Thanks A Lot, NaNo Gods

So here was my plan--and it was brilliant. I purposely went short of sleep last night. I worked until 7:30 a.m. this morning, then got up at noon and worked all day. My reasoning: Since i have to work all day tomorrow at the bar, I wanted to have a nice comfy cushion on my word count. So tonight I knocked off early and went to bed.

Apparently some divine being NOT from Terella decided that wasn't good enough. So, they arranged a small disruption of my well-laid plans.

Picture this: I'm in bed, dozing off, preparing for a good seven hours of sleep before the Ohio State football game frenzy tomorrow. When all of a sudden--

Let me back up. I live on a fairly well-traveled street on the outskirts of town. About a mile from my house, my street turns into highway. It's the last gasp of civilization before endless stretches of Ohio farmlands. Back to the story.

----screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech! Pow! Boom! Crash!

In that order.

As best as I can figure, an SUV was traveling at a reasonably high rate of speed up the hill I live on. Somehow (and I hesitate to mention the word drunk) she slammed on her brakes, did a 180, knocked a telephone pole over, and crashed into the front porch of the house across the street. In the process of which, she managed to miss ALL three of our cars parked like dominoes at the end of our walk.

I do not like being awakened by crashes. I equally despise having to call 911 at two a.m. After placing the call, which seemed important since no people emerged from said vehicle although lots of smoke was, we went to check if the passengers were okay. Before we could get there, the guy who lives in the crashed-into house came out and yelled, "Thanks a fucking lot for crashing into my porch!* then went back inside and shut the door.

Nice.

Needless to say, I am now wide-awake. With the five police cars, two ambulances, two fire trucks, and the rescue squad parked right outside my house *oh the lights! it hurts us!* sleep is an unlikely commodity for quite some time. Before long, the glorious sounds of chain saws and wreckers will add to the noise. Lovely.


Everyone in the car appears to be okay. More than I can say for the car, the pole, and the house.

Which brings me back to the purpose of my post. For some reason, the NaNo gods apparently want me to keep writing. They don't seem to think that I might need some sleep. I just wanted to take this opportunity to offer up my gratitude for making me stick to my guns and keep on writing--real life be damned!

Thanks a lot. You bastards.

Break time

Wow, have I written a lot in the last twenty-eight hours or so. My word count for TGTD is standing a little over 12k at the moment. Granted, I'm hyper-writing because I know that my word count of Saturday will be....drumroll please!

...zero. Football, you know. *sigh*

So anyway, at the moment I'm switching gears from work to work. Booze to tea, as it were. I'm flexing my mental muscles before I try to squeeze in another few hundred words.

Or maybe I'll just go to sleep and wake up early.

At any rate, the whole concept behind Terella is pretty intense. I've brainstormed it with a few friends of mine at the bar. In a nutshell, the concept is this: What would happen if God were an atheist?

Yeah. Gave me pause too.

Basically, Terella was created by a goddess in her infancy. She played with it like a girl with dolls and a dollhouse. She created her own little dreamworld, populated it, gave each little doll a history...and then, she was 'born.' She ends up on her own dreamworld without any recollection of who she is. She travels through Terella and as she interacts with the people, she develops a dislike for the organized religion of the world--a religion that worships her. She becomes an atheist, gathering followers to her as she goes, and before long--

Yeah. That's where I get stuck too. I'll figure it out eventually. *grin* If nothing else, it should be an interesting trip.

Get ready...get set....GO!

The time is almost near.

The study is stocked, fully ready. Soda pop, coffee, granola, chips, nuts, and cookies all within easy reach. The heating pad is draped over the chair for the times when sitting up is an option; the day bed has all of my favorite back supporting pillows with clean, crisp pillowcases. The kitten's cat bed is tucked under the desk. My mythological source material is lined up on it. Freshly sharpened pencils--number twos both red and black--fill the old ceramic beer stein I use as a pencil holder. Five reams of new paper, six new computer cartridges and a nice whiny new empty file folder on my desktop that is titled simply "Terella."

I'm ready for NaNoWriMo.

My fellow competitors in The Great Tea Debacle are probably ready too. It's actually kind of funny; I'll be following down my normal path of fantasy hackdom and one of them will probably write something that will win a Pulitzer. But, that is the challenge we genre writers face; I'd rather have a Nebula.

Terella is an interesting world. I wrote a backstory for it last night during the FNW at the Dragon's Den. Over 2k in an hour, so I'm up to speed. I wrote a tasty little creation myth that may end up as the prologue to the novel. We shall see. I'll spend some time tomorrow looking for a nifty little word counter for the blog so everyone will know how I'm progressing.

Although NaNo sets a 50k word limit in order to 'win', my personal goal is a bit higher. I want to hit 120k by the first of December. It would be cool if I managed it; I'm going to post the chapters at the Dragon's Den as I go and maybe, just maybe, I'll have a manuscript that I can edit and polish and zip out to be rejected within a couple of months.

Eight more minutes. Wow, am I ready. I've not been this excited to write in a long time. Despite the fun and games involved with the Tea Debacle, it's a privilege to be writing alongside some individuals that I really respect. I'm going to enjoy it.

*evil grin* No, I didn't buy into that either. Let the games begin.

Holy Grammar Nazi, Batman!

All righty then. I have just read the WORST critique EVER. Not worst as in 'bad.' A bad critique is the one that reads as follows:

Wow. This was good. I have nothing else to say.

I mean, unless you're Homer or Dante that sort of critique is pretty much useless. No, I'm talking about a great critique on a bad piece of writing. First off, any time the critique is longer than the story it's not a good sign. Second, if the critique is the only thing written with things like proper spelling, grammar, and punctuation it's REALLY not a good sign.

But what if the critique is so entertaining in its badness that you forget what the story is about? That can't be good, can it?

I pride myself on giving good, solid story critiques. I usually leave the technical aspects to someone more qualified than I to give it, for example someone with a degree in English. Nothing wrong with a good grammar nazi; every writer should endeavor to have at least one friend who qualifies for grammar nazidom. I focus on character development, pertinency of plot devices, the fine art of substituting words in well-know cliches...that sort of thing. I will, if pressured, point out a stray comma or superfluous adverb but that's very rare. Unlike the grammar nazi, I'm reasonably fond of commas and adverbs.

What made this particular crit so funny was how long it took for the grammar nazi to degenerate from detailed, nicely written explanations to "OMG WILL YOU FUCKING FIX THAT?" (paraphrased, of course) I have to admit, I was laughing helplessly by the end of it. I printed it off after I was done and am now commissioning a lithograph from the critique. I want it silkscreened onto 3 x 5 panels to hang along the stairway in my foyer. Kind of like Andy Warhol meets Miss Snark. It could be fun.

There is a down side to this story however, and it is this. The person who received the critique is unlikely to actually benefit from it at all. This writer has never, to my knowledge, taken a crit and implemented it into any of his further rewrites. The grammar nazi has expended so much time and effort, effort that could have been better used on someone who was willing to pick up the red pen themselves and improve their work.

My writing is not perfect. Far from it. I am in no position to really sit back and slice up another writer's work with grammatical precision. But then again, I can't begin to calculate the number of hours that I've sat, Chicago Manual of Style in hand, and gone through my stories line by line to ensure that I've given my absolute best to a piece of work. Even then, I miss a lot. But, at least I made the effort.

So here's to the grammar nazis of the world. My hat's off to you. And to this particular grammar nazi (and you know who you are) a special salute. Although your intended recipient will never ever appreciate what you've done, I certainly do. It's the best damn critique I've ever--EVER--seen.

By the way, my manuscript is in the mail. Be gentle with it. And when you win your Pullitzer, I'll be able to say I knew you when.

Getting Ready

I'm still learning so much. I'm trying to get all of my techno geek stuff out of the way before NaNoWriMo. One of those things is the Technorati Profile
Technorati link that I'm posting. I want to see if this actually works. I think I have lots of interesting things to say, despite the carnie derailments of last month.

My writing cave is ready to go: fully stocked with all of the implements I need to win the Great Tea Debacle. Don't forget to check out the other participants' (subtext--losers') blogs if you want to keep up with progress.

*starts the Celina Wins gregorian chant mantra in the background*

Tonight will be yet another all nighter I fear. I have less than 24 hours to complete my rewrites and get them in. Should be interesting. Bring on the coffee! I have no fear!

Yep...those are my guts up on the table

Gee whiz. This whole review process is nerve-wracking. It's entirely too stressful to think that out there somewhere in the cyberworld, people are reading The Reckoning of Asphodel and judging it.

How do you judge someone else's work? I can crit with the best of them, leaving the grammar to someone else of course. I can critique storyline, character development, plotting or lack thereof without problem. But am I qualified to judge someone else's work and publish my opinion for anyone to read?

*shudders* Good God, no. I know what I like but I'd be afraid to toss out my tastes and back them up. You have got to respect reviewers. Even if you don't agree with what they say, you have to listen to what they say.

Granted, I've seen some gratuitous novel-shredding reviews in my time. Some reviews have made me blink. Some have made me cringe. My pseudonym received a review that had her throwing things at the wall. But this is different. This story is my baby. This story is the one that stewed for almost two decades. This story is the one that taught me how to be a writer as opposed to a tinkerer.

As far as I can tell, Asphodel is currently in the hands of at least ten review sites. It's garnering favorable reader reviews on Fictionwise, overwhelmingly receiving "great" or "good" ratings. (There's only 1 'ok' rating and no 'poor' ratings.) The final rewrite of Asphodel 2 is almost done and it'll be off to Aspen Mountain so the editor can make all my pretty white pages red with comments inserted.

*bites fingernails*

Wow. I hope I survive.

A day made for plotting

The house is quiet. All of the cats are napping, save for the kitten. She's trying her darnedest to find a way up. Her favorite pastime is sitting in an open window and yelling at birds.

Usually, when I settle in like this it's with a pot of coffee (I keep the coffee maker on my desk) and whatever survival supplies I think I might need. But today is special. Today I have the house all to myself. No one will be here to bother me. I can luxuriate in the calming environment of my study, smelling the season's first gurgles of heat as they rise from the just-lit-today furnace, and I can plot.

Plotting is what I do best. It is my passion. Sometimes I think the only reason I write is to find out how the plot is going to work out. Some of my plots are so convoluted I have to track the plots twists on butcher paper on my walls. (One of my editors last year sent me a frustrated email: "Celina, for Christ's sake this is supposed to be a NOVELLA. You don't NEED five plot twists in a NOVELLA. The only reason you need two characters is because it's erotica. Stop trying to be literary and just write the goddamned thing.") I have at this moment 12 completely distinct world already built--historied, peopled, with religions and maps and characters who live there. Every once in a while, a day comes like today. Then I take out my world building files and I ponder.

And plot.

Today, I kept hot water in my coffee maker so that I could make tea. My semi-annual allergy hell has struck again and those of us in The Great Tea Debacle have been talking so much about tea that I now have a taste for it. So, teacup in hand, I opened the folder and this fell into my lap.

A whole new world. No Darkshifters (who are about to wend their merry way through the Big Apple) and no Elves (I think I killed them all)--it's different from the other long fiction that I've written. I got the idea when I read TH White's Bestiary--a sourcebook that still remains on my desk--about two years ago and haven't thought about it for a while. It's White's translation of a 12th century bestiary written in Latin. As a sort of preface, he quoted Paradise Lost by Milton:

The Earth obey'd and straight
op'ning her fertile womb teem'd at a birth
Innumerous living creatures, perfect forms,
Limb'd and full-grown...
The grassy clods now calv'd; now half appear'd
The tawny lion, pawing to get free
His hinder parts, then springs as broke from bonds
And rampant shades his brindled mane; the ounce
The libbard and the tiger... Paradise Lost,vii, 453

That particular section started me. I actually took PL back and reread it. I must admit to a passing fondness for old Milton. I always enjoyed being the only kid in the class who 'got it'. So when I began building this particular world, it was with the thoughts of creation foremost in my mind. After all, what could be more fun than building a world for a world that hasn't been created yet?

Then again, I could go with something easier. Something along the lines of this. But for some reason this particular world has gotten the wheels a'turning again. My muse and I are having a long heart-to-heart chat. I've already ripped down all of the Darkshifters plot charts that are resolved and have started to pin up the ones for Terella.

*sigh* Usually when I get this excited about a project it turns out badly for my word count. *evil grin* You believe that right? Right?

Terella--dark fantasy--projected word count 150k before I weep and wail and cut it. Oh, and the first sentence? That much I've already written and I'm just going to stew on it until midnight on Halloween.

"The Void was a pleasant place to be as long as your expectations weren't high..."

Battle Scenes

So, I'm sitting cross-legged ont he day bed in my study working on the very tail end of the Asphodel 2 rewrites. I pulled an all-nighter last night and as I write this it's already almost tomorrow. And you guys don't think I sacrifice for my art...

You're right. Ain't no art when there's Elf-killin' involved and at the moment I'm up to my non-pointed ears in Elf gore. I love writing battle scenes. The only reason I know anything at all about how to orchestrate a battle scene is because of Julius Caesar. Sound odd? It shouldn't be. Try reading his Gallic Commentaries sometime. Roman strategy from a man who wept because Alexander the Great had accomplished more at a younger age.

Fortunately, I do have distractions. If the kitten doesn'tstop chewing on my removable hard drive cord sometime soon I'm going to have a fluffy white throw rug for a dollhouse.

Anyway, I'm off from work this week until Saturday night and the football game. I'm actually very glad of that because I haven't recovered from the horrors of fair week and birthday week back-to-back yet. On top of that, I have a doctor's appointment on Thursday and he's going to yell at me. It won't be pleasant, probably because his definition of 'light duty' is far, far different from mine. Oh well.

So, the writer's life resumes while the carnie slave dwindles into the background. Sometimes there's a lot to be said for the continuity of life. And, for an eerie coincidence, while I was working on these assorted battle scenes I was privy to one in real life. Nothing serious: just more family squabbles but in everyday life, just as in war there are strategies and counter-strategies one must employ in order to win the day.

Another battle scene? How about the latest from Harry Potter land?

I'm inclined to think that this is a great thing. Dumbledore, already beloved by so many, is now a positive role model for youngsters regarding homosexuality. But, on message boards all over the world, controversy is flaring into bitterness. I can't even begin to tell you how many threads I've seen locked because some yaboo decides to get offended at what was nothing more than a character note an author made to herself. Does it affect the story? No. Then why the big deal? I foresee many battle scenes deriving from this, and some of them won't be pretty. They'll probably force some segments of society to take a good, hard look at themselves and their prejudices.

Boy I sure do hope so anyway. Way to go, Jo!

A Scary Story for Young Writers...Gather 'Round

Lemme tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, there was a very ignerrent newbie writer. We'll just call her...er...Celina. At any rate, Celina had written the NGGN (next great genre novel, duh) and was just starting to poke around the internet looking for what she should do next.

(Did I add that she was pain-pill befuddled after two years of excruciating back pain? No? Well I digress. To continue...)

Just because it SEEMED SO EASY, she contacted a few agents via their online information. You know, sent out a couple of query letters and synopses (which were faithfully reproduced from sample ones online at great places like Absolute Write and Editors and Preditors) just to see what would happen.

Imagine her shock when, a few weeks later, she was contacted for a partial. Now, although most places stipulated first three chapters, this place was different. They only wanted part of one. Celina shrugged, sent it out, popped another Percocet and went back to playing Snood. Within...do I have this right? FIVE days she was contacted by an agent offering her a contract.

Oh the joy. A real, live contract. How wonderful. But....wait. She has to PAY this agent four grand? For what? Oh, it was explained to Celina meticulously.

But something didn't seem quite right.

Armed with more Percocet, Celina staggered back to the computer. While swilling a glass (okay--a bottle, damnit) of wine, she proceeded to do a very simple thing. She googled cris+robins+agency.

Let me repeat that. Doped up on Percocet, drunk off of wine, completely in agony (this was before my back surgery) I spent five minutes of time and googled someone--and LO AND BEHOLD-- I managed NOT to get scammed.

Now, those of you who know me are reasonably well-aware that I would NEVER send money out for any reason usually, but it was particularly true at that time. I was unable to work, we were surviving off one income, and 4 grand??? HA. But, by the same token if it would get me published...

It was tempting, Gods know it was tempting. It's equally tempting for every newly learning writer to take the easiest road and get published as quickly as possible. (Like that ever happens) And that's how the preditors find their prey--the young, the uneducated, the newbies. The ones who even, Lord help them, may be a little too disabled to make such decisions for themselves. I've been following a certain plagiarism incident which you can find out more about here.

Allow me to state for the record that someone somewhere needs to give Victoria Strauss and her compadres medals for all that they do. But I must admit--I don't get it. How could anyone possibly be that dense after all the help they received from viable and respected sources across the world???? I just don't get it. At any rate, back to the story...

So the moral of this story is, children, RESEARCH. Always research ANY move you make in regards to your intellectual property, even when (as is becoming apparent in this particular case) it's only partially your own. Because you know, hidden out there in the world of cyberpigs there's always someone who wants to take your money. What happened to Celina, you ask? Don't worry about her. She did just fine. Trust me. Just fine.

And some more not-quite-so-nice thoughts about entitlement

Okay. Rant alert.

It takes a hell of a lot to really piss me off. Yeah, I know you don't believe that but it's true. I managed to get pissed off today several times. Why, you ask?

First: if you're on a message forum don't argue with the mods. Jesus Christ -- how stupid can you be. Just DON'T. You don't prove a damn thing except how stupid you are. Why? Because you can't win. This is directly related to a situation that blew up on Absolute Write today and I have to say: it wasn't the mods' fault. None of them. They were in the right. It doesn't take the brains the gods gave a rock to know that bellowing out bullshit about how 'persecuted' you are on a website is just plain dumb. Period. End of story. But the flouncer felt entitled to speak his piece, to his own detriment. He felt entitled to special treatment because of his special position in the universe.

Now don't get me wrong: not all mods are fair. Not all message boards are equal. You all know of the boards of which I speak *wink*. But you know what? My spectacular exit from the board-who-shall-not-be-named was planned. It was an intentional throwing of myself on the proverbial grenade to prove a point--a point, I might add, which came across in spades. I took a gamble, I lost, and I was banned. *shrug* Rightly banned. I deserved it. Hell, I courted it!

And I loved every minute of it.

However...

I didn't scream about how 'persecuted' I was. I didn't whine and moan about how the mods were out to get me. I didn't even flame out with a curse-filled flounce. I made my point, wickedly, and got bounced. Fair enough.

See, I didn't feel entitled to remain. Much the same way that I don't feel entitled to call someone names or dismiss their intellect just because they disagree with me.

Even if they are stupid.

*sigh* It's so damn annoying. I wasn't even involved in this controversy but I got sucked right in because I absolutely cannot stand it when someone just doesn't get the point, doesn't take responsibility for the own actions and suck it up.

Then of course there's work. I'm quickly getting to the point where I hate to walk into the place. Here again, I'm dealing with a sense of entitlement--my boss feels entitled to dictate my schedule even though I've made it clear that I need specific days and a set routine. Saturday night, I told him "My birthday is this week and I need to go home to Tennessee." He says, "No problem."

AND THEN SCHEDULES ME TO WORK. ON MY BIRTHDAY. LESS THAN TWELVE HOURS AFTER THE FIRST DISCUSSION.

For pete's sake---was it that hard to remember? But then again, I did get lots of sympathy tips tonight so it made it worthwhile. And a night that I thought would be dead dead dead because the fair is over was actually a fairly good shift.

But wow am I tired.

Here's the way I see it: no one is entitled to anything.

I wonder, how much easier would life be if everyone felt that way? What if, for one glorious day, the human beings on this planet woke up and didn't think about what everyone else owed them...or what they were cheated out of...or how someone was out to get them? What if everyone woke up and thought, "Wow. I'm here because of my own actions. No one else is responsible; it's all on me."

Would that be scary? Exhilarating? Liberating? Would people be able to go through their daily routines without acting like asshats? Is it possible that for twenty-four hours we could manage to scrape through our lives without feeling entitled to something we think we deserve to possess?

No. It's impossible. Unfortunately, human beings as a whole find it much easier to blame someone else for their problems. We think that people owe us. We feel that our peers are required to provide that which we need, simply because we exist.

Existence is NOT entitlement. Get over yourselves and I'll try to get over myself. You don't owe me and I don't owe you. We'll call it even and try to exist without stomping all over toes. Because I have to tell you, I've had enough of this entitlement bullshit.

And if you don't cut it out, I'm going to call my lawyer.

Birthday Reflections

A stream of consciousness ...

Why is it that my mother in law think I like glittery things? Do I sound like the kind of person who appreciates the fashion value of lame'?

Why is it easier to finish a story than to start it?

Why is it that no matter how much you think you're ahead, something always happens to put you behind again?

Carnies. 'Nuff said.

So, in the long run, is it better to be 'published' or is it better to avoid the pressure and just write for fun?

How is it possible that when I offer up my pearls of wisdom on a writer's forum, some people just don't think it's enough? Is it necessary for me to do the work for OTHER people who are too lazy?ineffectual?stupid? to do it for themselves? (and NO this isn't directed at DD)

Just someone explain how it is that I told my boss today was my birthday and he still scheduled me to work.

Presidential politics...bogus or criminally bogus--and WAY too early.

When do parents stop being parents? Will I be 70 before I stop quaking in my boots when my dad calls?

When do kids stop being kids?

I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys'R'us kid....with a laptop.

When is a surgery judged a success? Is it somewhere between "You survived it." and "These complications were to be expected."????

The anonymity of the web is great--for plagiarists and shit-stiring trlols.

And no, life isn't fair. Even good people get stomped on by meanies on the path of success.

Wow. They found Blackbeard's ship! Time to go snorkeling.

How long before I can get back to writing?????

Carnielicious

Yeah, that's a little tongue in cheek.

Fair week is finally over! Hurray! And, while I soak my poor mutilated feet in salt water and try to reconcile myself to the fact that my boss scheduled me to work on my birthday so I can't take my annual trip to the mountains, it's time to recap.

First off, here's a shot of the Fairview I took the other day. The older gentleman is one of our bar regulars, who told me quite frankly that in his obituary he wanted a picture of himself drinking at the Fairview. So, I took a picture. You can see the fair going on behind him and the other good-looking fellow is my husband. You can tell he's not a carnie and I shouldn't have to explain why.

Second, for some reason the carnies love me. Many of them have followed the blog over the past couple of weeks and I have to say that as a whole, they are cheerful, funny people with a good sense of humor. I'll actually miss them...in a way. My feet won't.

Third, the weekend was beyond heinous. I personally hope that I never live through such a weekend again. Although I enjoy bartending a lot, I'm no longer quite as enamored of getting my ass kicked as I once was. The money is just not worth it. I have a feeling that this was my last fair week, and as a result I'm looking back on it with a hint of nostalgia but overall a feeling of relief. I'm glad it's over; I'm ready to move on with my life.

Having said that, it's time for one last carnie story. Last night, the carnies drifted into the bar in pairs and trios to say goodbye. Most of them said, "We'll look forward to seeing you next year, Celina." or something along those lines. Several of them simply wanted to order wings. (Which, I might add, I absolutely loathe making so SCREW YOU GUYS--EAT FAIR FOOD!) But, the most interesting farewell came from the carnie czar. I was sitting down watching the end of the Kentucky-LSU game, and he came up to our table. He put one hand on my shoulder, said, "You're really a good person. Quit trying to fool people." Then he gave me a hug, pushed something into my hand, and walked away.

It was a hundred dollar bill.

Carnies--4
Celina--4
Regulars--1

Attack of the Carnies--Part Three

Owwwwwwwwwwww.


That's really all I have to say.

Owwwwwwwwwwwww.

Okay, so last night was torturous. The regulars were whooping it up because they had trucks in the truck demolition derby. The Fairview had a truck--a Rolling Rock truck! Gee, wonder why they picked Rolling Rock..

At any rate, they lost.

I don't think that Fair week was quite what my doctor had in mind when he said 'light duty.' By the time we closed last night, I could barely walk. Even now, I'm still lying in bed and have no intention of moving from it for any reason today--save perhaps for a long, hot mineral salted bath.

Apparently the carnies were tired too (or hungover from Monday) because they all left by a quarter of two. We actually managed to get all of our bar work done early. Although the night felt slower, it was characterized by a brutal hit at about 10:30. I mean brutal. I slammed my finger in the cooler door (it's now black--maybe that's not a good thing?) and banged my head on the edge of the bar while stocking beer. Yeah, yeah...go ahead and say it.

So, the story of the night. One of the head carnies (right below the carnie czar) got in trouble with his wife for not coming back to the camper instead of going out drinking. He was on his FIFTEENTH shot of Jager in an HOUR, and his reply was: "I spent sixty bucks for you to get your hair done and it still looks like shit. I have to drink! It's a better waste of my money!"

Yeah. I did a spit-take of fresh-squeezed lemonade that one of the carnies brought me. It spewed all over the bar and I mopped it up and tried to look innocent.

In the end, though, the regulars ran the carnies out. I think I have to give the point to them.

Carnies--3
Celina--4
Regulars--1