I Used to Have a Clean House, But Now I Am a Writer

My house used to be very clean; I needed it that way for some reason. Now only my office is clean. Stacks of papers and folders are geometrically arranged on my desk. My pen lies just so. Webster's and Roget's are within reach but not in the way.

The rest of the house is falling apart.

I feel it takes a person of great talent and discipline to let the house get to the point I now find mine in. I could beat anyone at Jenga--one look at my laundry pile will prove that. The hamper sits against the wall. I know just how to add to it without making it tumble. I try to keep up my husband's laundry since he actually has to face people. But I don't iron. If that de-wrinkling spray doesn't do it, oh well.

At times, my house is very dusty. I once used my husband's black socks to dust; the results were quite revealing. I think a black sock test would be more effective than a white glove test. Note: Dust is mostly human skin cells and dessicated corpses of dust mites. That's gross!

Trash cans, see laundry above.

My house will never be as clean as my mother's house was, back when I was a kid and was forced to clean baseboards every Saturday. But I have two completed novels and more than a few short stories to show for my household neglect. That's a pretty good trade-off. And I'm willing to eat from paper plates if it will allow me to tweak one more chapter. There's always a household shortcut; there are no shortcuts to good writing.

The Carpal Tunnel Club: Are You a Member?

Writers corner the market on carpal tunnel syndrome--or so we think.

My membership is in good standing. My forearm (especially the right side) hurts from the elbow to the wrist. The splint and elbow band help, but even in my sleep my arm aches. I've tried different keyboards, mouse positions, etc., but I still haven't found what I'm looking for. (Hey! That sounds familiar.)

While surfing the net last night (thus ensuring my membership in The Carpal Tunnel Club), I discovered that people in other vocations suffer from carpal tunnel syndrome. According to this Wikipedia entry, U2 drummer Larry Mullen, Jr. has experienced pain throughout most of his career--he even uses specially designed drumsticks.

Cake decorators suffer from carpal tunnel syndrome. So do pizza makers, waterskiers, and hairstylists.

My research stopped there; my hand was hurting. But I discovered the club was not as exclusive as I had originally thought. And if Larry can do it, so can I! Buck up, writers! We're all suffering for our art!

Using Artifacts in a Scene: 3:10 to Yuma as an Example

I recently saw 3:10 to Yuma, the new western starring Russell Crowe and Christian Bale. Excellent film. Without going on about the good-looking leads, I'll get right to the literary point. (Spoiler alert.)

Conversation drives a scene. But it's really the foreground of a picture. To make the picture full, we must sketch in the white space. An easy way to do this is to describe facial expressions and character movement, but a subtle way of doing it is to use the artifacts in the scene in a meaningful way.

I'm using a movie to demonstrate this point, but the same technique can be used in writing. Russell Crowe's character, Ben Wade, sketches all the time (one of those character devices used to flesh out the villain). Dan Evans (Christian Bale) is a rancher whose last chance at saving his land is by delivering Wade alive to the 3:10 prison train to Yuma and collecting the reward. Dan Evans is established early on as passive. His barn is burned and he doesn't retaliate, even though he saw the men who burned it. His son is full of disrespect for the father he sees as spineless.

There is a point in the movie in which Wade and Evans sit alone in a hotel room, waiting for the train. The other bounty hunters have dropped out or been killed. Wade offers Evans $1000 to let him escape; given what we've seen Wade do to the other bounty hunters, this is a generous offer.

Time creeps toward the crisis: Will Evans take the easy way out? After all, the money is actually all he needs. And we've seen him take the easy way out before. Or will Evans strike a new path for himself? We've seen glimpses of the man he could be.

As they sit in tense silence, Wade sketches. Revealed later, the sketch is of Dan Evans as he kept vigil from the hotel window. But here's the important part: Wade drew the sketch on the only paper available--a title page in the Bible. When we see the sketch, we also see the words New Testament. This is a great example of using an artifact in the scene to further character/plot development. The sketch appearing on the New Testament points to the moment when Dan Evans becomes a new man--he will not sit back, he will not remain passive, he will not take the easy way out. He leaves the old Dan behind and rises up, bold and committed. This is his new testament.

I'd like to point out that the book Wade held was far too thick to be just a New Testament, unless they produced large print Bibles back then. Using the New Testament was a deliberate choice made by the film makers.

We can make this kind of choice in our writing. Our characters are surrounded by artifacts. Use those artifacts to reflect the story--it's a deft touch and delivers great impact.

A Million Little Pieces: My Weekend

Word choice is so important. This post is not choppy--it's stream of consciousness. Here are the bits and pieces of my weekend:

I didn't feel like making an appointment at the salon, so I hacked my own hair. When I picked up my sister for church, she said, "Wow! Your hair looks really good today."

The new TV season starts soon! Parts of it have already started. I liked it better when I was a kid and all the new seasons started the exact same week. TV Guide would have a special edition introducing the new shows and making recommendations. It was exciting. Today's new season is so staggered, you really have no idea when you favorite show is going to start again.

Shows my HDR is set to record: Saturday Night Live (new episodes and old reruns), Desperate Housewives, and an open record for anything involving Bono and U2.

An alligator lives in a pond I pass every day. I know because I've seen him. But I did not see him today.

That's all folks. I start my new WIP this week.

Spot the Error(s) #3

Nerd, Dorks, Dr. Seuss, and I got an A+

Did you know that Dr. Seuss is credited with inventing the word nerd? I didn't know this; I discovered it last night while perusing my dictionary, something I like to do. (I think it was Steven Wright who said he reads the dictionary because he figures all the books he wants to read are in there.) Standard advice for writers is to avoid using slang because it becomes dated; remember when everyone was saying, "She's a Betty, she's a Veronica"? Then there's that really dated stuff like groovy, outta sight, and far out (or "farm out," as my friend K. likes to say). Watch The Brady Bunch and you'll hear all of these.

Some words resist the sands of time. I feel safe using the word "cool," which has been in use since at least the 1930s. Other words with staying power: dork (1967), uptight (1934), jock (1963), and nerd (1951).

Nerds have excellent characteristics, according to all the dictionaries I read this morning. They are intellectual, possess above-average IQs, and are single-minded and accomplished at technical and scientific pursuits--who wouldn't want to be a nerd? How did this word come to mean an awkward person, a socially inept dork--a loser? I picture a guy with thick black glasses; you probably see the same guy, he's such a stereotype.

In any case, when I read the etymology of nerd, I mistakenly thought it referred to my favorite book from the Cat in the Hat line, Put Me In the Zoo. I loved this book when I was a kid. In second grade, I wrote a passionate book report lauding the pathos and conflict in the story. I even illustrated my report:



Now I know what you're all thinking: How can I get Danette to illustrate all my books? Well, my friends, I hung up my drawing sticks after a serious mishap involving off-brand crayons. (You know what I'm talking about--when your mom thinks you won't notice the difference and she buys those store brand crayons and it's like drawing with candles--all wax, no color.)

Going back to the book report, here's what the teacher wrote:



Second grade, people! (And did you notice my really good cursive?) I have a single-minded pursuit--writing. I love it. I am a nerd. And I am not ashamed.

September 11th: We Have Not Forgotten

We will never forget those who perished on this day, nor will we forget the soldiers who've given the ultimate sacrifice in the name of this country. This YouTube video is not for young children.



In this world you will have trouble. But take heart--I have overcome the world. ....Jesus Christ John 16:33, NIV

Interview With a Middle-Grade Audience: Three Sixth-Grade Girls Talk Books

I'm very happy to welcome today’s guests, three sixth-grade girls who’ve agreed to talk with me about books. This trio includes A/B students, honor roll recipients and gifted students. One of them read more than a hundred books over the summer just because she wanted to. To keep things safe, and because it’s fun, the girls have picked nom de plumes for this interview.

Want to know more about your middle-grade audience? Let’s get started!

DH: Good morning, girls! Thanks so much for letting me interview you. I know you have a lot to say, so we’ll dive right in. Summer’s over [girls groan], and you’re back in school. Has your reading teacher assigned any books to read?

VMKgirl: Touching Spirit Bear.

Nancy Drew: Yeah, all the sixth graders have to read it.

DH: What do you think of it so far? [Spoiler alert]

VMKgirl: It seems good, but it’s kind of gross. Cole smashed Peter’s head on the sidewalk. But it made me want to find out what would happen to him, if he’s all right.

Nymphadora Tonks: It makes me feel bad; it’s like, disturbing. I had a nightmare about it—way too detailed.

Nancy Drew: [Nods.] Disgusting! All his bones are broken and they left him on this island and he’s hungry so he eats a live mouse. [Shudders.] And drinks mud.

DH: Touching Spirit Bear was assigned to you; would you have picked this book up on your own?

VMKgirl: NO! The boy does bad things—he steals, hurts people [shakes head]—it’s just bad.

Nymphadora Tonks: If I had a choice, I’d put this book down right now.

Nancy Drew: No, I wouldn’t pick it out.

DH: Schools assign credits for state reading lists and AR lists. When you go to the library, do you look for only books you can get credit for?

VMKgirl: I look for my favorite books and I get one from the list—that way I’m getting a little of both.

Nymphadora Tonks: I pick out anything I want, just depends on my mood. It doesn’t have to be on the list or not.

Nancy Drew: I usually pick out ten or eleven books and read them in a week. But if I see a Sunshine State book and if it looks good, I’ll check it out.

Nymphadora Tonks: Yes, if I see one, I’ll pick it up because I can always put it down later! [Laughs.]

DH: How do you hear about a good book?

VMKgirl: Friends. Like if the teacher asks if anyone has read any good books.

Nymphadora Tonks: [Eyes brighten.] All the Harry Potter books are good!

Nancy Drew: Friends, like I see what other people are reading, or you hear about it from your mother.

DH: When you go to the library, what makes you pull a book off the shelf?

To read this interview in its entirety, click here.

Funny, Weird, or Scary Signs

And on the same property:

Queries, and The Artist Formerly Known as Danette Haworth

I've drafted the perfect query letter. Strong hook, interesting characters, good synopsis. The query is professional, and I believe I can hear the voice and tone of the novel coming out in the letter. Several rounds of critiques have chiseled the letter to perfection. I'm pleased with it.

I print the letter and inspect it—any ink smudges? Any of those black dots that are really dead bugs from when the paper was being pressed? Strands of hair? Dust? Particles of any kind? Did the letter print at a straight angle on the paper? I exhale. Everything has come through perfectly.

I whip out my pen and sign my name. Oh no! My letters are too skinny! The editor or agent will think I'm narrow-minded, closed-up, filled with inhibitions. I print a new letter and sign with a flourish. Too fancy—who do I think I am? I hit print and sign again, taking my time. This one's no good either; it's a schoolgirl signature—too loopy. I'm getting hot, now. Literally. I feel moist all over and my face is full of heat. It must be SSS—signature stress syndrome. I print one more letter and try for a signature somewhere between skinny and schoolgirl; I hope my signature says I'm serious and intelligent but kicky and fun, too.

Recently, I discovered something that could potentially take care of the whole SSS business for me. Here's my name in Japanese:



I'm thinking about signing all my queries with it.

Cows

Behind my sister's house is a pasture shadowed by tall oaks and orange trees. We sit at her table and enjoy this view. Cows graze by; they are lumbering and thoughtful, these big, gentle creatures. Ironically, a slaughterhouse sits on the same street not half a mile away.

I do not like to think of this, not even as I eat my hamburger and stare out my sister's windows.

Insomnia, But Not For Long

I woke up at 3:44 this morning and was unable to return to my dreams. Alert and focused, I could have executed any scientific or mathematical problem set before me. I gave up on sleep and trudged downstairs, checked email (none), set up a couple shows to record on my HDR, and ate an Entenmanns' Rich Frosted Donut. It was after five before I went back to bed and slipped in and out of that weird quasi-sleep. Maybe I should have stayed awake. I feel more tired now than I did at 3:44.

But the end is near--I visited the sleep doctor this week. It's just wonderful to visit doctors; after all, they're really the only ones interested in listening to your tale of woe. Sometimes I think I'll forget something so I type it all up into a little story.

Sleep Doctor asked me about my sleeping history. It goes something like this: shared a room all my life with sister and couldn't sleep if I even heard her breathing; rented a house with sis and bros--the bros stayed up all night, clanging pots in the kitchen, watching COPS, and slamming doors; married a man who snores and has his own sleeping problems. Then I described all the little strategies I use to encourage sleep.

The doctor shook his head in sympathy. "You are an insomniac," he said. "Classic insomniac." He didn't give me a handout like the other doctor did: Keep your room dark. Go to bed at the same time every night. Use your bedroom for sleep and sex only. He gave me a prescription. "Just use it when you need it," he said. "You will not become a drug addict or a junkie. I don't believe you'll be killing people for pills."

And I won't. And soon, the red cracks in my eyes and the purple eye-bags underneath will fade, cognizant thinking will be restored, and my box of donuts will last longer.

Spot the Error(s) #2

Revisions, How to Punch up Your Blog, and I'm Going to See Brian Regan!

Revisions are finished, and the manuscript is in the hands of two of my readers. After I receive their comments, the story will make another trip to New York.

I'll be using this break from revision to market some of my short stories and learn more about blogging. Angela Mackintosh of WOW! posted an excellent article called Optimizing Your Blog. Lots of tips here, folks. Check it out!

I'm feeling good, feeling kind of MMMBop-py today partly because I've finished revisions and also because I'm going to see Brian Regan! We've got floor seats just a few rows back! I can't wait. I just hope that tall guy doesn't sit in front of me like he always does in church.

Do all Writers Suffer from Insomnia?

My manuscript has an RSS feed directly to my brain. People talk to me but I can’t hear them. I drift past chores, eat toast for breakfast, lunch. Same menu at supper.

I’m revising.

In the morning, I awaken to thoughts already in progress regarding my story. It takes me a minute to catch up, but then I realize I’ve been revising all night long. My mom appeared in a dream, telling me to turn off Track Changes. In real life, she doesn’t even know how to use email.

Sentence fragments steal past me, plot developments tumble—in the fog of my sleep, I can’t grab them. I get up. I think if I write these thoughts down they’ll let me sleep. But as I said on VK, I can't push the pen around fast enough; I go downstairs and type because it's faster to type but since I’m on the keyboard anyway, I might as well open up a new draft and tweak that one chapter that's been bothering me and, yes, I see it's well past midnight, but I've made it on three hours of sleep before and I can't stop now because I’m on a roll and I’m wide awake so I might as well keep on writing. I mean, it's almost breakfast time.

I visit the sleep doctor this week. I hope he can doctor me up some sleep. Just don’t make me wear one of those Darth Vader sleeping apparatuses.

The Pigeon Story, in which a Bunch of Old Ladies Overtake Me

If I were a pigeon, I would take umbrage at the delcension of my reputation.

Once accepted as a sacrifice to the Lord and later serving man by carrying messages in World War I, pigeons are the victims of a massive smear campaign. How would you like it if your name was synonymous with rat fink, stoolie, chump, or sucker? A pigeon is an easy mark, a patsy, and here's the worst one: a dupe.

Scientists have studied homing pigeons for years; they still don't know how pigeons fly so far and make it back home. So who's the dupe now? And don't even call a pigeon pigeon-hearted. In WWI, homing pigeon Cher Ami saved the lives of two hundred American soldiers and received the Croix de guerre--that's a French medal given to those who perform acts of heroism in the face of the enemy. (Read more about that here.)

Homing pigeons flock in a park nearby my house. I like their pink feet and the emerald iridescence of their necks. I went to the park the other day armed with a loaf of stale white bread. Everything was fine until these old ladies showed up with a bag from Panera Bread. No sign of arthritis here; their fingers were nimble and sure, ripping and shredding Asiago loaves and tossing the gourmet crumbs like confetti. My birds defected, leaving me with a lone squirrel hunting for acorns. The old ladies laughed and squealed, and I'm pretty sure I heard one of them snicker at me.

One thing about pigeons is they never hold a pose. Somehow, I caught one straight on.


This guy's no dupe. I call him The Terminator.

Interview with Danette Vigilante regarding her Two-Book Deal with Putnam

by Danette Haworth (Yes! There are two of us!)

Today we have the privilege of speaking with Danette Vigilante, a debut author who just landed a two-book deal with G.P. Putnam's Sons. Those of us who have watched her journey on Verla Kay's Blueboards are thrilled for her and can't wait to hear the details. So what are we waiting for? Let’s get started!

DH: Danette, congratulations on your book deal! I hear there was a lot of shouting and crying and jumping at your house the other day, and I believe champagne was involved—has the reality of what you've accomplished sunk in yet?

Danette: Thank you so much. Yes, I think I burned lots of calories that afternoon. And, I’ll admit, the champagne did flow nicely into the champagne glasses I had to run out and buy!

No, reality has not fully hit me yet. I think it’s going to take time. It’s almost like this has happened in a different language, one I don’t understand. Little by little, I’ll come to understand its full impact.

DH: It probably won’t hit you until you see your books at Barnes and Noble! Face out, I hope!

There’s an adage among writers that it’s harder to snag an agent than it is to land a publisher, but at the same time, writers are advised to refrain from submitting to publishers because potential agents don’t like a manuscript that’s been shopped around (even if only to a few houses). What was your submission experience like?

To read this interview in its entirety, click here.

Funny Video Clips

New item in the sidebar--Video Clips that Make Me Laugh. Clips include bits by Brian Regan, Mitch Hedberg, Owen Wilson, Ben Stiller, Colin Farrell, Wayne's World with Aerosmith, and Justin Timberlake with Jimmy Fallon.

Check it out!

The Man with Dirty Hands

A man with dirty hands patronizes my library and checks out every book I want to read before I get to it. How do I know it's a man, you ask. Here is my indisputable proof: I opened up my library book and a large, flattened spider slid out onto my shirt. Only a man would do that. Sorry guys, but I have brothers, a husband--and my father once slammed a roach in a missalette at church and put it back in the holder. My dad and I laughed for the rest of service, we kept thinking about the next person who'd open that book. But I digress.

This man, this library patron, has pizza thumbs and mustard fingers and is bleeding. I know this because of the stains he leaves behind. Also, he picks his nose. He reads literary fiction, but he enjoys children's literature as well. I used to think maybe he was a professor, until the books I checked out started showing up with greasy thumbprints along the sides of the pages, as if he'd leafed through the books many times. Now I think he's a self-educated mechanic. Or a writer who reads while eating, bleeding and picking his nose after changing his toner cartridge.

We Had a Barbecue! And I Give You Potato Salad by Kids in the Hall

Another family get-together this weekend. We hosted it, and we put on a traditional barbecue--burgers, chicken, cole slaw, corn on the cob, French fries, iced tea and lemonade. I couldn't find my usual recipe for baked beans, so I pulled a recipe off the Internet and man! did those beans turn out good. Nothing like a little liquid smoke!

I love potato salad, but I didn't feel like making it. So I watched this video instead.

Mixed Reviews

One of my short stories climbed all the way to the top of an editorial ladder only to have the editor-in-chief knock it down. I received a nice, handwritten note from the fiction editor telling me how much she enjoyed it, but the chief decided to pass. Oh, well. The editor's encouraging words kept me from sinking.

While I have received this rejection, others I know from Verla Kay's Blueboards have received good news. The other Danette landed a two-book deal with Putnam! Congratulations, Danette! You deserve it. Carole had a poem accepted by Fandangle and another piece published in this month's Stories For Children. Brenda Sturgis snagged an agent.

Congratulations to all!

There's a tomato post today on a blog called Wide Lawns and Narrow Minds. Great storytelling! Check it out.

Technorati Profile

Signs from the Road

In Georgia, they do not consistently dot their is, but the ts are always crossed.

I think it happened something like this:

Governor: Gentlemen, we've exceeded the state budget by 7.3 trillion dollars. What can we do?

Senator: Let's not dot the is.

Governor: Brllllant! You get a ralse.

And That's Why They Call 'em The Smokies

View from Clingmans Dome.

Gatlinburg, Tennessee--what an excellent town! We emptied our wallets there and had fun doing it. Spent all kinds of money riding the ski lift, hitting museums, eating out, and treating ourselves to Ben & Jerry's every night. (This was not your regular ho-hum Ben & Jerry's; I'll post the video later this week.)

Not only did we hit the strip, we also went off-road and hiked in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. We hiked some footpaths that were hardly trod at all. I couldn't get over the wildflowers that grew across the mountains in huge blankets of purple, white, yellow and red. Beautiful, and filled with bees. Everywhere we hiked, we could hear the buzzing, a monotonous, slightly threatening drone. I was glad to get back onto the main trail.

In the park, a sign was posted that said Feeding Wildlife Picking Flowers Prohibited. I did not see any squirrels picking flowers, but if I had, I would not have fed them.


Here are more signs I photographed:

If you are a jacuzzi, you are welcome at this establishment.


Yeah, but what about jacuzzis?

More photos and videos from the road coming this week.
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Vacation! Leaving the Collective

Heading for the mountains! I can't wait. I'll be back toward the end of next week. Please come back and visit.

Spot the Error(s)

I shot this photo through a chain link fence.

Billy Straight by Jonathan Kellerman and My Thoughts on Shifting POVs

I'm reading Billy Straight, a novel published in 1998 by one of my favorite mystery authors, Jonathan Kellerman.

Billy Straight is a smart, too-small-for-his-age kid who can no longer take the punishment doled out by his drunken mother's succession of boyfriends. Deciding he can do better on his own, he runs away. He does pretty well for a street kid--uses the library, the zoo and other public places to create a routine for himself. He also carves out five secret spaces across town to sleep in. Hiding in one of those places puts him in the perfect spot to witness a horrific murder.

Enter Petra Connor. She's the detective who's going to crack this case. Petra's got baggage in the form of an ex-husband and a deceased father. Daddy used to be a cop, a good one, and Petra is constantly trying to measure up to what she thinks would be his expectations of her.

Chapter one opens with Billy, 1st person POV; second chapter is Petra, 3rd person POV. I don't like this convention, but I've seen it before and I can handle it. Besides, I like both characters already. The chapters alternate regularly and I hit my stride until page ninety-nine, in which Kellerman introduces Sharla Straight, 3rd person POV in chapter thirteen. I'm taken out of the novel for a moment, scrambling to root this person in the story. Chapter fourteen is even worse--just half a page long, and it's an unnamed narrator, 1st person.

After that, the predictability of narrators is lost. Sometimes Petra has two chapters in row; other narrators slip in with 3rd person POV: a second detective, a maid, a Jewish man, a street vendor. All of this arrhythmia takes place after the reader has crossed ninety-nine pages. I keep reading because I need to see what happens to Billy and how Petra will save him. But I don't like the wildly shifting POV.

Jonathan Kellerman is a bestselling author; who am I to argue with his construction? Well, I'm a reader. I don't happen to like all the shifting POVs. I understand he's using this technique to create tension, toss red herrings, and heighten suspense, but understanding this technique doesn't mean I have to like it.

I didn't like it in Criss Cross, either (YA, Lynne Rae Perkins). But that's just my preference. Criss Cross won the Newbery Medal in 2006.

Back to Billy Straight--I'm on page 344 now. The kind Jewish man let Billy sleep in the shul. Petra's come up with an exciting theory on the case. More than a hundred pages to go. I can't wait to see what happens next.

Colin Farrell, Ben Stiller, Captain Kirk, Bono

Who boldly goes where few stars have gone before, meets with leaders of alien nations, embarks on missions of peace and justice?

If you said Bono, you are right, my friend. This post's for you. (Quick--Edge's real name?)

Somehow, I missed U2 through the 80s and 90s. Yeah, I'd heard of them, heard some of their songs, but I'm the kind of person who generally likes silence. I like time to think.

A couple years ago, Val Kilmer was hosting a rerun of Saturday Night Live and U2 were the musical guests. I was blown away.

Here are some of my favorite U2 moments:

Colin Farrell as Bono on Saturday Night Live.

Ben Stiller as Captain Kirk and Bono.

Bono as Bono at the Grammys, singing one of my favorite U2 songs, "Beautiful Day."

Edge's real name? Look in the comments section!

I Do Not Sing in the Shower (for I Wish To Remain Married)

Man, my worship leader is good! Where is the waterproof mascara?

I sing in church, but just loud enough for God to hear. He's the only one who actually likes my singing. On key is not one of the gifts he's given me. In sixth grade, my best friends and I tried out for chorus. CK totally had to make it because like her whole family had sung in chorus, and CJ thought it would be fun. I did, too--how hard could it be? The auditions were held in an open room and all my classmates were there. Then it was my turn. I bellowed out a rousing rendition of Row, Row, Row Your Boat. A better imitation of a moose has never been heard. I finished my song--the show must go on and all that--but I knew I would not be donning the official black chorus skirt with coordinating blouse.

Chris Rice sings on key and he's funny. Here's the Cartoon Song.

In Which I am Turned Into a Curse Word

"Jeanette?" people ask after I introduce myself. "No, Danette with a D," I say. Most people haven't heard of my name. I've barely heard of it myself, having met just a handful of other Danettes. One works at my dentist office and I love to go there. "Hi Danette!" "Hi Danette!" Half an hour later, "Bye Danette!" "Bye Danette!"

Teachers never could pronounce my name right. They always gave it the phonetic treatment: "DANette." Didn't matter how many times I corrected them; they never wavered. The other kids got it right, but never the teachers.

Even spelling it for people can be a problem. I was on the phone with the cable guy and he had some kind of mental block. He thought I was saying Denise, Janet, Danita. I spelled it for him three or four times before he was able to enter it into his files.

Then I got the bill. It was addressed to Dammet Haworth.

It Was Good, Anyway

The sleep deprivation experiment continues.

It was after midnight before I fell asleep, yet I woke up at 3:37 a.m. My stomach was churning. Sick? Hungry? I don't know. I went downstairs and ate an Entenmann's Rich Frosted Donut. I didn't fall back asleep, but that donut sure was good.