I Ain't Superstitious...

Okay, so maybe I am. Sue me. But I'm not the only one with this superstition, and if you had my childhood of adults over the age of 50 who kept dropping off like flies, you'd start believing it too, even if you and your entire family were healthy as oxen.

Death happens in threes.

I guess we figure if He's going to show up for one person, he should make it his while and come for #2 and #3, and if you have any sense, you find them quick before he makes you a designated hitter. By no means, do you want to be who Death comes for to round out his numbers.

So in mid-December, a co-worker, Pat, died. She was 77--and a spunky, wonderful lady--and gracious. She would always listen to what you said, and if she didn't agree with you, she's smile in a bit of sweet gentility and say, "That's nice, but this is how we're going to do it." And you did. You were glad to do it her way. She never said an unkind word--well, maybe she did--but it was nothing that the rest of us weren't already complaining about. She'd smile, exasperated, say something gracious and Southern, and then go about her business. She was a corker.

The first one is never really a pattern.

But then my great-aunt Lena died. She was 102 (almost 103) and granted, while she is older, she still was pretty hale for her age. And had all her mental capacity. And capacity for about a dozen or so of her relatives, not to make too fine a point on it. Opinionated, proud, productive, and a sweet-tart (no, not sweetheart--sweet-tart. If you'd been on the business end of some of her remarks, you'd understand)--she was a CORKER.

Okay, *now* we have a pattern. So we look for #3.

And now Heath Ledger is dead. Now I'll grant you I didn't know Heath personally. We're not what I'd call bosom pals or anything, but as with celebrity, you feel like you know them. You spend more time watching their films than looking at family photos--and you feel like they are your bosom pals, so it's a big deal when one of them dies. It's a huge deal when one of them dies and they're younger than you! Okay, younger than you *and* not of any disease other than possible stupidity and tragedy.

I know, I know. *throws salt over shoulder* Don't speak ill of the dead, but if it is a drug overdose, you rather have to question what was going on in his head at the time--and possibly the ones who are supposed to be keeping tabs on young, talented actors? (Britney, anyone?) You'd think they would have started monitoring the sleeping pill situation a bit when Marilyn died--but no....

Is anyone else superstitious about death? Anyone else floored by Heath's death? Anyone else suffer from the same problem as I do about celebrities--you think you know them better than most family members?

Critique Groups Revisited

I have blogged about belonging to this fantabulous group called "The Sassy Scribes" which comprised me and two other engaging, funny, intelligent women who would drive to the middle of nowhere, where some excellent pie was served--and we'd discuss writing.

This was, by and by, the best critique group I've ever belonged to. Anything that has eating as a central subplot definitely helps with the feedback I get back on my chapters.

In September 2007, The Sassy Scribes disbanded, because one of our central members (the PUBLISHED critiquer--full of brilliant Mary Poppins ideas and a kind word) had to move to Chicago. We tried to talk her out of it. We tried to convince her to take us with her. We cried.

By September, I had brought a fourth member to The Sassy Scribes, a new hot writer who I knew as Sin and who knew me as Hellion. After the disbandment, we decided to press on. We met in our main home town (so about an hour closer) and held our important meetings at the local El Maguey's. Over the excellent cheese sauce, we'd discuss important issues like: the cheese dip stain I'd immediately get on my shirt, whether anyone noticed I'd tried to lick it off, and if the waiter looked like Ranger from the Stephanie Plum books. About two hours later, we'd eventually discuss our chapters, the fact our Muses were on vacation with no forwarding address, and how we wouldn't have this problem if Kris--the missing member--would come down her and flick the whip a few times.

Today though, I think we did a little better than usual. Sin bought dipping cheese from Walmart; we discussed her erotica; we discussed her series (both sets); and we discussed GMC. We ate more cheese. We plotted goals for 2008. We discussed the online critique group and what we needed to arrange as the rules so we'd be moderately successful at it. We discussed how to get cheese dip stains out of my shirt--and luckily no one cared that I licked it off.

Dynamics change. Sometimes you're forced to be more leaderish than you're used to. Sometimes you have to find more like-minded folks--they're out there--and start over again. You just keep plugging...and eating cheese dip. Eventually you'll win.