I can’t tell you what show he’s working on but it’s definitely not Freddy Got Fingered II). Tungsten Carbide Chef Kozy has been stuffing us full of goodies at every opportunity, (I now bleed butter and fresh herbs, if you cut me open), and life has generally been pretty kushy, but I’m in the big city, and that’s rare, so I want to do things I can only do in the big city, like write long and pointless run-on sentences! I had places to go and people to see.

Problem #1: I have no vehicle. Fred needs the truck to go work on the Top Secret Movie.

Problem #2: This is not Nelson. Everything is not within a 20 minute walking radius.

If I was going to go out and do things, I was going to have to take…public transportation.

My first foray, a Skytrain ride to Metrotown Mall to meet my sister, then on to BC Place to partake in Eat Vancouver, went well. It helped that Tweeter drove me to the Skytrain station (thus avoiding the dreaded bus), and that Prez picked me up from the same station later (albeit, not happily, after spending a long day getting bashed around in freezing water). It also helped that after Kelly and I did, indeed, eat most of Vancouver, and drink a good portion of its alcoholic beverages too, I was toasted enough that you could have told me the Skytrain was actually a spaceship and I might have believed you.

This delightful experience, gave me the confidence to face my bus issues head on. A few days later, I walked up the hill and waited for the Fraserview 337. I was skeptical but there was a lovely, clean, bus shelter populated by normal looking people. The bus was, likewise, clean, the driver friendly, and the bus interior was bright and welcoming. 15 minutes later, I was at the Skytrain station. 15 minutes after that, I was at Metrotown Mall, (again). A few hours after that, Kelly and I were once more nomming and slurping. I’d now had two very positive public transit experiences.

Had the curse been broken? Had I been misjudging mass transit all these years?

Trip number three was ambitious. I was going to travel all the way to SFU, on Burnaby Mountain, to meet a fellow SF Canada author, Lynda Williams, and her husband David Lott. I did not want to be late, I did not want to get lost, and so I consulted the Translink Trip Planner Oracle. After all, the Internet would never steer me wrong!

In the Trip Planner Oracle, I entered the dates, times, and locations of my trip. The Trip Planner Oracle gave me a selection of options. I chose the shortest and easiest route. I wrote out the instructions. I studied the map. I studied the bus numbers and transfer points.

I was ready.

To keep a long story short, let’s just say that from this day forward, the Translink Trip Planner Oracle will be referred to as Sadistic Lying Bastard.

Here’s the route I could have taken if I had trusted myself and planned out the trip using the power of my common sense.

Kristene Perron Map to SFU

The Common Sense Route

And here is the Route I took, as provided by Sadistic Lying Bastard…

Kristene Perron funny map to SFU

Oh yes, this is much better.

The best part of the trip was when I made it all the way to SFU, mere minutes from my final destination, and I transferred onto the next bus, (as per Sadistic Lying Bastard’s instructions), which then went all the way back down the mountain I had just spent close to an hour going up.

If there is a moral to this story, I think it is this: “If you don’t like something, don’t try to like it. Just keep on not liking it forever and avoid any attempts to get over your unliking.”

On the very up side to all this, Lynda and David were awesome, fun, and meeting them was well worth the trip. I have lots of writer friends in Nelson but few of them write genre fiction and even fewer (two) write speculative fiction. I read one of Lynda’s novels during my trip to Baja, and she had just finished Warpworld before my arrival, so we had lots to chat about. There was also nomming and slurping, as has become my post-mass transit tradition.

To be fair, Sadistic Lying Bastard’s labyrinthine route aside, the journey wasn’t terrible. I listened to a good chunk of John Scalzi’s Old Man’s War on my iPod, took in the scenery, and learned that there is absolutely no limit to the number of times a three-year-old boy can say “HELLO!” to you, and really mean it.

Am I healed? Have I made peace with bus travel?

Well, with a enough nomming, slurping, and fun people to motivate me…

Until next week, I hope this finds you healthy, happy & lovin’ life!

The Princess

Posted in Humour and satire | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment