Sunday, August 13, 2006

Pheasant McNuggets Contest Entry 10

This is our last contest entry and we're only in the middle of August. This means you've still got time to send in your story. Join the fun. We love reading them.

Tonight you get two from Cherokee Echols....
Story #1

I come from a very large family, I am the youngest of twelve. So my Mom never threw anything out especially food. One day when I was a young girl I was out in the backyard waiting for Mom to call us all in for super when suddenly the back door flew open and Mom came rushing out carrying a pot. She went straight over to the garden and tossed the contents out. Odd thing was I noticed that what she threw out was the left over beans she had served the night before. As I mentioned Mom never threw anything out so I asked what she was doing and she gave me that look that only Mom could give that meant "Little girls were to been seen not heard". So I quickly went back over to watch my brother tear his motorcycle motor apart and never mentioned the beans again.

Then one day when I was in college a girlfriend and I went home to spend the weekend with my folks. My girlfriend, Mom and I were sitting on the front porch sipping iced tea, eating cornbread with beans and chatting. Mom inquired as to whether my new girlfriend liked to fish. My Mom being an avid fisher-woman, herself. Sandy said she did as long as she did not have to use worms. Suddenly my Mom about choked on her beans and started laughing her ass off.

I looked at my Mom then at my girlfriend worried she thought my Mom had just flipped her lid or something. When Mom recovered from her hee hawing she asked me if I remember a time when she threw out a pot of beans. I said I remembered it and I also remembered she never told me why. (I wish I still did not know why.) Apparently one of the worms she had in a container in the fridge (do not ask why she had worms in the fridge, it is a fishing thing) got out and in the beans. She said she was heating the beans up for supper and noticed something in them. When she scooped it up with a spoon it took her a moment to realize it was a worm because it puffed up from the heating.

Now here is the part that made me stop eating my beans that day on the porch. Mom said since money was so tight in those days she seriously thought about taking the worm out and feeding the beans to us kids anyways! I never ate a spoonful of beans at my moms house from that day on.

True story #2

All eight of my brothers like to eat... a lot! But none of them married women who could cook worth a darn. So for my brother James and sister-in-law Teresa's fifth anniversary she wanted to fix something nice for supper. Teresa called me up and asked if I would teach her how to cook one of my brothers favorite meals, so I said sure.

I gave her a shopping list before she came over to my place to make James' favorite meal of oven roasted pork roast with root vegetables, biscuits and gravy from the drippings. So first thing I told her was we needed to put a little bacon grease in a cast iron skillet and heat it up to brown the roast and sear in the juices. She put the grease in and turned on the heat. I told her to add her spices to the meat, flour it and then we would brown it. I watched her put salt, pepper, and garlic on the roast and when I thought she picked up the flour to coat it I turned to get my glass of tea. When I turned around she was putting something back in the cabinet and the roast had a funny color to it. I asked if she put anything on the roast besides what I saw and she said she thought she would add a few more things to spice it up. Like what, I asked. She had added Anise (tastes like licorice) and Mace (tastes like strong nutmeg) to the roast. Why. I asked. Because James thought her cooking was bland so she wanted to spice it up.

I picked up the roast and thoroughly washed it off. I then handed her the salt, pepper, and garlic powder to rub on the roast. Next I gave her some Cajun seasoning so it would not be bland and she seemed to be happy as she floured the roast. Now as you remember we had put some bacon grease in a pan to heat and it was getting hot and starting to smoke. When she dropped the roast in, it smoked up heavy and she decided it needed to go in the sink. She turned the water on and when it hit the hot grease we had a sight to see with grease and water spraying all over my kitchen cabinets and me. Once the excitement calmed down I looked at the roast in the pan in my sink covered with water and burned on one side. I decide to hell with it my brothers will eat anything.

I browned the other side while Teresa watched and then placed the roast in a baking dish with potatoes, carrots, onions and turnips. We placed it in the oven and I decided to forgo the ice tea and start in on some Margaritas before tackling the biscuits.

I told Teresa what items to get out of the cabinet while I mixed up the Margaritas. I glanced over occasionally as I was downing the icy drinks and she seemed to be doing okay and getting the biscuits made and ready for the oven. I thought, well this is great... no problems.

The roast was done and came out of the oven so we went to drain the drippings off for the gravy. She followed directions well and the gravy wasn't too lumpy. I praised her on her job well done. She and I were now going to sit down and eat her first lesson.

I sliced the roast and dipped up the vegetables, added some gravy over my meat and potatoes and grabbed a biscuit which appeared to be very beautiful. Okay the meat had a funny twang to it and she added garlic to the biscuits when I wasn't looking (way too much garlic) and they were like hockey pucks and the gravy was tasteless. Oh did I forget to mention my kitchen was a wreck? Then to top it off when their anniversary came around James took Teresa out for dinner and she never cooked the meal for him. *sigh*

Cherokee


That's a hoot about the beans. I'm not sure what you're so upset about though...worms are just a little more protein.... And what a hoot about your sister-in-law. Anyone who can screw up biscuits probably should stay out of the kitchen.

Please thank Cherokee for sharing these and while you're at it give her a little feedback on her stories at www.butchesbabesandbards.com.

Tamara

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Saturday, August 12, 2006

Pheasant McNuggets Contest Entry 9

Have you been enjoying these food rambles? I have and if you're like me you'd like more of them, so go ahead and send us one. Share the fun with everyone.
I am an Australian and in 1988 I moved to London to live. About a year later a friend of mine, Samantha, also moved there and she had nowhere to stay so she moved in with me and a couple of English guys I was renting this house with.

Samantha decided to cook dinner for us all one night. She cooked roast chicken with vegetables. It was a really nice meal and we all complimented her on it when one of the guys asked her what she had done with the bag of gibblets that comes inside the chicken. "What bag and what the hell are gibblets?" she asked. Off we went to the kitchen and there inside the cooked chicken carcass was the plastic bag of gibblets. Complimenting Sam on her culinary skills ended there and then. Needless to say we don't have gibblets in our chickens in Australia. To this day I always check inside a chicken before cooking it.

Julie


This one made me seriously thank the folks in America who decided gibblets didn't need to come with my chicken. But I'll check now just in case as well.

Now off to the splendid updates. Enjoy.

Elisa

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Friday, August 11, 2006

Pheasant McNuggets Contest Entry 8

More fun with food....
ok - i'll bite.

Some years ago ... ok make that about 20 years ago I became the proud owner of a microwave oven. It came with a little recipe book which I soon had tried and was wanting to try some more recipes.

Now - I ask you - just how hard can it be to cook something in a microwave?

Well - I found my favourite chocolate cake recipe, mixed it up and put it into the microwave to cook. I knew I had to cook it for less time than in a conventional oven and figured that cooking on high for 1/3 of the time should be just right.

At the ding of the timer i took the cake out and left it to cool on the bench. Once it was a little cooler I took the knife and proceeded to cut the cake ... well - i tried to cut the cake - it wouldn't cut! A thin layer around the cake was soft~ish, the rest was charcoal! We even tried breaking it in half - the axe couldn't go through it!!

We put the cake out for the birds but even they weren't going to try eating it.

Jo Dunning ... aka lessa aka kiwilessa


Yikes. Cake even birds wouldn't touch. I have a really good way to make mini cakes in the microwave using a Tupperware cup with a venting lid. Cal likes to have them at tea parties. Hit me up, Jo, if you want to try that microwave cake experiment on a smaller scale.

You can read Jo's fiction at The Academy of Bards: www.academyofbards.org/authors/lessa.html. Check 'em out and thank her for sending in her bad cooking experience.

If you'd like to participate (and we'd love it if you did) just write up your piece and email it to us at updates@uberetc.com or you can click on one of our names here at the web site.

Tamara

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Thursday, August 10, 2006

Pheasant McNuggets Contest Entry 7

Another keen entry folks. But this doesn't mean we don't want more of them, so please, for the enjoyment of all, send us more.
For the record, I want to state that while I'm no Emeril, I am a very good, very competent cook as a general rule. I've only had maybe four or five failed experiments my entire life. Half of those are baking misadventures. While the Amelia Bedelia (children's book series -- go read 'em whether you have kids or not -- she cooks by the "a little of this and a little of that" school of thought) approach works for me in most things, I can't bake without a recipe. I don't know why. I keep trying anyway when a chance comes up. It's fun until I have to eat it.

My most inedible misadventure would have to be the oatmeal walnut raisin rock cookies. I know, how the heck can you screw up *cookies*? I was visiting my dad back four or five years ago and by chance, so was my sister. Alcohol was involved at some point. Poker just isn't poker without a drink or ten. As tends to be the case, my sis and I got hungry and started looking around for something to eat. Dad had a box of raisins and two bags of walnut pieces someone had given him without thinking. He didn't have any teeth and couldn't stand raisins, so they did him absolutely no good.

The only way I like raisins is in oatmeal raisin cookies. I'd made cookies lots of times in high school; how hard could it be? My sis is always up for adventure of any sort and Dad had no objections, so we put our heads together to figure out a course of action. The truly sad thing is our grandpa -- Dad's dad -- was a baker by trade for thirty or forty years and the things he could make just out of his head.... Didn't make it all the way down the line, I guess.

We gathered our ingredients -- flour, oatmeal, baking powder, sugar, eggs, walnuts and raisins. Dad only had a liquid measuring cup, so we had to guess on the dry goods. I don't think exact measurements would've helped much, though. I don't remember exactly, but I think we used two or three cups of flour, one cup sugar, one or two cups of oatmeal, one or two teaspoons of baking powder, three eggs, water (a cup or two maybe? Three?) until it was thick, but not too thick, and all the raisins and walnuts we could get to fit.

The dough looked good and we were hopeful it'd all work out. We put a tablespoon or so of dough at a time all along a cookie sheet and put it in the oven at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for maybe 10 or 15 minutes. We might've passed the time with a celebratory drink or three; I don't remember. I have a vague memory of being sober up to that point.

They were a lovely golden brown, but otherwise didn't have much aesthetically pleasing going for them. They didn't flatten out, so they looked like very warty boobs. (Too bad we didn't think of it at the time -- we could've stuck a raisin on top for nipples. That's exactly the kind of thing my sis -- and my dad for that matter -- would do. Maybe I'm a proper Berry after all.) I'm surprised I didn't chip a tooth -- they were rock hard. You could've broken a window with those things.

Milk didn't help much. If you soaked them for ten minutes you could eat them, but they didn't taste right. Not enough sugar. I think there was too much flour and not enough baking powder too. Maybe we didn't use any baking powder at all now that I think of it. I have a vague recollection of choosing cookies because they didn't need to rise like muffins would. I don't think we ever did eat them all. Neither of us were that masochistic, even after drowning our sorrows the rest of the night. You can't get drunk enough to eat oatmeal raisin walnut rock cookies.

S. Berry


I'm not sure how many cookies I've enjoyed that have the word "rock" in their name. That may be a very good thing. Okay, folks, take the time and thank S. Berry for joining in our fun and, if you want some enjoyable reading material check out her stories.

Once again off to the updates. Enjoy.

Elisa

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Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Pheasant McNuggets Contest Entry 6

Here's a ramble from one of my favorite people even if I haven't read any of her fiction yet. I know, I know...I'm a bad person. Let me get this Roman military thing out of my system first.
I'm not going to say my mother was a bad cook because she wasn't. She was an inattentive cook. She was a distracted cook. She was a careless cook. With seven kids, a husband, her own mother, a dog, a cat, and anybody who just happened to drop in, I can even understand why she would became a specialist in multi-tasking even when cooking. I can even accept cutting a few corners. Unfortunately, many of our meals were easily predictable dinner disasters. There was more than one flaming Thanksgiving turkey served smoldering on our dinner table. Blackened scrambled eggs and mashed potatoes were staples.

However, there is one dinner memory which can still send me straight to the bathroom to brush my teeth and tongue for a good twenty minutes or so. This is not for the faint of heart so some of you may wish to look away for the next few lines.

It happened in the fall of 1988. I was working my first professional job. Being young and eager, I was skipping meals with the family so I could go in early and leave late. My parents were not entirely happy with my schedule or my eating habits. So, when I got home from work one night my mother stopped me at the kitchen door and pointed to a still hot plate of food on the table. She had fried potatoes which weren't burned, delicately buttered and generously salted corn on the cob, and grilled a healthy slice of juice steak. I thanked her and sat down to eat without even changing my clothes. The steak cut easy and seemed medium rare which was something of a miracle in my house. I popped the piece in my mouth and tasted...fur! She had her back to me when I started to spit and sputter.

"DID YOU DROP MY DINNER IN THE CAT DISH?" I managed to ask between gagging sounds.

My mom spun around with the most stunned look on her face. "How could you know that? You weren't even home!"

Hope you enjoyed the story. I have to hurry off to the bathroom and brush my tongue for a while.

phair


Phair was a frequent guest rambler at Beyond Uber and I hope this means she'll gift us with her words from time to time here at Uber Etc. If you'd like to read phair's fiction, visit her web site and leave some feedback. Just don't mention furry steak or she'll be forced to brush her tongue.

Tamara

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Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Pheasant McNuggets Contest Entry 5

Okay, folks, we know there are more incredible food stories out there, so step up and partake in the fun. Give us all something to smile and chuckle about. We're pleased so many have already come forward, but there is always room for a few more. Tonight we have another quality food experience to share.
Thinking about all the concoctions I was exposed to makes me shudder. A few years ago (maybe 2 or 3) my sister decided to make everyone some breakfast. We were all shocked because we'd never seen her cook. So she started to cook and I, being the one who cooked almost every week, decided to help her out. She refused my help so I left her alone.

It came time to eat and she sat down a plate of eggs and bacon with toast. It looked good but that was where it ended. I scooped up some eggs and promptly spit them out. I love my sister dearly and I knew there was a reason she never cooked. She didn't know how! So, back to the eggs...when I spit them out, I noticed bubbles forming in the pile on my plate. I asked her, "Um. . . Is there a reason my eggs taste like soap detergent?" I was the first one to try the eggs so everyone around me dropped their forks and pushed their plates away. Since that day, everyone refuses to eat anything she makes, even though she claims that she can cook now. I wish the best of luck to her children!

M Roberts


Once again thanks to M Roberts and one can only hope your sister has truly improved!

Now off to the updates. Enjoy.

Elisa

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Monday, August 07, 2006

LC Jordan Pheasant McNuggets Ramble

LC didn't want to be included the contest but she very graciously supplied us with this most excellent tale of baking gone awry.
Several years ago my mom, who always made a huge dinner on every holiday, called me at work on Christmas Eve. Yes, I always had to work a half day on the Eve. Anyway, she had found a new recipe for some sort of gum drop cookies and wanted to add them to her already impressive cookie menu for the people who would be arriving the following morning.

Not wanting to drive back into town, she asked me if I'd pick up a bag of gum drops on my way out since I'd promised to come and help with the cooking. I readily agreed.

Now Christmas Eve at any store, even a grocery store, is a dangerous thing. There are scads of people in a last-minute frenzy of shopping. I had to plow my way through the aisles in the largest grocery we had in town, looking for these elusive gum drops.

Whether there was a run on gum drops because of the holiday or because the store didn't carry them in the first place, I didn't know. But there were no gum drops to be found and in desperation I grabbed what I logically thought would be a good substitute; gummy bears.

I got home with my prize and was assigned the task of cookie making. I happily mixed ingredients, following the new recipe and feeling very assured of my gum drop substitute. After carefully placing the colorful dough on the cookie sheets, I put them in the oven and timed them.

When I pulled the sheets out, the little cookie dough drops had spead and all run together, forming a shiny sheet of faux stained glass goo on the nonstick surface of the cookie sheets. You couldn't pry that stuff off with a power chisel. I broke more than one kitchen spatula trying. A few tiny pieces finally came off, but even the dogs wouldn't eat them, unlike the peanut butter cookies they loved.

To her credit, mom didn't say a lot when she discovered what I'd done. Her only comment was that you obviously can't substitute gummy bears for gum drops

LC Jordan


Please thank LC Jordan for rambling. Want something new to read? Check out her web site. She's also got a brand new Yahoo group you can join and be the first to read new fiction: groups.yahoo.com/group/lcjordan_stories/.

Tamara

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Sunday, August 06, 2006

Pheasant McNuggets Contest Entry 4

Okay, one quick note tonight then off to another fabulous entry and some dandy updates. The Fingersmith site has its own domain now. Check it out at FingersmithFever.com.

Now off to chuckle.
The Meatloaf Caper

Many, many years ago.....my then sister-in-law Kim decided she was going to cook supper for my entire family. At that time, there were about 13 people in my family. Kim was used to cooking for three people. Mom laid out all that she needed to make a meatloaf, baked pototoes and a veggie side dish.

What mom failed to put out were the spices to season the meat with. So Kim looked in the cabinet for the spices. She mixed all the meat, crackers, eggs, onions and bell peppers like mom had told her. The she started to add the spices...black pepper, salt, garlic powder and something extra.

Kim proudly laid the large serving platter on the table. On it was a large meatloaf, cooked to perfection. Everyone took a slice and dug in. Soon everyone was looking at each other with a funny expression on their faces. There was something odd about the meatloaf. Afraid to hurt Kim's feeling, nothing was said. Normally my brothers eat like a pack of starving wolves, but not that night. Everyone just had one slice of the meatloaf.

After dinner I asked Kim what she put in the meatloaf that gave it its unusual flavor. She handed me a spice tin. I asked her if she knew what it was. Kim said it was some sort of Italian seasoning. It wasn't.

When Kim, who is 5'3" reached into the cabinet which was 5 inches taller than her, she grabbed the wrong tin. Never looking at it, she added 2 teaspoons into the 10 pounds of meat. What she added was cinnamon. For years she was teased about it whenever she cooked something, "Did you add the cinnamon?"

Recently I was watching a cooking show on the Food Network and was shocked when the chef added a pinch of cinnamon to her meatloaf. I guess Kim was just ahead of her time.

Linda


Thanks, Linda, but you know what I'm still not sure I want cinnamon in my meatloaf even if some spiffy chef thinks it's a good idea.

Enjoy those updates and keep sending us these splended entries.

Elisa

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Saturday, August 05, 2006

Pheasant McNuggets Contest Entry 3

I'm enjoying these bad cooking experiences. Hope y'all are too. Here's a humdinger from Ze.
The Butch and the Bacon Sandwich

This happened many years ago - you can tell that by the fact that it was bacon I was cremating...erm cooking. I wasn't even a vegetarian then let alone a vegan. In fact I knew so little about it that if anybody had asked me if I knew what a vegan was my answer would have been "sure, I never miss Star Trek".

Anyway, I had my own flat in a rather unromantic part of Essex and I still took women home occasionally - and even bought them breakfast. I say bought because I tended to eat at the cafe just down the road. Or get pizza, chinese or indian takeaways. I didn't learn to cook until I became a vegetarian. I had to then as there were very few veggie takeaways.

I'd been exceeding lucky the previous evening. I'd not only brought a woman home - I'd brought a gorgeous, sexy, intelligent and very posh woman home. God only knows what she was doing with me because she was way out of my league. And much too posh for the heart-attack-on-a-plate-of-grease that the cafe fondly believed constituted a traditional English breakfast.

So I offered to cook her breakfast. It was with much trepidation I entered my kitchen. I didn't use it often so I wasn't quite sure where everything was. Or even if there was anything to cook. I was betting there would be something because my cousin had been visiting and my aunt had sent strange things to put in the fridge for me. You know - leafy green vegetables and things.

Bingo!! There was bacon, eggs and a loaf of sliced bread. I could do a bacon sandwich. I mean - how hard could a sandwich be??

A quick search of the cupboards produced a frying pan and, as I was a smoker back then, I had matches to light the burner. I put the frying pan on the stove, lit it and looked at the bacon. Damn. No instructions. Hell my TV came with instructions. My motorcycle even came with instructions (duh - how hard is it to put a key in an ignition & turn it??). But bacon - this strange deadly substance carried no instructions.

I ripped the packet open with my teeth as I didn't appear to possess scissors and dropped four rashers into the pan, which was by now red-hot. There was a lot of sizzling and spitting and the bacon turned into four sticks of charcoal. Not good.

I decided the pan was too hot so I carried it to the sink and turned on the cold water to cool it down. There was a hell of a lot more sizzling and spitting. I was very glad that I had stopped to put on a robe. I had been naked and it seemed that, if bacon was this dangerous, naked was not a good idea. The pan now being cool I returned to the stove. This time I put the bacon in the pan first then put the pan on the heat.

All this cooking trauma meant I really needed a cigarette. So I went and got one. I leaned back against the stove to enjoy it and took a glance at the morning paper while the bacon cooked. My back started to get a bit warm so I stepped away from the stove. My back stayed warm. There was a sudden scream from the doorway. Damned near gave me heart failure. My companion, having wondered exactly how long it could take to cook breakfast, had come to find me. Then it hit me what she'd said. "You're on fire."

It was true. I was. I ripped the robe off and threw it down. It was nicely ablaze. The flames looked rather pretty against the black tile floor. I stamped on it to try and put out the flames. I wasn't wearing shoes. A fact I remembered three nanoseconds after I burned my foot.

The bacon, left to its own devices had cooked, then burnt and now - reaching combustion point - burst into flames. So did the morning paper which I had dropped near the pan. I grabbed the pan to dump it in the sink. Stupid, stupid. It was, not unexpectedly, too hot to handle - and not in a good way. I dropped it. I probably couldn't have reached the sink with it anyway as I was still hopping round on one foot.

The pan landed in the middle of the merrily blazing robe. So that's what adding fuel to the flames means!! You could have heated the whole house with the fire I now had in the middle of my kitchen floor.

I'd forgotten the newspaper. The curtains hadn't. They were now wreathed in flames too. I couldn't reach them to do anything because the great fire of Canvey was between me and them. And between me and the extinguisher by the door. The blonde was no help. She hadn't stopped screaming. Who needs a damn' smoke alarm when you've got a posh blonde.

The flames had by now spread to the chairs - I knew wicker was a lousy material for kitchen chairs. Two would definitely need replacing. The table would be next. That's if the curtains didn't succeed in setting fire to the ceiling and finishing us all off.

My cousin appeared - she sleeps like the dead but the screaming had finally woken her. She stopped by the door with one of those a-stranger-just-walked-up-and-kit-me-with-a-haddock looks. Well - there was a naked blonde in the doorway screaming and a naked cousin dancing on one foot around a large bonfire in the middle of the kitchen. It must have looked like some strange satanic ritual gone mental.

Even though she was a mere teenager at the time she demonstrated that maturity of purpose that she'd one day channel into a career in public service. She grabbed the extinguisher and sprayed everything in sight. Including me. I was now a foam-bedecked, naked butch. As soon as all the flames were safely doused she dropped the spent cylinder and slid down the wall laughing until she cried.

In an attempt to salvage some of my pride (my dignity was beyond hope) I enquired brightly. "Shall we go out for breakfast instead??"

The blonde grabbed her clothes and left. She didn't even say goodbye. I never saw her again. But me and the kid had a grand breakfast down at 'The Gingham Kitchen'.

Zero


There's not really much I can add to this. Please send Ze your condolences, maniacal laughter, and instructions for cooking bacon. I know, I know she won't eat it but maybe she'll meet that posh blonde again one day and can make it up to her.

Tamara

p.s. Some of you may be aware that Nene Adams and her partner need a little help. You can visit their web site and make a Paypal donation. Also available through this site is a Cafe Press store featuring Corrie Kuipers' work. Do yourself a favor and browse the Corrieweb Store: www.cafepress.com/corriewebstore/. You might find something you like and it's another way to help out Nene and Corrie.

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Friday, August 04, 2006

A Ramble from Tara Wentz

Tonight we've got something slightly different. We promise to get back to the nifty Pheasant McNuggets Contest entries tomorrow. Thanks to all the entries so far and we look forward to more. Keep sending them in please they are making us giggle and that's a good thing!

However tonight, we have a new author who was kind enough to share her time and words with us.
I have to admit that when Elisa asked me to do a ramble for UberEtc., two emotions hit me at once. The first being that I felt honored. I'm very new at writing and this is the first time anyone has really asked me to talk about it. That being said, the second emotion was fear...well, okay, not really fear, but I was pretty darn nervous.

I have no idea what to ramble about, so bear with me while I work my way through this. I've always been a voracious reader. When I found the online fanfic community, I read my way through it until I came across an author that I couldn't seem to get enough of. That author is none other than Radclyffe. I've read everything she's written and must say that she was an inspiration. She started doing these Author Challenges on her yahoo list and I always wondered what it would be like to participate. I got up the nerve to finally ask her if amateur authors could join. She told me to send her the story I would like to contribute and we'd take it from there. This was the first time I had ever sat down and attempted to write something other than some poems I had done. Rad helped me through the process of making it a better short story and posted it on her list in October of 2004. I had so much fun with it that I took that short story and made a full length novel out of it. After two years of some great beta reading and rewrites, I am very ecstatic to announce that Intaglio Publications will be publishing it in the fall. The name of this novel is called Traffic Stop.

I have learned so much in the last two years and know that I have so much more to learn. The ladies who beta read for me can attest to where the story started and where it ended. (Trust me, it wasn't pretty at first!) What impresses me the most about this genre of writing is how helpful the other authors are. It doesn't faze them to answer question after question and offer advice. I feel very lucky to be a part of such a wonderful group of women.

When I finished Traffic Stop, I felt empty inside. I had spent so much time with the characters that I didn't want to leave them. After awhile I started wondering whether any other characters would start speaking to me. Just when I was about to give up hope, a storyline started developing and the characters started speaking to me. The tentative title for this new story is Deception by Design.

A very good friend encouraged me to start a yahoo group of my own and another friend is putting a website together for me. It all seems very surreal, but I feel very blessed to be a part of all of this; from the online community and beyond!

Deception by Design and information about Traffic Stop can be found on my yahoo group: groups.yahoo.com/group/tarawentz/.

If you've made it this far in the ramble then my kudos to you. Thanks for listening and a big thank you to all who make this community a possibility. (How's that, Elisa?)

Tara


Tara, that was great! And you know what I liked most, it showed how much we can affect another, something to remember. Also I do want to note Tara's new story that she's posting at her Yahoo group is worth your time. She's only on chapter 3 so check it out and give her the feedback she deserves.

Tomorrow we'll return to more keen Pheasant McNugget Contest entries.

Until then, enjoy the updates and have a grand night,
Elisa

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Thursday, August 03, 2006

Pheasant McNuggets Contest Entry 2

I'm incredibly happy to see that people have stepped up and are sharing their food horror stories. I hope y'all are enjoying these. I think they're a hoot.
Hi, Tamara, it's good to hear you ramble about Cal and the rest of your family -- I enjoyed them while you were doing Beyond Uber!

Fortunately I didn't have to eat this food disaster but here goes:

When we were kids, our family liked to go camping (well, my dad and brothers did and my mom and I sort of got dragged along for the ride). My mom got quite good at cooking over a fire or a Coleman stove so we were all happy campers.

One year my dad decided, for the first time, that my brothers were old enough to have a "guys only" camping trip with him. (My mom and I were polite and didn't cheer until after they left.) But Mom and I had to agree to drive the two hours or so to their camp and visit them one day during the week that they were gone.

So on the appointed day my mom and I arrive at the campsite and get the tour and are relaxing when we hear some other campers banging pots together-- the signal that there is a bear in the vicinity. We all run and hide in the car and a couple minutes later, the bear strolls up to our campsite. It starts going through the garbage and sniffs something sweet-- leftover pancakes in syrup, we learned later. The bear takes a few licks and then turns tail and runs off!

My brothers started to laugh hysterically while my dad turned red -- it seems the boys also had taken one taste of Dad's pancakes that morning and dumped them into the garbage. And the guys never let my dad forget that his pancakes were so bad that not even a starving black bear was willing to eat them!

Carla Capizzi


E and I were both wondering what the heck he could have done to pancakes to make them unpalatable to a bear. I thought maybe too much salt. It would be absolutely fantastic if y'all would email these folks thanking them for sharing their stories. If you've got a story to share don't be shy, send it in.

Tonight we added two stories from a writer who totally escaped our notice until she sent a Pheasant McNuggets Contest story. I was reading it and thinking why does this name sound familiar. Then it hit me...the Academy of Bards! We've posted two stories from LC Jordan's web site but she's got a bunch more (and poetry) at her site. Check them out if you get a chance: www.angelfire.com/alt2/lynnejordan/.

Tamara

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Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Pheasant McNuggets Contest Entry 1

Yippee! Okie's nagging paid off. Keep 'em coming. We will post them in the order they are received. The more the merrier, so please share the fun and send them in.
Pheasant McNuggets, huh? Okay. Here's one.

If you are making pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving (this is especially important if all the family, near and extended, well-loved or abhored are showing up), be sure to use the 5 oz. can of evaporated milk. Not the 14 oz. one. No one wants pumkin soup unless it's been printed on a menu and they have time to prepare themselves mentally for it.

wrightmel@aol.com


Wow...good to know. Actually I like pumpkin soup, but I don't believe this would be the correct method of cooking it.

Thanks for sharing, wrightmel, and now back to the updates.

Enjoy,
Elisa

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Tuesday, August 01, 2006

I'm a big ol' nag!

Okay, folks, we're officially into August and I'm going to keep on nagging about this Pheasant McNuggets Contest until the last possible minute. We've got books to give away and you know you want 'em. If you've got a food horror story to share, please send them our way. If you're unsure of your grammar and punctuation, I hereby offer my unprofessional skills at editing. So don't be shy, share your story. Those books are calling....

A small FYI tonight for those of you who are fans of Nicola Griffith. Every few months she updates her web sites with Ask Nicola questions. They're always entertaining and, as luck would have it, she's got a few new ones up at the site. Check 'em out if you get the chance.

Big update tonight. Don't forget that feedback. The folks who write these stories love to hear from the readers. They don't get any money for sharing their work with us so hearing from the readers is the only way they know people are enjoying their efforts.

Tamara

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Monday, July 31, 2006

Another Ramble by Lara Zielinsky

Yes, an end to another month is here. A warm July is finally over. With that we are privileged enough to have Lara once again ramble for us. Now to be honest she gave us two rambles last month and told us to use the one we liked. Well both were excellent so we chose to keep this one for a July wrap up ramble. So with no further delay here is the one and only Lara Zielinsky.
"I'd write if I had time."

I have no idea how many times that has been the comeback line when I mention I write. My gut response has become "Make the time. If it's important to you, MAKE the time."

Distractions can be many in the writer's life. Unless you write full time, the paying job is one. Unless you're single, family is another. Add to that list things like housecleaning, ringing phones, eating and sleeping, a lot of things cut into the time I have to write. It would never get done if I didn't schedule it. I put the doctor appointment on the calendar. It's important, right? I put the pre-school meeting for Sunday School teachers on the calendar; that's important too. Why wouldn't I treat my writing with the same importance?

It's time for my lunch break where I work. I smile and turn off the dictaphone. Work gets set aside, the answering machine goes on, and out comes the laptop, or on the rare days I've forgotten it, the notepad, for a little writing time.

I have come to really enjoy these write-at-lunch sessions. With a sandwich from home, a soda from the break room machine, putting on that answering machine, I even leave my desk to go to a favorite sunlit spot outside, or at least hide in an empty back office. These all serve to tell my mind it's okay to let go of the real world, and time to fly off to the fictional world of my writing.

After years of doing this, it's become habit for me, as well as my inspiration. I can feel my current bevy of characters inside me beginning to wake up, knowing that I have time for them now. They have my full attention to share their lives' happenings, their worries, their trials and tribulations with my undivided attention.. Each writing session doesn't necessarily produce postable results, but the effort keeps the lines of communication open between my inspiration and the time I have to write that inspiration down.

Today's plan - and there does have to be a plan, otherwise I am the worst procrastinator and will check email and bulletin boards endlessly frittering away my lunch hour - is to write the final 5 pages on one story I've been working on for two months. When I finish that, I'll return my chair to its upright position, and come in for a landing from my flight of fantasy.

From one thing or another, I might not be able to take a lunch break every day. Sometimes I have errands to run. But two or three days each week is better than none. I have set aside other times during the week - Wednesday nights from 7p to 10p and Saturday mornings until noon (everyone else in the house sleeps in) are nearly regular as clock work. Traveling, or weekend plans can alter these, but the other thing my "regularity" breeds is respect from others who might want or need my time. They respect this time that I set aside for what I find important and know that they have my undivided attention the rest of the time.

People make and keep dates for what's important. With their favorite TV shows. With their friends, children, spouse or girlfriend. I respect my writing. If I didn't no one else would either. So I make dates with my writing and we're all very happy.

Lara Zielinsky
www.lzfiction.net

author of Turning Point
coming in March 2007 from PD Publishing


If you get a chance I highly recommend checking out Lara's website and, as luck may have it, she even has a Yahoo group that you are welcome to join and get her early updates and her words on a regular basis.

Now off to the updates, enjoy.

Elisa

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