Amazon Turns 20. An Illustrated History.

Amazon Turns 20. An Illustrated History..

 

September 11, 2001, I Was Clueless…

I had no idea anything was going on.  I was thirty-five. I was living in Catonsville (near Baltimore) Maryland.  It was a Tuesday.  I was in my usual routine.  I got up at 7:30 am, went to the gym, exercised and got home.  Dillydallied around.  Didn’t turn on any TV, because I usually only had enough time to get to work for 10:00.  I left for work, my mind on the usual things going on in my life, nothing of major substance.

My general daily attitude was:

Life was as usual all over the world – the U.S. had no major problems – some things some people liked, some things some people didn’t like.  Underdeveloped countries were poor and needing assistance.  Other countries way far away were fighting each other… it didn’t impact us, so. . .

I started my car, heading out of my subdivision, and made it the one mile to US Hwy 95 that led to my job.  (Hwy 95  is slso the route to New York).  There was major traffic.   In my usual ignorant stubbornness, I didn’t even bother to turn on the radio to find out what.

I called my job and told them I would be running late.  No one said anything to me about it.  I saw the huge signs across Hwy 95 which carried alerts.  In huge letters it read, DETOUR, AVOID NEW YORK .

I remember saying out loud.  “That’s stupid, nobody’s going to avoid New York!”  (Mind you, I had no idea what had happened.  I smirked all the way to work about the signs, which I saw two more of them.

I arrived at work.  Parked and happy-go-lucky walked in late with the “it’s not my fault I’m late” attitude.  I started seeing clients.  No one said anything.

It wasn’t until close to 12:00 noon that someone told me what had happened, in New York, D.C. and Pennsylvania.   My eyes (which are already big) widened.  I was in total disbelief.

All this time I was indulging in my selfish endeavors and people had been attacked and were fighting for their lives.

I could feel all of  my inner, self-serving thoughts, ideas, and emotions dissipate.  All the petty molehills I had recently made into mountains no longer mattered in this grand scheme of things.

There was no longer me.  There was us.  It happened to us.  To someof us it happened directly, and forever my heart will weep for them, as it did today as I watched the 10 year reunion coverage.  I remember feeling so violated for months after that.  I cried.  I sang the Star Spangled Banner so many times during that period.  I even sang it into my voice mail greeting.

To those whose lives were lost or who were directly affected by the tragic events of that day, please know that others care, and will never forget the bravery  you demonstrated.   I couldn’t reach my hand out to help you, but the sorrow felt in my heart for you  that day changed me  forever into a selfless person caring for the well-being of my fellow Americans and my fellow man.  God blinked for a second, and those evil people took advantage of that.  But God pulled us through.

Thank you for reading.

Dedicated to the Lives that Suffered on September 11, 2001.

Jacquè

 

Angels vs. Sheer Coincidence…

All in a day's work...of an Angel

 I had a very  L——–O——–N——–G  day at work today. (enough?)  I had been at work since 7:00 am.  I had not seen any weather forecasts the night before or all day.  At 9:00 pm,  I finally managed to surrender myself back to my own life and was the final soul to leave the building that evening (post-cleaning staff).

I got in my car.  It was dark.  It was comfortable.  A few streaks of lightening, absent of sound, kept appearing in the sky.   (Thank God for at least that, or I wouldn’t have known anything).  No rain, no drizzle, no thunder came with it.

I decided to go to Walmart to get some grits I had been desperate for.  I wanted some tonight, since there was no time to cook.  I usually do not go to the store at night (once darkness hits).  But I felt compelled to reward myself for a FULL Day’s Work.    I pulled into the parking lot.  Parked close to the entry and went in. 

Imagine my horror when I saw  a cleared space right where the Quaker Instant Grits packets are supposd to be (yet again, another item allowed to be out-of-stock, Walmart!).   I grabbed the round box as an alternative, some milk and pecans and headed out to the check-out line.  (Okay, I’ll admit it.  I grabbed some M&M’s too.)

Anyway, the nice little family in front of me took so long to check out.  The cashier had a worthless looking-vase that looks like a kindergartener could have made, and was waltzing around trying to find a price for it.  My neutral affect gradually turned to a frown as she then held an inconsiderate conversation with the family as she kept counting their money five times.   I watched as the mother of the little family unit, leaned on my stuff which had glided up next to them.    I started to walk away and leave my groceries right there on the belt.  But I wanted the grits.

By the time they finally walked away, I couldn’t make eye contact with the clerk.  I was that upset with the wait.  I figured I’d teach her what efficiency was supposed to be and rhythmically opened my purse, scanned my card, pulled my bagged groceries from the turntable one by one.  I punched in my PIN, closed my purse, chose ‘no cash back’, then waited the long three seconds while she handed me my receipt.  It wasn’t in my nature not to say, thank you.  So I did and proceeded to leave the store.

Just as I was a few feet from reaching the exit, security locked it and pointed saying they were directing all customers to the center of the store.  A tornado was a few blocks over and headed our way.  My eyes widened in disbelief.   The tornado alarms were sounding.

For about 20 minutes I had to stay there until the tornado had past.

I reflected on the time since 9:00 pm.  I’m  sure I would have driven right into the path of that tornado if I had gotten out the Walmart a couple of minutes sooner.  Moreso, if I had gone straight home from work instead of Walmart, I would have been right in its path.  Was that an act of angels looking out for me? 

Subliminal thoughts, giving me a crave to go to Walmart instead of straight home.  The stalling of the family in the line.  Who knows?

So now, I sit here in the safety of my home.  Not really hungry for any grits tonight.

Tonight…. Sheer coincidence, nah. 

 My sister just tore my shirt.  Out of context?   I guess my conscious mind is trying sign off, and the subconscious dream state must have been setting in.  That means I’m tired…

Later,

Jacqué

 

My Poor Characters…

Writers block?? I dont know what that is, because Id hoped it would never apply to me.

So, as instructed by writing experts,  I have developed my characters.  Did it about a year ago.  So for awhile now, my characters have been waiting on me.   They each have a name, a family, issues in their past, likes, dislikes, personality traits, goals/aspirations.  They each come with an elaborate backstory (which I’ll have to weave in) as they each make their personal debut. 

So my characters sit and wait.  Like on the set for a movie, siting in costume, waiting to step into their respective roles.  They’re bored.   I imagine my protagonist male character lying on his back on a bench, one leg hanging off, the right forearm covering his eyes.  The characters at his scene have small-talked ad nauseam.  They have nothing to talk about except what has already been scripted for them.  The only thing they have in common with each other is the storyline I created. 

There they sit, on the set, stuck at a scene, waiting for the director (me) to deliver their next lines.  I haven’t done so in weeks.  Writer’s block??  I don’t know what that is, because I’d hoped it would never apply to me.

By the way, the setting where they wait is in rural Louisiana, where it’s hot and steamy.  Agonizingly uncomfortable.  Some have loosened their costumes, and kicked off their shoes.  Those who have a part near the fetid swamp have to endure it, because at any time, I might pick up that section and edit it.  I expect them to jump up and resume their positions in the scenes.  I might waver them back and forth for awhile.  Take them this way, then no, that way.  But they tolerate it.  All the time.  They’re my characters.  

  I do care for them,  my patiently-waiting characters.  My men- and ladies-in-waiting.  I haven’t forgotten them.  They are relying on me to come around.  So, I will.  Stay tuned.

 

CluTteR, no cure…

There’s no cure for clutter.  It is the default condition of anything I own around me.  I think I have it more than the average person.  I know I do.  

Believe it or not, I’m pretty organized.   Any thing I don’t touch for weeks or months, sits neatly in its place. I have a neat closet.  Inside my kitchen cabinets are organized.  I have books organized and stored neatly on shelves.  But the floor, the bed, the bathroom counter, and kitchen counter are all cluttered. 

The problem is, anything I touch on a daily basis looks like it’s been thrown and tossed into its resting place:  clothes, shoes, towels, kitchen stuff,  my car…oh, my car… it is the worst. 

My car:  I hardly worry about being carjacked.  A carjacker would be sidetracked because they wouldn’t be able to get in.  There’s only enough room for the driver, and even in that case, the driver would usually be sitting on something.  The passenger seat and floor are full of mail from the mailbox, magazines, books, lots of stuff.  The backseat and trunk are junked, too.  Well, here look for yourself: 

Uh..theres no room to ride with me...

Im in the process of moving...

I’ve had to constantly  lie to people and tell them I’m in the process of moving.  This is the only thing that relieves the shock from their faces, they then nod, and an “oh, I see..”  comes afterward.

 Once a friend ran up to my car while I was about to drive away to hand me something.  She unknowingly pulled open the passenger door, and junk fell out onto her feet and the street.  I couldn’t stop her in time.  It was very embarrassing.  You’d think after that, I’d straighten it out.  Well, I did,  and within a week or two – back to the default clutter. 

The top of my desk at work is a mess.  But inside the drawers, my papers are organized in hanging folders.  What do you make of that?

All suggestions you’re thinking of right now, I’ve tried.  Believe me.  Okay, well, except counseling.  But I don’t want counseling for this.  I already know the answers:  ‘once across the desk….’; ‘put things away right away’; etc.

  I will  have to work on it like I solved the missing keys problem.  I consistently put them in the same place now whenever I come home.  Problem there, solved.  So.  GoalTomorrow:   I’m going to clean out my car. 

My kitchen:  This one will be next.  Here’s a picture of my kitchen taken about 5 years ago.  It spends 75% of the year like this.  The other 25% it is spotless and bare.  At the moment,  it’s actually reasonably neat.  I just have a few groceries (not food) from weeks ago still sitting on top, so not bad.  For now.

My CluTteRRed Kitchen...Ill clear it at, uh...4:30, no, 4:45.

 

Bookstore Euphoria…

B&N Entry- just walking through these doors...

When I’m at a bookstore – independent or like a Barnes and Noble, I get a euphoria that is undescribable. When I walk in, I actually feel enveloped by a force of literary greatness in the air.  With the utmost respect, I browse the shelves as though I am at a gallery of fine art, admiring covers and titles, and author names.  I know that behind those covers lie literature that has been nutured through a process – starting with the writer and his creative way with words.   An elaborate story expected to unfold within the reader’s imagination.  Perhaps rather, the work would enhance the reader’s intellect  with a compilation of facts, figures, and tables.  

Books of hardback or paper, small and large, pictureless or artful.  They all have gone through a process. From the author to the agent, followed by the editor, then the publishing house, and ultimately a highly selective process to make it where it is – on display by this noble establishment. 
  New books of this millenium share the shelves with the likeness of the great authors such as Jane Austen, Edgar Allen Poe, Mark Twain, and others.  These same titles were enjoyed by people who waited at the docks  for the first printings to arrive from Europe by ship. Current successful authors such as Stephen King, JK Rowling, Janet Evanovich, Stephenie Meyer, James Patterson, and others are recognizeable.

B&N Display of Fame: "what a feeling..."

  Will my book ever make it there?  I actually scanned the shelves to see exactly where my books would reside (based on alphabetized order).  I wouldn’t mind being in the New York Times Bestsellers section either.  But I won’t ask for too much.  Just having the darned thing published and in a bookstore would be a lot for me.  Well, I guess I’d like people to not just pass it by, either.  

  Entertain people, allow them to forget about the trials and tribulations that are inevitably in every person’s life, to experience a great story.. is my goal.  And yeah, it came from me.  I like it, so I hope you do, too. 

That Euphoria draws me in.  Look at those books, the people taken in.  It entices me…

*courtesy crow digital media

Jacqué

 

To Grace or Not…

B&N: A pic I took...dreaming...

To grace bookstore shelves, dress display windows (like at the airport), and now, be projected through Kindle screens is the future any writer wants for his book.  Needless to say, the writer really wants people to read and enjoy his/her work. (I would be ecstatic if just one, one person read and enjoyed my book – beyond the agent and editor, of course.

For me, there would really be no joy unless my book was bought, read, and enjoyed by others.  Just gracing bookshelves is only one lick of the icecream cone.   I would be most satisfied if my book were to be enjoyed not only by many now, but also by many in years (hundreds)  to come.

That’s asking a lot for someone who has little talent.  But hey, ask any writer, dreaming is the fun part..

Listen, to be remembered by name plus a few honorable facts hundreds from years from now is fulfilling.  What is even more fulfilling is to be remembered by name AND by the literary value of your imaginative work.  Oh, how I’d want my book to be on a required reading list, be a souce of a book report, have my characters be referred to on a test…one hundred years from now. 

Think Jesus, Aristotle, Shakespeare, Austen, Twain, Wright, etc. and this is not even a beginning of a comprehensive list.  (No, I know Jesus didn’t write a book, but his parables were written in the minds and hearts of people, and here we are 2,017 years later referring to them.)

That would be success for me.  It is not why I want to write, but it is the method by which I would measure my success as a writer.  Certainly not by any dollar amount.