New Neighbors

My husband and I have lived in our new home for about a month. This is the third place we've lived during our marriage. (I'm not counting our six weeks of living in someone's basement.) We are getting to know our new neighbors. It amazes me that in three weeks we've had three people drop off food of some sort and one lovely lady invite us over for Sunday dinner. My first response to this was this is the difference between country and city living. But it is something else: I need to be a better neighbor especially when we've just moved.

My parents are wonderful examples of what being a good neighbor is all about. My dad is someone who is always talking people and just being a genuinely nice fellow. When my mother sees a need she goes about quietly fixing it and offering support. After more than two decades, that has finally sunk in. When we moved this last time both my husband and I made an effort of going to activities to meet people. We signed up to paint fences. We talk to people we meet. I joined the local choir. We went to an open house to meet the people not caring that we'd never met them before. And now that we have been welcomed into this neighborhood, I hope that my husband and I can make the next group of new neighbors feel welcomed.

Goals

Writing takes time and it isn't always easy to find the time needed not only to write, but to edit and submit as well. That is where setting goals comes in. Goals should be more than just "I want to be a published author." They need to be specific and have a timeline. So saying "I want to be a published author in five years," is better but since you can't control all of the variables it could be even more specific. The best goals are the ones that you control from beginning to end. For example I have weekly goals. I update my blog, write a flash fiction story, write a chapter in my novel, and try and edit 20 pages a week. All of these things I control myself. I also have more long term goals that will get me to my "I want to be a published author" goal. I have to submit something to an agent or a publisher at least four times a year.

When trying for anything, whether it is being an author, learning a new language, sewing, or even being a better parent, make sure to set goals that are specific, have a timeline, and that you are the determining factor.

*Death at a Funeral

Intro: I am actually surprised I got something written this week. This is a little dark but I hope that you find it thought provoking.

"I'm going to a funeral." Jacob said.

He took a bite of his hamburger and washed it down with his chocolate milk. His friends around the table looked away and offered their sympathies. It was always the same, Jacob noticed, whether he was in elementary, high school, college, or at work. Funerals were treated as a disease. He finished of the burger with three more bites and crumpled the wrapper with the bag, tossing it into the garbage as he walked out of the break room.

Jacob liked funerals, it wasn't that he enjoyed the misery of others, no he went to see the bodies. The bodies looked serene, it didn't matter how they died, if the casket was open. All of the bodies wore the same expressions. One of peace. It was the funerals with the closed casket he hated. There was no peace in those funerals.

His own life contained everything, but peace and happiness. It was evident by the number of funerals he attended. The first one had been when he was seven, his older brother: accidental medication overdose. Then a year and a half later it had been two of the three sill living grandparents: complications from old age. At ten, his best friend: hit by a car. Twelve saw both his younger sister, electrocution, and his father, accident at work. His mother remarried when he was fourteen, a man with three children of his own, all older than Jacob. One died six months later, drowned in river. One died the day of Jacob's high school graduation, suicide. And when he was twenty, the third one choked at dinner.

Now, at twenty-seven, Jacob was attending his mother's funeral. It was listed as a home accident, falling down the stairs, but he knew the truth. His step-father was burying his second wife and Jacob knew the man was already sleeping with a potential number three.

He left work early and headed home, his gray suit and black shirt hung in his closet, all ready. It sagged on the hanger and looked even worse on him. He'd lost weight since purchasing it a month earlier. The left side of his coat hung down further than the right side.

The funeral home smelled of roses. He shook the funeral director's hand.

"You are Jacob, the deceased's son?"

"Yes. Thank you for your help with this."

"Will her husband be coming?"

Jacob shrugged and moved over the casket. Peace was eminent on her face, though it hadn't been in life. He brushed a finger across her cheek and let out a small plea of forgiveness. He could smell the man almost before he walked into the room. When the funeral director went to talk to him, the man just pushed past him, stumbling up to the casket. Jacob stood to the side his hands balled in fists.

"She looks so peaceful," he reached out, his greasy stained hands moving towards her.

"Don't touch her." Jacob had to keep himself from snarling. "Medications, old age, car accident, electrocution, machining accident, drowned, suicide, asphyxiation, beating."

"What?"

"Gun shot." He pulled the gun from the inside of his of his coat mentally counting the bullets in the gun as well as his pockets. "Closed casket."

###

The gavel sounded like the final gunshot as Jacob looked up at the judge. He stood and nodded his thanks already turning to the door. His lawyer stood at his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I'll appeal the ruling. We'll reduce it from premeditated homicide—"

"Don't bother," Jacob said smiling already thinking of the casket waiting for him. "Lethal injection is just fine."

The Limit

by Kristen Landon

Last September I won an ARC of THE LIMIT and got a chance to meet Kristen Landon. Not only was Kristen a delight to talk to, but this book really made me think. Not only does the story offer an interesting, twisty plot, but it has a really good message about spending within your limits. There are times that I read books and feel like the message was shoved down my throat, and this is not the case. The idea of money management is prevalent throughout the book but it is presented in such a way that I don't feel like a bad person for occasionally buying a book instead of getting it from the library.

The story follows thirteen-year-old Matt who is taken from his family because they spent more than their limit. He now lives in a workhouse helping to pay back his parents' debt. While he is working, he learns his high IQ has set him apart from 90% of the others who were taken, and while this means he has some special privileges, not everyone gets to live the same luxurious life he and his new friends have.

THE LIMIT is a dystpoic novel that doesn't delve into the grittiness as much as just making you feel uncomfortable about what is happening. It makes the setting more believable and that is what really makes this book for me. The idea of limiting people's spending has a grain of sensibility in it which for a second almost made me wish there was an outside punishment for it. I wouldn't be surprised if something like this happened somewhere in the world.