"OMG"

This phrase is reserved for those special moments in life when I am stunned by the asinine actions of another, I hear some bit of horrible or shocking news, or after the committing of miserable act brought on by my own stupidity.

I often mumble the words, "Oh my God" on those occasions. If it is an especially bad situation, I might pepper the minutes afterwards with expletives ranging from "crap" to the Big Gun F-word. (Words such as "shoot", "dadburnit" or "dang" have no place in my vocabulary. If one must cuss, cuss for the full effect. Don't play with baby words.)

Hence, my afternoon began with OMG, and had experienced a light drizzling of follow-up "potty mouth". I had to simply walk away, and get my mind off the situation, before attempting to continue my work. (By the way, it is when I'm pissed off and don't cuss that you should be really worried - a horrid hurricane of anger is building to catastrophic proportions in those cases.)

What in God's name (you blasphemer!) are you prattling on with, Aut?

Please allow me to enlighten you: if you are not a Paleontologist, Anthropologist, or Dental Hygienist, the tediousness of the work might escape your imagination.

Up until ten minutes ago, I was hunched over a small table, the bright fluorescent overhead lights illuminated a work field of brown crumbs of debris. My hands ached as I guided a small curette (that is a sharpened instrument normally used to remove particles interproximally between teeth) over the surface of my project - I had to allow the tiny sensations guide me as I prized stuff out of the cracks and channels. Every so often, I would offer the project a puff of gentle air and a sharp whisk from a stiff brush - it is hard to see what you are working on when too much foreign material is in the way. Careful... careful... each movement was a controlled scraping of the stainless steel of my curette. I did not work in feet or inches, but in millimeters, one square part at a time. It is an agonizing job, trying to coax the actual object from its embedded tomb without damaging the object or the instruments. My neck began to stiffen, and my spine whined in protest, but holding myself steady was essential if I didn't want to damage the project too much.

Am I uncovering a juvenile velociraptor skull, or perhaps tiny bits of femur? Is it an ancient seed pod that lies caked in the concrete-like stuff? Am I on the verge of a whole new discovery, one that will put my name in the Paleontological journals on an international scale?

Oh Hell, no. I'm trying to degunk my pizzelle iron after I had (so stupidly) forgotten to grease it.

Trust me, opening that pizzelle iron was a complete OMG moment, followed by a stunned WTF - and about 45 minutes of F's, S's, and GD's. Very few things bring out the sailor in me. Sewing tapestry fabric of inferior quality, proximity to the ocean, and stupid Autrice Actions are the three things. A fourth might be Better Half pissing me off, but as that is a monthly occurrence (he can't help it, the poor dear. PMS sucks), I usually do fine if I avoid tapestries, boats and doing Stupid Things.

Here I am, fresh from recovering from a Tapestry moment (that was yesterday and I am pleased to report the project is done) when I go and do a Stupid Thing. It didn't seem to be a Stupid Thing at the time, though. I have never made pizzelles before, and so I am mastering the technique on a huge learning curve. I can usually think ten steps ahead, and thus avoid Stupid Things. However, who would have foreseen that my ten minute break (talking to my Mum, of all people) would mandate that I re-spray the pizzelle iron prior to dropping in two dollops of dough?

Better Half is downstairs working on it now. I promised to rip his lips off should he give up and dump the whole iron in water (it can't be submerged.) Oh, here he comes now with a progress report...

"It's my back. I got four rows done. That's it."

Better Half best do more than four rows.

Now he's mad at me for saying that.

He really should learn to read my mind - he would be able to hear the silently thought expletives.

Those are not aimed at him, of course. After all, it was my own Stupid Thing.

I can not help it. It is my bitchy time of the month. I'm not going to rip my wings off over it, however. There is a bright side to all this:

1. I learned that pizzelle irons are evil, foul - ahem - that I must grease the iron if it sits too long.
2. Dogs enjoy burnt pizzelle crumbs.
3. Never call my Mum to gloat about how well I master something until I actually master it.

The pizzelles made before the Stupid Thing happened are absolutely delicious.

My head aches today.

It isn't the typical headache or migraine, but rather the dull ache of a brain that has spent the entire afternoon researching material that is needed for my novel (a written adaptation of a 3-Act play written by my mother.) Some of you are already aware of my current endeavor, although the actual material will (until publication) remain hidden. The play itself is powerful - a gold mine filled with things that will blow current trends out of the water. I guard it as fiercely as the angels guarded the Garden of Eden. My task is therefor to flesh it out into novel form; this is either a ministry, or a curse. I choose to think of it as the former. I am not an actual "novelist".

I enjoy writing, and I have a thirst for research. My Theological Quest is secondary to my Scientific Quest, and often those two pursuits smack into each other when anthropology rears her ugly head. (If you do not understand this, don't ask. The Bemused One is much too tired to expand upon that musing.)

Forgive me, Roadchick! - Autrice seems to have developed a taste for referring to herself in the third person! (I adore 'Chick's blog, for that reason!)

It stands to reason that my head aches today for no better reason than "brain drain". I've been thinking too much. A proper remedy is, of course, to step back from the project and allow the thoughts to settle into a recognizable pattern. Unfortunately, due to my lack of discipline (a necessary thing for any writer to master!) I tend to then put off working on current projects altogether, abandoning them as new concepts take shape.

I do my best writing in the wee hours of the night, when I can appreciate the silence of the house (and when Mr. DelDrago doesn't have those fucking Star Trek reruns blaring from the television.) People who know me personally will tell you that I am an absolute bitch when I'm in my "composition" mode - do not bother me, do not call me, do not pull me from my work, and - under no uncertain terms - do anything that puts your life in jeopardy. The world ceases to exist, when I write, and all things of the world no longer have any meaning. Time becomes immeasurable. I will sit down and proceed, only ceasing when duty calls or I need more water in my glass. One of these days I will have to stop suddenly as my over-crowded ashtray has finally caught fire. It would make everyone's life much easier if I would just become a night owl. However, we are taking classes through Jefferson County in order to qualify for the state's adoption program, and as those occupy our Tuesday and Thursday evenings (and all day Saturday), I can not shrug off the mantle of a diurnal animal and give myself up to my nocturnal desires. So, forced to work during the day, I become a pest to those around me.

The phone rings, and I toss the handset it to Better Half, growling "I'm not available."

The doorbell chimes, and I announce to Better Half, "I'm not home."

The dog comes over and hits my mouse button with her nose, thus deleting the entire chapter I had just completed, and I become a vicious beast, spewing forth a cloud of vile expletives aimed at the poor animal's questionable parentage.

If I want to make sure better Half remains in my life, it would be best to become nocturnal, I think. He really gets a lot of neglect when I write. It isn't that he doesn't know any better than to bother me... but I don't think he understands the mind set and focus of a writer as they work.

Writing has never been an effort or struggle for me. I do enjoy it. I wrote the "Monster" piece in under five minutes, simply because of the challenge of being among the top ten entries. When I set a deadline for myself, I launch whole-heartedly into my task. I have given this current novel a completion deadline of one year. The timeframe is not reflective of the effort of creating/fleshing out the new concepts that I am adding to the work, but it reflects the sheer amount of data (lines) and background that needs to be formatted to book form. (If I can ever manage get it published, you will understand why this is such a challenge. I will tell you that it is based in theology, historical texts, ancient cultures and customs, and factual figures - all of which require, on my part, solid research.)

On that note: I said "Get it published", not "publish it". Aspiring writers, please beware - self publication does not make you a writer. Anyone can "self publish", and once you do so, professional writers will never take you seriously. Never, ever fall into the trap of "self publication". You are simply paying money for some group to render your work into a form that can be circulated to the masses. You will end up having a basement or garage filled with your book, tucked away into boxes and growing moldy. If you are serious about your craft, you will work your ass off until you produce something so worthy that a major publisher takes notice and offers you a contract.

One other grain of wisdom to offer: the world has too many flimsy dime-store romance novels; any sorry sex-deprived housewife can write smut and get it published. No one will take you seriously if you write crotch novels, unless it is within the crotch novel genre itself. Very few people can pull off erotica without sounding cheesy. I know of only one author, personally, who can do it with seductive panache and not be forced to wear the "oh you're a romance novelist" tattoo on his forehead. He's a literary (and award winning) god who writes erotica and horror (or erotic horror, which is tasty) for magazines and anthologies while working on his own non-erotic novels.

Would Steven Spielberg be a household name if all he could direct was bad porno movies? So by the same logic, will you be considered a successful author if all you write about is flimsy various takes on the same lame plot: girl is beautiful/haunty/rich/poor/insert your daydream here, girl meets man/Fabio/beast/lord/knight/adventurer, man takes girl's virginity (in a rugged, passionate, highly sensual way - and she always climaxes the first time around!), girl and man overcome obstacle, girl wins? Pshaw. What a boring formula.

Here is my take on the dime store Romance Novel:

Lab mouse one tossed her wee white head back, the movement a proud display of the attention she knew she commanded. Lab mouse two stared at her subtly, holding back his urges to ravish her luscious form until she submitted to him in both will and desire. He would have her as his own, and she knew it. She would often imagine him peppering her mousy body with hot steamy licks of his mousy tongue, and she felt herself growing hot despite the warm lab lights that constantly glared above them. He leaned over, his nose nuzzling her neck, and she found herself caught up in desire. She turned towards him, his scent filling her nostrils and causing her bosom to heave as he pushed her trembling body to the floor, and then she screamed as the giant hand plucked him from beside her and began dropping Clorox into his eyeballs. The end.

See? As I said, the basic romance formula is easy to follow. Who needs talent to do that??

I've procrastinated enough for today. Mind, my experience isn't in novels and fiction, and I haven't really aspired to write one prior to now, so perhaps my advice is worthless in the long run.

The pain having subsided, I can get back to re-reading Carl Sagan's The Dragons of Eden. This book was, in the late 1970's, America's most entertaining and acclaimed best seller. The Chicago Tribune hailed it as "A powerful and compelling voyage to the inner space between your ears, it will leave the reader exhilarated and tingling.... a masterpiece.", while the New York Times heralded it as "A history of the human brain from the Big Bang, 15 billion years ago, to the day before yesterday." By today's standards, it is "Old news", yet it still remains a tribute to Sagan's brilliance and skill, even after all these decades. It continues to be an interesting look into the evolution of our brains.

Sagan and I disagree on certain things, mainly that certain theropods were still limited in cognitive functioning and reasoning. I do understand that this book was written during a time before we had gained much insight into dinosaur intelligence, as species such as the Velociraptor had not been unearthed yet (and notable paleontologists such as Dr. Robert Bakker, were just beginning to undertake the seemingly impossible task of changing the way dinosaurs were viewed by the scientific community.) Sagan is spot on with his graphs and charts, and he did leave an opening by which we could apply his theories to recent dinosaur findings.

Many people argue over the possibility of evolution, concentrating upon Darwin as the root of all evil. I find this irksome. While they accept the basis of DNA, they seem to almost fear the possibilities of the earth being more than a few thousand years old. Some people refuse to accept that we belong to any taxa at all; man is not a species related to primates. I have encountered some people who refuse to believe we are even mammals. This leads me to wonder, of course, if they are capable of appreciating the fact that the Creator (God) is not a dumbass. Seriously. It would be all too easy to "poof" something into being, were you a powerful being yourself. To create something (from nothing)that is sound within the ecology you provide for it, you must put a great amount of thought into how that creature will function within its environment. In the words of Michael Crichton, noted author of Congo and Jurassic Park, "Life finds a way."

Life on this planet changes (or adapts) as the environment changes (or adapts). Evolution of a species occurs when a life form changes significantly enough to be unique to its species. A tiger and a lion are of the same line, yet a tiger evolved stripes while a lion's coat is brown; both evolutionary adaptations which help conceal these carnivores as they hunt prey - an example of microevolution (adaptation.) Animals that become extinct are ones that fail to adapt. The Smilodon, for example, did not evolve into our modern puma, although there are many similarities. Darwin's studies of species of finch, and his notations on their beaks and plumage, is simply a means of discussing progression of species isolated by locality. Microevolution is nothing more than changes on a small level between species.

In evolutionary biology today, macroevolution is used to refer to any evolutionary change at or above the level of species. It means the splitting of a species into two (speciation, or cladogenesis, from the Greek meaning "the origin of a branch") or the change of a species over time into another (anagenesis, not nowadays generally used). Any changes that occur at higher levels, such as the evolution of new families, phyla or genera, is also therefore macroevolution, but the term is not restricted to the origin of those higher taxa.

Microevolution refers to any evolutionary change below the level of species, and refers to changes in the frequency within a population or a species of its alleles (alternative genes) and their effects on the form, or phenotype, of organisms that make up that population or species.

Another way to state the difference is that macroevolution is between-species evolution of genes and microevolution is within-species evolution of genes.
There are various kinds of dynamics of macroevolution. Punctuated equilibrium theory proposes that once species have originated, and adapted to the new ecological niches in which they find themselves, they tend to stay pretty much as they are for the rest of their existence. Phyletic gradualism suggests that species continue to adapt to new challenges over the course of their history. Species selection and species sorting theories claim that there are macroevolutionary processes going on that make it more or less likely that certain species will exist for very long before becoming extinct, in a kind of parallel to what happens to genes in microevolution.

I hope this helps clear up the misunderstands of what evolution is. Back to Sagan...

Sagan puts forth his speculation on the evolution of human intelligence. He delves into the brain mass to body weight ratios, as well as known brain mapping at the time. You see, we are at a constant state of adaptation. It is plausible to consider that most evolution occurs because of select breeding. For example, giraffes (a tried and true standby in these debates.) Giraffes with longer necks could perform better courtship displays. The length of the neck also aided in reaching food. Females began to choose males based on not only their health, but on their ability to display. The gene for the long neck became dominant, while the gene for the shorter neck became recessive. Over time, giraffes were being born with longer and longer necks, until they are the creatures we know and love today. Now, I won't go into all that Sagan covers as far as human beings go, but his theories as to how our own intelligence developed still, to this day, stand out as being not only plausible but also practical. Over time, we traded our instincts for intellect, sacrificing our parental freedom for a more lengthy period where we raise our young. We are hardwired for certain behaviors, being primates, but we also put forth great efforts into teaching our young. We have a strong language based form of communication, and we are tool users. These things are not instinctual.

I do not presume Adam (the first man, according to the bible) to have been a blithering idiot, for that would make God a blithering idiot. I do put forth that Adam may have been the 'unknown' ancestor who "did it all". Have you ever read Watership Down by Richard Adams? It contains small stories that the rabbits tell each other to pass the time. All of these tales center around the first rabbit, El-ahrairah, who is the equivalent of our "Adam". El-ahrairah has done it all, been the most clever, and his knowledge is what made rabbits so strong today. At the end of Watership Down, a doe is telling her kits a story about El-ahrairah, yet her tale is not of the "Adam" of their distant past; it is the tale of Hazel, the rabbit hero of the book Watership Down, who leads this doe's mother and other rabbits out of does out of Effrafa - only it is not Hazel the doe tells about, but El-ahrairah substituted in Hazel's place.

The same may have been true of our own Adam. Adam may have been the star of the beginning of Genesis simply because all the people after him looked upon him as their leader, the first man to have lead them out of the Garden of Eden. (Put down your pitchforks; I am simply tossing out thoughts about Adam in general, with no attempt being made to discredit the story of Genesis.) Actually were it not for evolution, we would all still look like Adam, right down to our eye color and nose shape.

At any rate, intelligence in life forms began to evolve long before Adam ever set foot on a blade of grass in Eden. I do not believe the earth was created in a period of seven 24-hour days. Would God have chosen that method, life on the planet would have self-destructed after the first five. To believe in a pure 24-hour day time table, we would need to discount all dinosaurs, all plants which became extinct prior to Adam's first day, and all record of prehistoric time. Gone also would be the belief in DNA (deoxyribonucleic acid), which is the building block of life - it is the very thing which ties us (all life on earth) together in an evolutionary fashion. We are certainly more intelligent than an amoeba or tapeworm. Sagan, in his book, explains how our intelligence evolved, but more importantly, he explains why our intelligence evolved.