Book In Hand

February 5, 2024February 16, 2024 Amy9 Comments

My perfect day, from start to finish, was the day I received the first batch of my book in the mail. A close second was doing book signings. The process of writing a novel took much longer than one day, of course, and it wasn’t perfect, but the feeling of handling a solid book that contained words I strung together, was unlike any other feeling previously or since. I could think of other ways to spend a perfect day, but none as profound as this for me, as a lover of words.

I started writing this book in 2003, and the idea formed over a fairly short span of time. I have been a tennis fan since the age of 15, and I am not going to tell you how many years ago that was, but it was approximately 102 years prior to 2003.

When I write, I see images. I see the scene playing out between the characters, where they are, what they’re wearing, their facial expressions, if the air is still or breezy, hot or chilly, and I see it start to finish just as a film or on a real in my brain.

The novel started with a small seed of an idea that turned into an image in my brain. The scene was the end of the book. I hand wrote most of this book in a black, hardbound canvas covered book that was probably meant to be a journal. I have journaled my whole life and I have written my whole life as well, although not for public consumption.

So the image that I saw in my head of the scene, playing out of the end of the novel, I wrote at a feverous pitch, on the first page of my black bound book. I then had to form character names, settings, and all the good stuff that goes along with novel writing. Which I had never done before. I bought books, I researched how to outline, but basically I winged it. I wrote the novel in about three months. The scenes played in my mind, and I was able to extricate the best out of the story that I could. I edited and re-edited the novel. I pitched my manuscript to agents and publishing houses for a full year of my life. I had some interest but never any yeses. Frustrated and emotional as I was, I refused to accept defeat. I decided to self publish. Back in 2005, when I finally got past trying to find a publisher and an agent, self publishing wasn’t as acceptable as it is these days. Nor was it as accessible. It was, however, much more affordable. I chose to use lulu.com, which probably was due to the fact that that was one of the only self publishing houses available at the time. Uploading the novel was a fairly simple process. I chose the cover, the font type, the color of the font, and the cover is from stock image. Formatting the pages was a bit difficult and the first print proof of the book was too many pages, too large of a font, not the right cover, not the right title or font – not the right anything.

So, I went back to the drawing board and finessed it into what it is now. I paid extra for the international ability to sell on Amazon, and once I received the first shipment of books myself, I couldn’t believe that I had done this. I had a book with an ISBN and it was registered at the Library of Congress and it was available for sale on websites. I held this bound grouping of words in my hands, and it came out of my brain. It was surreal.

Because I did not have an agent I had to hustle my own promotions. I held book signings at local bookstores, I made sure all local bookstores had copies of my book from the warehouse, I promoted it as much as I could through word-of-mouth and through online sales. Shortly after I wrote the book and launched it, I switched careers that involved a lot of training, and the creative part of my brain went dormant. I am still in the career that I switched to all these years later, but I have recently found joy in writing again. I owe it to a muse I found in the most peculiar place. I lost my muse long ago, so to find another one in a weird place, and completely unexpectedly was a shock and a joy. So thank you muse, and I will see you at the park in 2033. Until then, I’m pondering ideas for a second book, but I have no solid kernels on which to build yet. For now I continue with daily prompts, poetry and short stories, about some of my favorite things, which include Paris, cats, dogs, pigeons on the lamb, and Sometimes relationships.

For those of you who have considered writing a novel, or working on a novel, or have finished a novel, what are your experiences with the process? For example, I started at the end and worked my way back to the beginning. I worked pen and paper. I edited my own book with the pages looking like a murder scene had taken place. There was so much red pen. I didn’t tell anyone I was writing a book until I was done the book. I felt like it would be breaking a spell I was under. For me when I write I get in a zone. Does anyone else experience that? What are your experiences as you are writing whether you are working on a novel or another piece? Please comment below!

*I originally posted links to my book on a separate page on WordPress, but it has disappeared. I don’t think WordPress likes tennis.*

Love Match is available here:

https://www.lulu.com/shop/amy-j-bates/love-match/paperback/product-261924.html?page=1&pageSize=4

And here:

https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/1411664752/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1707127147&sr=8-1

The song I thought of today is Unwritten, by Natasha Bedingfield.

I am unwritten
Can’t read my mind
I’m undefined
I’m just beginning
The pen’s in my hand
Ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, oh, oh

I break tradition
Sometimes my tries are outside the lines
We’ve been conditioned to not make mistakes
But I can’t live that way

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Oh, yeah, yeah

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Danielle A. Brisebois / Natasha Anne Bedingfield / Wayne Steven Jr Rodrigues

Unwritten lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Writing

Are landlines still a thing?

February 2, 2024February 4, 2024 Amy34 Comments

You’d be surprised by the answer.

I called my cable provider today – yes, I still have cable. The price is exorbitant, which is why I called them. While discussing how I watch five channels for the hefty sum they charge me, the guy on the other end of the phone asked me if I still use the landline.

I giggled and said that I do. I told him that I use it to give out to people so I don’t have to give them my cell phone number. Any type of membership I join, or discount card program: they’re getting the landline. I don’t make calls on it, unless I lose electricity. Then it becomes very handy.

He responded by saying I would be surprised at how many people keep their landlines specifically for the same purpose. It functions as call screening, spam blocker, weirdo blocker, and it’s always fun to get the “wrong number people” who think you’re their cousin twice removed.

I never answer it, the ringer is in fact on silent. I don’t even check the voicemail, because I know 99.9% of the calls left on that phone are spam. My mom gets a lot of phone calls on that phone, which at first was jarring but now it’s just amusing. By keeping the landline as sort of a dummy phone, figuratively, I divert most of the spam to the landline and away from my cell phone.

The other reason I keep it is because it’s vintage. It’s hanging on the wall in the kitchen. The number is the same since I can remember. The phone’s color was originally white. But my mom was an artist, so when she painted the white phone blue, I was not surprised. After she died, I couldn’t bear to see the blue kitchen and the blue phone anymore, I had to change things. So I painted the kitchen cabinets a neutral color. They are the original cabinets, joining them are the original countertops. On my quest to alter the blue phone, I went to the basement to find what stash of paint Mom had down there. I found a tiny tub of light pink paint. I narrowed my eyes and smiled. Pink was my mother‘s favorite color, and it is my second favorite color. You know what happened next. “Hello? Yes, this is pink phone. No one is here to take your call right now. Just kidding. they’re here, they just don’t want to talk to you. Ok, bye!”

poetry · Writing

Eres Una Buena Chica

February 1, 2024May 6, 2024 Amy21 Comments

Prompt response to Kevin’s No Theme Thursday challenge – 2/1/24

✨

Valentina

walks

The deserted town

There’s no one here

There’s no one around

The cobblestones cool

And dewy

under her feet

✨

She works

As a barmaid

in this town

In the north of Spain

On the Bay of Biscay

Her eyes

The color of brandy

Make every man fall in love

✨

There’s a man

A seafaring type

Of impressive height

He has long black hair

With eyes

the color of jade

He tells all

Of his adventures at sea

While Valentina listens

Attentively

✨

Her hand

Reaches to her neck

For the locket

He gave her

When they met

But it’s gone

It’s truly gone

The panic then sets in

✨

The locket

Was of the finest silver

It bore the name

Of the seafaring man she loved

Valentina

Looks to the port

With an expression of hope

That he will soon return

✨

The church bells ring

As the ships pull in

Valentina

Sees him there

Her heart beats faster

On the cobblestone hill

As he walks up to her and says

Valentina

I’m leaving the sea

You are my life, my lover, my lady

You belong with me

✨

Valentina

Pauses to consider

Could this really be?

And then she says

Joaquin

You’re a fine man

The best in the land

You are my life, my lover, my pirate

You belong with me

✨

Inspired by: Brandy (You’re A Fine Girl)

Songwriters: Elliot Lurie

Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl) lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc

cats · Writing

Susie’s Origin Story – Part III – Kittenhood

January 28, 2024January 30, 2024 Amy12 Comments

I suppose the burning question on everyone’s mind is: what was the deal with the orange poo catastrophe? If not, I’m sorry, but the explanation is coming,

Upon walking into the Nursery one morning, orange kitten poo was all over the wood floors, the throw rugs, the bed comforter (this was a guest room turned nursery, recall), and inside the litter box. Also inside the litter box were kittens. Playing in kitten poo. I am not sure how many of you have had kittens, but they explore every aspect of their environment – it’s how they learn. Like kids. Toddlers, in fact. Perpetual toddlers.

Anyway, six innocent eyeballs belonging to six-week old kittens looked up at me – the boys taking a moment out from wrestling in the litter box to do so. Mama Kitty looked up at me with weary, parental eyes.

So. Much. Orange. I tried not to freak out, closed the door and ran to get my mom.

“Mom, the room is covered with orange poo. What is wrong with them? Do they have dysentery? What do I do? We’ll have to throw out the entire room…”

She opened the door and greeted the feline fam calmly. Door closed gently.

“Ame, call the vet. I have no idea what is going on. I’ve never seen this before.”

I called, frantic. “Six weeks old, Yes, orange poo. All over the room. What food am I feeding the mother? Um, I don’t know, dry cat food.” I shrugged at my mom. “Does it have food coloring in it? Let me check.” I checked. “Yes, it has red and yellow dye. The mother’s milk is orange due to the food coloring, and the kittens’ poo is orange because of this?” I slowly repeated so my mom could hear. “Yes, we’ll change the food immediately. Thanks, doctor.”

And we did. No more orange poo. When they weaned off breast milk, we started them on wet food. Then gradually shifted to dry food as they got big boy and big girl teeth.

Pro tip: funny thing about kittens, they try to eat cat litter. Therefore, do not use clumping litter when you have young, untrained kittens. They will eat it and it could kill them. I would not introduce clumping litter until at least one year old. And beware, when you try to switch, they could go out on a “litter box strike.” I tried the switheroo, and all of my cats held their bladders overnight. Needless to say, I was at the nearest store buying non-clumping cat litter at 7am. I have not tried to switch ever again.

Anyway, as the kittens grew, we could no longer contain them to the guest room. We let them out to roam the house, but not before kitten-proofing everything. They are perpetual toddlers, remember. And yet, they still found ways to create havoc. The two boys, Rafa and Bubba were buds, and co-signed on most of the trouble. Susie quickly became pair-bonded to Mama Kitty. She would not leave her mama’s side. She loved her mother deeply, almost from the day she was born.

The boys… *deep inhale* My mom wanted to give them away. Tried, in fact. Each attempt failed, which pleased me, as I did not want to split up the feline family. Much to my mother’s chagrin, I got my wish: we kept all of the kittens, and the mama, too.

Life carried on in a maniacal, chaotic manner. The human first to leave in the morning left a note regarding the kittens’ status: fed, watered, sleeping, on a tear, etc. The last human to leave had to make sure the house was as kitten-proof as possible. Everything you would anticipate a human toddler attempting, kittens will do.

Bubba being, well, Bubba. His siblings look on in amazement

Before I forget, if there are any people reading this who are not familiar with cat behavior, or who fancy themselves not cat people, kittens must be taught by humans how to treat humans. That it’s not ok to wrestle with hands or to bite – these are acceptable and expected behaviors within the feline community, but not acceptable interaction with humans. Starting from a young age, kittens must always be handled with care: gently pet, gently picked up. Never, ever use your hand as a toy to tease or poke the kitten: this is how you get cats who bite for fun or who are perceived as aggressive. It leads to people not liking cats and cats being misjudged and feared. It also leads to unloved and abused cats, which saddens me greatly. Also, if a kitten accidentally claws you, do not make a big deal out of it. Say “Ouch!” in a firm manner, and then, “No. We don’t use claws,” in a gentle but firm tone. This is how you raise cats to be gentle and aware of their own nail status – i.e. my cats never intentionally claw me. Not once. If they feel skin under their claws, they retract the claws. Another thing: if you ever are accidentally clawed by a cat during play, do not make a fuss out of it. Hold in your painful yelp. Remove yourself from the play area and clean your wound immediately. Return to the play area. When cats know they have wounded you, they feel terrible. You are a part of their pride, so they don’t want to hurt you. Therefore, it’s best to stifle your scream of pain and go and clean your wound. Come back to the group ready to play, but perhaps with a toy that is less hands-on.

Back to my little cat family. Their personalities formed along with their bodies. Mama Kitty (full grown) was a sweet, loving, anxious but playful girl. She never wanted to escape the house again. Having her babies gave her life a purpose and allowed her to break free from anxiety most of the time. It surfaced when we moved our feet, when men entered the house, or when we wore dark pants. We surmised she was kicked by a man who wore dark pants. Thank goodness she found us when she did. Bubba was a gray fluff of chaos. He was loving, gregarious, and “helpful” (plumbers’ apprentice, anyone?) to anyone who came in to do household repairs. He was lazy, silly, weird and watchful. He knew when I was sick and would rest with me. He adored Susie, Susie wanted him unalive. Rafa was sweet, the caretaker and nurse cat to his feline family. He would groom them all. He was a lap cat, and he liked to lick my hair and shoulders. (I guess I didn’t do well enough grooming myself.) Susie was a sweet but shy girl. I was her favorite human, but she was my mom’s favorite cat. She was always at a disadvantage with two brothers. But they did all play together. They played tag, and they vocalized who was “it” by unique sounds. Many times I’d hear Rafa calling “Bubba!” and Bubba asking “Henlo?” as they ran around in circles, up and down the stairs. I’d play tag with them, too. We’d also play a game where I would flick pieces of dry food at them on the kitchen floor and they would catch them with their hands, pick them up, and pop them into their mouths. Bubba, as fat as he grew to become, was able to catch them with his mouth, mid-air. Rafa, sleek like a panther, needed tiny cat glasses, because without fail he could not catch them, and any thrown into the air would hit him in the face, not the mouth. Bless his clumsy heart. Susie was warp speed with her “hunting” prowess. Female cats usually are better at hunting games – in nature, they are the providers of food, and they are supreme huntresses.

I could go on and on about cats, my cats and about their kittenhood, but I’d write an entire book. Hopefully the photos capture what it was like having three kittens running rampant. I adored each stage as they moved into adulthood, and so did my mom - though she would deny it to anyone silly enough to believe her.

Part IV is next – Adulthood.

Read Part One here , and Part Two here.

chronic migraine · daily prompt · Humor · Writing

I Battle Chronic Migraine

January 25, 2024August 10, 2024 Amy63 Comments

What do you enjoy doing most in your leisure time?

A tongue in cheek title, but it’s a serious post today, folks. I received a spam comment from a “life-of-the-party” type telling me that WordPress can easily access all of my information and surely I could make up some stories. Well, clearly this person doesn’t read my blog at all, which means I take little value from the statement. But they do have a point. Much to the spammer’s chagrin, today I won’t be making up a story or writing a poem. nor will I be performing interpretive dance.

In my leisure time I enjoy battling migraine. In my workday, I battle migraine. When I’m writing a story, I battle migraine. It’s a war, made up of many battles. Some battles migraine wins, and some I do.

I’ve suffered from migraine since I was 12 years old. I’m going to scream this from the rooftops: migraine is not a headache, although that is the most commonly known symptom of migraine. Many symptoms accompany migraine. And there are many types of migraine. I started out with the headache type when I was 12. And then progressed to the aura which is followed by headache as a young adult. Then I got slammed with the shadiest, dirtiest, low down piece of crap migraine I’ve ever had: vestibular migraine. Vestibular migraine is characterized by vertigo, which is the sensation of spinning. It is also characterized by a rocking boat sensation, where you don’t have balance and you walk funny. A headache, sweating, stomach upset, vomiting, tinnitus, and a host of other unusual symptoms are also seen with this type of migraine. This migraine seems to be chronic for me. I live with it every day, all day. Migraines are often genetic. They can also be traumatic brain injury induced. Migraine is a neurological condition, not a headache. There are several types of migraine, and some of them are quite shocking. They are all beasts.

I consider myself a bad ass for dealing with this shit every single day of my life, continuing to work and trying to live a somewhat normal life. Having vertigo for over 24 hours and throwing up nonstop, ending with a trip to the ER, where they can’t help, is not something I would wish on any enemy that I would ever have – infinitum. Many of my family members have migraine of varying types, severity and chronic states. If you line up my family members next to each other, put on a blindfold, move to the side, wave your arms around in front of your face, you will poke every single one of my family members in the nose and yes, you will have poked a migraineur.

What causes or exacerbates it? Having a brain. Also, the barometer rising, the barometer falling, the barometer being too high, being dehydrated, not getting enough sleep, getting too much sleep, too much stress, not enough exercise, turning your head wrong, these are all things I can bring on a vestibular migraine for me which, as I explained is chronic. It’s running in the background in my code. It comes to the forefront when it wants.

I have medication, but they don’t work quite as well as they should, and it’s always about tweaking the medications for us chronic migraineurs. You cannot cure migraine. Migraine is a neurological condition. It is controllable. For me, medication is essential. CBT and other types of behavioral therapies help. Vestibular rehabilitation exercises help. Getting up out of bed when you feel like you’re going throw up yet again and you can’t stop spinning helps. But imagine having to do that every day.

I don’t expect to ever be cured of this, and I don’t expect anyone to understand how you can be completely disabled at times by something you can’t see. But people who have an invisible condition or disability will understand what I’m talking about. What I do in my leisure time is I fight migraine. It is a war. I will fight to the death.

In my other free time I poke fun at Blahganuary, because I can create. I write stories and poems because I am a creative. There’s a section of my brain that isn’t filled with misfiring neurotransmitters and conductivity overstimulation or hypersensitivity. The calm area is where I get into the writing zone and chill.. I just also happen to have a chronic neurological condition that at times is disabling. I never let it win, and I never will.

While I was writing this piece using dictation, WordPress heard me say vestibular wrong. It typed out “Mr. Buler.“

(“Buehler? Beuhler? Buehler?” anyone?)

So to WordPress, thank you. I now have a nickname for my condition. When it acts up, as it is known to do, I will tell Mr. Buler he can kick rocks. I may even say it out loud in public, just for fun. “Mr. Buler, could you not have stayed home today? I mean, you didn’t even bring your battle gear. I have mine. And I’m going to use it.”

daily prompt · Humor · Writing

Want My Passwords, Too?

January 24, 2024January 27, 2024 Amy29 Comments

Name an attraction or town close to home that you still haven’t got around to visiting.

Why don’t you tell us some attractions or towns close to your home, Blahganuary? Hmm? Where would you like to visit? What do you like to do for fun? What is your mother’s maiden name? Post your password and I’ll tell you if it’s strong enough or not. What’s your date of birth? In which city were you born? What are your distinguishing features? Touch the screen so I can read your fingerprints. What’s unusual about your middle name? Do you live near the beach? Do you have a car? What’s your phone number? What’s the name of your favorite bank? What is your routing number? What about your signature makes it unique? Show us.

daily prompt · Writing

Five Things: A Catalogue

January 23, 2024January 25, 2024 Amy7 Comments

List five things you do for fun.

I’m not sure how to answer this on a Tuesday morning after suffering a migraine all night. So I’m just going to send everyone on a wild goose chase for my response. Have a great day, everyone.

Sweaters on Candles

Play Every Day

Returned to Self

Little Miss Tennis Fan

Every Day is Play Day

daily prompt · Writing

That’s All She Wrote

January 20, 2024January 21, 2024 AmyLeave a comment

What’s your dream job?

This prompt has been posed to us before somewhat differently. Read my response here.

As for today’s prompt, which is slightly more specific than the previous prompt I answered, I’ll give an example rather than explain it.

Below, you will find a post I made on another social media website 13 years ago. On the face of it, it’s describing a mundane process, but the undercurrents are where the tale is being told. It’s the sum of the parts, not the whole. My dream job is the sum of the parts. The processes that go into making the final creative product: the whole. Creativity, as a whole. The pieces play a role.

Door closed, cats out of room, ear plugs in. Fingers perched on keyboard, itching with the question of where to start.
Writing a compelling cover letter is like writing the story of You. You must know your audience, read the job description to determine style, sense of humor, what the position asks of you, and how YOU can be what they want.
You write a cover letter to get an interview. You sell yourself as a brand to achieve that end. Will there be some fiction? Maybe. It’s best called “embellishing the truth,” though.
I write letters that get attention. Always have. That’s because I know it’s a skill that must be developed, it’s a story that must be told, it’s a tiny little book that needs to grab its intended viewer’s attention immediately. You don’t have much time; choose each word with care. There are hundreds, sometimes thousands of other people trying to get the same job – you must stand out.
So. I’ve finished this cover letter, and will read and re-write it until it states exactly what it needs to in order to get me an interview.
The interview is Part 2 of the selling of You. But more on that later…

Thanks for stopping by. Before you go, if you missed it, part two of Susie’s origin story has been posted. Read it here.

cats · Writing

Susie’s Origin Story – Part II

January 19, 2024January 25, 2024 Amy25 Comments

If you haven’t read Part One, start here and come back to Part Two.

I can’t remember the exact details, as it was 2008, but I know my mom and I were running around like an expectant parent and grandparent, trying to get the cat in the birthing box, supply her with food and water, along with a litter box. We were feeling excitement about the impending babies. Mama Kitty stared at us with confusion and probably a touch of wondering about our sanity.

My mom had seen cats and dogs give birth before, but I had not. I’ve had cats and dogs all my life, but they’ve never come to me quite in this way: right off the press. Four for the (free) price of one.

While Mama Kitty was laboring in her nest, we kept checking every twenty minutes or so – no kittens. My mom became a little concerned by an hour in and no kittens, but she wasn’t panic level yet. By three hours, she told me there was something wrong, and if she didn’t have the kittens in the next ten minutes, we’d need to get a laboring cat into the car at 9pm-ish, and take her to the emergency vet. You can imagine the prospect. Logistically and financially, we were not prepared.

We looked in the room one final time, and…there were kittens in the nest! Three, in fact. The one holding up the conga line was Bubba, a big-headed gray kitten who was the one doing the somersaults and taking up the most room in Mama Kitty’s belly. Next to be born was Rafa, a solid black spicy boy. Finally, Susie was born. She was smaller than her brothers and she was a brown tabby.

You might be wondering how they acquired their names. I named Bubba, as he just looked like, well, a Bubba. He held the whole process up, didn’t seem to know that, and was a scarf around his mother’s neck for at least a month. Rafa was named after Rafa (obviously). I was going to name Susie “Tiger Lily,” but my mom was having none of it. “You named all of the other cats, I want to name her.” So, her name became Susie – except that it really isn’t. Her name is “Thuthie,” which is how I pronounced my baby doll’s name when I was two years old.

Mama Kitty with her tiny crew. It’s hard to see, but there are three kittens nursing. You can see how protective and proud she is of her babies.

For several weeks, we left the little family to bond and came in only to check water, food and litter status. I’d often find Bubba as a scarf around his mother’s neck – perhaps her favorite accessory. Mama Kitty was a great mom to all of the kittens. When she was able to leave them for a time, she would escape the nursery for some attention from the humans. She knew when to return to her babies, though, and so she would.

Bubba, top right. Susie adjacent to Bubba. Rafa mostly not seen, but that is his tiny body and tail. The babies all had stripes when they were born, as is very common. The stripes remain into adulthood, but are only seen in the sun, except for Susie who is a tabby with obvious beautiful swirls, spots and stripes.

The kittens grew fast, and soon became menaces – in a mostly good way. We’ll explore how Bubba lived up to his name, how Rafa meant Serious Business while eating, and how orange poo got all over the nursery floor, bedding and walls, which caused this panicky human parent to frantically call the vet.

Join me for Part Three: The Kittens Take Over. Coming soon…

daily prompt · Love · Writing

Be Careful

January 17, 2024January 19, 2024 Amy9 Comments

Can you share a positive example of where you’ve felt loved?

Text me when you get there. Do you want some food? Do you need anything? Hurry, come in, it’s cold outside. Are you hungry? Do you need a hug? I saw this and thought of you. I knew that would make you laugh. Be careful, people drive like maniacs.