As if I don’t get enough flack about my lackadaisical household routines, now my plants can Tweet their complaints. Too much H2O? Too little? Now they can tell you all about it.  A new system called Botanicalls, developed by interactive telecommunications researchers, allows your plants send text messages via a soil-moisture sensor device. 

http://www.sciencedaily.com/videos/2009/0101-thirsty_plants_text_for_help.htm

This is all well and good, but it brings to mind some books I read years ago.  They covered a range of scientific research exploring plant intelligence, including the fact that plants can identify, at least under some circumstances, individual humans. The Secret Life of Plants, by Peter Tompkins and Christopher Bird is a truly fascinating read.

Okay, if plants are smart enough to turn wireless technology into more than a “please water me” proposition, things could get interesting.

My Twitter account will start filling up with stuff like:

*Schultz’s plant food AGAIN?  C’mon!
*I ain’t bloomin’ for you, sweetheart, till you get me high speed cable.
*This tiny pot is KILLING my roots.
*New window. Now.
*Cat alert! Cat alert!
*Green and leafy looking for pollen fun. Woody stems only need apply.

In the quest for peace and quiet, I’ve heard stories of authors who wrote in all kinds of places. One apparently hid in the broom closet with a typewriter balanced on their knees. I understand the instinct. I’m not one of those people who can write in coffee shops or even with a radio on. A hedge trimmer three blocks down will drive me crazy, and the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness has come close to taking a one-way trip to the nearest storm drain. I need quiet!

Consequently, I write on a laptop so I can hunt out the “right” spot to commune with the muse. I may roam from spot to spot like a bird looking for the right tree to nest in. Most often I just go for the kitchen table, as it’s the biggest surface around. Since it’s on the second floor, it has a nice view of trees, squirrels, and chickadees. Also handy to the fridge and the coffee pot.

The downside of this system is that I lose things. I don’t have a proper place to do all the admin work that comes with writing. Believe me, there’s a ton—contest prizes to send out, promotion to organize, contracts, letters, schedules, blah, blah, blah. One accumulates stationery at a furious rate—bookmarks, mailing envelopes, author copies, and so on. The writing detritus is advancing like a slow tide across my living room.

Solution? I have a small, bright sewing room that I’m eyeing for an office. Someday I’ll get organized enough to move my piles of paper, printers, fax machine, and stacks o’ stuff around. I’d do it now except I know it’s a job that will take longer than I think, and I have a book due. November is looking good …. I might get my new digs set up in time to decorate for Christmas.

Does anyone else get stationery envy? I don’t want to go back to school, but I want all that cool stuff. It hits me like a disease every fall—I’m tantalized by the smell of new pencils, the pristine promise of scribblers, the glory of the clean eraser.

I’m sure some of my nostalgia is remembering the September state of grace. On Day One of a fresh school year, it’s possible to achieve all A grades, with no detentions, and no talking in class. We are all newly remade as the first bell rings. Our good intentions gleam as snowy-white as our new gym shoes.

Or maybe I want to make up for all the nifty junk I never had as a kid. Schoolyard grievances cut deep. I never had a funky lunch box, just a stupid paper bag. I might be looking to my adult self to remedy the situation, knowing I’m more of a push-over than my parents.

I was cleaning out my desk the other day and came across a trove of paper I’d saved from junior high. It was a just a few sheets, lime green with pink lines. Coloured notebook paper had been cooler than cool back then; pink, purple, green, and yellow replaced hum-drum white until the teachers protested the eye strain. My friends and I had traded back and forth to have some of each shade. I’d apparently treasured the rare treat so much I’d kept the last few pieces as a keepsake.

It still tickles my fancy. Is it any wonder that I’m boggled when confronted with an entire big box store stuffed with gel pens, sparkly binders and a veritable rainbow of sticky notes? It’s like grade school nirvana. It’s better than having both the gold and silver crayons. Unfortunately, most of it’s largely useless in an adult world and there’s no excuse to buy it.

Or maybe usefulness isn’t the point. Perhaps it’s indulging that urge for a fresh start—we would be so productive if only we just had that new, unblemished notebook/cell phone/netbook/PDA. We would be so smart. So organized. So on time. I bet my cheque book would balance if I had a pen that writes in turquoise gel.

Perhaps back-to-school is really the time of talismans. Maybe it’s not new stationery I crave, but the charm that will see me through another time of growth and testing.

In that case, I’d better buy a whole box of new pens.

Well, I can think of many occasions when I might like the idea of Han Solo sprawled in front of me, but I’m not sure I’d want a frozen version of the dude as my desk.

I’m not a true hot weather person. Fortunate, because we get about five minutes of it on Vancouver Island. Away from the ocean it can be hot enough to grow a satisfactory tomato, but where I live the air is one shade off chilly almost all year.

Because of the cool temperature and the lack of rain we’ve had over the past few summers, I’ve given up on growing vegetables and have been stocking my freezer from the farmers’ markets. My summer pleasure? This year it’s been spending Sunday afternoons visiting the organic farms and loading up on produce. As well as freezing berries of all kinds, I made a huge batch of spaghetti sauce from all-organic veggies and froze that, too. I’ve eaten enough blueberries and blackberries that I’ll be turning a light purple soon. I can’t wait for the apple crop to come in.

There are market days in my own neighbourhood, but I prefer the country drive. In half an hour, I can be at the small, family-run farms north of town. The old road winds too much to go really fast, so I can appreciate the view. Cows. Horses. Deer. Sheep. Other people doing hard work when I’m not.

Wandering through the fruit stands gives me the summer fix I need: warm sun, the smell of earth, the buzz of a dragonfly zooming past. I have to slow down and relax to really take in all that sensory input. I have to use something besides the madly whirring left brain. This is where I reconnect with my basic instincts about what is wholesome, good for me, and <em>right</em>. The sheer energy pouring off that much fresh, organic food must be the karmic equivalent of a spa scrub.

The few hours I spend playing with the beans and potatoes, stopping for tea, admiring a craft fair, and then wandering home with my loot is cheap and effective therapy. Better than therapy—I can eat it afterward. As a bonus, I can walk along the ocean after dinner, watching the herons hunt the silver water, otters playing, and the lights of the marina growing brighter as daylight fades.

With long summer days, there’s so much beauty to enjoy. The trick is to remember to take the time to do it. Sure, zooming through a grocery store is fast, but it’s not nearly as fun.

Somehow, I’m always swimming upstream. This time, as everyone else is getting ready to go back to school, I’m just entering the book-free zone.

As one of this summer’s big goals, I finished an educational certificate I’ve been working on for a number of years. Reaching the finish line is satisfying, but I’ve gained more than a piece of paper and a pile of very dull textbooks. I’ve learned to value some of the lessons that come with knocking around the business world, because I was able to transfer those skills to school. As they say, old age and trickery will beat youth and speed every time.
<!–more–>
<em>Take charge of your own experience.</em> Or, to put it another way, work smarter and don’t be so overwhelmed by authority. When I went from high school to university years ago, I was an obedient lamb who accepted the instructors and materials set before me. This time, I hunted down alternate textbooks, tutors and auxiliary materials almost as soon as I started each course. How much I got out of the class depended in part on seeking out extra resources.

<em>You are the consumer</em>. This meant advocating for myself, being the squeaky wheel, and demanding the quality of instruction I felt I’d paid for. Ultimately, the person you need to be nice to is you. There is nothing to be gained from enduring a bad situation.

<em>Don’t waste my time</em>. If something is going to eat away hours of my life, I want it to count. I don’t have to like it, but it should do something for me.

I could go on, but you get the picture. The university experience has changed a lot. With new technology, distance education, and simply more students per class, I couldn’t afford to be a passive vessel waiting to be filled with knowledge. I had to go after the information I wanted to know.

Why am I talking about all this on a writing blog? Perhaps because there are so many encounters in the publishing industry that remind me I’m still a student here, too. And, what skills I transferred from business to school can be applied equally well to authordom: be prepared to speak up, find the resources required, and make sure every effort counts.

There’s more, too. Pack emergency food. Tests are closer than they appear on the calendar. Know when to celebrate and, um, deadlines don’t go away just ’cause you pretend they aren’t there.

Believe me I tried.

Over at www.SilkandShadows.com, we’re giving away one of Jessica Andersen’s books this week. If you’ve not discovered this amazing series yet, here’s a few tidbits from her latest release to whet your appetite!

Ancient prophecy holds that 12/21/2012 will bring a global cataclysm.

Mankind’s only hope lies with the Nightkeepers, modern magic-wielding warriors who must find their destined mates and fulfill the legends to defeat the rise of terrible Mayan demons.

In Skykeepers, Michael Stone is a man with a dark secret that has skewed his magical abilities dangerously toward the underworld. Seeking redemption, he sets out on a perilous mission to save the daughter of Ambrose Ledbetter, a renowned Mayanist who died before he could reveal the location of a hidden library. The Nightkeepers must find the library before their enemies gain access to its valuable cache of spells and prophecies.

Sasha Ledbetter grew up hearing heroic tales of an ancient group of powerful magi who were destined to save the world from destruction. She never expected that her bedtime stories would come to life in the form of Nightkeeper Michael Stone, or that she’d hold the key to the warrior’s survival. As Sasha and Michael join forces to prevent the imminent battle, sparks of attraction ignite between them, and they’re forced to confront the unexpected passion that brings them together–and also tears them apart.

Link to excerpt

Link to video trailer