Many, many years ago, when the Earth and I were younger, I remember my mother answering one of my moans of boredom with an emphatic, "I wish I could be bored, but I don't have any time."
Naturally, I knew what she was talking about, but to this day, I still suffer from boredom. Maybe I never learned my lesson--the one she must have been trying to teach me with her subtle sarcasm. There's work aplenty to be done, but that place in my brain that surveys said work and determines which tasks to complete, and in which order, seems endlessly stuck in the laundry/dishes/dinner loop--the essentials.
Yes, the foyer has shoes and paper and backpacks sprawling across the floor. I see the steadily growing piles of things on the kitchen counter. Weeds and grass have overtaken the flower beds, and I probably don't need to mention the garage. I mean, come on, that's what garages are for, right? And even if I wanted to park a car in there... well, never mind.
The point is, I haven't gone blind. I know there's work to be done. And I could lie about it and say that I'm too busy playing with my kids, or writing magnificent books for all the world to love, but I try not to deserve getting struck by lightning more than once a week. And since it's Tuesday, and I can't remember what other tall tales I might have shared earlier, or whether I might need to exaggerate the truth later on, I'm not going to press my luck. I see the mess. I ignore the mess.
I don't always mean to, though. Take the yard for instance: nobody wants to walk through knee-high grass to weed flower beds they can't see anyway. And it isn't my fault the lawn mower died again. I'm not a mechanic! Mercy me, think of my nails--if one breaks, I'd have to cut them all and start over. Know how many horse-pill-sized multi-vitamins it takes to get my nails to that perfect length? Trust me, it's a lot.
As for the messy foyer: I could spend a half-hour cleaning it up, straightening the shoes and papers and back packs, vacuum up the dust-dogs (I swear, they're huge) and even polish the wood floor to make it look less like the forbidding entrance into the underworld, but the minute school lets out and the troops come home, it's disaster all over again. Remember that guy who had to push the same boulder up the same mountain every day for all of eternity? It's like that. Same thing goes for the connected living room, which spills into the kitchen and dining room, and back into the foyer, like a big, round dog-run. Or kid run. Honestly, whoever designed this house was clearly an idiot. Cleaning this place is like baling out a ship with a single bucket, during a rainstorm, and with a hole in the bucket.
For the sake of this blog-post, my brain is that bucket. Goodly thoughts of cleaning are often leaked out through that hole (which we can label: Attention Span) and my mind then reverts to a certain stack of library books, conveniently placed within reach of my comfy chair and a nice reading lamp. It's a great rut, and a lot cheaper than say, shopping. So long as I don't forget that the real world is waiting for me beyond the printed pages, all is well.
So, yeah. The Mess. I've gotten very good at blocking it out. Walking through my house might sometimes resemble navigating a mine field, stepping over this and that, dodging the skates, scooting around the trumpet, but maybe keeping all that mess around is actually healthy. Maybe it can cure boredom--which we all know leads to all sorts of irrational behavior. Like, say, wanting another child. Messy houses could be the next form of birth control. Well, maybe. But only if the house is so messy that Mom and Dad can't find one another in it.
Yeah, okay. Forget it. I'm not making excuses, exactly. Yes, I know where my vacuum is. I even dust it off now and again to, you know, clean... But I try not to get carried away. I wouldn't want to be the neurotic kind of person that spent so much time cleaning that the world revolved around shining floors and (gasp!) organized closets. This might be considered a personality flaw to some, but only to those who don't understand that I fully intend on cleaning up The Mess. All of it. You know, some day. In between trips to the school and library, before the next great "Have To Read" book comes out or after the really disappointing sequel to the last "Had To Read".
And of course, only if I'm not busy writing.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Trials I Can't Do Without
Everyone has trials, those rough patches in life that make us groan or cry or wish we had an unending supply of chocolate. For writers, many of those trials are, in a sadistic way, self-inflicted.
Think about it. Writers start with an idea, and it takes many long months of dedicated effort to jot that idea into a manuscript, maybe even years. And then they have to revise, polish, tweek and agonize over it before it feels good enough to let their very bestest writing buddies have a look at it. And if they're really awesome friends, they'll point out all the crap that's really wrong with that pitiful first (or hundred and first) draft. It's all that stuff the writer knows to be awful, but can't see because they're the ones that wrote it. They're standing with their noses pressed up so close to the trees, they can't see the forest.
And then the writer cries, because their lack of perfection has been made public... (sort of). But after the tears, because they're insanely dedicated to the story, they start to revise. Rinse and repeat, for as long as it takes. In the background, very quietly, they've put together a query, maybe even a list of agents to whom they will send said query. And eventually, when an overdose of chocolate makes the writer extra-brave (or stupid, as the case may be), they send out those query letters and hope for the best.
If the query is half-way decent, it just might catch an agent's eye, maybe even more than one. But the bulk majority of agents will reply with the same, tired line about how every query is read, but that one ain't cuttin' it.
Which means no.
But one yes is all it takes, right? And maybe there's an agent who requests a partial, or even a full. Maybe, if the heavens are smiling and the planets align, there will be an agent who loves the writer's story... except for ten-thousand things that need to be fixed. Because really, the writer stopped revising too soon, tried to jump the gun and then forgot to keep working at the story. Or maybe they really did do their best and it's time for a little outside help.
Never mind that some of the aspiring author's writing friends told them (months ago) that the exact same things needed fixing, and said aspiring author didn't listen to them. Now that advice is coming from an AGENT, penny advice has suddenly become gold. So the writer jumps at the chance to fix those ten-thousand things! A professional has offered to give a hand, let's hear it for free advice!!
The writer works days, nights, weekends... forgetting to water plants, talk to friends, feed their kids, but eventually, they reach the end of their edits, so cross-eyed and sick of the story that they never want to spend another day on it. Which means it must be ready, right?
Wrong.
But they send it off anyway. The agent takes one look at the mess Aspiring Author X dared to call a revision, and automatically assumes they don't know jack about writing. She writes back, in her kindest it's-not-you-it's-me letter that she's changed her mind, has no time for the project, and let's part as friends, because she really doesn't want hurt the writer's feelings, or turn them into a stalker, or even one of those mean-spirited rumor mongers spreading vicious lies about her on every web page/water cooler for disgruntled, spurned writer wannabes.
Which is exactly what that writer will become. Maybe. But only if they can't open their eyes and take another look at what said agent pointed out in her last-ditch piece of try-to-help-you-on-your-way advice, and see that she was right. Really right.
But it still hurts, because the writer sees now that they are an impatient buffoon. An over-eager idiot, who couldn't wait a few days for their eyes to un-cross and THEN go over that manuscript again.
Does it hurt? Yes indeedy.
Is it entirely the writer's own fault? Almost absolutely.
Do they learn anything? Maybe. Probably. But it depends. ...On whether they go back and try again after the tears have dried up and food stops turning to ash in their mouths. Do they sit down in front of their computer and force themselves to admit they could have done better? Or do they contemplate the ruin of the publishing industry as a whole? (A word of advice: that last line is futile, so don't bother.) Do they send out more queries, or have they given up on the whole, sadistic dream of authorhood?
Only the toughest will make it through. From the rubble of failure, the strong emerge even stronger, smarter, a little bit tougher in the skin. But never with less tender feelings. Because a good book needs a lot of feeling, it has to be written with heart. The writer's heart will always bleed. Their fingers will grow calloused and their house plants will die. Their chests will occasionally cave in and ache with the endless pain of disappointment, but the emergency chocolate reserves will always be there and the the true writer will always keep writing.
No matter what.
Think about it. Writers start with an idea, and it takes many long months of dedicated effort to jot that idea into a manuscript, maybe even years. And then they have to revise, polish, tweek and agonize over it before it feels good enough to let their very bestest writing buddies have a look at it. And if they're really awesome friends, they'll point out all the crap that's really wrong with that pitiful first (or hundred and first) draft. It's all that stuff the writer knows to be awful, but can't see because they're the ones that wrote it. They're standing with their noses pressed up so close to the trees, they can't see the forest.
And then the writer cries, because their lack of perfection has been made public... (sort of). But after the tears, because they're insanely dedicated to the story, they start to revise. Rinse and repeat, for as long as it takes. In the background, very quietly, they've put together a query, maybe even a list of agents to whom they will send said query. And eventually, when an overdose of chocolate makes the writer extra-brave (or stupid, as the case may be), they send out those query letters and hope for the best.
If the query is half-way decent, it just might catch an agent's eye, maybe even more than one. But the bulk majority of agents will reply with the same, tired line about how every query is read, but that one ain't cuttin' it.
Which means no.
But one yes is all it takes, right? And maybe there's an agent who requests a partial, or even a full. Maybe, if the heavens are smiling and the planets align, there will be an agent who loves the writer's story... except for ten-thousand things that need to be fixed. Because really, the writer stopped revising too soon, tried to jump the gun and then forgot to keep working at the story. Or maybe they really did do their best and it's time for a little outside help.
Never mind that some of the aspiring author's writing friends told them (months ago) that the exact same things needed fixing, and said aspiring author didn't listen to them. Now that advice is coming from an AGENT, penny advice has suddenly become gold. So the writer jumps at the chance to fix those ten-thousand things! A professional has offered to give a hand, let's hear it for free advice!!
The writer works days, nights, weekends... forgetting to water plants, talk to friends, feed their kids, but eventually, they reach the end of their edits, so cross-eyed and sick of the story that they never want to spend another day on it. Which means it must be ready, right?
Wrong.
But they send it off anyway. The agent takes one look at the mess Aspiring Author X dared to call a revision, and automatically assumes they don't know jack about writing. She writes back, in her kindest it's-not-you-it's-me letter that she's changed her mind, has no time for the project, and let's part as friends, because she really doesn't want hurt the writer's feelings, or turn them into a stalker, or even one of those mean-spirited rumor mongers spreading vicious lies about her on every web page/water cooler for disgruntled, spurned writer wannabes.
Which is exactly what that writer will become. Maybe. But only if they can't open their eyes and take another look at what said agent pointed out in her last-ditch piece of try-to-help-you-on-your-way advice, and see that she was right. Really right.
But it still hurts, because the writer sees now that they are an impatient buffoon. An over-eager idiot, who couldn't wait a few days for their eyes to un-cross and THEN go over that manuscript again.
Does it hurt? Yes indeedy.
Is it entirely the writer's own fault? Almost absolutely.
Do they learn anything? Maybe. Probably. But it depends. ...On whether they go back and try again after the tears have dried up and food stops turning to ash in their mouths. Do they sit down in front of their computer and force themselves to admit they could have done better? Or do they contemplate the ruin of the publishing industry as a whole? (A word of advice: that last line is futile, so don't bother.) Do they send out more queries, or have they given up on the whole, sadistic dream of authorhood?
Only the toughest will make it through. From the rubble of failure, the strong emerge even stronger, smarter, a little bit tougher in the skin. But never with less tender feelings. Because a good book needs a lot of feeling, it has to be written with heart. The writer's heart will always bleed. Their fingers will grow calloused and their house plants will die. Their chests will occasionally cave in and ache with the endless pain of disappointment, but the emergency chocolate reserves will always be there and the the true writer will always keep writing.
No matter what.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Alec Trebane and the Toilet of Doom
Episode one-
It all started with evil Annabelle taking the last of the bacon, which was supposed to be mine. The argument was short, and Mom sided with Annabelle, so I snagged the last two pieces of toast and stuffed them in my mouth before the evil one could grab any. I would have stuck out my tongue, for good measure, but it was sort of encased in bread at the moment.
Back in my room, I reached for my backpack only to find that the contents had been scattered across the floor and Deep Dungeon VI (which I had stashed in my secret pouch) was missing.
"MOM!" Bread crumbs sprayed from my mouth, but I didn't care. Mom would make me vacuum after school, but it didn't matter. Little Jimmy, my brother and nemesis, had stolen my new game. His crib lay empty and there was no telling where the little demon had got to.
"MOM!"
"Stop yelling at me, Alec." Mom came up the stairs with a basket of laundry on her hip, completely unfazed by the tragedy at hand.
"Jimmy stole my game!"
At that moment, the little turd emerged from the bathroom, false smile in place so that Mom wouldn't know what he really was.
"I go potty," he said.
"Where's my game you little--"
"Alec," Mom warned.
I knew what she would say. Be nice to your brother. But she didn't understand what I had to deal with. "He took my game and wrecked my backpack. Why can't I have my own room, with a lock on the door?"
Mom ignored me and picked up the demon. And kissed him! Sure, that will teach him to be better behaved. His eyes darted toward me, gleaming with triumph.
"Did you take Alec's game, Jimmy?"
"No," Turd Boy answered. "It fell."
"Fell where?" I insisted.
"In the potty."
Horror gripped me as I rushed into the bathroom and looked down into the toilet. Sure enough, the black and silver square of my new game stared back up at me through the tainted water. Words failed me; I just stood there, gaping, fuming. Mom came up beside me and, about two seconds after I hoped she might reach down there and save my game said, "If you had cleaned this indoor-outhouse like I told you yesterday, it wouldn't look so bad."
Then she turned around and left me there.
"Wait," I cried, blinking back any evidence of tears. "How am I supposed to get it back?"
"You have fifteen minutes before the bus comes to figure it out."
... Will Alec brave the Pee-Pot? Can Deep Dungeon VI be saved? Tune in next time when our hero gets flushed.
It all started with evil Annabelle taking the last of the bacon, which was supposed to be mine. The argument was short, and Mom sided with Annabelle, so I snagged the last two pieces of toast and stuffed them in my mouth before the evil one could grab any. I would have stuck out my tongue, for good measure, but it was sort of encased in bread at the moment.
Back in my room, I reached for my backpack only to find that the contents had been scattered across the floor and Deep Dungeon VI (which I had stashed in my secret pouch) was missing.
"MOM!" Bread crumbs sprayed from my mouth, but I didn't care. Mom would make me vacuum after school, but it didn't matter. Little Jimmy, my brother and nemesis, had stolen my new game. His crib lay empty and there was no telling where the little demon had got to.
"MOM!"
"Stop yelling at me, Alec." Mom came up the stairs with a basket of laundry on her hip, completely unfazed by the tragedy at hand.
"Jimmy stole my game!"
At that moment, the little turd emerged from the bathroom, false smile in place so that Mom wouldn't know what he really was.
"I go potty," he said.
"Where's my game you little--"
"Alec," Mom warned.
I knew what she would say. Be nice to your brother. But she didn't understand what I had to deal with. "He took my game and wrecked my backpack. Why can't I have my own room, with a lock on the door?"
Mom ignored me and picked up the demon. And kissed him! Sure, that will teach him to be better behaved. His eyes darted toward me, gleaming with triumph.
"Did you take Alec's game, Jimmy?"
"No," Turd Boy answered. "It fell."
"Fell where?" I insisted.
"In the potty."
Horror gripped me as I rushed into the bathroom and looked down into the toilet. Sure enough, the black and silver square of my new game stared back up at me through the tainted water. Words failed me; I just stood there, gaping, fuming. Mom came up beside me and, about two seconds after I hoped she might reach down there and save my game said, "If you had cleaned this indoor-outhouse like I told you yesterday, it wouldn't look so bad."
Then she turned around and left me there.
"Wait," I cried, blinking back any evidence of tears. "How am I supposed to get it back?"
"You have fifteen minutes before the bus comes to figure it out."
... Will Alec brave the Pee-Pot? Can Deep Dungeon VI be saved? Tune in next time when our hero gets flushed.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Hello World
It was never my intention to leave off blogging forever, but demons sometimes get the better of folks when they least expect them. And then those folks must do nothing but sit on the couch and read unmentionable books for six months straight.
I'm still here and, more importantly, I'm still writing. There's a certain joy to be had in one's favored hobby, and I'm lucky enough to have enough of them --hobbies that is--that I should never get bored. (a very good theory, that) :) So far, this has been a year of goal setting and goal reaching for me. As soon as I'd crawled out of my personal PIT OF DESPAIR (cue creepy music), I determined to write another novel. In about three months. Which, if any of you are accustomed to writing will know is not such a difficult task. Sometimes.
And I reached it. Yay for me!
Naturally, I have other, less glamorous goals, but I won't bore you with the list. And obstacles, there were (are) many, but you don't want to hear about the gut-wrenching agony of those, or about leaking roofs and broken mowers, gremlin children and what-not. Suffice it to say that all those things exist and we'll leave it at that. In the mean time, I'm still bouncing on my cloud of anxiousness, waiting for the publishing rainbow to shine on me.
Wish me luck!
So, not only did I tuck another finished story under my belt, I also managed to get said story under the noses of a couple of agents. Whether that pans out any gold remains to be seen, but I can say that I've been checking my e-mail obsessively. Of course!
I'm still here and, more importantly, I'm still writing. There's a certain joy to be had in one's favored hobby, and I'm lucky enough to have enough of them --hobbies that is--that I should never get bored. (a very good theory, that) :) So far, this has been a year of goal setting and goal reaching for me. As soon as I'd crawled out of my personal PIT OF DESPAIR (cue creepy music), I determined to write another novel. In about three months. Which, if any of you are accustomed to writing will know is not such a difficult task. Sometimes.
And I reached it. Yay for me!
Naturally, I have other, less glamorous goals, but I won't bore you with the list. And obstacles, there were (are) many, but you don't want to hear about the gut-wrenching agony of those, or about leaking roofs and broken mowers, gremlin children and what-not. Suffice it to say that all those things exist and we'll leave it at that. In the mean time, I'm still bouncing on my cloud of anxiousness, waiting for the publishing rainbow to shine on me.
Wish me luck!
So, not only did I tuck another finished story under my belt, I also managed to get said story under the noses of a couple of agents. Whether that pans out any gold remains to be seen, but I can say that I've been checking my e-mail obsessively. Of course!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
More of my reads
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.
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.
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.
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