Nice, Deb.

And a hundred words exactly. That ought to make somebody happy. I'm just not sure who.

You maybe? Satisfaction of meeting a challenge? And the rest of us, not so much for the nice round number, as for getting to enjoy it - but with the added little frisson of getting to watch someone do something a little bit hard in field they are good at.

Here are two from me: I can tell a lot about a woman from her bookshelves. Mine have more than a few stories, namely how they encroach upon the space here and are still not satisfied, room of their own and all. I have two copies of David Simon’s Homicide. There is probably a Bible here somewhere, but I don’t know where it is. Are my priorities skewed, or am I really honest? Intimidating research books that make Amazon think I’m a cop, waiting eagerly for breakthroughs in ballistics. Erotica Vampirica, Bridget Jones. A cry from the heart called “What Should I Do With My Life?” Which is the real story here? Are any of them?

Other people’s bookshelves tell stories too. If your books are mostly condensed, you get to the back of my line. When I was younger, and an even bolder drawer-of-lines than I am now, I might have said something, too, had my friends call me harsh. Condense that. I often think it’s a testimony to the strength of my friendship that I could be M.’s friend after I found out she had Pat Robertson books. Although it’s been years and we are not friends anymore...who knows why, but at least I didn’t actually have to form the words: ”Your reading material makes me nauseous.”

erika jumped my next choice - I was thinking about the madness that is our bookshelves.

Satisfaction of meeting a challenge?

Thing is, I wasn't trying for it. I wrote it, tweaked one thing that wanted tweaking, and then did a word count, and it came up 100 exactly.

Not skill - kismet. Or accident. Or something.

Well, I'm sure different writers could write about that and it'd come out fresh everytime. I considered writing about how it looks like four people with very strong opinions wrote my netflix list.

Finished my Rowling draft. Anyone want to beta? I'm out of here in half an hour, so there's no rush. Marlene has it, as does BB.

Deb, I'm a lazy slob, stopping beta-ing your Kincaid books when I started -- crazy! -- teaching. I'd be happy to beta the letter, though -- I think my attention span can handle that.

Profile addy, Erin?

re: the women reacting to women thing.

I have often been accused of not liking women, generally by other women. My standard response is, "No, I don't like stupid women." This always offends them, because they can tell I don't like them and they at least have the native cunning to realize I've just called them stupid.

But I have noticed that I interact with men more easily than I do women. Part of it is the environment. The first question asked of anyone new, male or female and past basic identification, is "How many children do you have?" I always smile cheerfully and say, "None." A happy, childless woman in Utah County is more of an anomaly than a non-Mormon woman. I'd get sympathy if I sighed and said, "Well, it just never worked out that I'd have kids," but that led into conversations I didn't want to have, plus it was hinting that I'm sorry I don't have kids. True, my life has not turned out to be a child-safe place, but I know now that that is a great blessing. [See Story of My Life, Vol. 3, pt. 4]

I don't fit in the woman-culture here. Even beyond the not being a member of the local church, I have no qualms about looking a man in the eye, disagreeing publically, and all that. In fact, in certain circles I am practically revered for my toughness. (Not long ago, I and some guy gamer friends had walked to a local McDonald's. They were ready to go before I was and proposed walking back to the game, which lwas less than a block away in broad daylight. The newest one said, "Shouldn't we wait for Connie?" I said, "Don't worry, I don't mind." One of my old friends laughed and said, "Worry about anyone who tries to take her on, instead.")

I have been all but threatened by men who are very much invested in the local culture. They knew of no way to communicate with a woman who said flat out that they were wrong (I was a supervisor, he was a member of my team). I could have dropped my eyes, smiled, made a joke, found a "sweeter" way of pointing out his error. I didn't. He couldn't cope with a woman who obviously believed she had equal or higher status than he. Rest assured, he got written up.

Anyway, not to continue with Story of My Life, pt. 6, v. 5, but just to say I understand the concept. I was too socially naive in high school to care about being part of a clique, so I only caught on when I was grown.