How very dull my blog has become, listing book after book of what I've been reading, and not telling any of the great stories that make up my life. Where has the fun gone? Where is the enthusiasm?
Beats the tar out of me. I'm on the last stretch of summer vacation, the true test of endurance for any full-time parent. The rosy tint has gone out of my glasses and my chauffeur's hat is seeing more use that I care to admit. Bleh.
As a recent convert to the ways of insomnia, I'm tired, and easily irritated. My diet is, once again, forgotten by the wayside. Or, perhaps a better description would be to say that I ate my diet for breakfast, and a whole lot of other diets for lunch, dinner, and dessert.
Maybe my stomach hurts, and maybe my hair is falling out, and maybe my life has become a little box of library take-out, but... um... the bright side is that there is that person called "Grandma" who is still crazy enou-- I mean willing to lend aid in these dark hours of summer boredom.
Bless you, Grandma.
Dragonbreath by Ursula Vernon--
What a cute story! I think it is for the elementary level, and all of my elementary kids loved it. They can't wait to see the next installment... something about ninja frogs. :)
White Cat by Holly Black and Tithe and Ironside--
First, White Cat: the story was great, the writing was great. I was so impressed, that I sought out other stories by the same author. Which leads us to Tithe. Imagine my disappointment when I picked up this book and found an abundance of foul language, which is always a sore spot for me. Language is not my only complaint, though. This story reads like a draft that didn't quite make it through all the revisions. There were many parts of the story that simply did not make sense, and I plowed on ahead with the hope that, eventually, it would. It didn't. That being said, the part of the story that made enough sense for me to follow was actually good enough to carry me through to the end and give me the strength to pick up the sequel.
Ironside (the sequel in question) is a much better read that its predecessor, better told and better crafted. Language is still a complaint (though not as much as in the last book), as is the moral issue of sexuality in one of the principal characters. Steer clear if such things offend you.
Only the Good Spy Young by Ally Carter--
This fourth book in the Gallagher Girls' series contains the same fun and excitement that has come to be expected from these YA spy books. A good read for the young and old alike.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Those First Ten Minutes
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, she had so many children that she didn't know what to do. Her poor old body was so out of shape, that she struggled almost daily with ways of getting her BC (before children) shape back. She tried joining a gym, but it was so expensive, and such a hassle that she had to let the membership expire. She tried dieting, but her willpower was weakened after a stressful day with the kids, and she couldn't stick to it.
Long walks outside worked, until it got so hot she couldn't bear to leave her air-conditioned shoehouse. And, of course, there was the problem of who would watch the little one while she was out walking for an hour (Nobody volunteered). One day, the old woman asked her husband to buy her an elliptical for her birthday, so she could exercise at will in the comfort of her living room. This was fine, as long as she could force herself to actually do the time on the equipment, which was spotty for about two weeks and ended with the usual discouraged, "What's the use?"
Time passed and the elliptical saw seldom use. The children viewed it as an indoor playground, racing to climb to the top and smearing their filthy fingers across the ceiling, pushing random buttons to hear them beep, and hanging from the handlebars by their knees. The old woman kept dusting it off, thinking she ought to make use of the machine, but then got side-tracked with all her other responsibilities. She kept on dieting and walking, sporadically, trying and failing to loose those extra pounds, and forgot all about the elliptical until one day when her husband asked, "Why don't you use the exercise machine?"
"Oh!" she says. "I forgot all about that thing." Not forgot-forgot... you see, it's a rather large piece of equipment, and took up a huge corner of the living room. But it had been such a fixture for such a long time that she forgot she was supposed to be using it. So she resolved to use it once more, after all, what did she have to lose besides what wouldn't be missed? (some fifteen pounds or more)
The first thirty seconds were easy enough. The old woman was proud of herself for getting on the machine; she even envisioned fitting into those pants she bought a couple of years ago, the ones that almost fit... before she had that last little boy and gained another... um, well, more weight. After about a minute and a half, sweat beaded up on her forehead and her legs ached in protest. "This is harder than I thought," she mumbled.
She closed her eyes for a while, forcing herself not to look at the flashing numbers that displayed her dismal progress, hoping that if she didn't look, the time would go by faster. When she opened her eyes, she had only accumulated three minutes. Her chest hurt, her palms grew slick. "I'm not going to make it," she thought. Still, she kept going.
The children gathered around, watching her sweaty, awkward struggle atop their favorite indoor toy, and immediately sprouted tons of questions that she had not the breath to answer. They eventually lost interest and moved on, but the old woman looked down at her accumulated time, ready to drop from exhaustion. Seven minutes.
"You have got to be kidding!" Her throat closed in and sweat poured down her face, into her eyes and down her neck. "I need a towel," she thought. "I need a drink. I need a break." But she knew that if she got off, she might never get back on again. So she kept going, her chest on fire with the labored breaths of a terribly out-of-shape person.
She thought of the story about the little engine that could, tried to believe in herself, but the time flashed up again. Eight minutes. She wanted to scream. She thought of all those movie stars, bouncing back from pregnancy like they hadn't gained an ounce, but that was hardly encouraging, since everyone knew that Hollywood was full of plastic surgeons and highly-paid personal trainers. Neither of which she had.
"Ten minutes," she thought. "I can do just ten minutes." Eight minutes and fifty-nine seconds... one minute to go. "I think I can, I think I can." As the seconds ticked by and her legs kept pumping, it seemed as though time had slowed to extend her torture. She wiped her face with the bottom of her shirt, focused on a spot before her, at some odd piece of artwork one of her kids had taped to the wall, and pushed onward.
Ten minutes came at last, but the old woman found that once it had passed, her legs had stopped aching so much, and her chest had gotten (somewhat) used to the new rhythm she'd found on her machine. Realizing that she actually could do it, she kept going.
Some of you might think this is silly, but I can attest to the difficulty of those first ten minutes, or even to the difficulty of that first blank page, that first ten thousand words, or whatever the difficulty that may have you daunted. As you stand before that impossibly messy room, or overgrown jungle of a yard, remember that the longest journey begins with but a single step, and even the largest elephant is eaten one bite at a time. The old woman who is a walking, talking stretch mark will lose the unwanted weight, but only if she doesn't give up.
So help me God.
Wings and Spells by Aprilynne Pike--
Reading Wings was a pleasant surprise for me, it being different than what I had expected, and I really enjoyed delving into Ms. Pike's fairy world... so much so, I couldn't wait to get to the library and check out the sequel. Spells (the sequel) I'm afraid was rather disappointing. The action was spotty and the descriptive, non-action sequences tended to drone on and on. Having said this, I am not entirely turned off to this particular series, just mildly disappointed. When the time comes that the next book reveals itself, I will read it.
The Cardturner by Louis Sachar--
I enjoyed this book, though not as much as my teen-aged son. I think Mr. Sachar's books tend to cater toward the male reader, though not so much that girls would dislike his stories (since I know that many girls do, like them, that is). The Cardturner was an interesting story of a boy and his dying great-uncle, the mystery that is the past when relayed incorrectly by others, and a touch of paranormal phenomenon. It's also about bridge, the card game. For those that don't wish to learn about bridge, the story might lean toward the dull side, but if you can skim over those details, sufficiently knowing that you don't understand (unless of course you do understand, and good for you!) then you might like this story as well. However, if you are looking for a gripping action novel, look somewhere else.
The Prince of Mist by Carlos Ruiz Zafon--
I'm not really so into ghost stories that I purposely seek them out, but this one found it's way into my arms and I really enjoyed most of it. There was sufficient spookiness with the mystery that unfolded, but it was the ending that changed a "liked" book into a "not-so-liked" one. What can I say without ruining it? I simply felt that the author's choice on how to end this story was unsatisfactory. It felt unfinished to me.
Lips Touch Three Times by Laini Taylor--
Ms. Laini Taylor may just be a name to watch for in the future--like on the New York Times bestseller list. This book was a collection of three short stories hinging on a kiss. The first I didn't like so well, because it had that same feeling of being unfinished that bothers me so much. The second was better, all the loose ends tied together by the end of the story, and the third was, I think, the best of them all. The writing was superb, the telling, spellbinding. My only complaint is that these were all such short stories that I wanted them to last a little longer--Perhaps they could have been extended, but such is not for me to decide, now is it?
Long walks outside worked, until it got so hot she couldn't bear to leave her air-conditioned shoehouse. And, of course, there was the problem of who would watch the little one while she was out walking for an hour (Nobody volunteered). One day, the old woman asked her husband to buy her an elliptical for her birthday, so she could exercise at will in the comfort of her living room. This was fine, as long as she could force herself to actually do the time on the equipment, which was spotty for about two weeks and ended with the usual discouraged, "What's the use?"
Time passed and the elliptical saw seldom use. The children viewed it as an indoor playground, racing to climb to the top and smearing their filthy fingers across the ceiling, pushing random buttons to hear them beep, and hanging from the handlebars by their knees. The old woman kept dusting it off, thinking she ought to make use of the machine, but then got side-tracked with all her other responsibilities. She kept on dieting and walking, sporadically, trying and failing to loose those extra pounds, and forgot all about the elliptical until one day when her husband asked, "Why don't you use the exercise machine?"
"Oh!" she says. "I forgot all about that thing." Not forgot-forgot... you see, it's a rather large piece of equipment, and took up a huge corner of the living room. But it had been such a fixture for such a long time that she forgot she was supposed to be using it. So she resolved to use it once more, after all, what did she have to lose besides what wouldn't be missed? (some fifteen pounds or more)
The first thirty seconds were easy enough. The old woman was proud of herself for getting on the machine; she even envisioned fitting into those pants she bought a couple of years ago, the ones that almost fit... before she had that last little boy and gained another... um, well, more weight. After about a minute and a half, sweat beaded up on her forehead and her legs ached in protest. "This is harder than I thought," she mumbled.
She closed her eyes for a while, forcing herself not to look at the flashing numbers that displayed her dismal progress, hoping that if she didn't look, the time would go by faster. When she opened her eyes, she had only accumulated three minutes. Her chest hurt, her palms grew slick. "I'm not going to make it," she thought. Still, she kept going.
The children gathered around, watching her sweaty, awkward struggle atop their favorite indoor toy, and immediately sprouted tons of questions that she had not the breath to answer. They eventually lost interest and moved on, but the old woman looked down at her accumulated time, ready to drop from exhaustion. Seven minutes.
"You have got to be kidding!" Her throat closed in and sweat poured down her face, into her eyes and down her neck. "I need a towel," she thought. "I need a drink. I need a break." But she knew that if she got off, she might never get back on again. So she kept going, her chest on fire with the labored breaths of a terribly out-of-shape person.
She thought of the story about the little engine that could, tried to believe in herself, but the time flashed up again. Eight minutes. She wanted to scream. She thought of all those movie stars, bouncing back from pregnancy like they hadn't gained an ounce, but that was hardly encouraging, since everyone knew that Hollywood was full of plastic surgeons and highly-paid personal trainers. Neither of which she had.
"Ten minutes," she thought. "I can do just ten minutes." Eight minutes and fifty-nine seconds... one minute to go. "I think I can, I think I can." As the seconds ticked by and her legs kept pumping, it seemed as though time had slowed to extend her torture. She wiped her face with the bottom of her shirt, focused on a spot before her, at some odd piece of artwork one of her kids had taped to the wall, and pushed onward.
Ten minutes came at last, but the old woman found that once it had passed, her legs had stopped aching so much, and her chest had gotten (somewhat) used to the new rhythm she'd found on her machine. Realizing that she actually could do it, she kept going.
Some of you might think this is silly, but I can attest to the difficulty of those first ten minutes, or even to the difficulty of that first blank page, that first ten thousand words, or whatever the difficulty that may have you daunted. As you stand before that impossibly messy room, or overgrown jungle of a yard, remember that the longest journey begins with but a single step, and even the largest elephant is eaten one bite at a time. The old woman who is a walking, talking stretch mark will lose the unwanted weight, but only if she doesn't give up.
So help me God.
Wings and Spells by Aprilynne Pike--
Reading Wings was a pleasant surprise for me, it being different than what I had expected, and I really enjoyed delving into Ms. Pike's fairy world... so much so, I couldn't wait to get to the library and check out the sequel. Spells (the sequel) I'm afraid was rather disappointing. The action was spotty and the descriptive, non-action sequences tended to drone on and on. Having said this, I am not entirely turned off to this particular series, just mildly disappointed. When the time comes that the next book reveals itself, I will read it.
The Cardturner by Louis Sachar--
I enjoyed this book, though not as much as my teen-aged son. I think Mr. Sachar's books tend to cater toward the male reader, though not so much that girls would dislike his stories (since I know that many girls do, like them, that is). The Cardturner was an interesting story of a boy and his dying great-uncle, the mystery that is the past when relayed incorrectly by others, and a touch of paranormal phenomenon. It's also about bridge, the card game. For those that don't wish to learn about bridge, the story might lean toward the dull side, but if you can skim over those details, sufficiently knowing that you don't understand (unless of course you do understand, and good for you!) then you might like this story as well. However, if you are looking for a gripping action novel, look somewhere else.
The Prince of Mist by Carlos Ruiz Zafon--
I'm not really so into ghost stories that I purposely seek them out, but this one found it's way into my arms and I really enjoyed most of it. There was sufficient spookiness with the mystery that unfolded, but it was the ending that changed a "liked" book into a "not-so-liked" one. What can I say without ruining it? I simply felt that the author's choice on how to end this story was unsatisfactory. It felt unfinished to me.
Lips Touch Three Times by Laini Taylor--
Ms. Laini Taylor may just be a name to watch for in the future--like on the New York Times bestseller list. This book was a collection of three short stories hinging on a kiss. The first I didn't like so well, because it had that same feeling of being unfinished that bothers me so much. The second was better, all the loose ends tied together by the end of the story, and the third was, I think, the best of them all. The writing was superb, the telling, spellbinding. My only complaint is that these were all such short stories that I wanted them to last a little longer--Perhaps they could have been extended, but such is not for me to decide, now is it?
Monday, July 19, 2010
Those endless summer days
Besides keeping house, toilet-training my toddler, feeding my hoard, chasing my sanity, preparing submissions, and reading a friend's book, I continue to work toward my reading goal--though I can't remember what (exactly) it was supposed to be. Anyway, I do like to read, so here's the latest on my list:
Runaway by Meg Cabot--
Ms. Cabot has written many successful, interesting, even gripping, teen romances. This third and last installment of the Airhead series is not one of them. I found this particular series to be excessively drawn out with annoying repetitions that (I think) set a very poor example of how a book should be written. Cabot's fans must be disappointed with her latest works.
Gregor and the Code of Claw by Suzanne Collins--
At long last, I got to read the last installment of the Underland Chronicles. And, as expected, I loved it. Collins' expertise in creating an alternate world makes her readers want to return again and again. It makes me kind of sad, though, that this was the last. The end... But I do get to look forward to her next book, Mockingjay, which is sure to be a thrilling crowd pleaser the whole world over.
Runaway by Meg Cabot--
Ms. Cabot has written many successful, interesting, even gripping, teen romances. This third and last installment of the Airhead series is not one of them. I found this particular series to be excessively drawn out with annoying repetitions that (I think) set a very poor example of how a book should be written. Cabot's fans must be disappointed with her latest works.
Gregor and the Code of Claw by Suzanne Collins--
At long last, I got to read the last installment of the Underland Chronicles. And, as expected, I loved it. Collins' expertise in creating an alternate world makes her readers want to return again and again. It makes me kind of sad, though, that this was the last. The end... But I do get to look forward to her next book, Mockingjay, which is sure to be a thrilling crowd pleaser the whole world over.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Reflection
School has been out for a solid couple of weeks now, and for a lot of folks (and by folks, I mean stay-at-home-mothers with school children) this is a time for going crazy, pulling hair out, and seeking psychiatric help. But since we've already established that I'm insane, I have only one way to go, I guess. Or maybe not, though it is probably best not to think on it too much.
I have often complained about my children vying for computer time. In my house, that means a lot of begging and whining and "When are you going to get off the computer, Mom?" This was quite a hamper to my writer's adrenaline, but I have a wonderful announcement to make...
No, we did not get another computer. Sheesh, do I look like I'm made of money? No, no, no. The solution to my problem was quite simple. All children in my house wishing to get a turn on the computer must now complete some kind of helpful chore around the house.
It is pure genius, though I say it myself. The lazy ones have stopped asking, and the others have proved that they actually DO know how to wash dishes, pick up toys, and clean the bathroom! Why didn't I think of this sooner??? I can't remember the last time my house has been so clean.
Oh well. Invention's mother and necessity, and all that. I am still awaiting many other miraculous things (a stove that cooks for me, money that grows on trees, and a certain somebody becoming toilet trained), but for the time being, I find that I am quite content. (a partial quote from one of my favorite books.)
Before I go back to the lovely library, I will share my latest reads:
Glass Houses and The Dead Girls' Dance by Rachel Caine--
These are the first two books in the Morganville Vampires series. Ms. Caine can write a real grabber of a book, that I can say without reserve. I enjoyed tearing through these, completely caught up in the story and wanting to know what happened next. Only after coming down from the "book high" of reading these back-to-back could I see that the story is less novel-like and more suitable to a television series, due to the never-ending effect of lengthy series and the sensationalism, at which she is quite apt. Now, I have no idea how long this particular series runs, but I'd bet it goes on for a good, long stretch. If that sort of thing doesn't rub you wrong, then here's some teen/young adult fiction for you.
Gregor and the Curse of the Warmbloods and Gregor and the Marks of Secret by Suzanne Collins--
Fantastic. I've said it before, and it bears telling again: I love Suzanne Collins. Each of these books is different and independent, a complete story that connects with the previous and successive stories. I wonder if Mrs. Collins ever takes writing nobodies under her wing. Wouldn't I love to be that nobody, to drool on her shadow...
That's enough of that. I had a quiet Fourth, hope you all had fun with that birthday bash. I'm sorry for the one who broke her toe, but consider, my friend, all the writing you can do with that foot up. :)
I have often complained about my children vying for computer time. In my house, that means a lot of begging and whining and "When are you going to get off the computer, Mom?" This was quite a hamper to my writer's adrenaline, but I have a wonderful announcement to make...
No, we did not get another computer. Sheesh, do I look like I'm made of money? No, no, no. The solution to my problem was quite simple. All children in my house wishing to get a turn on the computer must now complete some kind of helpful chore around the house.
It is pure genius, though I say it myself. The lazy ones have stopped asking, and the others have proved that they actually DO know how to wash dishes, pick up toys, and clean the bathroom! Why didn't I think of this sooner??? I can't remember the last time my house has been so clean.
Oh well. Invention's mother and necessity, and all that. I am still awaiting many other miraculous things (a stove that cooks for me, money that grows on trees, and a certain somebody becoming toilet trained), but for the time being, I find that I am quite content. (a partial quote from one of my favorite books.)
Before I go back to the lovely library, I will share my latest reads:
Glass Houses and The Dead Girls' Dance by Rachel Caine--
These are the first two books in the Morganville Vampires series. Ms. Caine can write a real grabber of a book, that I can say without reserve. I enjoyed tearing through these, completely caught up in the story and wanting to know what happened next. Only after coming down from the "book high" of reading these back-to-back could I see that the story is less novel-like and more suitable to a television series, due to the never-ending effect of lengthy series and the sensationalism, at which she is quite apt. Now, I have no idea how long this particular series runs, but I'd bet it goes on for a good, long stretch. If that sort of thing doesn't rub you wrong, then here's some teen/young adult fiction for you.
Gregor and the Curse of the Warmbloods and Gregor and the Marks of Secret by Suzanne Collins--
Fantastic. I've said it before, and it bears telling again: I love Suzanne Collins. Each of these books is different and independent, a complete story that connects with the previous and successive stories. I wonder if Mrs. Collins ever takes writing nobodies under her wing. Wouldn't I love to be that nobody, to drool on her shadow...
That's enough of that. I had a quiet Fourth, hope you all had fun with that birthday bash. I'm sorry for the one who broke her toe, but consider, my friend, all the writing you can do with that foot up. :)
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Last Chance for June
So, it's the last day of June and today is absolutely gorgeous! Yet here I am, tapping away on my keyboard. I need a life. Seriously. If I hadn't injured myself recently, I'd go out and pull some weeds. Or something akin to work.
Everything kind of slows down for me in the summer, and I won't say that's a bad thing, just harder to measure progress when I get to sleep in till nine and make my kids do the odd jobs around the house that I don't feel like doing. And then I get more time on the computer (in theory).
And, of course, the library folks love me, because I'm a regular. I have only one book to record because it's due soon...
Nightmare Academy by Frank Peretti--
Why has it taken me so long to discover Peretti? I really like his stuff, and this one--the second in the Veritas series--is just as gripping as his first. I am only disappointed by the fact that my library does not have the next book in this series. :(
Well, I do have other books to read, and many projects to write. Guess I'd better get busy with something. TTFN
Everything kind of slows down for me in the summer, and I won't say that's a bad thing, just harder to measure progress when I get to sleep in till nine and make my kids do the odd jobs around the house that I don't feel like doing. And then I get more time on the computer (in theory).
And, of course, the library folks love me, because I'm a regular. I have only one book to record because it's due soon...
Nightmare Academy by Frank Peretti--
Why has it taken me so long to discover Peretti? I really like his stuff, and this one--the second in the Veritas series--is just as gripping as his first. I am only disappointed by the fact that my library does not have the next book in this series. :(
Well, I do have other books to read, and many projects to write. Guess I'd better get busy with something. TTFN
Saturday, June 26, 2010
A Fab Day with ALA
Last night I went to a social event for ALA folks attending an upcoming conference and got to meet some really great people. First, there was an agent that was kind enough to spend twenty minutes shooting the breeze with me. She was super nice--even told me I was on the track to success. Now, if that doesn't make a writer feel giddy, nothing will. Sure wish I could remember her name, though.
Oh well.
Next, I met a lot of really cool writers and a couple of illustrators that I hope will become more than just a passing memory in a bar (restaurant). I need all the friends I can get. Really.
Anyway, the point is that I had a fantastic time in DC with fantastic people, and I wish every Friday could be so enjoyable. Saturday morning, however, shows me how I was missed on the home front as I walk into my office to find pistachio shells covering the carpet and crumbs across the desk. The computer has been shut off (hmmm....) and my teenage babysitter swears the night before was awful. She was so upset by her siblings that she cleaned (!!) the kitchen and dining room late into the evening until I came home.
Hmmm... Mayhap I should runaway more often.
As for my literary adventures:
Spirit Bound by Richelle Mead--
This is book five of the Vampire Academy series, and you must know I'm a fan if I've read book five. So, yeah, I enjoyed this one and look forward to the next... but I do have an impatient side that tires of those series books that never end. I know where I want the story to go, but we'll just have to wait and see where Ms. Mead takes us.
A Match Made in High School by Kristin Walker--
Two things I'll admit about this book. One) I really liked it. But Two) It has a lot of that language that I'm always harping about. So, I'm a little torn on this one. If you don't mind a few nasty words in your read, then go for it.
The Reformed Vampire Support Group by Catherine Jinks--
The idea behind this book sounded interesting, which is why I picked it up at the library, even though a part of me cringed. I can't say that Ms. Jinks is to blame, entirely... Perhaps I'm getting bored with vampires, or perhaps the book is simply aimed at another type of person, but I could not muster enough excitement over the story to pass chapter five (or thereabout). The story did not grab me. At all.
Until next time, gentle readers... hug a librarian and wear sunscreen.
Oh well.
Next, I met a lot of really cool writers and a couple of illustrators that I hope will become more than just a passing memory in a bar (restaurant). I need all the friends I can get. Really.
Anyway, the point is that I had a fantastic time in DC with fantastic people, and I wish every Friday could be so enjoyable. Saturday morning, however, shows me how I was missed on the home front as I walk into my office to find pistachio shells covering the carpet and crumbs across the desk. The computer has been shut off (hmmm....) and my teenage babysitter swears the night before was awful. She was so upset by her siblings that she cleaned (!!) the kitchen and dining room late into the evening until I came home.
Hmmm... Mayhap I should runaway more often.
As for my literary adventures:
Spirit Bound by Richelle Mead--
This is book five of the Vampire Academy series, and you must know I'm a fan if I've read book five. So, yeah, I enjoyed this one and look forward to the next... but I do have an impatient side that tires of those series books that never end. I know where I want the story to go, but we'll just have to wait and see where Ms. Mead takes us.
A Match Made in High School by Kristin Walker--
Two things I'll admit about this book. One) I really liked it. But Two) It has a lot of that language that I'm always harping about. So, I'm a little torn on this one. If you don't mind a few nasty words in your read, then go for it.
The Reformed Vampire Support Group by Catherine Jinks--
The idea behind this book sounded interesting, which is why I picked it up at the library, even though a part of me cringed. I can't say that Ms. Jinks is to blame, entirely... Perhaps I'm getting bored with vampires, or perhaps the book is simply aimed at another type of person, but I could not muster enough excitement over the story to pass chapter five (or thereabout). The story did not grab me. At all.
Until next time, gentle readers... hug a librarian and wear sunscreen.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Books
Because I have a dull life, I will not report on the mundane passages of time in my house. Every now and again, something might occur that makes me smile, or laugh, or think about blogging, but the hole in my brain lets everything escape eventually, so I cannot recall a single, worthwhile piece of humor.
Too bad.
As for books I've read, here goes:
Learning to Play Gin by Ally Carter--
This is the sequel to Cheating at Solitaire, but I must confess that it was not as entertaining as the first book and is, in no way, as good as Ms. Carter's YA books. Still, I really liked the ending.
Hangman's Curse by Frank Peretti--
This YA book is more Christian than what I usually read. I will admit that I tend to dislike Christian based novels because they get preachy and lose the force of the story in religious quotations. Hangman's Curse did not do this and I was pleasantly surprised by the overall quality of plot, action, and character voices contained therein. This book I can easily recommend to YA lovers of mystery.
The Dating Diaries by Kristen Kemp--
First and foremost, this book was not my cup of tea. While I love YA, delving into a world of casual promiscuity and filthy language is my turn off. Bleh. Next time, I'll stick to my better instincts and put the book down after the first chapter.
That's it for now, peeps. Cheerio!
Too bad.
As for books I've read, here goes:
Learning to Play Gin by Ally Carter--
This is the sequel to Cheating at Solitaire, but I must confess that it was not as entertaining as the first book and is, in no way, as good as Ms. Carter's YA books. Still, I really liked the ending.
Hangman's Curse by Frank Peretti--
This YA book is more Christian than what I usually read. I will admit that I tend to dislike Christian based novels because they get preachy and lose the force of the story in religious quotations. Hangman's Curse did not do this and I was pleasantly surprised by the overall quality of plot, action, and character voices contained therein. This book I can easily recommend to YA lovers of mystery.
The Dating Diaries by Kristen Kemp--
First and foremost, this book was not my cup of tea. While I love YA, delving into a world of casual promiscuity and filthy language is my turn off. Bleh. Next time, I'll stick to my better instincts and put the book down after the first chapter.
That's it for now, peeps. Cheerio!
Thursday, June 3, 2010
When the Indentured Play
It happened. Just as I promised. I went camping at Virginia Beach with all six Masters of the Universe and I, the Queen of Everything, lived to tell. So here it is, in all the gory, scatter-brained-because-I-have-memory-problems details. You should probably sit down first.
The drive out wasn't too bad, four plus hours in the car with the windows down and the stereo cranked up so I couldn't hear a darned thing that wasn't right up next to my ear. I think everyone got along ok, but I really wouldn't know.
Day 1- went just fine. We arrived, set up, discovered all the things we forgot, even though some of those things were on the "Do Not Forget to Bring This" list, and made dinner. Actually, I had to make dinner twice, on account of a certain someone's dietary restrictions and inability to eat the same slop that everyone else eats. I'm usually on a low-slop diet, but in this case, I was too hungry to turn my nose up at the mac & cheese w/salmon and green beans (One pot meals are my specialty) because of the crazy notion that I would live on diet bars for the duration of my time away and come home having lost eight pounds.
Right.
After dinner, we went to the beach until dark. Number five nearly drowned, but learned a valuable lesson, and the rest of my royal herd shivered and shook and laughed because it was such a joy to walk, jump, and dance in the waves. We then went home (aka, our tent) to discover that sleeping on the ground in a campground with over a thousand sites--all packed to the gills--was not as glamorous as one might imagine from the comfort of their air-conditioned homes. Furthermore, I can officially state that camping is NOT on my life's list of to-do's now, or anywhere in the foreseeable future. At all.
Day 2- That would be Saturday. I didn't sleep much, and it looked like it might rain, so I convinced the six pack that going to the aquarium would be loads of fun and we could hop on the beach later in the evening. Many, many hours later, and some ninety dollars lighter, we emerge from the deep-sea exhibits with sting-ray-slimed hands, much whining, and a shaking of the knees syndrome. My eyes are losing focus (guess who didn't pack any Tylenol) and all I can think of is shutting them. So I, and the biggest whiners, take a short break back at the tent and leave the rest of the galaxy to look after itself for the sake of nap time. Upon waking, we join a group of our friends for a pot-luck dinner, after which it is too late to tromp in the sand and we end the day to the sour tune of, "We didn't get to go to the beach today!" ringing in my ears.
Is it time to go home yet?
Day 3- Who goes to church while on vacation, you ask? I do. And I drag my little heathens with me to better their immortal souls. From what I heard of the service, it was quite enjoyable, but don't ask me what it was about, because all I remember was the two loudest voices in the room, alternating between barking like dogs and meowing like cats. The Masters of the Universe are sooo talented, you see. Yeah. A reeking stench wafts up from dog/cat #1 and I know that we must head back to HQ for another emergency shower. More beach,followed by another pot-luck... I really didn't think it would rain, but lo, we barely bite into the watermelon and thunder cracks the sky, letting water rain down on everything and give us all the shower we couldn't get earlier in the day. That was fun. Until Goddess In Training #1 remembers that we left the tent open.
Suffice it to say that I know how to spell misery with a capital W. But a ray of light you soon will see in this, the gift that was giv'n to me. I have the best friends in the world, one of which had an air-conditioned RV with LOTS of extra beds (all dry) and a willingness to share them. May her place in heaven be ever assured.
Day 4- Beach. Again. I'm about done with beaches by now. The temperature has soared up over 100 and no amount of sunscreen will save me. I'm also done cooking. Pizza Hut, how we love thee, with cheesy garlic bread done up so nice, peperoni and pineapple pizza, just right. OK, enough with the verses. The only reason to brave the scorching sands again is to retrieve our stuff and retreat to a cooler place. Brave #6 discovers a new love at the pool, and desperately wants to become a fish. I, on the other hand, am charged with bringing six, living, breathing children back home (not the tent-home, but the other one) and soon tire of "CATCH ME, MOM!" right before he throws himself into the pool.
One last trip to the beach, this time at night. We have the most fun here. Who knew glow sticks could bring so much joy. Almost like getting a box...
Day 5- I'm done. In fact, I'm over-done. Stick a fork in me. We could have done something else, but all I really want is to never see that municipal bathroom again, with its low pressure showers and running toilets, hairy sinks and slippery floors. The tent is full of sand, along with everything else. A mysterious critter has used our table as a toilet and the pounding in my head may be due to the allergy pills I forgot to pack, or the children who keep calling out for some person called "Mom". Whoever she is, I feel sorry for her.
We go home, looking desperately for every available rest-stop along the way because if you give a small child a whole bottle of Sobe, they are going to drink it all, and it's just a teensy bit funny to hear that pitiful sobbing from a boy with a bladder too full. I know, I'm heartless, but this is from the child who has frequent "accidents" but absolutely will not pee on the side of the road.
So that's about it. We got home and the children made bee-lines for technology, that is the DVD-player and computer/internet. We communed with nature, made some memories, and I am SOO glad to be home. I can't help thinking that I have about two weeks to recover from this vacation before the whole Summer Break is unleashed upon me. Shiver.
Magic Under Glass by Jaclyn Dolamore--
There was a big fuss made over this book and its original cover, a racial issue that I supported 100%. When the book became available at my library, I was happy to see that a new cover had been made for the novel and I snapped it up. However, putting aside the book's fame, I'll get on to what I thought of the content. The premise was pleasing and the first few chapters gave me the happy feeling of finding a good read. But as the story progressed, that happy feeling turned to a sour cramp in my gut. Unnatural dialogue and too convenient plot twists moved this story along like a square peg through a round hole. In no way was this the worst first book I've ever read, but the forced manner of Ms. Dolamore's writing ultimately turned me off to her new series.
Gregor and the Prophecy of Bane by Suzanne Collins--
Book two of the Underland Chronicles is just as exciting and mysterious as book one. Children of all ages have, and will continue to, enjoy this book.
Cheating at Solitaire by Ally Carter--
Another book by another of my favorite authors. I really like Ms. Carter's YA stuff, but this is equally fun to read and deserves attention by those who have enjoyed her other titles. It has a few choice words that I prefer not to read, but I've also read worse in books wearing the YA badge, so kudos to Carter for keeping this one relatively clean.
The drive out wasn't too bad, four plus hours in the car with the windows down and the stereo cranked up so I couldn't hear a darned thing that wasn't right up next to my ear. I think everyone got along ok, but I really wouldn't know.
Day 1- went just fine. We arrived, set up, discovered all the things we forgot, even though some of those things were on the "Do Not Forget to Bring This" list, and made dinner. Actually, I had to make dinner twice, on account of a certain someone's dietary restrictions and inability to eat the same slop that everyone else eats. I'm usually on a low-slop diet, but in this case, I was too hungry to turn my nose up at the mac & cheese w/salmon and green beans (One pot meals are my specialty) because of the crazy notion that I would live on diet bars for the duration of my time away and come home having lost eight pounds.
Right.
After dinner, we went to the beach until dark. Number five nearly drowned, but learned a valuable lesson, and the rest of my royal herd shivered and shook and laughed because it was such a joy to walk, jump, and dance in the waves. We then went home (aka, our tent) to discover that sleeping on the ground in a campground with over a thousand sites--all packed to the gills--was not as glamorous as one might imagine from the comfort of their air-conditioned homes. Furthermore, I can officially state that camping is NOT on my life's list of to-do's now, or anywhere in the foreseeable future. At all.
Day 2- That would be Saturday. I didn't sleep much, and it looked like it might rain, so I convinced the six pack that going to the aquarium would be loads of fun and we could hop on the beach later in the evening. Many, many hours later, and some ninety dollars lighter, we emerge from the deep-sea exhibits with sting-ray-slimed hands, much whining, and a shaking of the knees syndrome. My eyes are losing focus (guess who didn't pack any Tylenol) and all I can think of is shutting them. So I, and the biggest whiners, take a short break back at the tent and leave the rest of the galaxy to look after itself for the sake of nap time. Upon waking, we join a group of our friends for a pot-luck dinner, after which it is too late to tromp in the sand and we end the day to the sour tune of, "We didn't get to go to the beach today!" ringing in my ears.
Is it time to go home yet?
Day 3- Who goes to church while on vacation, you ask? I do. And I drag my little heathens with me to better their immortal souls. From what I heard of the service, it was quite enjoyable, but don't ask me what it was about, because all I remember was the two loudest voices in the room, alternating between barking like dogs and meowing like cats. The Masters of the Universe are sooo talented, you see. Yeah. A reeking stench wafts up from dog/cat #1 and I know that we must head back to HQ for another emergency shower. More beach,followed by another pot-luck... I really didn't think it would rain, but lo, we barely bite into the watermelon and thunder cracks the sky, letting water rain down on everything and give us all the shower we couldn't get earlier in the day. That was fun. Until Goddess In Training #1 remembers that we left the tent open.
Suffice it to say that I know how to spell misery with a capital W. But a ray of light you soon will see in this, the gift that was giv'n to me. I have the best friends in the world, one of which had an air-conditioned RV with LOTS of extra beds (all dry) and a willingness to share them. May her place in heaven be ever assured.
Day 4- Beach. Again. I'm about done with beaches by now. The temperature has soared up over 100 and no amount of sunscreen will save me. I'm also done cooking. Pizza Hut, how we love thee, with cheesy garlic bread done up so nice, peperoni and pineapple pizza, just right. OK, enough with the verses. The only reason to brave the scorching sands again is to retrieve our stuff and retreat to a cooler place. Brave #6 discovers a new love at the pool, and desperately wants to become a fish. I, on the other hand, am charged with bringing six, living, breathing children back home (not the tent-home, but the other one) and soon tire of "CATCH ME, MOM!" right before he throws himself into the pool.
One last trip to the beach, this time at night. We have the most fun here. Who knew glow sticks could bring so much joy. Almost like getting a box...
Day 5- I'm done. In fact, I'm over-done. Stick a fork in me. We could have done something else, but all I really want is to never see that municipal bathroom again, with its low pressure showers and running toilets, hairy sinks and slippery floors. The tent is full of sand, along with everything else. A mysterious critter has used our table as a toilet and the pounding in my head may be due to the allergy pills I forgot to pack, or the children who keep calling out for some person called "Mom". Whoever she is, I feel sorry for her.
We go home, looking desperately for every available rest-stop along the way because if you give a small child a whole bottle of Sobe, they are going to drink it all, and it's just a teensy bit funny to hear that pitiful sobbing from a boy with a bladder too full. I know, I'm heartless, but this is from the child who has frequent "accidents" but absolutely will not pee on the side of the road.
So that's about it. We got home and the children made bee-lines for technology, that is the DVD-player and computer/internet. We communed with nature, made some memories, and I am SOO glad to be home. I can't help thinking that I have about two weeks to recover from this vacation before the whole Summer Break is unleashed upon me. Shiver.
Magic Under Glass by Jaclyn Dolamore--
There was a big fuss made over this book and its original cover, a racial issue that I supported 100%. When the book became available at my library, I was happy to see that a new cover had been made for the novel and I snapped it up. However, putting aside the book's fame, I'll get on to what I thought of the content. The premise was pleasing and the first few chapters gave me the happy feeling of finding a good read. But as the story progressed, that happy feeling turned to a sour cramp in my gut. Unnatural dialogue and too convenient plot twists moved this story along like a square peg through a round hole. In no way was this the worst first book I've ever read, but the forced manner of Ms. Dolamore's writing ultimately turned me off to her new series.
Gregor and the Prophecy of Bane by Suzanne Collins--
Book two of the Underland Chronicles is just as exciting and mysterious as book one. Children of all ages have, and will continue to, enjoy this book.
Cheating at Solitaire by Ally Carter--
Another book by another of my favorite authors. I really like Ms. Carter's YA stuff, but this is equally fun to read and deserves attention by those who have enjoyed her other titles. It has a few choice words that I prefer not to read, but I've also read worse in books wearing the YA badge, so kudos to Carter for keeping this one relatively clean.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Blah
Ever since I decided to take a vacation, I can't focus on anything but killing time in anticipation of that get-away. I must really need a vacation, but if you think about it, I'll be hitting the highway for many, many hours with six children and no back up.
And I'm still looking forward to it. Tell me that isn't the mark of a crazy woman. I have long known that my head is messed up, this only proves it further.
Beyond the forthcoming vacation (which will certainly be one for the blog) I am afraid that I have nothing on which to comment. I could have been reading loads of books to critique--I have a good stack from the library, and a few I picked up from the used book store. I could have been cleaning my house, or supervising the child car molester. What have I been doing, you might wonder?
Playing video games. Little kid video games on the NeoPets webpage.
There. Now you know. My OCD takes me all kinds of places, and the last couple of weeks have been spent in Neopia. My brain is almost completely gone. Pity me if you want, but I did read one book:
Radiant Shadows by Melissa Marr--
Fans of the Wicked Lovely series will not be disappointed with this latest installment to the series. I was not.
Until next time, keep all pointy objects away from little boys and remember that poison ivy only LOOKS harmless.
And I'm still looking forward to it. Tell me that isn't the mark of a crazy woman. I have long known that my head is messed up, this only proves it further.
Beyond the forthcoming vacation (which will certainly be one for the blog) I am afraid that I have nothing on which to comment. I could have been reading loads of books to critique--I have a good stack from the library, and a few I picked up from the used book store. I could have been cleaning my house, or supervising the child car molester. What have I been doing, you might wonder?
Playing video games. Little kid video games on the NeoPets webpage.
There. Now you know. My OCD takes me all kinds of places, and the last couple of weeks have been spent in Neopia. My brain is almost completely gone. Pity me if you want, but I did read one book:
Radiant Shadows by Melissa Marr--
Fans of the Wicked Lovely series will not be disappointed with this latest installment to the series. I was not.
Until next time, keep all pointy objects away from little boys and remember that poison ivy only LOOKS harmless.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Exploits of a Two-Year-Old
Children are amazing people. The younger they are, the more they amaze me. Not only do they say the darndest things, but they frequently exceed my expectations. For an example, I will attempt to describe for you a few of my two-year-old's most recent conquests.
Number six likes my car. I don't know why, or what exactly he finds so fascinating about it, but he is drawn toward it like a fly to honey. But more specifically, he wants to be in the car when I am NOT. He likes to climb in there, lock the doors, and push all the buttons. Knowing that hot weather was on the way, I started locking my car so that he would not unknowingly cook his little brain while draining the car's battery.
That only stopped him once.
He soon dug through my purse and found those special door unlocking keys... I wasn't worried. He's only two, right? There are a lot of keys on my keyring, but knowing that two-year-olds have the magical ability to make things disappear forever, I watched for a while as he struggled to shove the wrong key into the lock and then took the keys and put them away. "No," says I. "These are Mommy's keys. Don't touch."
Half an hour later, Six has locked himself in my car, my ring of keys dangling from his chubby little fingers. Hmmm...
To keep things brief, Six has also pushed toys up next to the car to climb in through the open window and is now no longer content to merely push buttons. He starts the car, too. Just wait another month and I'll be writing about how a two-year-old wrecked the car before my 16-year-old.
Cars are not Six's only weakness, however. I would like to point out that he has many other interests as well. When he's not driving, Six likes to play with the cat food. It must taste good; he keeps eating it, but at least he shares with the cat and dog, too. He likes to empty things: cabinets, my purse, tissue boxes, floss containers, packages of diapers... Strangely, toys don't interest him much.
He also likes to jump on furniture, but only after all the cushions have been stripped and tossed across the room in all different directions. He likes to climb on said furniture, and up to the highest thing he can find so that he might uncover a new, full something that needs emptying.
Six is a full-time warrior, though his name changes from "Batman/Spiderman/Superman" (depending on which pajamas he wears) to "The Adventures of Link" or to something else as equally glamorous but which I have failed to recall. He packs weapons in his shirt and pants, builds them with Legos, and imagines them out of thin air (when need is dire). Enemies beware, Six is looking for you.
When he is not hanging out of second-story windows, ripping up the screens instead of taking a nap, Six is mostly a good boy--sweet and loving and cute enough to make you cry. He does NOT want to be house broken, though we talk about it every day. He really likes those potty words. "Mommy, I pooped! Hahahahahaha." It must be a funny joke. He laughs every time.
I know there's more to say, but honestly, I'm tired. Can't figure why. I'll leave off with the book I read and call it a good day.
Gifts by Ursula K. Le Guin--
Meh. And that's the nicest thing I can say about it. Le Guin took a good concept and made it as dull as can be, for 274 pages. I'm surprised I read it all.
Number six likes my car. I don't know why, or what exactly he finds so fascinating about it, but he is drawn toward it like a fly to honey. But more specifically, he wants to be in the car when I am NOT. He likes to climb in there, lock the doors, and push all the buttons. Knowing that hot weather was on the way, I started locking my car so that he would not unknowingly cook his little brain while draining the car's battery.
That only stopped him once.
He soon dug through my purse and found those special door unlocking keys... I wasn't worried. He's only two, right? There are a lot of keys on my keyring, but knowing that two-year-olds have the magical ability to make things disappear forever, I watched for a while as he struggled to shove the wrong key into the lock and then took the keys and put them away. "No," says I. "These are Mommy's keys. Don't touch."
Half an hour later, Six has locked himself in my car, my ring of keys dangling from his chubby little fingers. Hmmm...
To keep things brief, Six has also pushed toys up next to the car to climb in through the open window and is now no longer content to merely push buttons. He starts the car, too. Just wait another month and I'll be writing about how a two-year-old wrecked the car before my 16-year-old.
Cars are not Six's only weakness, however. I would like to point out that he has many other interests as well. When he's not driving, Six likes to play with the cat food. It must taste good; he keeps eating it, but at least he shares with the cat and dog, too. He likes to empty things: cabinets, my purse, tissue boxes, floss containers, packages of diapers... Strangely, toys don't interest him much.
He also likes to jump on furniture, but only after all the cushions have been stripped and tossed across the room in all different directions. He likes to climb on said furniture, and up to the highest thing he can find so that he might uncover a new, full something that needs emptying.
Six is a full-time warrior, though his name changes from "Batman/Spiderman/Superman" (depending on which pajamas he wears) to "The Adventures of Link" or to something else as equally glamorous but which I have failed to recall. He packs weapons in his shirt and pants, builds them with Legos, and imagines them out of thin air (when need is dire). Enemies beware, Six is looking for you.
When he is not hanging out of second-story windows, ripping up the screens instead of taking a nap, Six is mostly a good boy--sweet and loving and cute enough to make you cry. He does NOT want to be house broken, though we talk about it every day. He really likes those potty words. "Mommy, I pooped! Hahahahahaha." It must be a funny joke. He laughs every time.
I know there's more to say, but honestly, I'm tired. Can't figure why. I'll leave off with the book I read and call it a good day.
Gifts by Ursula K. Le Guin--
Meh. And that's the nicest thing I can say about it. Le Guin took a good concept and made it as dull as can be, for 274 pages. I'm surprised I read it all.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
What can I say but that my life is just getting better and better. I have sorted out a few things and learned a few more, and even though I've not gotten a whole lot of writing done, I am supremely happy with where I am.
What have I been up to, you might ask? Mostly, reading. I have allowed my little digits (1-5) to eat up a lot of computer time whilst I relax and do things that are as equally enjoyable as sitting in front of the glowbox. Digit #6 is too little to do more than mess up the computer in ways I cannot fix, so he's not allowed to play. But this is fine, because he would much rather sneak out of the house and eat kitty's food and play in the car whenever I'm not looking.
I was thinking back to my dreaded RESOLUTIONS made back in January, and I believe that the cold must have affected my thinking, else why would I ever, EVER deign to clean my entire house?? Really, quite ridiculous. Besides reading, I can't really remember what else I promised I would do, except that one BIG thing I will never do. Hmmm... I have too many other, more interesting, things to occupy my time than something as mundane as finding the floor, or checking whether I still own a working vacuum.
Sheesh.
Well, here's the low-down on my latest reads:
Savvy by Ingrid Law--
A really cute story for the younger YA's (12-14) that I enjoyed. I look forward to the sequel, Scumble, and recommend this for any and all.
are these my basoomas i see before me by Louise Rennison--
The final confessions of Georgia Nicolson. As I've probably mentioned about these books, this being the tenth (and last) in the series, they are utterly ridiculous, but oh, so funny.
Wondrous Strange and Darklight by Lesley Livingston--
I started out really liking this series. Book one (Wondrous Strange) has just enough mystery and romance to keep, yours truly, happy. While I did guess the bulk of the mysteries long before they were officially revealed--this may be due to the small fact that I've been around the book-block a few times--I still enjoyed the read. Book two (Darklight) introduces more mystery, or confusion, depending on how you look at it, and this is where I start to lose interest. This second book bridges the end of the first with whatever sequel will come next without a separate story line or plot. It's just another 'and in this episode we learn that...' which really bugs me about series books. I can understand having suspense and anticipation for the next book and all, but really, each book should stand on its own. Shouldn't it? Oh well, I'll likely keep reading this series to the end.
What have I been up to, you might ask? Mostly, reading. I have allowed my little digits (1-5) to eat up a lot of computer time whilst I relax and do things that are as equally enjoyable as sitting in front of the glowbox. Digit #6 is too little to do more than mess up the computer in ways I cannot fix, so he's not allowed to play. But this is fine, because he would much rather sneak out of the house and eat kitty's food and play in the car whenever I'm not looking.
I was thinking back to my dreaded RESOLUTIONS made back in January, and I believe that the cold must have affected my thinking, else why would I ever, EVER deign to clean my entire house?? Really, quite ridiculous. Besides reading, I can't really remember what else I promised I would do, except that one BIG thing I will never do. Hmmm... I have too many other, more interesting, things to occupy my time than something as mundane as finding the floor, or checking whether I still own a working vacuum.
Sheesh.
Well, here's the low-down on my latest reads:
Savvy by Ingrid Law--
A really cute story for the younger YA's (12-14) that I enjoyed. I look forward to the sequel, Scumble, and recommend this for any and all.
are these my basoomas i see before me by Louise Rennison--
The final confessions of Georgia Nicolson. As I've probably mentioned about these books, this being the tenth (and last) in the series, they are utterly ridiculous, but oh, so funny.
Wondrous Strange and Darklight by Lesley Livingston--
I started out really liking this series. Book one (Wondrous Strange) has just enough mystery and romance to keep, yours truly, happy. While I did guess the bulk of the mysteries long before they were officially revealed--this may be due to the small fact that I've been around the book-block a few times--I still enjoyed the read. Book two (Darklight) introduces more mystery, or confusion, depending on how you look at it, and this is where I start to lose interest. This second book bridges the end of the first with whatever sequel will come next without a separate story line or plot. It's just another 'and in this episode we learn that...' which really bugs me about series books. I can understand having suspense and anticipation for the next book and all, but really, each book should stand on its own. Shouldn't it? Oh well, I'll likely keep reading this series to the end.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Emergency Preparedness
I am beginning to think my computer has a vendetta against me editing. A few hours in, and it freezes up, leaving me shallow of breath and brain, hands waving frantically above the keyboard and wondering when last I saved, whether that save 'took' and how much work I'll have to re-do because sometimes it doesn't save even when it says it does and I exit the program thinking it will be ok, say a little prayer, go to bed, and wake up to find that everything I did the day before has ceased to exist!
AAAAAaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhhh!
All I can say is, "Not again!"
So, any way, I'm frozen out now (again) and I just can't fathom removing my posterior from this not-so-comfortable office chair in order to find any actual, physical work to occupy me elsewhere because I'm in 'obsessive computer freak mode' and have to KEEP WORKING.
Soo, I thought I'd pop over here and play with my blog. Today's subject, as stated above, is emergency preparedness, though I won't bother with the big-time stuff like first aid or food and water storage, those topics can be researched on serious sites (i.e. - not here).
What To Do When:
...my toddler says, "I got the ew on the end of my finger." ?
-do not panic. Whatever he/she has will require a tissue and hand soap. Take toddler by the hand to prevent the eating/wiping of unknown substance until a sink or tissue can be located. Further investigation may lead to more cleaning, depending on what unknown substance turns out to be.
... I brake at the stoplight and my toddler's seat flips forward?
-do not panic. Little Houdini has been practicing escape techniques. Put on your emergency flashers (they are good for something) and put your car in park. >do not forget this step. Re-fasten your child's seat and gently scold/soothe, but do not let him/her out of the seat or this may become an incentive to repeat the stunt.
... my teenager tells me that her best friend is have an 'all-weekend-party'?
-Answer very calmly, "Good for her." Further discussion will reveal said teenager's desire to attend, but if you can remain calm, a reasonable 'no' can be achieved.
... my pubescent boy won't take a shower?
-Well, that's a toughie. If it's warm enough outside, consider moving him into a tent. Other options include, but are not limited to, pretending that you will wash the car together and spraying him down while his back is turned; taking him to a lake and pushing him in; convincing him to get baptized (religion is always a good idea); bribery; and maybe even ignoring the situation until someone he esteems higher than you makes mention of that 'odiferousness'. (This last suggestion should be a last resort for health code reasons.)
... I'm having a crisis and I've run out of chocolate?
-PANIC. Get to the store ASAP and buy the best brand of chocolate you can find. Eat at the register, if necessary. If you are unsure as to which brand is best, buy several and try them all.
Seriously, there are certain things you should keep stocked at all times in your house. You know what they are. If you run out of these items, life as you know it will cease to be. Chocolate tops the list. Tampons, peanut butter, and diapers are on there too. (They are in my house.)
...I've finally written a kick-butt query and an agent requests sample pages, but then turns down my glorious work with the standard 'Not for me' rejection?
-Do not panic. Eat chocolate and look over your ms. The power of chocolate will help you see whether work needs doing. After you are enlightened, start revising. Unless your computer hates you--like mine--you will be back on the road to success in no time.
My final bits of advice for the day: Back up all your files, and employ the hottest computer geek you can find. Pay with chocolate XXX :P
AAAAAaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhhhhhh!
All I can say is, "Not again!"
So, any way, I'm frozen out now (again) and I just can't fathom removing my posterior from this not-so-comfortable office chair in order to find any actual, physical work to occupy me elsewhere because I'm in 'obsessive computer freak mode' and have to KEEP WORKING.
Soo, I thought I'd pop over here and play with my blog. Today's subject, as stated above, is emergency preparedness, though I won't bother with the big-time stuff like first aid or food and water storage, those topics can be researched on serious sites (i.e. - not here).
What To Do When:
...my toddler says, "I got the ew on the end of my finger." ?
-do not panic. Whatever he/she has will require a tissue and hand soap. Take toddler by the hand to prevent the eating/wiping of unknown substance until a sink or tissue can be located. Further investigation may lead to more cleaning, depending on what unknown substance turns out to be.
... I brake at the stoplight and my toddler's seat flips forward?
-do not panic. Little Houdini has been practicing escape techniques. Put on your emergency flashers (they are good for something) and put your car in park. >do not forget this step. Re-fasten your child's seat and gently scold/soothe, but do not let him/her out of the seat or this may become an incentive to repeat the stunt.
... my teenager tells me that her best friend is have an 'all-weekend-party'?
-Answer very calmly, "Good for her." Further discussion will reveal said teenager's desire to attend, but if you can remain calm, a reasonable 'no' can be achieved.
... my pubescent boy won't take a shower?
-Well, that's a toughie. If it's warm enough outside, consider moving him into a tent. Other options include, but are not limited to, pretending that you will wash the car together and spraying him down while his back is turned; taking him to a lake and pushing him in; convincing him to get baptized (religion is always a good idea); bribery; and maybe even ignoring the situation until someone he esteems higher than you makes mention of that 'odiferousness'. (This last suggestion should be a last resort for health code reasons.)
... I'm having a crisis and I've run out of chocolate?
-PANIC. Get to the store ASAP and buy the best brand of chocolate you can find. Eat at the register, if necessary. If you are unsure as to which brand is best, buy several and try them all.
Seriously, there are certain things you should keep stocked at all times in your house. You know what they are. If you run out of these items, life as you know it will cease to be. Chocolate tops the list. Tampons, peanut butter, and diapers are on there too. (They are in my house.)
...I've finally written a kick-butt query and an agent requests sample pages, but then turns down my glorious work with the standard 'Not for me' rejection?
-Do not panic. Eat chocolate and look over your ms. The power of chocolate will help you see whether work needs doing. After you are enlightened, start revising. Unless your computer hates you--like mine--you will be back on the road to success in no time.
My final bits of advice for the day: Back up all your files, and employ the hottest computer geek you can find. Pay with chocolate XXX :P
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Another week
Did you ever get that feeling... after reading a couple of really great books, or after writing and writing for a long stint and finally coming up for air (whether by choice or forced)... the feeling of emerging from a tunnel? You're disoriented, unhappy, and can't figure, for the life of you, what to do but go back to your 'real' life.
OK, yeah. Me neither.
Where has the week gone? I think I did a lot of work, but I can't remember what. Or when. I must have fed the munchkins, 'cause they haven't keeled over yet. I think I paid the bills, the lights and computer are still running, and I recall seeing the sun, on occasion, so I must have left my den of iniquity at some point.
Yet, here it is, Saturday again, and the light is slowly fading into the west, so I must have squandered this day as well. Darn. -deep sigh-
At the very least, I can give y'all my book report:
Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver--
Complaint #1) bad language. Call me prude, but the first third of the book is positively swarming with foul words and snarkiness. I read on because my librarian friend recommended it as a 'good read'. I can say that the story got better; the book is extremely well written and well told, but it is another one of those stories that ought to have a warning, Do Not Read if You Have Depressive Tendencies. This book, despite the lovely prose and easy pace, comes off with (Complaint #2 is purely my own opinion) the message that some souls or people are worth saving while others are not. No me gusta.
Once a Witch by Carolyn MacCullough--
Excellent! I knew from the start that I would love this book, and I did. Highly recommended for all you YA readers.
Tantalize by Cynthia Leitich Smith--
Sorry to end on a sour note, but this book grated my inner writer so so so so badly that I could not force my way past the sixty page mark.
Until next time, keep your lights on while driving through tunnels.
OK, yeah. Me neither.
Where has the week gone? I think I did a lot of work, but I can't remember what. Or when. I must have fed the munchkins, 'cause they haven't keeled over yet. I think I paid the bills, the lights and computer are still running, and I recall seeing the sun, on occasion, so I must have left my den of iniquity at some point.
Yet, here it is, Saturday again, and the light is slowly fading into the west, so I must have squandered this day as well. Darn. -deep sigh-
At the very least, I can give y'all my book report:
Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver--
Complaint #1) bad language. Call me prude, but the first third of the book is positively swarming with foul words and snarkiness. I read on because my librarian friend recommended it as a 'good read'. I can say that the story got better; the book is extremely well written and well told, but it is another one of those stories that ought to have a warning, Do Not Read if You Have Depressive Tendencies. This book, despite the lovely prose and easy pace, comes off with (Complaint #2 is purely my own opinion) the message that some souls or people are worth saving while others are not. No me gusta.
Once a Witch by Carolyn MacCullough--
Excellent! I knew from the start that I would love this book, and I did. Highly recommended for all you YA readers.
Tantalize by Cynthia Leitich Smith--
Sorry to end on a sour note, but this book grated my inner writer so so so so badly that I could not force my way past the sixty page mark.
Until next time, keep your lights on while driving through tunnels.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Ladybug House (philosophies of fiction mingled with truth)
The place looked cheerful enough, not as run-down as the last three vacation houses, so I figured it would be alright. I pulled into the gravel drive and instructed the inmates to disembark. 'Are we there yet' had been playing consistently at two-minute intervals for the last hour and a half and I was more anxious to leave the car than the children were.
My tide of pint-sized miserables shot from the vehicle like their lives depended on it, racing across the yard, through the flowerbeds, and onto the porch of our summer retreat with enough energy to put the Energizer Bunny to shame.
"Don't trample the flowers; Get off the railing!" My 'Voice of Doom' had lost its potency about thirty miles back and none of the kids could hear it anymore. I fumbled through my purse, looking for the house key amid hundreds of discarded gum wrappers and rumpled receipts. Ooo, aspirin, better hang on to that...
Once the front door stood open, we all entered with a sigh of relief. I already needed a vacation from this vacation, but knew I had to check mattresses and plumbing before getting comfortable. The air inside had that generic 'closed up' feel that endemically accompanied summer homes. Never mind that someone had rented the place a week ago, it felt as stuffy as a cheap trailer in the Everglades--one that only alligators visited.
One by one, I opened windows and inspected the rooms. The air-conditioner wasn't working, but water flowed through the taps. All the windows had tight screens. The echo of children racing through the house grated on my nerves and I remembered to take my aspirin.
"Do NOT jump on the beds!" The noise of stretching mattress springs ceased and I could hear the whispered words of wonder, "How did she know?"
My smallest child found me in the kitchen, checking the refrigerator and stove. He held his finger out in front of him to display a squashed ladybug. An offensive smell wafted up and I wrinkled my nose.
"Did you kill that bug?"
"Yup."
With a wet paper towel, I wiped his hand clean. "Don't kill the ladybugs. They stink when you squish them."
He said something else, but I had stopped listening. The sink strainer was filled with dead ladybugs.
A blur of cleaning, changing sheets, unpacking, and phone calls to get the air-conditioner serviced left me weak-kneed by the end of the day. I fell into bed with no intention of ever rising again. --Until the scream dragged me up.
My youngest daughter stood in the middle of her bed, sheet pulled tight around her body and up to her chin. Her pitiful cries filled the room.
"What's wrong?" I asked, flipping on the light.
She pointed at the ceiling where about six ladybugs crawled over the light fixture. Another flew across the room and hit the window.
Buzzzzzz, TAP.
My daughter cried louder. "I'm scared."
"Honey, they're just ladybugs. They won't hurt you. Look." I reached to the window for one of the insects and stopped when her frantic scream grew louder.
"No, no, no, no! Don't touch them!"
No amount of consoling would get her to lay down until I dug out the vacuum cleaner and sucked all the bugs up into it. We checked under the bed, in the closet, and all around the window.
"All gone," I told her. "Will you go to sleep, now?" It came out rather harsh, considering all I'd been through that day. I would have pointed out to her that 'Mommy's just tired' but instead, I kissed her head and walked away. She'd sleep eventually.
I found a little boy in my bed, one who ought not be there, and a squashed ladybug wiped on my pillow. "Did you do this?" I asked, pointing at my pillow. He smiled and nodded. There are no nice words left in my mouth, so I kept it shut. On top of everything else, Little Boy needed a diaper change.
An hour later, the last light out, all the midgets have lost the battle against fatigue and I can only wish the same. I remembered to flip my pillow to the clean side before lying on it and close my eyes. Then I heard the noise. TAP.
Again, and again. Buzzzzzzzz, TAP. Buzzzzzzzz, TAP.
Where are all these freaking bugs coming from? I made a mental note to call an exterminator first thing in the morning and tried to block out the sound from my mind.
I dreamed of swimming in the river, cool slow water flowing around me, little fish darting below my feet and tickling my legs, my arms. I dove, mildly confused by the sensation of breathing under water, but such are the ways of a dream. The tickly fish swam all around, making me itch. It was the scratching that woke me. My hand landed on a hard, little lump, and another. The stink of squashed ladybug hit my nose; a crawly-tickly sensation spread over both arms and legs, and on my face.
I jumped out of the bed, screaming. Things were in my mouth, my nose, and I darted for the nearest light switch. They were everywhere, the ladybugs, all over the ceiling and walls, crawling over my bed, crawling over me. I can't shake hard enough, or swat them away fast enough. I'm pulled off my clothes, shaking bugs away, crunching insect bodies beneath my bare feet. The smell of their deaths reached my nose and made me gag. It was too much for me to stand there any longer. I wanted to run from the house and never come back.
The children...
The nightmare was not over. I raced into the other rooms to find each little child covered, head to toe, in insects. My eyes blurred as I pulled them, unresponsive, from their beds, slapping bugs away from their faces, digging red-black insects from their noses and mouths. When they woke, they cried, confused, tired. But when they saw the ladybugs, hysteria broke loose.
Not until I've scooped my last child out of his bed and have run from the house did I notice the blood. Hundreds of tiny welts, like bug bites, bleed along my littlest boy's skin. We left everything behind, driving forever to the nearest hospital to tell an unbelievable story, over and over, to doctors, police, and social workers. By the time anyone went to investigate at the house, all that remained of the ladybugs was a few dead insects in the sink strainer.
Now, what in hay have I been reading? you ask...
Nothing bad.
Ashes by Kathryn Lasky--
A historical fiction of a German girl during the rise of the Nazis. I thought it well done in the historical flavor department, but lacking in the overall, story-telling department. In other words: I didn't like the ending.
Fablehaven book 5, Keys to the Demon Prison by Brandon Mull--
Loved it. Highly recommended reading.
That's all for now, my Internet friends. Join in next time, when Robin says, "Holy Cow, Batman!"
My tide of pint-sized miserables shot from the vehicle like their lives depended on it, racing across the yard, through the flowerbeds, and onto the porch of our summer retreat with enough energy to put the Energizer Bunny to shame.
"Don't trample the flowers; Get off the railing!" My 'Voice of Doom' had lost its potency about thirty miles back and none of the kids could hear it anymore. I fumbled through my purse, looking for the house key amid hundreds of discarded gum wrappers and rumpled receipts. Ooo, aspirin, better hang on to that...
Once the front door stood open, we all entered with a sigh of relief. I already needed a vacation from this vacation, but knew I had to check mattresses and plumbing before getting comfortable. The air inside had that generic 'closed up' feel that endemically accompanied summer homes. Never mind that someone had rented the place a week ago, it felt as stuffy as a cheap trailer in the Everglades--one that only alligators visited.
One by one, I opened windows and inspected the rooms. The air-conditioner wasn't working, but water flowed through the taps. All the windows had tight screens. The echo of children racing through the house grated on my nerves and I remembered to take my aspirin.
"Do NOT jump on the beds!" The noise of stretching mattress springs ceased and I could hear the whispered words of wonder, "How did she know?"
My smallest child found me in the kitchen, checking the refrigerator and stove. He held his finger out in front of him to display a squashed ladybug. An offensive smell wafted up and I wrinkled my nose.
"Did you kill that bug?"
"Yup."
With a wet paper towel, I wiped his hand clean. "Don't kill the ladybugs. They stink when you squish them."
He said something else, but I had stopped listening. The sink strainer was filled with dead ladybugs.
A blur of cleaning, changing sheets, unpacking, and phone calls to get the air-conditioner serviced left me weak-kneed by the end of the day. I fell into bed with no intention of ever rising again. --Until the scream dragged me up.
My youngest daughter stood in the middle of her bed, sheet pulled tight around her body and up to her chin. Her pitiful cries filled the room.
"What's wrong?" I asked, flipping on the light.
She pointed at the ceiling where about six ladybugs crawled over the light fixture. Another flew across the room and hit the window.
Buzzzzzz, TAP.
My daughter cried louder. "I'm scared."
"Honey, they're just ladybugs. They won't hurt you. Look." I reached to the window for one of the insects and stopped when her frantic scream grew louder.
"No, no, no, no! Don't touch them!"
No amount of consoling would get her to lay down until I dug out the vacuum cleaner and sucked all the bugs up into it. We checked under the bed, in the closet, and all around the window.
"All gone," I told her. "Will you go to sleep, now?" It came out rather harsh, considering all I'd been through that day. I would have pointed out to her that 'Mommy's just tired' but instead, I kissed her head and walked away. She'd sleep eventually.
I found a little boy in my bed, one who ought not be there, and a squashed ladybug wiped on my pillow. "Did you do this?" I asked, pointing at my pillow. He smiled and nodded. There are no nice words left in my mouth, so I kept it shut. On top of everything else, Little Boy needed a diaper change.
An hour later, the last light out, all the midgets have lost the battle against fatigue and I can only wish the same. I remembered to flip my pillow to the clean side before lying on it and close my eyes. Then I heard the noise. TAP.
Again, and again. Buzzzzzzzz, TAP. Buzzzzzzzz, TAP.
Where are all these freaking bugs coming from? I made a mental note to call an exterminator first thing in the morning and tried to block out the sound from my mind.
I dreamed of swimming in the river, cool slow water flowing around me, little fish darting below my feet and tickling my legs, my arms. I dove, mildly confused by the sensation of breathing under water, but such are the ways of a dream. The tickly fish swam all around, making me itch. It was the scratching that woke me. My hand landed on a hard, little lump, and another. The stink of squashed ladybug hit my nose; a crawly-tickly sensation spread over both arms and legs, and on my face.
I jumped out of the bed, screaming. Things were in my mouth, my nose, and I darted for the nearest light switch. They were everywhere, the ladybugs, all over the ceiling and walls, crawling over my bed, crawling over me. I can't shake hard enough, or swat them away fast enough. I'm pulled off my clothes, shaking bugs away, crunching insect bodies beneath my bare feet. The smell of their deaths reached my nose and made me gag. It was too much for me to stand there any longer. I wanted to run from the house and never come back.
The children...
The nightmare was not over. I raced into the other rooms to find each little child covered, head to toe, in insects. My eyes blurred as I pulled them, unresponsive, from their beds, slapping bugs away from their faces, digging red-black insects from their noses and mouths. When they woke, they cried, confused, tired. But when they saw the ladybugs, hysteria broke loose.
Not until I've scooped my last child out of his bed and have run from the house did I notice the blood. Hundreds of tiny welts, like bug bites, bleed along my littlest boy's skin. We left everything behind, driving forever to the nearest hospital to tell an unbelievable story, over and over, to doctors, police, and social workers. By the time anyone went to investigate at the house, all that remained of the ladybugs was a few dead insects in the sink strainer.
Now, what in hay have I been reading? you ask...
Nothing bad.
Ashes by Kathryn Lasky--
A historical fiction of a German girl during the rise of the Nazis. I thought it well done in the historical flavor department, but lacking in the overall, story-telling department. In other words: I didn't like the ending.
Fablehaven book 5, Keys to the Demon Prison by Brandon Mull--
Loved it. Highly recommended reading.
That's all for now, my Internet friends. Join in next time, when Robin says, "Holy Cow, Batman!"
Monday, March 29, 2010
Physics Lesson
An object at rest...
I've decided that I fit into the old example of 'object at rest'. I am the 'writer not writing' and the longer I'm at that, the harder it is for me to stop stopping. Adversely, the bigger a roll I'm on in writing, editing, or whatever, the harder it is for me to stop doing that.
Right now, if I could only learn from the above stated knowledge, I might get a lot better results from the- ahem - diet I'm not really on by not eating the Easter candy I purchased for my children. Those of you who shop in bulk know that Costco sells Jelly Belly (aka, Bertie Botts in my house) jelly beans in four pound buckets. After I've fished out all the sizzling cinnamon, coconut, and pina colada, it's amazing how the left-overs suddenly taste good enough to now be eaten.
I wasn't going to eat them all...
What I've been reading:
13 Little Blue Envelopes by Maureen Johnson--
I liked this story, though it took a while to grab me. (Must have been my own fault)
Nobody's Princess and its sequel, Nobody's Prize by Esther Friesner--
These were ok, felt kind of middle-grade to me, so definitely not my favorites.
Until next time, this is the Jelly Belly queen and her horde, signing out.
I've decided that I fit into the old example of 'object at rest'. I am the 'writer not writing' and the longer I'm at that, the harder it is for me to stop stopping. Adversely, the bigger a roll I'm on in writing, editing, or whatever, the harder it is for me to stop doing that.
Right now, if I could only learn from the above stated knowledge, I might get a lot better results from the- ahem - diet I'm not really on by not eating the Easter candy I purchased for my children. Those of you who shop in bulk know that Costco sells Jelly Belly (aka, Bertie Botts in my house) jelly beans in four pound buckets. After I've fished out all the sizzling cinnamon, coconut, and pina colada, it's amazing how the left-overs suddenly taste good enough to now be eaten.
I wasn't going to eat them all...
What I've been reading:
13 Little Blue Envelopes by Maureen Johnson--
I liked this story, though it took a while to grab me. (Must have been my own fault)
Nobody's Princess and its sequel, Nobody's Prize by Esther Friesner--
These were ok, felt kind of middle-grade to me, so definitely not my favorites.
Until next time, this is the Jelly Belly queen and her horde, signing out.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
A Moment in Time
I had another birthday recently. Yeah, I know. There's at least one of those dratted things every year (seems like more than that, I swear). Thing was, this year's dreaded B-day was actually a happy event. Call me slow, but my facebook account is still aged by months, not years, and because my birthday is displayed, tons of my friends wished me a happy day.
Moreover, and better still, I had special time with three special someones that mean a lot to me. If my memory weren't already full of holes, I'd want to pack that day up in curlicues with confetti and balloons so that I could savor the moment whenever I felt blue. But alas, the memory is failing, much like the joints are creaking and the fat is settling (yikes!) and I must bottle happiness in more ways than one just to ensure that some of it survives for the future.
Praises to my well-wishers, you know who you are, and to every blessed light in the dark tunnel of life. May I find my way safely to the other side, or die laughing with a candle--even if it's a birthday candle.
Moreover, and better still, I had special time with three special someones that mean a lot to me. If my memory weren't already full of holes, I'd want to pack that day up in curlicues with confetti and balloons so that I could savor the moment whenever I felt blue. But alas, the memory is failing, much like the joints are creaking and the fat is settling (yikes!) and I must bottle happiness in more ways than one just to ensure that some of it survives for the future.
Praises to my well-wishers, you know who you are, and to every blessed light in the dark tunnel of life. May I find my way safely to the other side, or die laughing with a candle--even if it's a birthday candle.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Hard Knocks
Status: I'm whining. Pity party with a side of selfishness, indignation, and lots of WHINE. I want chocolate and cake and goodies and friends and anything that will bring on the slightest sense of happiness, no matter how false that sense may be and no matter how short-lived it turns out, or how much it will alter the evil bathroom scale... OK, strike that. I don't want the illusion, but I'll take the friends and chocolate. Or just the friends and a whiff of something delectable so I can refuse to have any and commence on self-punishment.
Poor MAP, you might say, what's the matter?
Nothing. Why do you ask? Because I'm whining? No, you see, I whine on a regular basis and you just haven't noticed yet. I growl a lot, too. And yell at unsuspecting relations and small, furry mammals (mostly dogs). But it's nice outside. The sun is shining, and I will shortly plunge into a dimension of pollen and outdoor messes to forget about the misery of living in a closed world that doesn't necessarily make sense and isn't necessarily fair, with all its rejection slips and lost/found bills that will never be paid, crusty laundry, dirty floors, and pint-sized ingrates.
Because it's not fair. More on that later (with or without whining, TBD).
What have I been reading???
love is a many trousered thing by Louise Rennison--
This is eighth in a long, seemingly unending series of British, funny teen-reads that I'm not sure counts as book reading. The really funny thing is that when I picked this up at the library, I wasn't sure if I'd already read it or not since I sometimes hole up at Borders, reading things I wouldn't want to buy but that my library hasn't stocked... Anyway, I got almost half-way through, skipped to the end, and verified that, yes, I did read this one. So how do I count it... uh... don't know.
Front and Center by Catherine Gilbert Murdock--
This one is third in a series called Dairy Queen. I liked the first book, didn't like the second, and kind of liked this one. Thing is, it's more of a literary teen book while I tend to like books of another kind better. Oh well.
And I am currently working on The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck--
Wow. Talk about long-winded. You know all those things that agents and editors say not to do? -like laundry list descriptions and unending paragraph after paragraph of narrative description- Well, it seems this is exactly the kind of writing that got one published fifty years ago. I'm not sure I'll ever finish reading this 'classic', or if I want to.
Tune in next time when frazzled MAP gets a life.
Poor MAP, you might say, what's the matter?
Nothing. Why do you ask? Because I'm whining? No, you see, I whine on a regular basis and you just haven't noticed yet. I growl a lot, too. And yell at unsuspecting relations and small, furry mammals (mostly dogs). But it's nice outside. The sun is shining, and I will shortly plunge into a dimension of pollen and outdoor messes to forget about the misery of living in a closed world that doesn't necessarily make sense and isn't necessarily fair, with all its rejection slips and lost/found bills that will never be paid, crusty laundry, dirty floors, and pint-sized ingrates.
Because it's not fair. More on that later (with or without whining, TBD).
What have I been reading???
love is a many trousered thing by Louise Rennison--
This is eighth in a long, seemingly unending series of British, funny teen-reads that I'm not sure counts as book reading. The really funny thing is that when I picked this up at the library, I wasn't sure if I'd already read it or not since I sometimes hole up at Borders, reading things I wouldn't want to buy but that my library hasn't stocked... Anyway, I got almost half-way through, skipped to the end, and verified that, yes, I did read this one. So how do I count it... uh... don't know.
Front and Center by Catherine Gilbert Murdock--
This one is third in a series called Dairy Queen. I liked the first book, didn't like the second, and kind of liked this one. Thing is, it's more of a literary teen book while I tend to like books of another kind better. Oh well.
And I am currently working on The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck--
Wow. Talk about long-winded. You know all those things that agents and editors say not to do? -like laundry list descriptions and unending paragraph after paragraph of narrative description- Well, it seems this is exactly the kind of writing that got one published fifty years ago. I'm not sure I'll ever finish reading this 'classic', or if I want to.
Tune in next time when frazzled MAP gets a life.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Rain
I decided I haven't written any poetry for a while. Afterward, I should definitely get back to writing one of those many, many books plaguing my mind. Or get dressed...
Anyway, here goes. I call it, RAIN
Anyway, here goes. I call it, RAIN
Wet and cold
the rain is falling
seeping
into low places
and filling them.
Grey and low
the clouds are stalling
blocking
out the sun
to make it dark.
Broken apart
my heart is calling
seeking
for peace
and warm comfort.
Back at the start
I am standing
stepping
through the rain
toward the finish.
the rain is falling
seeping
into low places
and filling them.
Grey and low
the clouds are stalling
blocking
out the sun
to make it dark.
Broken apart
my heart is calling
seeking
for peace
and warm comfort.
Back at the start
I am standing
stepping
through the rain
toward the finish.
And, what have I read? :::::
Fallen by Lauren Kate--
This book has a great idea and a great start, mystery, subtle clues, and a lot of pulling on the old heartstrings. Here it comes... But, I felt like the 'mystery' dragged out a bit much, leading into a very unfulfilling finale. The open-ended way the book left off did not make me want to read the sequel, though it does present some interesting questions-- like, 'What the hay is going on?'
Fallen by Lauren Kate--
This book has a great idea and a great start, mystery, subtle clues, and a lot of pulling on the old heartstrings. Here it comes... But, I felt like the 'mystery' dragged out a bit much, leading into a very unfulfilling finale. The open-ended way the book left off did not make me want to read the sequel, though it does present some interesting questions-- like, 'What the hay is going on?'
Until next time, keep reading, keep writing, keep dreaming.
Ciao.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Spring Fever
No, I wasn't dreaming about Mr. Darcy, small child, so go ahead and wake me in the middle of the night. Tell me all about how you disobeyed your mother and refused to get in your bed, thereby getting so cold at... 1:30 AM... that you need to cry great tears of unhappiness and scream at me until I make it all better.
Yep. That's what I'm here for.
My wish for spring has finally come true. Oh thank you, Fairy God Mother, Elementals, weather people, and God in Heaven. Who do I thank for head colds and allergies? Hmmm? Bad fairies and the genetic pool. So warmer weather is here and I might just send one of my little helpers out wash the winter grime from my car, except that it's now raining. Which means I need to keep a close eye on the umbrellas.
I'm not sure if watching Mary Poppins as child affected my view of umbrellas, or if my imagination was demented from the beginning, but there's magic to be had by a child holding one of those rain-deflecting devices. When I was much smaller, and much stupider, I would climb to the top of my parents' house with an umbrella in hand, and poise at the edge of the roof with the opened contraption held up and out--and leap.
I never, ever broke my leg, arm, or other appendage, though I can't prove that the umbrella helped. When all the umbrellas were mysteriously broken, my siblings and I would form parachutes out of blankets, sheets, and even plastic grocery bags, and jump again. Someone always ratted us out--well meaning neighbors, the postman, a passing cop... My parents would be told and then I was in for the beating of a lifetime--did I want to go to the hospital? Maybe. If you can imagine, my parents never took me anywhere, so maybe the hospital would be cool.
Fast-forward a bit. My own children are not so fortunate as to live in a single-story house with an easy-climb tree growing over the roof in the backyard. No, they must resort to their own stupi--I mean, ingenuity to devise ways of inflicting, or missing as the case may be, bodily injury. Trust me, they do have ample opportunity and the umbrellas in my house do randomly disintegrate. Go figure.
Recent reads include:
Perfect Chemistry by Simone Elkeles--
Good enough, story wise, plot, writing and all the essentials... my only big complaint is in the language. I don't care much to read line after line of profanity, call me weird, but that's me.
Heist Society by Ally Carter--
I'm a big fan of the Gallagher Girls series, so reading this was no chore. Fast paced and fun, it's a book I can recommend to all my teen-reading friends.
Yep. That's what I'm here for.
My wish for spring has finally come true. Oh thank you, Fairy God Mother, Elementals, weather people, and God in Heaven. Who do I thank for head colds and allergies? Hmmm? Bad fairies and the genetic pool. So warmer weather is here and I might just send one of my little helpers out wash the winter grime from my car, except that it's now raining. Which means I need to keep a close eye on the umbrellas.
I'm not sure if watching Mary Poppins as child affected my view of umbrellas, or if my imagination was demented from the beginning, but there's magic to be had by a child holding one of those rain-deflecting devices. When I was much smaller, and much stupider, I would climb to the top of my parents' house with an umbrella in hand, and poise at the edge of the roof with the opened contraption held up and out--and leap.
I never, ever broke my leg, arm, or other appendage, though I can't prove that the umbrella helped. When all the umbrellas were mysteriously broken, my siblings and I would form parachutes out of blankets, sheets, and even plastic grocery bags, and jump again. Someone always ratted us out--well meaning neighbors, the postman, a passing cop... My parents would be told and then I was in for the beating of a lifetime--did I want to go to the hospital? Maybe. If you can imagine, my parents never took me anywhere, so maybe the hospital would be cool.
Fast-forward a bit. My own children are not so fortunate as to live in a single-story house with an easy-climb tree growing over the roof in the backyard. No, they must resort to their own stupi--I mean, ingenuity to devise ways of inflicting, or missing as the case may be, bodily injury. Trust me, they do have ample opportunity and the umbrellas in my house do randomly disintegrate. Go figure.
Recent reads include:
Perfect Chemistry by Simone Elkeles--
Good enough, story wise, plot, writing and all the essentials... my only big complaint is in the language. I don't care much to read line after line of profanity, call me weird, but that's me.
Heist Society by Ally Carter--
I'm a big fan of the Gallagher Girls series, so reading this was no chore. Fast paced and fun, it's a book I can recommend to all my teen-reading friends.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
No news is no news
I am so glad that February has left. Drat this global warming. It is so freaking cold. Now, if only spring would get here and bring an end to forty degree days, I think I would like that very well. There are many things I can blame on the weather, my stuffy nose and tendancy to hibernate... neglecting my blog is not one of them. For this, I shall blame something else entirely.
As soon as I think of it.
To date, my dreams of publication remain unrealized, except as dreams. My problems are many, but I think one of them is that for every novel completed, I have three or four other great book ideas come to me saying, "ooo, me next. Pick me!"
Honestly, it's worse than having six kids all talking at once. These come to me in quiet moments, whenever my brain is running from the others... And they won't shut up either.
This morning, I lay awake in my bed, watching the pictures behind my eyes take shape. Naturally, it was one of my novels--the one I'm supposed to be working on. I want so badly to finish it, but I know that if I turn away from the editing, it will never get done.
MUST. BE. STRONG.
Gaaahhh. I've recently had a brand new brainstorm for a really fantastic YA sci-fi-ish book that I will (of course) keep secret until it's written and the queries are going out. Those privy to the secret must keep quiet or suffer the pains of... uh... a really, really mad lady. Yeah. I'll sick my kids on you, then you'll be sorry.
On another front: resolutions are stupid. I may be reading and writing and visiting friends, but the back of my brain is stuck on watching those swelling digits from the bathroom scale. The weather is to blame.
And here are the books I've read:
Bella at Midnight by Diane Stanley--
not the most fantastic of stories, but one I enjoyed nonetheless
The Ropemaker by Peter Dickinson--
A fat enough book that I should have known... but still, I hoped for something spectacular, even after the slow beginning. Throughout the book, there were at least three times when I felt strongly that the story needed to end, yet it continued. On and on and on. And this is not to say that the man can't write, quite the contrary, Mr. Dickinson is a very talented writer. But, as this is my personal opinion and I can say whatever I like, after 375 pages I reached the end with the deflated sense of time wasted.
As soon as I think of it.
To date, my dreams of publication remain unrealized, except as dreams. My problems are many, but I think one of them is that for every novel completed, I have three or four other great book ideas come to me saying, "ooo, me next. Pick me!"
Honestly, it's worse than having six kids all talking at once. These come to me in quiet moments, whenever my brain is running from the others... And they won't shut up either.
This morning, I lay awake in my bed, watching the pictures behind my eyes take shape. Naturally, it was one of my novels--the one I'm supposed to be working on. I want so badly to finish it, but I know that if I turn away from the editing, it will never get done.
MUST. BE. STRONG.
Gaaahhh. I've recently had a brand new brainstorm for a really fantastic YA sci-fi-ish book that I will (of course) keep secret until it's written and the queries are going out. Those privy to the secret must keep quiet or suffer the pains of... uh... a really, really mad lady. Yeah. I'll sick my kids on you, then you'll be sorry.
On another front: resolutions are stupid. I may be reading and writing and visiting friends, but the back of my brain is stuck on watching those swelling digits from the bathroom scale. The weather is to blame.
And here are the books I've read:
Bella at Midnight by Diane Stanley--
not the most fantastic of stories, but one I enjoyed nonetheless
The Ropemaker by Peter Dickinson--
A fat enough book that I should have known... but still, I hoped for something spectacular, even after the slow beginning. Throughout the book, there were at least three times when I felt strongly that the story needed to end, yet it continued. On and on and on. And this is not to say that the man can't write, quite the contrary, Mr. Dickinson is a very talented writer. But, as this is my personal opinion and I can say whatever I like, after 375 pages I reached the end with the deflated sense of time wasted.
Monday, February 22, 2010
MAP Detective Agency
Today, I woke early. Two or three times, actually. By the time I got out of bed, grouchiness had already taken hold. I could write out all the things on my mental to-do list, but there wouldn't be a whole lot of point to that. Killing trees and wasting money, resources--stuffing the landfill with a lot of forgotten notations--I'll let the rest of you do it.
It's one of those days where I don't bother to get dressed before putting on my shoes and coat to drive #2 to school. One of those days where I'm too angry to yell and, instead, inflict my LOOK O' DEATH on all who oppose me. Beware. It's one of those days when Little Boy Conflict sits in his room, naked, and tells me, "Mom, I don't think I can go to school today because I don't have any underwear or pants to put on."
"How convenient for you," I reply, and start in on folding the four loads of laundry piled up on my sofa that have been sitting there for the better part of a week. And yes, I have to go through all four loads before locating a single pair of Conflict's underwear. No pants, though.
By this time, the school bus is trundling down the street and I must push Conflict's whining self down the stairs to slip on his shoes and coat and backpack, out the door without breakfast, and tell him to have a lovely day despite his complaints about a hurt leg and hating school and hating me and hating, hating, hating... whatever happens to be handy.
Yeah. I love you, too, kid.
Obviously, the laundry needs doing, but I know--even when it's done--that certain questions will remain unanswered, and this brings me to the point of this blog. For one day only, I am going to open the MAP Detective Agency--here to answer all those petty questions that no right-minded detective would dare to tackle. That's right, and because this is a limited time offer, I will do this service free of charge. Just remember: one day only! Why? Because I have more important things to do that think about these ridiculous things.
Question #1: Where did the twelve pairs of underwear disappear to?
--Having a sense of deja-vu, here, and it's telling me that I don't want to know. We'll let this case slide and stick to washing the side of the mountain.
Question #2: How is it possible to fit three cubic feet of food into a one cubic foot stomach?
--Those who don't understand the question must not be familiar with the metamorphic stage of the pubescent male. During the months of transformation from short and pudgy to tall and gangly, the pubescent male's bones hollow out to make room for the tremendous amounts of food necessary to fuel said growth. So you see, the food you watch disappearing down the Bean Sprout's neck is not actually going into the stomach, but straight on through it and into the bones... and since the specimen does not speak much during the transition time, eating is the only exercise their mouths will get, so it is best not to complain. Too much.
Question #3: Why do I get depressed on cloudy, blah days?
--The explanation is simple. First, that is a backward statement. You are not unhappy about the weather, the weather is merely reflecting your mood. You are part of an alien race that controls the atmospheric elements according to the whims of your mental state. When you cry, the world cries with you. Ever see Men In Black 2? Yeah. That. Eat more chocolate and be happy, you're bringing all the rest of us down.
Question #4: Why is my man-child so fixated with violence? ie: Lego people killing each other and running around the house saying 'heeeyaaa!'
--Do you really need to ask? It's a guy thing. Like men trying to fix stuff when they don't know how; cooking outdoors in twenty-degree weather, or one-hundred and twenty degree weather; hunting and the like. There is a piece of the male brain that constantly tells them they must do these things in order to assert thier man-ness. Like dogs peeing on trees. They have to. Experts believe it stems from a lack of positive interaction with their fathers when pushing through the pubescent state, but I have reason to believe that the cause stems from a much simpler thing. Men don't do enough housework.
Think about it. If they did more housework, would they have the energy to waste on all those other things? Would the child that just spent three hours cleaning the living room carelessly jump around and mess it up? I think not. The solution to the man-child's violence is this: give him more chores.
Question #5: What is the point of long vacations?
--There is none. Especially where children are concerned. Vacations should be short and frequent if they are to be enjoyed. If you wait too long to take a vacation, no matter what you do will not be enough to 'fix' the awful person you've become from not taking a vacation for so long. Moreover, too much time with the family you never spend time with will equate to a perfect hell no matter where you go. So, if you're due for vacation, start with a day trip someplace close and build up to that week-long campout if you truly want to enjoy it.
That's all the time I have for nonsense today. I leave you with the lastest news on books read.
Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side by Beth Fantasky --
I know, I've read it before. But I liked it so well that I bought my own copy and read it again. I look forward to reading more from this author.
My Angelica by Carol Lynch Williams --
funny and cute
It's one of those days where I don't bother to get dressed before putting on my shoes and coat to drive #2 to school. One of those days where I'm too angry to yell and, instead, inflict my LOOK O' DEATH on all who oppose me. Beware. It's one of those days when Little Boy Conflict sits in his room, naked, and tells me, "Mom, I don't think I can go to school today because I don't have any underwear or pants to put on."
"How convenient for you," I reply, and start in on folding the four loads of laundry piled up on my sofa that have been sitting there for the better part of a week. And yes, I have to go through all four loads before locating a single pair of Conflict's underwear. No pants, though.
By this time, the school bus is trundling down the street and I must push Conflict's whining self down the stairs to slip on his shoes and coat and backpack, out the door without breakfast, and tell him to have a lovely day despite his complaints about a hurt leg and hating school and hating me and hating, hating, hating... whatever happens to be handy.
Yeah. I love you, too, kid.
Obviously, the laundry needs doing, but I know--even when it's done--that certain questions will remain unanswered, and this brings me to the point of this blog. For one day only, I am going to open the MAP Detective Agency--here to answer all those petty questions that no right-minded detective would dare to tackle. That's right, and because this is a limited time offer, I will do this service free of charge. Just remember: one day only! Why? Because I have more important things to do that think about these ridiculous things.
Question #1: Where did the twelve pairs of underwear disappear to?
--Having a sense of deja-vu, here, and it's telling me that I don't want to know. We'll let this case slide and stick to washing the side of the mountain.
Question #2: How is it possible to fit three cubic feet of food into a one cubic foot stomach?
--Those who don't understand the question must not be familiar with the metamorphic stage of the pubescent male. During the months of transformation from short and pudgy to tall and gangly, the pubescent male's bones hollow out to make room for the tremendous amounts of food necessary to fuel said growth. So you see, the food you watch disappearing down the Bean Sprout's neck is not actually going into the stomach, but straight on through it and into the bones... and since the specimen does not speak much during the transition time, eating is the only exercise their mouths will get, so it is best not to complain. Too much.
Question #3: Why do I get depressed on cloudy, blah days?
--The explanation is simple. First, that is a backward statement. You are not unhappy about the weather, the weather is merely reflecting your mood. You are part of an alien race that controls the atmospheric elements according to the whims of your mental state. When you cry, the world cries with you. Ever see Men In Black 2? Yeah. That. Eat more chocolate and be happy, you're bringing all the rest of us down.
Question #4: Why is my man-child so fixated with violence? ie: Lego people killing each other and running around the house saying 'heeeyaaa!'
--Do you really need to ask? It's a guy thing. Like men trying to fix stuff when they don't know how; cooking outdoors in twenty-degree weather, or one-hundred and twenty degree weather; hunting and the like. There is a piece of the male brain that constantly tells them they must do these things in order to assert thier man-ness. Like dogs peeing on trees. They have to. Experts believe it stems from a lack of positive interaction with their fathers when pushing through the pubescent state, but I have reason to believe that the cause stems from a much simpler thing. Men don't do enough housework.
Think about it. If they did more housework, would they have the energy to waste on all those other things? Would the child that just spent three hours cleaning the living room carelessly jump around and mess it up? I think not. The solution to the man-child's violence is this: give him more chores.
Question #5: What is the point of long vacations?
--There is none. Especially where children are concerned. Vacations should be short and frequent if they are to be enjoyed. If you wait too long to take a vacation, no matter what you do will not be enough to 'fix' the awful person you've become from not taking a vacation for so long. Moreover, too much time with the family you never spend time with will equate to a perfect hell no matter where you go. So, if you're due for vacation, start with a day trip someplace close and build up to that week-long campout if you truly want to enjoy it.
That's all the time I have for nonsense today. I leave you with the lastest news on books read.
Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side by Beth Fantasky --
I know, I've read it before. But I liked it so well that I bought my own copy and read it again. I look forward to reading more from this author.
My Angelica by Carol Lynch Williams --
funny and cute
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Nothing of Significance
I have two books to add to my list for the year, though I'm not sure how best to count them as I only read about one hundred pages from each. What can I say? They just didn't grab me, and after a hundred pages, I think I gave them a fair shot, right?
Anyway, here they are:
Wish by Alexandra Bullen
Hidden Voices by Pat Lowery Collins
On another front, I've been editing my heart out lately, which is a good thing since I had put it off for so long. My first story is almost as ship-shape and beautiful as I thought it was when I first wrote it. Laugh on that for a while.
In the meantime, it's snowing outside. Again. All I can really say to that is, I am very thankful for electricity and it is to this mode of modern living that I am happily addicted. (No pity, please) The power went out in our house for a few hours at the beginning of the first, big snowstorm and all I could think was "Why didn't I take a shower last night when I still had a chance?" --However, regrets easily erased are good for reminding us of what we have.
I hope all of my friends are safe out there... thinking of you.
Anyway, here they are:
Wish by Alexandra Bullen
Hidden Voices by Pat Lowery Collins
On another front, I've been editing my heart out lately, which is a good thing since I had put it off for so long. My first story is almost as ship-shape and beautiful as I thought it was when I first wrote it. Laugh on that for a while.
In the meantime, it's snowing outside. Again. All I can really say to that is, I am very thankful for electricity and it is to this mode of modern living that I am happily addicted. (No pity, please) The power went out in our house for a few hours at the beginning of the first, big snowstorm and all I could think was "Why didn't I take a shower last night when I still had a chance?" --However, regrets easily erased are good for reminding us of what we have.
I hope all of my friends are safe out there... thinking of you.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Reading list for January
My year-long goal is to read 52 books. That equates to a book a week, which shouldn't be hard, considering the kinds of books I like can usually be polished off in a day. So far, this is what I've read:
The Hunger Games and Catching Fire both by Suzanne Collins--
sign me up for the fan club... what more can I say?
Gorgeous by Rachel Vail--
interesting story, but not so gripping that it will go down in history as one of my favorites.
Captivate by Carrie Jones--
second in a series. I usually read series books in order and this one was accidentally out of order, but I didn't care for the author's writing style and won't read the others.
Lament and Ballad by Maggie Stiefvater--
good story telling mingled with bad language, which (I thought) would have been better without. The first book, Lament, had a good hook at the beginning, while the second, Ballad, just sort of rode on the coattails of the first... not as gripping, but readable if you can get past the language (which is more abundant in the sequel)
The Hunger Games and Catching Fire both by Suzanne Collins--
sign me up for the fan club... what more can I say?
Gorgeous by Rachel Vail--
interesting story, but not so gripping that it will go down in history as one of my favorites.
Captivate by Carrie Jones--
second in a series. I usually read series books in order and this one was accidentally out of order, but I didn't care for the author's writing style and won't read the others.
Lament and Ballad by Maggie Stiefvater--
good story telling mingled with bad language, which (I thought) would have been better without. The first book, Lament, had a good hook at the beginning, while the second, Ballad, just sort of rode on the coattails of the first... not as gripping, but readable if you can get past the language (which is more abundant in the sequel)
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Exercising Futility
futile adj. useless, ineffectual, frivolous; futility.
There are things in this world, laws if you will, that go on and on without question throughout all the ages and forever. Water is wet, dogs like to smell that way, and dirty dishes have no end. Parenting falls somewhere between dogs and dishes and, even though I don't recall signing my name in blood, there must be contract out there binding me--mind, body and soul--to the position.
Fine. Yes, I did quit. But I'm a fiction writer, right? Nobody believes my words and all is null and void during stormy nights when the power goes out and a diaper needs changing. Pull out the wellies and change the sheets. Say goodbye to sleep, it's over-rated anyway. Rain, hail, snow and wind, bring it, baby.
A couple of weeks ago, we had a visit from the head lice fairy and doused her in toxins and washed EVERYTHING in the house. She died. This week, our partially finished basement turned into a really dirty swimming hole. I wonder if the mice enjoyed it...
OK. I know I said I would clean the entire house this year, but I really wasn't expecting to tackle it right away. Six kids in a three bedroom house, shall we review the definition of futile? First, they outnumber me and I'm no longer bigger than all of them. Second, my motivation went on vacation without me. If I clean the living room and walk away, there's a pillow fort being constructed upon my return, complete with an entire Lego nation preparing for battle. Cleaning bathrooms...little boys-- need I say more? Of all my ridiculous goals, cleaning the house was the one that scared me most. I prayed for help. (cue laughter)
Don't get me wrong, I'm very thankful. The parasites are gone and that weird smell from the boys' room disappeared. All the junk I couldn't bring myself to deal with in the basement now stares me in the face each day, piled in the living room, awaiting judgement. The only areas of the house divinely unaffected are the office and garage. All I need is a big trash can, multiple trips to the dump, and a tornado to knock the garage roof off, but I'm a teensy bit wary of praying for that last one. Besides, who counts the garage as part of the house?
I'll pray for something else.
There are things in this world, laws if you will, that go on and on without question throughout all the ages and forever. Water is wet, dogs like to smell that way, and dirty dishes have no end. Parenting falls somewhere between dogs and dishes and, even though I don't recall signing my name in blood, there must be contract out there binding me--mind, body and soul--to the position.
Fine. Yes, I did quit. But I'm a fiction writer, right? Nobody believes my words and all is null and void during stormy nights when the power goes out and a diaper needs changing. Pull out the wellies and change the sheets. Say goodbye to sleep, it's over-rated anyway. Rain, hail, snow and wind, bring it, baby.
A couple of weeks ago, we had a visit from the head lice fairy and doused her in toxins and washed EVERYTHING in the house. She died. This week, our partially finished basement turned into a really dirty swimming hole. I wonder if the mice enjoyed it...
OK. I know I said I would clean the entire house this year, but I really wasn't expecting to tackle it right away. Six kids in a three bedroom house, shall we review the definition of futile? First, they outnumber me and I'm no longer bigger than all of them. Second, my motivation went on vacation without me. If I clean the living room and walk away, there's a pillow fort being constructed upon my return, complete with an entire Lego nation preparing for battle. Cleaning bathrooms...little boys-- need I say more? Of all my ridiculous goals, cleaning the house was the one that scared me most. I prayed for help. (cue laughter)
Don't get me wrong, I'm very thankful. The parasites are gone and that weird smell from the boys' room disappeared. All the junk I couldn't bring myself to deal with in the basement now stares me in the face each day, piled in the living room, awaiting judgement. The only areas of the house divinely unaffected are the office and garage. All I need is a big trash can, multiple trips to the dump, and a tornado to knock the garage roof off, but I'm a teensy bit wary of praying for that last one. Besides, who counts the garage as part of the house?
I'll pray for something else.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The horrific confessions of a quitaholic
I'm hiding in my house, behind piles of chocolate, used tissues, and any old movie I can get my hands on. Nestled into a comfy chair, beneath a mound of cozy blankets, I'm drowning active thought with cold pills and good old Hollywood (cause who needs to think in tinsel town?) Somewhere, outside my happy bubble, children are foraging for food, bills are piling up, and pets are planning ambushes on the first fool to step through the door.
OK, first off, before I freak all my friends out and receive a flood of worried phone messages, I do have a cold, so drugs are justified. Second, I've quit.
Quit? you ask... Quit what?
Well, I'll tell you. The dishes weren't done, and the house was a wreck. I said 'Fire the maid.' Dinner, for the fifth time this week, was leftovers. I said, 'Fire the cook.' The kids were late to school and late being picked up... you guessed it. 'Fire the chauffeur.'
Except, nobody's listening, so I quit.
A few weeks ago, I made some ridiculous resolutions that four days afterward I was ready to repeal. Clean the house?!? Clearly I was under the influence of something that should be illegal. And read 52 books? To date, I've read one this year, which suggests I might (maybe, if I'm lucky) read a total of twelve before December 31st.
I quit.
Dieting. Yeah, right. Let's not go there.
So, as you see, it is official that I have quit all sense of responsibility, reason, fair play and... whatever else I can come up with that needs quitting, too. I will no longer respond to the name MOM or any of its affiliates. As soon as I get a lawyer, I intend to make this legal. I am hereafter to be thought of as the innocent bystander without connection to anyone or anything, with absolutely NO responsibilities.
I'm going to bed, I will wake up whenever I feel like it and not fix up the covers. I will eat whatever I wish, and not wash it up. I may or may not change any diapers, share any food, or settle any arguments, depending on my mood. If the cat keels over, chuck him over the fence. That goes double for the dog. As for the little people stomping around all over...
Oh, fine. I'll keep them. They are kind of cute. When they're quiet.
Hmmm.... cold medicine... yeessss.
OK, first off, before I freak all my friends out and receive a flood of worried phone messages, I do have a cold, so drugs are justified. Second, I've quit.
Quit? you ask... Quit what?
Well, I'll tell you. The dishes weren't done, and the house was a wreck. I said 'Fire the maid.' Dinner, for the fifth time this week, was leftovers. I said, 'Fire the cook.' The kids were late to school and late being picked up... you guessed it. 'Fire the chauffeur.'
Except, nobody's listening, so I quit.
A few weeks ago, I made some ridiculous resolutions that four days afterward I was ready to repeal. Clean the house?!? Clearly I was under the influence of something that should be illegal. And read 52 books? To date, I've read one this year, which suggests I might (maybe, if I'm lucky) read a total of twelve before December 31st.
I quit.
Dieting. Yeah, right. Let's not go there.
So, as you see, it is official that I have quit all sense of responsibility, reason, fair play and... whatever else I can come up with that needs quitting, too. I will no longer respond to the name MOM or any of its affiliates. As soon as I get a lawyer, I intend to make this legal. I am hereafter to be thought of as the innocent bystander without connection to anyone or anything, with absolutely NO responsibilities.
I'm going to bed, I will wake up whenever I feel like it and not fix up the covers. I will eat whatever I wish, and not wash it up. I may or may not change any diapers, share any food, or settle any arguments, depending on my mood. If the cat keels over, chuck him over the fence. That goes double for the dog. As for the little people stomping around all over...
Oh, fine. I'll keep them. They are kind of cute. When they're quiet.
Hmmm.... cold medicine... yeessss.
Friday, January 15, 2010
The Homeland Adventure Channel
Welcome to our show. Today's episode dives into the realms of science fiction to explore and restore the well-known but rarely spoken of bio hazard waste and cleansing station (aka-the bathroom).
As always, before we begin, we must assemble and inspect our equipment, for you never know when it may save your life. Today's adventure requires a tested breathing mask and air tank, 3-ply (or better) rubber gloves that extend to the elbow, protective eye wear, snug-fitting clothes that won't get in the way, a screw driver, plunger, long-handled scrubbing brush (industrial strength is best), tweezers, pliers, a hacksaw (just in case), and various bleach or bleach-substitute cleansers in spray dispense bottles, rags, paper towels, or sponges, and at least one construction-grade plastic trash bag.
You may want to check your last will and testament before heading out, or at the very least, tell a trusted someone where you intend to go and for what purpose. Should you go missing for a few days, they will know where to begin the search.
Regardless of the house in which you reside, the bio hazard waste and cleansing station (hereafter called the b.s.) will be found behind a closed door at the end of a long, shadowed hall. Lights are often seen blinking on and off from around the cracks in the door at all hours of the day and night, but the wise and wary adventurer knows to never enter such a place without being first prepared. Affix breathing mask, eye wear, and gloves. Also, any long hair should be tied back, we are entering the b.s. zone.
The reek of wrongness hits us first upon prying open the door. Despite protective gear, it seeps through, pulling tears from our eyes and triggering the gag reflex. Be strong. Close your eyes and let your mind and body adjust slowly. Our first step into the b.s. lands on a spongy surface. Turn on the light. Check to make sure it wasn't alive.
Towels, damp and moldering, carpet the floor. The mirror along the wall shows no reflections, but do not fear--this is not urban fantasy and there are no vampires--it is only coated in grime. A special word of caution: if the toilet lid is down, be very careful when you open it. Arm yourself with toilet wand (the long-handled, industrial strength scrub brush) and the most potent cleanser in your pack. Lift lid slowly, and SPRAY, SPRAY, SPRAY! Close lid and wait five minutes. Flush and repeat. If your b.s. is equipped with a motorized venting system, do make use of it as quickly as possible. *Special Note: keep plunger handy and stand back in the event of flooding.*
While waiting for the decrustation of the toilet, open your heavy, plastic bag and systematically remove cloth debris from the floor. Notice how each layer peeled away clings to the one beneath, a special mix of hair, dust, toilet tissue, and secret ingredient x. Be sure to separate the tub toys from the laundry, for they do not fare well in the wash, rinse, dry cycle. They can, however, be zipped into a mesh lingerie bag and thrown onto the top-rack of the dishwasher if you are so inclined.
Beneath the terry cloth and robes, flannel sleepwear and toys, always be on the lookout for the perpetually missing rodent-pet. If it has been missing long enough, even the best bred hamster will lick residue from the b.s. porcelain in search of water, which may or may not spell certain doom for the creature (depending on toxicity levels therein). There is no rodent today, but here, behind the throne, we uncover the telling evidence of what happened to all the missing underwear. (Those of weaker constitutions may wish to fast at least five hours prior to adventure.) As we lift away the clinging layers of crust, we find lost toothbrushes and orthodontic appliances. Around us, a haze forms in the air similar to the atmosphere of the planet, Uranus, which combines methane and bleach in deadly proportions. In other words, time to flush again. Reposition mask if you feel at all faint.
Patches of floor are now visible, but do not be fooled into carelessness. Floor scum can be slicker than spit or stickier than an ill-aimed wad of gum beside the trash can. And speaking of which...
Time to look behind the curtain. Somewhere in the background, the theme music to 'Psycho' is playing... the veil parts and... try to contain yourself. The opaque pool of slime stems from the pit of despair, or clogged drain in layman's terms. Before tackling drain, be sure to sanitize a kneeling place along the floor, lest alien life forms (hereafter called Frank) cling to your clothing and spread to other regions of the habitation. When Frank is neutralized, utilize screwdriver and any other necessary tool to remove drain cover and begin plucking the long strings of blockage from drain. To effectively de-hair the pit of despair, tweezers or pliers, or both (along with good old fashioned elbow grease) will necessitate a two handed battle of tug-of-war to free all that is good and decent in the world. Or drain the tub, at least.
Hang tough, adventurers, we're almost finished. Remember to flush and repeat.
All that remains of the hard stuff lies in wait around the sink. Somewhere beneath a hardened shell of hair and body spray, amid the forest of unclaimed tooth and hair brushes, facial medications and herbal remedies, a pair of handles bearing 'H' and 'C' operate the indoor water supply. Frank is all over them. Be sure to spray thoroughly. If time is an issue, and if the full-body cleaning area has been detoxified, everything surrounding the upper-body cleansing station can be temporarily re-deposited to the tub. This allows proper scraping, spraying, and wiping of entire sink surface.
The cleanliness of our b.s. now compares to the public facilities of the corner gas station. Those of you who wish to quit, are justified in doing so at this time. The rest of you, gear up for an arm and leg workout as we spray the entire room down with cleanser--paying special attention to areas at and below waist level--and wipe with clean paper towels.
If, when you emerge from this arduous task, light-headed and giddy, a juvenile biped approaches with his legs crossed and panic in his eyes, you must decide whether to admit him or not.
I wouldn't. Looks like a Frank.
As always, before we begin, we must assemble and inspect our equipment, for you never know when it may save your life. Today's adventure requires a tested breathing mask and air tank, 3-ply (or better) rubber gloves that extend to the elbow, protective eye wear, snug-fitting clothes that won't get in the way, a screw driver, plunger, long-handled scrubbing brush (industrial strength is best), tweezers, pliers, a hacksaw (just in case), and various bleach or bleach-substitute cleansers in spray dispense bottles, rags, paper towels, or sponges, and at least one construction-grade plastic trash bag.
You may want to check your last will and testament before heading out, or at the very least, tell a trusted someone where you intend to go and for what purpose. Should you go missing for a few days, they will know where to begin the search.
Regardless of the house in which you reside, the bio hazard waste and cleansing station (hereafter called the b.s.) will be found behind a closed door at the end of a long, shadowed hall. Lights are often seen blinking on and off from around the cracks in the door at all hours of the day and night, but the wise and wary adventurer knows to never enter such a place without being first prepared. Affix breathing mask, eye wear, and gloves. Also, any long hair should be tied back, we are entering the b.s. zone.
The reek of wrongness hits us first upon prying open the door. Despite protective gear, it seeps through, pulling tears from our eyes and triggering the gag reflex. Be strong. Close your eyes and let your mind and body adjust slowly. Our first step into the b.s. lands on a spongy surface. Turn on the light. Check to make sure it wasn't alive.
Towels, damp and moldering, carpet the floor. The mirror along the wall shows no reflections, but do not fear--this is not urban fantasy and there are no vampires--it is only coated in grime. A special word of caution: if the toilet lid is down, be very careful when you open it. Arm yourself with toilet wand (the long-handled, industrial strength scrub brush) and the most potent cleanser in your pack. Lift lid slowly, and SPRAY, SPRAY, SPRAY! Close lid and wait five minutes. Flush and repeat. If your b.s. is equipped with a motorized venting system, do make use of it as quickly as possible. *Special Note: keep plunger handy and stand back in the event of flooding.*
While waiting for the decrustation of the toilet, open your heavy, plastic bag and systematically remove cloth debris from the floor. Notice how each layer peeled away clings to the one beneath, a special mix of hair, dust, toilet tissue, and secret ingredient x. Be sure to separate the tub toys from the laundry, for they do not fare well in the wash, rinse, dry cycle. They can, however, be zipped into a mesh lingerie bag and thrown onto the top-rack of the dishwasher if you are so inclined.
Beneath the terry cloth and robes, flannel sleepwear and toys, always be on the lookout for the perpetually missing rodent-pet. If it has been missing long enough, even the best bred hamster will lick residue from the b.s. porcelain in search of water, which may or may not spell certain doom for the creature (depending on toxicity levels therein). There is no rodent today, but here, behind the throne, we uncover the telling evidence of what happened to all the missing underwear. (Those of weaker constitutions may wish to fast at least five hours prior to adventure.) As we lift away the clinging layers of crust, we find lost toothbrushes and orthodontic appliances. Around us, a haze forms in the air similar to the atmosphere of the planet, Uranus, which combines methane and bleach in deadly proportions. In other words, time to flush again. Reposition mask if you feel at all faint.
Patches of floor are now visible, but do not be fooled into carelessness. Floor scum can be slicker than spit or stickier than an ill-aimed wad of gum beside the trash can. And speaking of which...
Time to look behind the curtain. Somewhere in the background, the theme music to 'Psycho' is playing... the veil parts and... try to contain yourself. The opaque pool of slime stems from the pit of despair, or clogged drain in layman's terms. Before tackling drain, be sure to sanitize a kneeling place along the floor, lest alien life forms (hereafter called Frank) cling to your clothing and spread to other regions of the habitation. When Frank is neutralized, utilize screwdriver and any other necessary tool to remove drain cover and begin plucking the long strings of blockage from drain. To effectively de-hair the pit of despair, tweezers or pliers, or both (along with good old fashioned elbow grease) will necessitate a two handed battle of tug-of-war to free all that is good and decent in the world. Or drain the tub, at least.
Hang tough, adventurers, we're almost finished. Remember to flush and repeat.
All that remains of the hard stuff lies in wait around the sink. Somewhere beneath a hardened shell of hair and body spray, amid the forest of unclaimed tooth and hair brushes, facial medications and herbal remedies, a pair of handles bearing 'H' and 'C' operate the indoor water supply. Frank is all over them. Be sure to spray thoroughly. If time is an issue, and if the full-body cleaning area has been detoxified, everything surrounding the upper-body cleansing station can be temporarily re-deposited to the tub. This allows proper scraping, spraying, and wiping of entire sink surface.
The cleanliness of our b.s. now compares to the public facilities of the corner gas station. Those of you who wish to quit, are justified in doing so at this time. The rest of you, gear up for an arm and leg workout as we spray the entire room down with cleanser--paying special attention to areas at and below waist level--and wipe with clean paper towels.
If, when you emerge from this arduous task, light-headed and giddy, a juvenile biped approaches with his legs crossed and panic in his eyes, you must decide whether to admit him or not.
I wouldn't. Looks like a Frank.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Date Night
It is a rare and wondrous thing, going on a date, something that requires the careful forgetting of everything I am supposed to be doing in order to disappear for a few hours and enjoy myself. Not that sitting at home doing the dishes isn't fun, but... well, the occasional dinner not fixed my me and a movie I haven't already seen ten thousand times are kind of special.
The way it begins is standing around in the kitchen, cooking slop for the masses. The elusive date partner happens to be nearby and the topic of what to do for the evening comes up (he brought it up, not me. For some reason, I don't wonder what I'm going to do each night because I'm always doing it.) The subject of movies comes out, along with a couple of titles playing in theaters that I actually want to see--Hollywood makes a few of those every now and again.
"Will you go?" he asks, to which I reply yes, after checking the clock. It's 5:30.
By six, I've fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and left specific instructions with the sitter, who (much to her dismay) happens to be my first-born. Out we go, into the frigid night. I'm not exactly dressed for a night out, or to be seen for that matter, but I'm smiling insanely any way. In the car, the discussion turns to which theater we will visit. X is closer, but Y's movie begins sooner... blah, blah, blah. I don't care, so long as we get there before the movie begins. The atmosphere is in no way romantic as we discuss bills, dental appointments, and other mundane aspects of life. But we're holding hands, so cover your eyes.
The details following are neither exciting nor important. Suffice it to say, we saw a great movie, had a good time, and drove home safely several hours later. At 10:30, we pull into the driveway. The house is still there--always a good sign. All the lights are on, but there are no police or rescue vehicles, so the night is a success. Inside, children are running like mad, shrieking for joy (don't know why) except for the one who, for no reason, became ill the moment I left the house. Go figure. The baby's diaper has not been changed, his pajamas are soaked through. The bathroom shows evidence of sickly visits, and all the unsickly are crawling out of the woodwork to express their joy at my return, their dismay at not being taken along, their complaints of what happened in my absence (so and so did such and such). The babysitter is surfing the web, oblivious to all.
I hear none of them in the din, but head for the kitchen to put away food and perform necessary prep work for the cleaning that will consume most of the next day, and the next, and on and on for probably a week. The magic words of 'Go to bed' ring from my mouth, and peace settles over the world once again. Some time later, as I fall into bed, I think I muttered my gratitude for the short reprieve from 'mommy', but it was probably so softly that nobody heard.
So, once again, for the record: Thank you, honey. Are you free tonight?
The way it begins is standing around in the kitchen, cooking slop for the masses. The elusive date partner happens to be nearby and the topic of what to do for the evening comes up (he brought it up, not me. For some reason, I don't wonder what I'm going to do each night because I'm always doing it.) The subject of movies comes out, along with a couple of titles playing in theaters that I actually want to see--Hollywood makes a few of those every now and again.
"Will you go?" he asks, to which I reply yes, after checking the clock. It's 5:30.
By six, I've fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and left specific instructions with the sitter, who (much to her dismay) happens to be my first-born. Out we go, into the frigid night. I'm not exactly dressed for a night out, or to be seen for that matter, but I'm smiling insanely any way. In the car, the discussion turns to which theater we will visit. X is closer, but Y's movie begins sooner... blah, blah, blah. I don't care, so long as we get there before the movie begins. The atmosphere is in no way romantic as we discuss bills, dental appointments, and other mundane aspects of life. But we're holding hands, so cover your eyes.
The details following are neither exciting nor important. Suffice it to say, we saw a great movie, had a good time, and drove home safely several hours later. At 10:30, we pull into the driveway. The house is still there--always a good sign. All the lights are on, but there are no police or rescue vehicles, so the night is a success. Inside, children are running like mad, shrieking for joy (don't know why) except for the one who, for no reason, became ill the moment I left the house. Go figure. The baby's diaper has not been changed, his pajamas are soaked through. The bathroom shows evidence of sickly visits, and all the unsickly are crawling out of the woodwork to express their joy at my return, their dismay at not being taken along, their complaints of what happened in my absence (so and so did such and such). The babysitter is surfing the web, oblivious to all.
I hear none of them in the din, but head for the kitchen to put away food and perform necessary prep work for the cleaning that will consume most of the next day, and the next, and on and on for probably a week. The magic words of 'Go to bed' ring from my mouth, and peace settles over the world once again. Some time later, as I fall into bed, I think I muttered my gratitude for the short reprieve from 'mommy', but it was probably so softly that nobody heard.
So, once again, for the record: Thank you, honey. Are you free tonight?
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Thrillseekers: Beware!
Because there are no thrills to be found here. Big, dramatic sigh. I wish I had something better to say than, "I'm cleaning my house and working on edits," but that is the sad truth. I like working on edits, don't like cleaning the house, and both need doing, so, which do you suppose will get more attention today?
Those who guessed 'the two-year-old' guessed correctly.
However, for your entertainment today, I am posting the first chapter of my YA fantasy, THE CURSE, which has been rewritten from the original. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, so if you have any, please comment.
[post removed by author}
Those who guessed 'the two-year-old' guessed correctly.
However, for your entertainment today, I am posting the first chapter of my YA fantasy, THE CURSE, which has been rewritten from the original. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, so if you have any, please comment.
[post removed by author}
Friday, January 1, 2010
Resolution Revolution
It's that time of year again, and I'd like to start out the ol' blog by wishing my friends a hearty Happy New Year. So many are trying to get published, and so many deserve it, let's hope to see a few dreams come true this year.
As for the other business at hand, tradition dictates that a resolution be made at the beginning of every year, preferably something that will improve one's life in some way. Soooo.... while I could easily throw out something that makes me look good (or not) that would have happened any way: I resolve to continue writing at any cost, love my children, become a bigger pain in the butt: those things don't count.
I've been thinking about making a goal to read 100 books during the course of the year, but I'm not sure if I could actually reach that goal without it cutting in my write time. I'm terribly obsessive about stupid things, like any time I 'resolve' to clean a particular room in my house and the absentee persons who keep stuff in said room aren't available to comment on whether their stuff is useless trash or terribly important and should not have gone to the dump... well, perhaps you see my meaning. If I were to resolve never to shower until after I've done my 30-minutes of exercise each day... ahem, (yeah, I've been there, too)... didn't last long.
If I make an impossible resolution, I'm sure to fail, and failure never made anyone feel better except if a valuable lesson is learned. And even then, you're not happy about failing. Lessons learned are like the booby prize, the 'I participated' certificate that they give all the 'losers' at the science fairs, and I'm not aiming for mediocrity, here. I've got my eye on the BIG banana, luscious and golden, just get me a ladder...
So, there is an art to making resolutions. It must be something worthwhile, or why bother. It must be attainable, or you're certain to fail. But it must also be HARD. Why? Because nothing gained without blood, sweat, and tears (or an equal amount of less-messy effort) can retain a significant value long enough to satisfy that horrible craving we have to be challenged.
Considering all this, I must be very careful in my wording of this year's resolution, most especially since I'm putting it out here for all the world to see. Here goes:
On this first day of January, in the year of our Lord 2010, I hereby resolve to read no less than fifty-two (52) new books that may or may not improve my mind. I resolve to finish at least one of my book projects and collect at least thirty rejections or one acceptance for my work. I resolve to have my entire house clean for at least one day (24 consecutive hours) during the course of the year. I will make each of my children something special for their birthdays. The rest is blah, blah... diet, exercise, play with friends, etc..
There it is, out in print so I can't change my mind. I will not come back and edit this post, though I may make derisive comments about it later. Cleaning the house may require duct tape, but I'll be sure to let you know.
As for the other business at hand, tradition dictates that a resolution be made at the beginning of every year, preferably something that will improve one's life in some way. Soooo.... while I could easily throw out something that makes me look good (or not) that would have happened any way: I resolve to continue writing at any cost, love my children, become a bigger pain in the butt: those things don't count.
I've been thinking about making a goal to read 100 books during the course of the year, but I'm not sure if I could actually reach that goal without it cutting in my write time. I'm terribly obsessive about stupid things, like any time I 'resolve' to clean a particular room in my house and the absentee persons who keep stuff in said room aren't available to comment on whether their stuff is useless trash or terribly important and should not have gone to the dump... well, perhaps you see my meaning. If I were to resolve never to shower until after I've done my 30-minutes of exercise each day... ahem, (yeah, I've been there, too)... didn't last long.
If I make an impossible resolution, I'm sure to fail, and failure never made anyone feel better except if a valuable lesson is learned. And even then, you're not happy about failing. Lessons learned are like the booby prize, the 'I participated' certificate that they give all the 'losers' at the science fairs, and I'm not aiming for mediocrity, here. I've got my eye on the BIG banana, luscious and golden, just get me a ladder...
So, there is an art to making resolutions. It must be something worthwhile, or why bother. It must be attainable, or you're certain to fail. But it must also be HARD. Why? Because nothing gained without blood, sweat, and tears (or an equal amount of less-messy effort) can retain a significant value long enough to satisfy that horrible craving we have to be challenged.
Considering all this, I must be very careful in my wording of this year's resolution, most especially since I'm putting it out here for all the world to see. Here goes:
On this first day of January, in the year of our Lord 2010, I hereby resolve to read no less than fifty-two (52) new books that may or may not improve my mind. I resolve to finish at least one of my book projects and collect at least thirty rejections or one acceptance for my work. I resolve to have my entire house clean for at least one day (24 consecutive hours) during the course of the year. I will make each of my children something special for their birthdays. The rest is blah, blah... diet, exercise, play with friends, etc..
There it is, out in print so I can't change my mind. I will not come back and edit this post, though I may make derisive comments about it later. Cleaning the house may require duct tape, but I'll be sure to let you know.
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About Me
- MAP
- Writer of YA fiction. Mom, wife, chauffeur, all-purpose slave, maker of slop, and keeper of the asylum keys. I love to write, it keeps me sane. As a mother of six, I'm told I qualify otherwise--so here's my pen's salute before battle. Reading helps me escape, but I often can't find what I'm looking for in someone else's work, and when I do, it's over too quickly. I am a creator, an artist, and I look at the world as a director would view a set, seeking the best angles for the story I need to portray. To date, I have completed three novels and am working on half a dozen fourths.