Guardian Angels et al

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Hamlet Act 1, scene 5 When I was twenty, I had life all figured out. When I hit forty, not so much. Now at this number of spent decades I realize I don’t know squat. I used to be a doubting Thomas about anything I couldn’t see up close and personal. But let’s face it. I can’t see bacteria, not without a microscope, and there are one or two of those suckers which just might take humanity out one of these days. Ebola. A game changer. And Pluto. First it didn’t exist. Then it did. Then it was a planet. Then it wasn’t. Now it’s a dwarf planet. Whatever. All because we found it with a mammoth telescope. But it’s been doing its thing all this time, regardless of what we call it or when we saw it. But back to me and what I can’t see, like my guardian angel. I didn’t know I had one until after my mother passed about a year and a half ago. Mom and I were close. Her death, even though expected, took a lot from me. We were more than mother and daughter. We were good friends. Recently, I was speaking to her as I am wont to do upon occasion. It had been an odd, down day for me, so I asked my mother out loud if I had guardian angel. I knew Mom was a believer. She wore one of several small pins depicting guardian angels on her lapel or collar every day. I heard my mother’s voice as sure as if she was in the next room. “Of course, you do. It’s your Aunt Ann.” I was shocked for a lot of reasons (let’s put aside hearing your dead …

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1% Polynesian Princess

I just had my DNA tested. 99 bucks and you find out who you are, although I thought I already knew. For a girl who is the off-spring of a 100% Italian/American on my mom’s side (both her parents came from Bari, Italy) and the other (my father), with a mother named Margaret MacLaughlin (can you get any more Irish sounding). My grandfather was English/French Canadian (De Haven), so I didn’t think this news would be too shocking. And yet…. here are the results. Africa North 2% Europe West 49% Italy/Greece 24% Iberian Peninsula 8% Trace Regions 8% Pacific Islander < 1% Trace Regions < 1% And the Irish would be where? But on the upside, I find having even a scant 1% Polynesian is exhilarating. I mean, how exotic is that!! And while I haven’t learned yet that I am a dyed-in-the-wool Polynesian Princess, until hard evidence says otherwise, that’s what I’m going with. My call. This is sooooo me. Now I know why I love Hawaii!  Pass the tiara and the poi. Here’s some info on my new people: Most of Polynesia’s islands lie within a triangular area in the Pacific Ocean. The Polynesian Triangle’s “points” are Hawaii, Easter Island (Rapu Nui) and New Zealand. It’s a world defined by the ocean. With about 120,000 square miles of land spread across some 10 million square miles of water, Polynesia’s islands were among the last places on Earth to be settled by humans. Despite great distances separating the outer islands, the Polynesian people are linked by linguistic, cultural and genetic ties.  

Time To Chuck The Bengay

  Hubby and I just returned from a ten-day cruise. Cruising seems to be what more ‘mature’ people do these days. I suspect it has something to do with not having to pack and unpack every time you hit a new place. That can be such a drag. Add into the mix someone comes in to straighten out your room three times a day, and makes and serves your meals. Now you’ve really got something. Everything is done for you with a big smile, whether they mean it or not. Being home the first day was a shock. What is this, I have to open my own refrigerator door and find something to cook for dinner? What do you mean I have to make my own bed? While I loved being home and cuddling with my cats, this was a big let-down. I pondered all of this as I brushed my teeth, concentrating hard on my lust for the sybaritic lifestyle. After about twenty-seconds I noticed the toothpaste tasted funny. I picked up the tube and read the label: Bengay. I panicked then rinsed and spit, expecting my entire mouth to tingle and burn from the ointment. It didn’t. I read further on the label. Expiration date: 2011.  What had once been a soothing muscle ointment became a gelatinous nothing in only four years over it’s due date.I looked at my face. Only several decades over my due date. Time to take another cruise.

What’s With Men And The Godfather I, II, and III?

Yes, they were good movies, especially the first one. Yes, they had wonderful actors, story line, yada, yada. Well, maybe using Coppola’s daughter might not have been the best idea, but nepotism is alive and well in America. I remember seeing all three of them waaaaaaay back when. And I got over it. I have already told my husband, Norman, there is now a moratorium on having to hear about these movies. Is this a guy thing? Most of the men I know quote from them as if they were the Holy Grail. They say lines from the movies the moment they get together. I’m trying to think of one man I know who doesn’t rhapsodize poetic, reciting  many of the scenes and lines when the subject come up. And these movies were made decades ago. Before, during, and since fabulous, fabulous movies came out of Hollywood. What is with the male concentration on GI,II,III? Maybe I’m coming at it from a female point of view. These women didn’t get treated so well. When they were in the way, they either got bedded or slapped around. They had absolutely no power as women or people. Not something to emulate. Also, I am Italian American. My life took on a new slant when these movies came out. Most people think this is the life of Italian Americans. Not mine nor anyone I knew. Possibly, the menfolk in my family were too stupid to be a part of the Mafia. But regardless, these movies became the defining example of the culture. So on a lot of levels, I resent the impact they’ve had on our society. I mean, the Italian culture is so much more that guys running around with guns and slapping people around. But mainly, I don’t get it. Guys, they …

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Why I Write Short Stories

I try not to be fazed when people say I write light-weight books. Mainly, because I do. It’s hard to be taken aback when someone calls it as it is. I also write genre. Mysteries, to be exact. For the most part, they are well received, more so than I thought possible. I suspect that might be because while considered humorous and light-weight, my books are based on deeper stuff. In the Alvarez Family Mysteries for instance, the first book of the series takes place two years after the patriarch of the family dies. The protagonist (Lee) is fairly disassociated from her mother and brother, especially after the father’s unexpected death. What they still share is a business created by him, a detective agency in Silicon Valley. Through a set of circumstances – okay, a dead body, because it is a murder mystery, after all – they become close again. I threw in unconditional love in the form of an uncle, who loves all three of them, no matter what. In the best of all possible worlds, most of us could use someone like that. This odd, four-peopled family represent a lot of today’s family dynamics. Many readers see that. While the books might be labeled funny and light-weight, the reader often identifies with the underlying problems this small family manages to overcome. And most importantly, this is a family who reaches out, despite the fact they often don’t ‘get’ one another. But back to why I like short stories. After the initial draft, I look for feedback from friends and fellow writers. I have found that in short stories, short shorts, and flash fiction (so called for their extreme brevity), each and every word counts. Rambling is not permitted to the extent it is in a novel. Writing in …

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Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

When I was a kid, I asked my mother why people lied. She said, “Usually it’s because if that person tells the truth they won’t get what they want.” That’s probably more true than not. However, I find it interesting that there are so many words that mean a lie or liar, and most of them are just wonderful sounding. I mean, aren’t we wasting terrific words on something that’s supposed to be shameful and rotten? For instance, in Tennessee Williams’ play, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Big Daddy uses the word ‘mendacity’ frequently. What ham actor wouldn’t want to scream that out to a packed house night after night? Tennessee Williams probably saved the word mendacity from obscurity. In today’s clime, it’s probably the only way anyone under thirty who didn’t major in Drama knows the word at all. If they do. It does have more than two syllables, after all. Then there’s the wonderful words ‘equivocator’ and ‘fabulist’. Equivocator sounds like someone who settles things, makes this right, equalizes them. And who wouldn’t want to be a fabulist? Maybe not if they knew what it meant, but going by the sheer sound of it, it’s fabulous. Yes, pun intended. Then there’s prevarication and taradiddle. Just great sounding words. I could go on and on, but as I am simply musing, my job is done here. But to carry this a little further, maybe there’s reason we have such inventive, colorful, and neat-sounding words for a liar. Possibly somewhere deep inside of each one of us, we are in awe of someone who can look us straight in the face and tell one helluva whopper. Twitter@HeatherHaven Heather’s author page at Amazon: Email me at:

This Writing Thing

I have discovered there might be a perk or two to being a writer. For sure, my crossword puzzle skills have improved dramatically. I will now grope for the rest. Perk #1 – I can enter a world I create when all around me is chaos. There’s a lot to be said for that. The older I get, the more chaotic I find the world. Sometimes a trip to the grocery store can be mind-boggling. I have been Greenpeaced there several times. The polar bears are better off because of the volunteers and my contributions to their cause. Oh yes, and I did buy some ice cream. Perk #2 – People actually think because I can write a novel, I am an intelligent person. This is not necessarily the case. I have found that I am on the fairly dumb side, especially when it comes to finding my reading glasses or the car in a parking lot. Of course, saving the bears distracted me. I wandered around the parking lot for 15-minutes pushing a shopping cart full of melting ice cream. I try to look on it as exercise. Perk #3 – When together with a bunch of strangers at a gathering and we need to make inane, mindless conversation before the hors d’oeuvres arrive, I can throw in the bit about being a writer. This usually stops people in their tracks. but ratchets up the conversation. They think of  J.D. Salinger, Jane Austin, or Steven King. I think of the arrival of shrimp cocktail. Sometimes one or two trapped people actually like murder mysteries. This means I can give them a bookmark and hope they go to Amazon to get one of my books. Add another 1/2 perk for this. Perk #4 – I get to do what I love. …

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I Hold Charles Dickens Completely Responsible

Decided to share this again. First published 2 holiday seasons ago. Since I was a child, I would watch countless adaptations of A Christmas Carol on TV and in the movies. I’ve seen variations of the character of Scrooge played by the likes of Alec Guinness, Susan Lucci, Jim Carrey, Vanessa Williams, and Scrooge McDuck. I even read the novel way back, when I was into a Reading the Classics Phase, which is a great phase to be in, frankly. We learn from the masters. In 25-words or less, A Christmas Carol is a story of a mean, hard-hearted person who hates Christmas and all it stands for i.e. love, charity, and warm fuzzy slippers. On that fateful Christmas Eve, if antacids had been around, the novel might have taken a different turn. Ebenezer Scrooge might have uttered, “Cripes! It was an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. Someone pass me a Tums.” But being a genius writer, Dickens has Scrooge find his inner self, thanks to an unending supply of colorful and inventive ghosts who are out to show he doesn’t have to be the rat-fink he thinks himself to be. It is touch and go for awhile, but kindness and mercy win out. Love of fellowman scores a touchdown. And we, the readers, cheer from the sidelines. Yes, you can be a B&BP (bigger and better person) if only you try. Taking this story to heart since I was around five-years old, I was convinced it was possible to help change a person’s character. Yes, enlighten them as to the good in everyone, help them to see the gentler part of humankind, that which sets us apart from the rest of the animal kingdom, and you’ve got something. Although, according to Lila Hamilton Alvarez, the matriarch of the Alvarez Family Murder …

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Thornton Wilder’s The Skin of Our Teeth

I recently saw a production of Wilder’s Skin of Our Teeth, given by Mountain View High School students. It was amazing. First of all, I had forgotten just what a fine play Thornton Wilder had written. As a teen, I had been involved in two productions of it, myself. One in high school and the other in college. I was too young and too inexperienced to understand the complexities held within the manuscript. Wilder winning a Pulitzer Prize for the play should have been my first clue he was on to something, but I can be slow on the uptake. Wrapped in allegories, anachronisms, humor, dinosaurs, and satire, Wilder exposes social mores, sadly even more relevant today than in 1942. It’s about the way society gets caught up in the trappings of male/female roles, the educated vs the uneducated, the haves and the have nots, man’s love of creation and need for destruction. The author throws in murder, lust, and betrayal, almost as an afterthought, but then there’s a lot of think about in this work. A frightening, but often hilarious play, it is one that asks us to ponder our own lot in life and enforced expectations. Under the capable direction of Rob Seitelman, Mountain View’s drama teacher, a fine production of this play was mounted. To my mind, it was of a higher calibre than one had a right to expect of high school students. But maybe not. Today’s children are much more aware and savvy than the youth in my day. And when you have a dedicated, talented director such as Mr. Seitelman, buoyed by healthy school funding, strong parental support, kids who are devoted to the arts, and a beautiful theatre in which to deliver this bundle, a lot can be accomplished. And is. So, let’s give credit where …

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Michelle K. Pickett Has a New Novel Coming Out

Michelle is an award winning author and is very excited about her new book, Unspeakable, as is everyone else. And the cover is sensational! Just see for yourself. The muted colors are exquisite and there’s something about the eyes. They look right at you, promising much…maybe. And what lurks behind the face of this innocent looking girl that can be so ‘unspeakable’? A quote from Goodreads:  “We are excited to share with you the official cover reveal of UNSPEAKABLE by Michelle K. Pickett. UNSPEAKABLE is a young adult contemporary romance that is scheduled to release in February of 2015. Check out more information below and make sure to add it to your TBR List!”  Unspeakable Blurb: “Breathe. No one will break me. I’m strong. Breathe. Just breathe.” On the outside, Willow appears to have it all. She’s beautiful, smart, from an influential family, and she dates the most popular guy in school—Jaden. But she would walk away from it all in a second. Willow is tormented by lies and suffocating guilt, not the hearts and flowers people believe her life is full of. She carries a dark secret. Plagued by nightmares and pain, the secret dominates her life. If she hadn’t walked away. If she had just…but she didn’t. And now she has to live with her choice. But when someone uncovers her family’s past, they use it against her, crushing her spirit little by little. She tells herself she just has to make it to graduation. Then she can leave Middleton, and her secret, far behind. When Brody transfers to Cassidy High, he turns Willow’s life upside down. He shows her what it feels like to live again, really live. And suddenly, she isn’t satisfied with just surviving until graduation. She wants a normal life—with Brody—and he wants her. …

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