What do high fashion models really wear to an Apocalypse?

I find myself idly watching a fashion show... not really paying attention... just looking up now and then to see what's hot on the runway this year. Really? Are you serious? Who in their right mind will wear that junk? Fashion? Those ridiculous frills and fluffs and weird cuts aren't meant for humans...birds, maybe.

And then come the lingerie models. Where do these girls hide their inner organs? Does anyone really believe a gaunt rib cage, and nearly hollow, concave belly areas dressed up in satin and lace are attractive? Desirable?

A 3-million dollar fantasy bra? Sigh...

Oh gawd...the leg wrappings...the socks...and the shoes! Bride of Frankenstein wear at best.

And the hair... Her bangs are so long, she can't see a foot ahead of her.  And does anyone really want to apply their eye make-up with a pallet knife?

And everyone applauds wildly. Really? 

One of the designers says, "they have to up it," and that "this is a show." I think he is gay. Cause no breathing woman would find his designs fit for wearing. Unless she were paid mega money to do so... then it's easy to walk down a ramp looking like a gaudy parrot off its meds.

There's an old story called, The Emperor's New Clothes. I'm just saying.

What would a high fashion model wear to an Apocalypse?

Blue jeans--possibly clean ones; t-shirts-any size will do, but several one over top of the other so that when the outside shirt is soiled beyond wear, it can be discarded. And bigger is better for warmth and for tearing off strips for bandages; coats--again bigger is better to go over all the t-shirts; socks--wool, thick, men's socks; shoes--boots, hiking boots for all the walking that must be done when foraging for food or running from Crazies. High heels have no place at a catastrophe... in fact, they are the first things to go.

And the high fashion designers? What high fashion designers?

Martha's world is beginning to brighten up a bit. But just a bit. The characters are finding life very hard after The Man's attack; bodies to bury; tears to weep; and hearts to mend. They've just gotten a hint as to where the women and kids were taken.

~~Sheree~~

Barefoot in cold Alberta snow...

How did the pioneers do it?

Today's forecast for Edmonton is very moderate...almost tropical at -1C. (That's about 30F for my American friends). But the coldest temperatures recorded for this day was -43C back in the 1800s (that's 45 below in Fahrenheit.) Yikes. How did the pioneers survive? No modern conveniences. No quick warm-ups at the nearest coffee shop. No idling and running the heater on the horse and carriage. No electric buffalo blankets. Gross. How did they do it?

Makes me stop and wonder at the prospect of Martha's world truly existing. What if the power grid disappeared? How does one cope with wickedly cold winter temperatures? The pioneers did it, but how? How would the modern day descendants of those brave souls survive such cruel temperatures? Is there something inside us, something intrinsic, we could or would tap into? Scary thought.

Just getting through a day, and managing to get a night's rest would be a major accomplishment. How dramatically priorities would change. Food, water, shelter, warmth, and protection from those who would like to take what you have struggled to find would far outrank American Idol, hockey scores, and the latest camera gadget. Not a nice prospect at all. 

Back to writing on the Vine2 today. Things are not looking good for Martha and her people. And it's only October for them.

~~Sheree~~

Here is a view of what -40C looks like in northern Alberta.

How a writer farms

A writer is like a farmer.

A farmer's life is never really his own--his life is controlled by outside forces from the cattle he keeps to the weather that can either bless or curse him. Yet a farmer finds the wherewithal to press on in spite of fatigue, in spite of failures, in spite of yearning for something more. How? He is always working toward a goal--a contented cow in the barn, a loaf of bread on the table, and maybe even--money in the bank. And for that, he is willing to respond whenever the work calls--at all times of the day and night. A writer's life is something like that.

Our imagination doesn't understand day or night...it creates constantly, and if we want to capture the rough diamonds our mind unearths, we must be ready to write, endlessly. The tilling of the mind fields, the reaping, the harvesting, the pounding of the literary grain into something palatable --is endless.

If you are a writer, then you have my empathy. Write on. You will achieve your dream so long as you ignore the status quo, work when the sun shines or in the pitch dark of the wee hours of the morning, but work.

I am now 10 chapters and nearly 30-thousand words into Martha's Vine2. Only another 90-thousand words to go. One mind field at a time.

~~Sheree~~

And just when does a full moon occur in Alberta in September?

Still trying to meet my quota, but logistics has popped up its ugly head and I find myself plotting times, hours of the day, and whether or not things could actually be happening at the time I have them happening. Like what time of year is it? What time is the sunrise? That matters when it comes to fighting a battle. Tough to hit a moving target in the dark. And just when is the moon full in September in Alberta? Luckily that changes from year to year, but sunrise tends to be around the same time. So no fudging in that department.
Result: more facts, but I am behind on my quota. And I feel fatigue setting in. Must go on....

Heart and Soul

The women and children of Martha's world have fallen into unkind hands. As prisoners, their days roll by in a blanket of grey.

One day, Elizabeth decides she will teach piano lessons, and although she doesn't know how to play, she gives it a go. She sits down at an upright piano in the senior's home where they are being held captive, and she begins to play... a ditty that eveyone has played at least once in their life, the Hoagy Carmichael tune, Heart and Soul.  The lightness of the plucky, plinky little tune brings a moment of sunshine to her world.

Onward to my 3-thousand word quota... but thought I'd share... cause the tune brought sunshine to my grey day, too... may it do the same for you.

~~Sheree~~

Hello world 1.1.11

Haven't written a single word of my 3-thousand word quota today. But I have learned that if I don't meet the quota in the morning, the odds of me hitting my goal diminishes by the afternoon.

I am working on a complicated timeline for the next 5 chapters of the book... in 15-minute increments because of all the variables, and all the characters. The hardest thing isn't knowing what my characters DO know; it's remembering what they DON'T know. Those details haunt me and my house is littered in tiny notes.

Happy New Year, everyone! May the Lord richly bless you in all you do this year.

~~Sheree~~

 

And so it begins

Today is the last day of my former life... life before my self-imposed deadline of 3-thousand words a day. I must stay to my schedule or I won't get the first draft of Martha's Vine: Book 2 finished before my heavy schedule of commitments kicks in again.

Please accept my very best wishes for a 2011 filled with much joy and success... May the Lord keep your bird feeders filled.

If you miss me, you'll find me on Facebook.

~~Sheree~~