Does Spelling Count?

I’m an awful speller. I always have been and knowing just how embarrassing a spelling error can be, I go through all sorts of craziness to prevent mistakes. I don’t just spell check, but I often check an online thesaurus to make sure I haven’t simply used a real word that looks a little like the word I intended to use. Prior to spellcheck programs, a friend gave me a ‘misspeller dictionary.’ It was a brilliant, little book chuck full of ridiculous versions of commonly misspelled words. I kept it on my desk for years and eventually gave it to
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Magi’s Climb—A Strange Tale

Magi’s Climb             “I don’t understand what you’re asking. You can’t mean….” “I think I’ve been perfectly clear and that you understand my request.” Lene Norris’ plan was outrageous, but her attitude—imperious as a queen with a touch of impatient anger—left Rita feeling like a guilty third grader in the principal’s office. “You want me to…” “To let him die on the climb. Yes. That is exactly what I’m asking, and I’ll pay handsomely to make it happen. I’ve spent 40 years with him, 40 years! I’d like to be widowed before I’m too old to have any fun.” Rita
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Making Sense in Fiction

One of my all-time favorite quotes about writing is Mark Twain’s famous statement about fiction versus truth— “Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.” I’ve been rolling that quote around in my head because my current novel-in-progress pushes certain envelopes. No, there are no supernatural beings, not one character relies on psychic abilities to solve the mystery and the story is not top-loaded with inexplicable coincidences. Then why am I concerned about the credibility factor? Because most of the characters are extraordinary in one particular way or another—they are
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A Room of My Own

Virginia’s Woolf’s ‘A Room of One’s Own’ made a big impression on me when I read it at 14 or 15. The idea that independence—a room of one’s own and money, too— were the necessary requisites for creativity rang true for me as a teenager. The idea that women wrote (painted, sculpted, composed, etc.) in stolen moments at kitchen tables or on the side while the rest of the family rambled on, seemed to be the height of unfairness. I agree with my teenaged self. I seek out a space to work wherever I go and I’m often successful. My
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What You See is Who You Are…

There I was in the famous Pergamon Museum in Berlin staring at what appeared to be a high fashion magazine layout. The figures —clothed in fish costumes and carrying handbags—struck that intriguing note all trendy advertising campaigns aim for, but it was clearly NOT an editorial spread or an ad, it was the figures on an ancient Assyrian cistern. My 21st Century eyes read the water pails carried by fish-costumed priests as accessories. It was a lesson in why you see what you see. My personal point-of-view has a lens cracked in unique places and inclined toward mystery fiction, art
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Blogless in Berlin & NYC

I had no idea how bereft I’d feel without Candy’s Monsters. An essential part of my routine was missing and I kept itching to share a monstrous observation, ‘fantastic’ photo or simply muse on a strange riff. Getting hacked is a horrible experience. It’s an—‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers’ mystery and knowing that someone else was treading on my tiny corner of the Internet made me feel terribly vulnerable in all my web-based interactions. Yes, I’m changing passwords (and I will do it frequently from now on) and yes, my tech wizards are installing all sorts of security protocols and
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The MONSTERS are Back!

Monstrous sized thanks to my team of technical wizards for restoring Candy’s Monsters to life. Their efforts were nothing short of Dr. Victor Frankenstein’s lightning bolt with my site on the table. P & G you are magical! I will be back to my regular twice weekly monster meditations starting tomorrow (aka Monday) with the official, if belated, announcement of the winner of the Working Werewolf Contest.
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DNA with a Label

I usually avoid Starbucks. It’s not just that I prefer local shops, cafes and restaurants over chains—I’m also not crazy about their coffee. The beans taste “burned” to me. But, as they are incredibly popular, I know my opinion makes me an outlier. Once in a while I find myself in a Starbucks. Often it’s the place a business contact chooses for a meeting and sometimes it’s simply the only port in a storm. It was a ‘port in a storm’ situation. I had time to kill before an appointment and it was too hot to continue window-shopping. I didn’t
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