Betsy Horvath

Blog

  • Not Every Idea Is A Good Idea

    Sometimes I am a strange mixed up mess of a girl. I know this shocks you – especially if you know me in “real” life. But it’s true. Sometimes I can’t remember whether or not I put on pants that morning. Monday I looked at a water bottle I use to spray the plants and wondered who had filled it. Since I live alone with cats, the answer would seem obvious. But I could not for the life of me remember filling it. And if you call that a “senior moment” I’ll have to track you down and hurt you.

    On the other hand, sometimes I get an idea in my head and it keeps buzzing around in there until I’m forced to do something about it. I suppose that’s a good trait for a writer. After all, if I could easily push my ideas to the side, I’d be spending my life playing Final Fantasy or Sims.

    Unfortunately, in muggle life, not every idea is a good idea.

    For example:

    It was not a good idea for me to go to a sold-out Bruce Springsteen concert without tickets, and with a girl I didn’t really know. It was not a good idea to try to find her house in a section of Philadelphia with which I was not familiar when I couldn’t remember her last name. Yeah. Angels were watching over me that night.

    It was not a good idea to spend all of my cash money at another concert only to get turned around so I was heading to New Jersey in the exact change lane of the Walt Whitman Bridge with no money in the car. My friend and I scrambled through the ash tray where I tossed spare change (among other things) and dug out enough money to get over the bridge. Then we didn’t have any money to get back. So we drove around New Jersey late at night trying to find an ATM. The angels had a shot of bourbon after that one.

    It was not a good idea to trade in my dearly beloved Chevy Nova to purchase a Ford Mustang as soon as the Nova was paid off. It was especially not a good idea to get a T-Roof, but no air-conditioning because I couldn’t afford both. It was like driving around in a portable greenhouse.

    And, most recently, it was not a good idea for me to decide to move my desk on Sunday after I had fallen in the mud – twice – on Friday.

    I know I told you that I wasn’t going to move my desk, but it was one of those ideas that wouldn’t give me peace. Before I knew what was happening, I was moving books and bookcases. I thought to myself “WTF? What are you doing?” But it was too late.

    My timing sucked because on Friday I’d lost my footing walking to my car and fallen face first in the mud. Hard. Then, as I was trying to get up, I’d fallen in the mud AGAIN. *splat* *OOF* Curse words were spoken. All of which meant that I ached BEFORE I started moving all of the furniture around.

    Monday morning, after my furniture moving frenzy, I woke, stiff, pained, and feeling more than a little senior. Once again the bitter truth dawned.

    Not every idea is a good idea.

    But the desk? It looks MAHVELOUS.

    So maybe it was a good idea after all.

     

  • “Titus Andronicus” With Spoilers

    I’ve been listening to the audio book for Simon Schama’s A History of Britain, and it made me think of my favorite British subject – Colin Firth. No, no – I’m kidding. I mean William Shakespeare. Really. Shakespeare.  Uh, yeah.

    Anyway, I find it comforting to remember that even the glorious Mr. Shakespeare wrote some real oinkers in his time.  As a favor to budding authors, playwrights and English majors everywhere, I thought I would offer up a summary of one such play today – “Titus Andronicus”.  Let it be known that staid English professors across the land have made it their career goal to prove that Bill never wrote this play.  But since they can’t prove that Bill actually wrote ANY of his plays, I feel we can assume it belongs to him and he’s just going to have to own it.

    According to Wikipedia, “Titus Andronicus” is Shakespeare’s “bloodiest and most violent work, and traditionally is one of his least respected plays,” but it was extremely popular back in the day.  In other words, this is the  “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” of Shakespeare plays.  Except in the Renaissance, the blood was real! MWHAHAHA!

    Okay.  The play is about an ancient Roman general named Titus Andronicus (as fate would have it), who gets embroiled in ancient Roman antics.  First he returns from battle with hostages and kills one of them, earning vows of revenge from Tamora, the guy’s mother.  Then he props up an emperor who says he’ll marry Titus’s daughter, Lavinia.  But Lavinia is already betrothed to the emperor’s brother and he and Titus get in a fight.  Somehow Titus kills his own son in the scuffle – big oops.  For some reason the emperor is ticked off by that – I’m not sure if he’s angry because of the fight, or because Titus is stupid.  The emperor marries Tamora (the evil mother) and disowns Titus.

    Following this so far?  It gets better.

    So then Tamora’s surviving sons track down Lavinia and rape her and cut out her tongue and cut off her hands so she can’t tell.  Then two of Titus’s sons are arrested for treason.   Tamora’s lover comes to Titus and tells him that the emperor will spare his sons if Titus, his brother, or his remaining son, chop off their hand and send it to him.  They chop off the lover’s hand instead and send it to the emperor, who chops off the heads of Titus’s two sons.  Guess he didn’t like THAT hand.

    And now we head to the finale.  Lavinia writes the names of her attackers in the dirt using a stick, so Titus knows it was Tamora’s sons who attacked her.  There’s some machinations, then Titus grabs Tamora’s sons and kills them.  He kills Lavinia.  He bakes Tamora’s sons into a pie, which Tamora eats at a feast.  He kills Tamora.  For that Titus in turn is killed by the emporer.  The emporer is killed by Titus’s surviving son.

    The end.

    There.  That was a Shakespeare play.  Now doesn’t that make you feel better about your own works in progress?  And I figure that if he can write this and still write the other beautiful things he did, well, then I there’s hope for me too. 😀

     

  • Relationship Crisis

    Hello?

    *silence*

    Hello, is anybody there?

    *crickets chirping*

    Blogosphere? Are you there? *clicks tongue* Here Blogosphere! Come here, little Blogosphere! Sweet little Blogosphere…

    Excuse me, but did you really just call me like you would call a dog?

    Oh, Blogosphere! There you are.

    So, are we talking again?

    Of course we’re talking! When were we not talking?

    How about for the last two or three weeks.

    I talked to you. I posted regularly and I was on Facebook and Twitter and–

    I don’t give a crap about Facebook and Twitter.

    But aren’t they part–

    Epp! *slices finger across throat*

    Sorry. You were saying?

    You backed  off. You wrote some big dramatic blog post about how your time was so “precious” *sneers* and you didn’t have any left for me.

    I did not! I said that I was going to post twice a week, but I never said that I didn’t have time for you!

    That’s not what I heard. That’s not what your “public” (and I use the term loosely) heard. They heard that you were backing away from me. They heard that you were spurning me. They saw you flip me the finger and walk off.

    No! No that’s not true! I would NEVER walk away from you, Blogosphere! It’s just that my time–

    Oh, please. *saws forefinger over thumb* See this? This is a little violin playing just for you.

    Time is important!

    Cry me a river.

    And you want me to keep writing, don’t you? Well… don’t you?

    Yeah, sure. Whatever.

    Besides, I decided that it was a mistake to go to twice a week blog posts.

    Oh, really?

    Yes. You’ve been so cold. So distant. I just can’t tolerate this new…tension between us.

    Uh, huh.

    Really! You’re important to me, Blogosphere. Our relationship is important. I’m not going to just toss that away.

    Hmmm.

    Honest. I’m writing again, Blogosphere. I’m writing regularly. And…and I want to come back. I want to come back to three times a week blog posts. I can’t, well, I can’t get by only seeing you twice a week. I need more of you.

    So you’ll do me three times a week again?

    Uh, yeah. I guess you could put it that way.

    You’ll  Follow Friday on Twitter again?

    I thought you didn’t give a crap about Twitter.

    Just answer the damn question!

    Yes, yes, yes! I’m going to tweet and post and Facebook and I’m going to “like” and respond and read emails and be the bestest social media queen that you ever saw. I’m going to interact with you like you’ve never been interacted with before! Our relationship…it’s entering a new phase. A better one. More mature.

    Mature, huh?

    Yeah, mature. I’m sorry I stepped away from you, Blogosphere. I was…I was…wrong. *sob* You’re so important to me… Take me back. Take me back, please..*sob*

    Geez, get a hold of yourself.

    *whimper* I’m trying.

    Okay. Look, it’s all right.  I understand.  How about you just do your best and I’ll pay exactly as much attention to you as I ever did.

    Really?

    Really.

    Thank you, Blogosphere. Um, how much attention was that again? Blogosphere? Blogosphere are you still there? Hello….

    *silence*

    Um, thank you.

    I think.

  • Where To Put The Desk

    Over the last couple of days, I found myself embroiled in a writer’s biggest challenge. No, it wasn’t sentence structure or plot or writing a query letter. I was trying to decide where to put my desk.

    Yes, I have a desk, and I’ve been using it. But I think I got it in my head that if I could just find the PERFECT place for the desk, words would suddenly flow as springs of water and I’d be able to complete 10 novels in one week. Obviously, thought I, what’s holding me back from a writing output that is both prolific and dazzling, is my desk isn’t in the right room.

    This caused a dilemma because the Palatial Horvath Abode, although indeed Palatial, is not exactly desk-friendly. Or maybe I should say it does not have the desk space of my dreams. I’d love my desk to be in a large, well-lit room with plenty of windows and lots of space for papers and pens and files. But the Palatial Horvath Abode does not have many large, bright rooms, and the room currently housing my desk seems to attract everything from boxes to unused exercise equipment. It’s a little cramped.

    To top it off, my cats have split the house between them. I have a cat who lives only in the bedroom half of the house. I have a cat who lives only in the living room half of the house. I have two cats who can, with caution, move between the territories. Since the room with my desk is in the middle, you’d think it would be neutral, like Switzerland. Instead, all of the cats try to be in the little room with me at the same time, which means it often resembles the Battle of Waterloo, not Zurich. Nothing draws your concentration away from a romantic love scene faster than a good cat fight.

    So I stewed about moving my desk. I prowled the house with a tape measure and studied bookcases and wondered how long it will take to shift 2000 books into different rooms. I drew up floor plans and thought and mulled and planned. I was wondering if I should make cardboard models.

    Then I realized that I have a laptop and a netbook and a wireless router, so basically I can write pretty much anywhere…I…want…

    Huh.

    I left the desk where it was. And, um, wrote.

     

  • No Consequences

    As I was eating inappropriately for my diabetic condition to celebrate Thanksgiving, I realized something important about myself. In fact, I had what Bob Mayer would call a “moment of enlightenment”.

    I have, as you may or may not know (or care), been trying to move forward in my life with varying degrees of success. After all, I’m more than half way through this thing now. I’d better get with the program if I’m going to actually be the kind of person I want to be, and achieve what I want to achieve. You only have so much time for do-overs before the referee blows the whistle and calls the game finished.

    This weekend, in a moment of stunning clarity, I realized what has been keeping me from moving towards my goals. I realized why I hesitate to do the hard work. Are you ready? Here it is:

    When it comes right down to it, all I REALLY want is to be able to do anything I want to do and have there be absolutely no consequences whatsoever.

    I want to be able to eat anything I want to eat and never gain weight or have high blood sugar. I want to be able to buy whatever I want and yet still get out of debt. Better yet, I want to be able to buy whatever I want to buy and still have way more money than I can spend. I want to be able to play computer games or read or just loaf around the house eating bon-bons and still be a writer. I want to have as many books published as Nora Roberts, but I want them to magically appear on my computer.

    In other words, I just want to be able to do what I want when I want and still have the results be what I want them to be. I want there to be no consequences. This has been my true overarching goal and I have worked diligently to achieve it for years. Is that so wrong?

    Well, yes. As a matter of fact it is. Because there are consequences. There are always consequences. And the results of this plan of action are not always what you would wish them to be.

    So now here I am, recognizing this, and realizing that I must change or I’m just going to be treading water for the rest of my life and probably end up selling pencils from a tin can on the street corner, telling everyone I meet about how I wrote a book once and I have five other books started and none of them are finished. That’s if I can get my massive body out of the house because I’ll weigh 800 pound from eating cheesecake at every meal.

    Yeah. Change is necessary. Because there are consequences.

    Damn it.

    Honestly. It sucks to mature with age.

     

  • Herman, The Unhappy Loaf Of Bread

    Happy Day Before Thanksgiving everyone!  And in honor of our nation’s day to feast until we drop, I am happy to present my first published work – Herman, The Unhappy Loaf of Bread.  This was written and illustrated by me when I was in 6th grade, and it was supposed to be for the 1st and 2nd graders.  A few of the stories written were bound in hardback by the elementary school (Herman was one of them).  It was even in the library for a while!  (although nobody ever checked it out – I’m trying not to be bitter).  I think you’ll find it to be not only a tale of awesome self-sacrifice for the greater good, but proof that I’ve been carbo-loaded since I was a wee little girl.

    Anyway, without further ado, here’s Herman!

    I’m not quite sure what it says about my sixth grade psyche that my hero’s highest ambition is to be made into sandwiches and eaten…except that I do love me a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich

     Note how tenderly she cradles the loaf of bread in her arms…  I’m not quite sure what those barbell things are on the bottom shelf.  Skeins of yarn?  Candy?  I really can’t remember.


    Ah, Herman. Life is full of disappointments isn’t it?  But never fear, you may get eaten yet…

    I think this really was my first suspense novel.

    I love the tongue sticking out in this picture.  I think this is my version of “Toy Story”  Mom!  The bread comes to life!  LOL

    Oh noooo….what could it be???

    Wow!  I wonder if that dog likes bread?!?  I remember how hard I thought it was to draw that dog.  I think this was the last picture I drew for the book (yes, the artwork is all original Betsy creations. LOL)

    Hump, Herman!  Hump!

    Whew!  That was a close one…

    Awww.  A happy ending.

    Um…I guess.  After all, Herman wasn’t unhappy anymore because he was kind of…consumed.

    But that’s a problem for another therapist.

    So there you go.  Herman, The Unhappy Loaf of Bread is happy, and I hope your Thanksgiving is happy as well.  Have a wonderful holiday!  And don’t let yourself get made into peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  😀