When my friends and I try something new and interesting, it’s called “fun.”

When my friends and I try something new and interesting and then I put it in a book, it’s called “research.”

I like to do lots and lots of research. And this year, I’m going to document it! Join me on this blog for a background look at my first trilogy (starting with How Beauty Met the Beast, and releasing from Carina Press at a date TBD) as we attend burlesque shows, interview veterans, learn aerial moves, tour Brooke Army Medical Center, visit some of Austin’s coolest hot spots, and much more. While a lot of writing is sitting behind a desk (butt in chair, fingers on keys, as we like to say), one of the absolute pleasures of it is trying all kinds of new things so they can go in a book!

1. Neil Gaiman – The Graveyard Book
2. Diana Gabaldon – Outlander
3. Marion Zimmer Bradley – Mists of Avalon
4. Tim Powers – The Anubis Gate
5. Richard Matheson – I Am Legend
6. Aldus Huxley – Brave New World
7. Philip Pullman – The Golden Compass
8. Patrick Rothfuss – The Name of the Wind
9. George R.R. Martin – A Game of Thrones (although I’m a bit terrified to start this one before he finishes the series)

*sigh*

Last night we had a dinner thing for some of my DH’s co-workers and their kids. Since there were kids, we did hamburgers and potato chips (and a cucumber salad) and I made cookies. Wheatless cookies ’cause there is no sense in inviting pain, but cookies. And, because I always make too much food, we have a ton of leftovers. So guess what I have eaten all frickin’ day? I finally made myself an omelet with some vegetables in it and my sugar-spiked system is thanking me.

One good thing did come out of today. Do you want to know the best reason ever for eating potato chips and cookies for lunch? “The sooner they’re out of the house, the sooner I’ll quit eating them.”

Oh yeah.

“Don’t f*** with the Lords of Hell!”

“Don’t f*** with the babysitter!!”

Or, my personal favorite:

“Nobody leaves this place without singing the blues.”

The characters are iconic – the nice kid, the horny teen, the bratty little sister, and the beleaguered babysitter – and the cast plays them with just the right tongue and cheek. And, of course, 80s fashions are the delightful icing on the cake. (Plus, seeing Elizabeth Shue and Anthony Rapp – better known as the original Mark in RENT – as young’uns is fun.)

But this time as I watched the movie, I had a revelation. I fundamentally agree with the moral foundation of the film. Now, I’m not sure if I love it so much because I have this link with it or if if this movie influenced me, but I realized (to paraphrase the old Fulghum book) “All I really need to know (about working with people) I learned from Adventures in Babysitting.”

1. Just because somebody looks frightening doesn’t mean they plan to do you harm (John Pruit, the guy with the hook, who pulls over to help them)
2. If someone is nice and helpful, they can still lack good judgment. (Pruit drives them to his house to shoot his wife’s lover)
3. The lower a person is on the crime tree, the more likely they are to have similar values to you; it’s the higher ups who are truly dangerous (the car thief vs. the mucky-mucks in the thieving ring)
4. Most people don’t want to hurt you, they just want to get their job – whatever that is – done. The best way to stay safe is to not get in the way. (If they hadn’t stolen the magazine, they probably wouldn’t have been chased)
5. People will appreciate you if you get into the spirit of things; they don’t really care if you’ve got talent. (“Babysitting Blues” – Best. Scene. Ever.)
6. Most people are helpful if you give them something concrete that you need (the college guy and the $50)
7. The hardest hearts can be softened by a gift given sincerely (Thor and the helmet)
8. You deserve people who respect you for who you are and the choices you make (Chris’s old boyfriend vs. the college guy)
9. True friendships are made through shared struggle (Chris, Brad, Daryl, and Sara through the movie)
10. With few exceptions, everyone is a combination of good and bad. We will get through life best if we look for both. Expecting everyone to live up to your expectations of what people “should” be will get you taken advantage of (not to mention you will be disappointed when people inevitably fail your impossible standards). Expecting everyone (particularly everyone “different” than you, however you define that) to be dangerous will leave you alone when you need help the most. Never pigeonhole anyone as a “bad person” or a “good person” – accept that they’re both. Only then can you figure out how to work with them.

See? Isn’t that way more profound than a comedy should be? And because there is no help for it, I present one of my all-time favorite scenes from any movie: Babysitting Blues.

I thought that was a beautiful way of putting it.

The other day Daryl stopped in between jobs to cool down and get a glass of ice water. His birthday was over the weekend (Happy Belated Birthday to Daryl!!) and he was looking to have a “little money in my pocket when I wake up.” I asked him how old he was going to be, and he said he didn’t know, but last time he checked he was 36.

Now, lemme be clear, while not bent with age or anything, Daryl is not 36.

I asked if he didn’t know what year he was born, and he said of course he knew – and if I promised not to do the math out loud, he would tell me. (I promised. He was born in 1960.) See, Daryl figures there is no sense in knowing how old you are. Then you might feel obligated to act that age. Plus, the annual increase of years is just a reminder that we keep marching closer to dying. And once you die, that’s it! There’s NO COMIN’ BACK! (Apparently Daryl is decidedly anti-reincarnation.) So he figures why count the years? You live as long as you’re going to live; doesn’t matter if you do the math or not. He recommended I stop counting at 35.

This did get Daryl  waxing eloquent on Heaven. When he gets there, he’s going to eat honey and ‘tato chips. And it’ll be fun because everyone in Heaven has wings – that’s the difference between good people and bad; if you’re bad they clip your wings so you sink. But when I get there, too, Daryl and I, we’re going to fly all around, eat vegetables, pet a tiger (’cause they’re nice in Heaven), and ride an elephant.

I think I like Daryl’s version of Heaven.

We talked about local honky-tonk clubs, none of which I have been to, and he chastised me for the sin of omitting so many Austin staples from my rotation – particularly as so many, like Don’s Depot and Genny’s Saloon (where they play chicken-shit bingo once a week) are not going to be around forever, at least not authentically. Genny and Don knew Kris Kristofferson before he made good. Now Genny sits in a corner of her church-hall narrow saloon, her fingers bent arthritically (Dennis didn’t say that, but showed it more eloquently with his own thick fingers), bouncing unwanted patrons from her establishment with a few softly-spoken words, and sitting court amid Austin’s dying breed of true cowboys as they pack the room for Dale Watson and the next generation of “true country” singers.

Somehow I found myself telling Dennis that my husband’s family was from New Jersey and explaining my bewilderment the first time I attended an East Coast Catholic funeral, reminiscing about when I used to know how to two-step because I grew up in a small town at the base of the Texas Hill Country and that’s what we did on Friday night, and lamenting that my once one-streetlight town was now nothing more than a suburb of San Antonio (complete with a La Quinta Inn and Denny’s, but even in my state of over-share I didn’t list that deep blot on the virtue of my hometown).

And darling Dennis listened to all of it. A group of chattering skinny girls, with blond hair and ragingly short shorts, came in, breaking the relative solitude of our corner of the coffee shop. In way of winding down the conversation, he informed me that someone (whose name I’ve already forgotten but he spoke with that same reverence he seemed to have for everything from drunk musicians to his homeboys in Hoboken, New Jersey) was playing for no cover charge at Don’s Depot tonight at 9:00, and before I had kids I had to take my husband there. And to Genny’s. And to Broken Spoke. He even grabbed my notebook and wrote the names down, asking if it was okay only after he had pen poised over the paper. He then tried to give me his pen back with the notepad. When I returned the pen, his look was equal parts admiration for my honesty and a strange disappointment, as if he wanted me to leave with the cheap plastic and ink he’d been scrawling away the morning with.

I really should have been working on a synopsis as I promised an editor I’d have it to her this week, but thus far my morning has consisted of an inability to pull my eyes out of Sherry Thomas’s latest novel followed by an interview with Dennis; the book is my fault – and Sherry’s, damn her awesome writing skills – but talking with Dennis is just not an opportunity one turns down. As we parted, Dennis promised that if he happened to see us in one of his favorite haunts, he would clap my husband on the back and, with a grand parody of an East Coast dialect, say “Oy! Fuckin’ Jersey boys!” He was kidding, but I told him he definitely should. I think he might.

And I think I need to take his advice. There’s a lot of world out there I haven’t seen yet, and far too much of it is in my own town. Besides, who can resist the siren call of chicken shit bingo.

Yesterday was Captain America. The cgi was incredible to make Chris Evans into the “small guy” and as always it was fun to see Hugo Weaving and his gravity defying eyebrows planning yet more dastardly evil. I did find it fascinating to see how they spun the Thor mythos into it, with the bad guys finding a jewel from Odin’s throne to power their superpowered evil. They even mentioned Yggdrasil! Of course, the major highlight of the whole thing was…. THE TRAILER FOR THE AVENGERS AT THE END. OHMYGODI’MSOEXCITEDABOUTTHIS!!!!JOSSWHEDONISMYHERO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *drool, drool, drool*

Today I saw Cowboys and Aliens with my ‘rents. I have to say, it was not what I was expecting. Which is odd, because as it’s called Cowboys and Aliens, I was expecting a movie about… cowboys and aliens. And the movie did, in fact, revolve around cowboys and aliens. But it was way better than I expected. It was almost a horror movie at some points – those aliens were freaking scary! And there were some deeper implications about imperialism. Plus it way more realistically dealt with the situation of “what if aliens had arrived in western America in the 1800s” than I expected it to. I’m not sure I liked the portrayal of Native Americans (although, that part was from the cowboys’ perspective – a surprising amount of the movie dealt with how our perspective alters our perception). And the very end had something I’ve never seen before **Huge spoiler alert, so big and revealing of something that happens that I’m writing it in white because you should NOT read this if you haven’t seen it, but I can’t help commenting on it because it was  a moment for me** This is the first time (I think ever) I’ve seen the man ride away while the woman sacrificed herself. It’s ALWAYS the other way around. I commented on this to my mother, and she agreed. It was… sad and very prideful at the same time. And strange because it NEVER happens. **Spoiler over**

I recommend Cowboys and Aliens. It’s more than the previews make it look like. (And Harrison Ford is back in good form!!! *skips in delight*)

On other other news, I am ALMOST caught up on True Blood. Are you?? And is anyone else disturbed that Eric Northman, my favorite character in the book and TV series, played by the delicious Alex Skarsgaard, HAS A BACKSTREET BOYS HAIRCUT AND HAS LOST A MILLION POUNDS?? Please somebody feed that boy a sandwich. And fire his hairdresser. I even LIKE that cut. But with the almost gaunt thing he’s got going on, it makes him look like he’s twelve.

Otherwise, the season is kick ass.

Of course, Tyson executives (including the president of Tyson International, the vice president for operations, and the vice president for internal audit) had a meeting about this deplorable practice. And came to the very reasonable conclusion that they should not be making payments to people who do not work for them – particularly if they are the wives of safety inspectors. So instead they told the plant manager to get invoices directly from the veterinarians themselves so they could make the checks out to them as an honorarium.

Yes, you read that right. They decided to not send bribes to the wives, but directly to the safety inspectors. When a different plant manager complained that he felt uncomfortable with this practice (I would like to point out that this is the Mexican people in charge of the plant telling the American corporate office that they are making them do something illegal and corrupt) he was told to keep doing what he was doing. Two years of chicken from bribed safety inspectors later, a legal team finally got involved and Tyson voluntarily turned themselves in. They got $5.2 million in fines (in 2009, Tyson had a revenue of 26.7 billion to give you an idea of how badly that chump change didn’t wound them). I wonder how much money they made off of the chicken in the unknown number of years they’d been bribing inspectors.

But that’s not what really bugged the writer of the NYT article, and he makes a really interesting point. Nobody at the company got blamed. No names were released. Nobody lost their job. No individual was fined or sued. The company shareholders paid a pittance for a mistake that could’ve cost people their lives and not a single person  got even a slap on the wrists.

How does this stop corruption? If nobody has to take responsibility for their actions and the fines are such that mega-corporations can take them in stride without blinking, what’s stopping them? Ethics?

Do you know where your food comes from? The company that happily lied for years about food safety claims that none of that chicken went into the American market (because apparently it’s okay to send un-inspected chicken to other countries, just not here), but I’m not sure why they think we’d believe anything they say.

I’m editing a novella I wrote that’s partially inspired by my frustration with corporate corruption (particularly within the agriculture industry), and a reader asked me to better describe this future dystopia I was writing about with its environmental destruction and corporate greed because the setting was unclear. I’m working on clarifying it (she’s totally right; I rushed a lot of description that I needed to spend more time on), but I wasn’t sure how to tell her it wasn’t a FUTURE dystopia I was talking about. Nothing I mentioned (aside from a conspiracy I added to give the story a single villain) wasn’t pulled from a headline TODAY. And now I’m afraid of sounding like a nut when I send it back to her and the clarity I’m adding shows a picture of modern life.

Is modernity not an exciting enough setting? Am I getting too political if I don’t set it in the future? Fiction is about truth, but not necessarily about reality. It’s more important to appear real than it is to be real – because people often don’t believe reality. Reality has too many coincidences. Reality is often incredibly far-fetched. Fiction can’t be. Fiction has to make sense. It has to have solid internal logic. The characters have to be deep enough to be realistic, but shallow and consistent enough that the audience can get a solid sense of them in the few hours they spend with the narrative. If I can’t write in such a way that people will believe my world, even if it is real, then I need to change the setting.