I hate it when I call someone and they answer their phone, only to tell me I've called at a bad time.
So don't answer, ya big jerk. That's what VOICEMAIL is for.
The telephone part II - sometimes at work, we dial a wrong number. Shocking, right? You know what I don't understand? Some people will see that our number came up, and CALL US BACK to find out what we wanted. Sorry, wrong number. I'm not inviting you for supper and you didn't win anything. And then one day a lady called us back and before my co-worker could even explain it was a wrong number, the woman was all vicious and DON'T YOU EVER CALL THIS NUMBER AGAIN! And she hung up. I mean, wow. Really?
I love it when I pass a home selling blueberries on a table at the end of their driveway.
No one is there, just a sign saying how much, and a Becel container for you to put your money in. This is where I live. This stuff fills my heart. Not that other stuff.
I hate it when I'm trying to merge onto the highway and the drivers in the lane I need won't move the hell over into the - empty - passing lane. (Seriously, are they afraid to change lanes? Is that too risky? Or are they just clueless and inconsiderate?) So you have to slow down and wait for them to pass, which is just not what an On Ramp is for - a way for drivers to reach highway speed in order to merge with highway traffic safely. You know this. I know this. So who taught these people to drive?
And Part 2 of this - when I'm on the highway already and someone is merging with highway traffic, I move into the passing lane (if I can.) Then I see the vehicle still in the merge lane driving merrily along at 20 km/h under the speed limit until the END of the merge lane, at which point they follow the little white line right onto the highway without so much as a shoulder-check. Luckily for that guy, I'm the sort who MOVES THE HECK OVER, so we're both still healthy.
Ahem.
Highway part III - I love it when the median is filled with lupins, it's like driving to work through a giant flower garden that nobody has to maintain. Gorgeous. Then, you see some well-meaning innocent who has parked his car and is picking them. You laugh, because BUGS live in them there purdy flowers. LOTS of bugs, but they don't come out until the flowers are unattended in a vase on the kitchen table. All the other drivers are going by thinking MWAH-HA-HA, you sorry fool.
/rant
:o)
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Thursday, June 02, 2011
A storm
"Mom?"
Midnight, a thunderstorm. I stood in the hall, watching the clouds explode in the night through the window over the front door. The sky was continuously alight, and yet it was eerily silent. No thunder. And with no electricity, even the house was quiet - there was no hum of fridge or gurgle of fishtank, and this is when Pebbles called out to me.
"Yes, Boo?" The room, of course, was pitch, except for the outline of the window around the shade, which flickered and burst with light.
"If there are no colors, what color is that?"
"Black." I held out my arms and she climbed into them, sweaty and sleepy and mine. I took her back to the window. We watched the storm together, she and I and my husband, who circled the upper floor restlessly, eyeing the towering Jack spruce and pine trees around our home.
The storm moved on and the thunder came, crashing and booming and shaking the house. We checked on her brother - who was snoring - and she smiled. All her life he has been there. He is her best friend, her worst enemy, and the yardstick by which she measures herself. He does things without her - school, sports, sleepovers - but seldom does she have experiences that he does not. I watched her take this one and tuck it away for sharing the morning. In our bedroom I opened the drapes and we climbed into the big bed, where we cuddled watched the lightning until our eyes wouldn't stay open any more.
So I'm sleepy today, and I wouldn't change a single thing.
Midnight, a thunderstorm. I stood in the hall, watching the clouds explode in the night through the window over the front door. The sky was continuously alight, and yet it was eerily silent. No thunder. And with no electricity, even the house was quiet - there was no hum of fridge or gurgle of fishtank, and this is when Pebbles called out to me.
"Yes, Boo?" The room, of course, was pitch, except for the outline of the window around the shade, which flickered and burst with light.
"If there are no colors, what color is that?"
"Black." I held out my arms and she climbed into them, sweaty and sleepy and mine. I took her back to the window. We watched the storm together, she and I and my husband, who circled the upper floor restlessly, eyeing the towering Jack spruce and pine trees around our home.
The storm moved on and the thunder came, crashing and booming and shaking the house. We checked on her brother - who was snoring - and she smiled. All her life he has been there. He is her best friend, her worst enemy, and the yardstick by which she measures herself. He does things without her - school, sports, sleepovers - but seldom does she have experiences that he does not. I watched her take this one and tuck it away for sharing the morning. In our bedroom I opened the drapes and we climbed into the big bed, where we cuddled watched the lightning until our eyes wouldn't stay open any more.
So I'm sleepy today, and I wouldn't change a single thing.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Silly Fairy Fun
What's your fairy name?
My fairy name is Nettle Iceshimmer
She protects the vulnerable and brings justice to the wronged.
She lives in brambles and blackberry bushes.
She is only seen when the first flowers begin to blossom.
She wears purple and green like berries and leaves and has icy blue butterfly wings.
Get your own fairy name from The Fairy Name Generator!
So there goes 3 minutes of your life, and you'll never get it back.
You're welcome.
Now go write something!
She protects the vulnerable and brings justice to the wronged.
She lives in brambles and blackberry bushes.
She is only seen when the first flowers begin to blossom.
She wears purple and green like berries and leaves and has icy blue butterfly wings.
Get your own fairy name from The Fairy Name Generator!
So there goes 3 minutes of your life, and you'll never get it back.
You're welcome.
Now go write something!
Monday, May 30, 2011
No outline, no problem!
As far as I can recall, I started writing A HAND TO HOLD - my ghost story - three years ago. Its present length is 56K, and yes, sections of that have been rewritten, and rewritten again, and chunks have been hacked off and jettisoned. They totally deserved it, in all cases. AHTH was carefully plotted, index-carded, and planned, and I am finding the last third of it just hell to write. I know what I need but the words just won't come.
I cannot rack up experience and hone my craft like that.
Enter my more recent project. It's now called Rundiamair, which all good Googlers can find out is Gaelic for mystery, or hidden. (If anyone knows how to actually SAY that word, please fill me in.) With this one, I am writing just for exercise. Just for joy. And I have written over 10K in the last three weeks. Just about 20% of the word count for the last three years, in THREE DAMN WEEKS. Can I tell you how good that feels? And the thing is, I don't really know what's coming except for the next short bit - which leaves plenty of room for a Swamp Monster to attack in Chapter Three, a Certain Someone who is not who he claims to be (but who is he, you ask? I DON'T KNOW! Isn't that awesome?) a fairy changeling, and a near-death by poisoning.
So yes, I'm having fun. :o) I'll have to remember this, the next time I'm stuck on project.
What I'm curious to learn is whether the actual outline, the beforehand plotting of a story, really kills it for me. Why would that be, I wonder? How does that work? My brain is having zero trouble developing subplots, characters, and story arcs - at least on this end of the story. It's true I'm writing my usual "lite" first draft, which means I will go back later to flesh out my descriptions, add explanations for things I might not know just yet, plant foreshadowing and other plot devices. But still. The story comes as fast as I can type, and with the exception of a major plotting decision I need to sort out, it's effortless.
All of this makes me think a lot of writing happens in areas of my brain where I'm not actually allowed to go, as if there are NO TRESPASSING signs in areas where I'm likely to screw stuff up if I start interfering. Heartbeat, breathing, blinking, and yeah, maybe writing. You know, the really critical stuff. I'm going to look into this some more this week. There are a lot of people who can't write to an outline, are you one of them?
I cannot rack up experience and hone my craft like that.
Enter my more recent project. It's now called Rundiamair, which all good Googlers can find out is Gaelic for mystery, or hidden. (If anyone knows how to actually SAY that word, please fill me in.) With this one, I am writing just for exercise. Just for joy. And I have written over 10K in the last three weeks. Just about 20% of the word count for the last three years, in THREE DAMN WEEKS. Can I tell you how good that feels? And the thing is, I don't really know what's coming except for the next short bit - which leaves plenty of room for a Swamp Monster to attack in Chapter Three, a Certain Someone who is not who he claims to be (but who is he, you ask? I DON'T KNOW! Isn't that awesome?) a fairy changeling, and a near-death by poisoning.
So yes, I'm having fun. :o) I'll have to remember this, the next time I'm stuck on project.
What I'm curious to learn is whether the actual outline, the beforehand plotting of a story, really kills it for me. Why would that be, I wonder? How does that work? My brain is having zero trouble developing subplots, characters, and story arcs - at least on this end of the story. It's true I'm writing my usual "lite" first draft, which means I will go back later to flesh out my descriptions, add explanations for things I might not know just yet, plant foreshadowing and other plot devices. But still. The story comes as fast as I can type, and with the exception of a major plotting decision I need to sort out, it's effortless.
All of this makes me think a lot of writing happens in areas of my brain where I'm not actually allowed to go, as if there are NO TRESPASSING signs in areas where I'm likely to screw stuff up if I start interfering. Heartbeat, breathing, blinking, and yeah, maybe writing. You know, the really critical stuff. I'm going to look into this some more this week. There are a lot of people who can't write to an outline, are you one of them?
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Something lost is always found...
...it may not look the same.
This is my favourite song lyric right now. It comes a Hayley Sales song - the title track on her new album - When the Bird Became a Book. There is no YouTube video for it, but you should go listen. It's a cheerful ditty about perspective and I listen to it about fourteen times a day right now, because it is still effing raining.
Anyway. Something lost is always found, it may not look the same. But some things have to change.
Quite apart from what this means to me as a mother, it also has meaning to me as a writer.
I mentioned that I started writing YA Fantasy all of a sudden, and it was a lot of fun because you get to do whatever the heck it is you want to do. And then I thought, well Cindy, you know your OTHER stories are fiction too, such as the ghost story you are trying to avoid. And then I wondered why on earth I should feel imaginitively restricted writing paranormal fiction. That makes no sense (even for me.)
So what was lost has now been found. For all the staring I have done at my screen, the gnashing of teeth and organizing of index cards, it slipped my mind that I am actually in charge of this story. If I'm bored, likely the reader will as well. What's even more important: I want the kind of writing life that pushes me creatively. Not just in terms of discipline and arse-glue and word count, outline, POV. I need it to be fun.
So, my lost has been found. Chances are I'll still labour over the development of my MCs relationships, and I'll have to figure out what happened to that sister-in-law who hasn't shown up anywhere since the second scene. I think, though, that I have gained some insight as to why my ghost has been standing there with her arms crossed all this time. Girlfriend is bored.
This is my favourite song lyric right now. It comes a Hayley Sales song - the title track on her new album - When the Bird Became a Book. There is no YouTube video for it, but you should go listen. It's a cheerful ditty about perspective and I listen to it about fourteen times a day right now, because it is still effing raining.
Anyway. Something lost is always found, it may not look the same. But some things have to change.
Quite apart from what this means to me as a mother, it also has meaning to me as a writer.
I mentioned that I started writing YA Fantasy all of a sudden, and it was a lot of fun because you get to do whatever the heck it is you want to do. And then I thought, well Cindy, you know your OTHER stories are fiction too, such as the ghost story you are trying to avoid. And then I wondered why on earth I should feel imaginitively restricted writing paranormal fiction. That makes no sense (even for me.)
So what was lost has now been found. For all the staring I have done at my screen, the gnashing of teeth and organizing of index cards, it slipped my mind that I am actually in charge of this story. If I'm bored, likely the reader will as well. What's even more important: I want the kind of writing life that pushes me creatively. Not just in terms of discipline and arse-glue and word count, outline, POV. I need it to be fun.
So, my lost has been found. Chances are I'll still labour over the development of my MCs relationships, and I'll have to figure out what happened to that sister-in-law who hasn't shown up anywhere since the second scene. I think, though, that I have gained some insight as to why my ghost has been standing there with her arms crossed all this time. Girlfriend is bored.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Spring Cleaning
Dust motes drifting in a shaft of sunlight made me sneeze, and I swiped a grimy wrist over my forehead and scowled. Spring cleaning always makes me wonder how I ever let things go so far awry - an uncomfortable parallel for my life in general. It was then I spotted it, on a high shelf at the back, under a silk paisley scarf: a battered wooden jewelry box. I lifted it down reverently, remembering with a rush of longing and affection what I'd put inside. It was so long ago. I lifted the lid carefully, slowly, and there it was, just as I'd left it. My blog.
:o)
Sorry.
So, how have you been??? We're pretty soggy; it's been raining about a month now and there's more coming, from what I hear. But someone told me we're expecting a warm, dry summer, so I should be able to get the mildew out from between my toes by the first of July. I would so love a warm sunny day.
Writing-wise, A HAND TO HOLD is in the final stages of the first draft. It's about 57K right now, with big sections still to be imagined. I haven't quite connected with my antagonist yet. She won't look me in the eye. She's elusive. Demanding. Unreasonable. Dangerous. So you can see why I've been leaving her alone. She'll come to me when it's time, I think. And if she doesn't, there's always the delete key. There are lots of bad little ghosts out there who would love to be in my story, after all.
In the meantime, I decided to play with an idea that I've had for a while now, up on that same shelf I told you about. It's different for me. It's YA. It's fantasy. That makes me a little nervous, since I don't read fantasy. It might never be anything - no, that's not quite true. It is, even now, good exercise. This story lets my imagination out to play, like a puppy in the backyard of my brain. And I really need that right now.
I wonder if that is why so many people write fantasy. (Is that even true, stats-wise? I am scientifically uncertain of my remark. Forgive me, I'm an artsy type.) Anyway, there are really very few restrictions for settings, characters, or crazy shiz that can happen. It's very fun.
Speaking of fun, I must go and reconcile my bank statement. Ha. Good times.
:o)
Sorry.
So, how have you been??? We're pretty soggy; it's been raining about a month now and there's more coming, from what I hear. But someone told me we're expecting a warm, dry summer, so I should be able to get the mildew out from between my toes by the first of July. I would so love a warm sunny day.
Writing-wise, A HAND TO HOLD is in the final stages of the first draft. It's about 57K right now, with big sections still to be imagined. I haven't quite connected with my antagonist yet. She won't look me in the eye. She's elusive. Demanding. Unreasonable. Dangerous. So you can see why I've been leaving her alone. She'll come to me when it's time, I think. And if she doesn't, there's always the delete key. There are lots of bad little ghosts out there who would love to be in my story, after all.
In the meantime, I decided to play with an idea that I've had for a while now, up on that same shelf I told you about. It's different for me. It's YA. It's fantasy. That makes me a little nervous, since I don't read fantasy. It might never be anything - no, that's not quite true. It is, even now, good exercise. This story lets my imagination out to play, like a puppy in the backyard of my brain. And I really need that right now.
I wonder if that is why so many people write fantasy. (Is that even true, stats-wise? I am scientifically uncertain of my remark. Forgive me, I'm an artsy type.) Anyway, there are really very few restrictions for settings, characters, or crazy shiz that can happen. It's very fun.
Speaking of fun, I must go and reconcile my bank statement. Ha. Good times.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
February
It's snowing in Nova Scotia today, again. I don't mind it at all, I'd really rather have snow than rain. And it does lend a hand with a few aspects of writing for me. One, the customers are probably going to stay home, so there will be fewer interruptions. Two, I've got a few dark scenes to write, and this weather puts me in the perfect frame of mind for that.
The biggest challenge lately has been keeping my ass in my chair, but I have to say that getting near the 60K mark has given me some momentum. I'm really getting close! Mind, this is my first draft, but even so, I'm looking forward to seeing the thing as a whole. Then I'll be able to get down to revising!
So keep your writer butts in your writer chairs, and have a great day - snow or no.
The biggest challenge lately has been keeping my ass in my chair, but I have to say that getting near the 60K mark has given me some momentum. I'm really getting close! Mind, this is my first draft, but even so, I'm looking forward to seeing the thing as a whole. Then I'll be able to get down to revising!
So keep your writer butts in your writer chairs, and have a great day - snow or no.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
ROW80
The ROW80 challenge is 4 days old, and I have already stumbled. I missed 2 days.
It has to do with some personal things - the loss of a family pet, my company's year end (which is an awful lot of work!) and a health issue with one of the littles. Not laziness. At least, not completely.
So I'll make it up, it's not so bad.
I also realize that I'm not properly registered for this challenge, and I will look into addressing that as soon as I can.
It has to do with some personal things - the loss of a family pet, my company's year end (which is an awful lot of work!) and a health issue with one of the littles. Not laziness. At least, not completely.
So I'll make it up, it's not so bad.
I also realize that I'm not properly registered for this challenge, and I will look into addressing that as soon as I can.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
A Round of Words in 80 Days
Hello internet!
I just tried to come here and I failed. I got the name wrong. The name OF MY OWN BLOG. What do you think it means?
I'm here today because I've joined aa very cool writing challenge started by a writer friend named Kait Nolan. It's called A Round of Words in 80 Days. Basically, one states a clear and measurable daily or weekly goal, and the challenge to meet that goal runs 80 days. I have a novel half written, and I've been noticing lately that it does not finish itself.
So my goal, clearly stated, is this:
I will commit half an hour every single day to writing. Less specifically, I plan to have my first draft finished by the end of the challenge, since I need less than 30K words.
I just tried to come here and I failed. I got the name wrong. The name OF MY OWN BLOG. What do you think it means?
I'm here today because I've joined aa very cool writing challenge started by a writer friend named Kait Nolan. It's called A Round of Words in 80 Days. Basically, one states a clear and measurable daily or weekly goal, and the challenge to meet that goal runs 80 days. I have a novel half written, and I've been noticing lately that it does not finish itself.
So my goal, clearly stated, is this:
I will commit half an hour every single day to writing. Less specifically, I plan to have my first draft finished by the end of the challenge, since I need less than 30K words.
Monday, March 29, 2010
In pursuit of checkmarks
I have not been blogging, have I?
I've been doing a new thing. Every morning I make a list - in pen, in a journal - of things I need to do. Every item gets a priority A, B, or C. I start with the As, and when I finish one thing, I consult the list, and look! Another thing.
It's amazing how this keeps me on the straight and narrow, and how much happy I get from being able to make a check mark next to something like Plan birthday party for Pebbles, or Call your mother. That said, I have not written Post chitchat on your blog, until today. Today, I actually did that.
Check.
So, I hope you are all well. I am, even if it means I'm not exactly caught up on my reading. I guess I'll have to put that in my list for another day.
I've been doing a new thing. Every morning I make a list - in pen, in a journal - of things I need to do. Every item gets a priority A, B, or C. I start with the As, and when I finish one thing, I consult the list, and look! Another thing.
It's amazing how this keeps me on the straight and narrow, and how much happy I get from being able to make a check mark next to something like Plan birthday party for Pebbles, or Call your mother. That said, I have not written Post chitchat on your blog, until today. Today, I actually did that.
Check.
So, I hope you are all well. I am, even if it means I'm not exactly caught up on my reading. I guess I'll have to put that in my list for another day.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Dear internet:
Stop calling me, I am trying to work.
I have stuff to do, I need to focus! Just leave me alone goddammit!
I have stuff to do, I need to focus! Just leave me alone goddammit!
Monday, March 15, 2010
They get younger every year
I just had a perfectly coherent conversation about molex power splitters, P4 connectors and secondary exhaust fans with a very short customer who had his boots on the wrong feet.
He had his piggy bank under his arm. It contained $4.96.
Thank heavens that is exactly how much you need to buy an IDE ribbon cable and a 90mm fan.
He had his piggy bank under his arm. It contained $4.96.
Thank heavens that is exactly how much you need to buy an IDE ribbon cable and a 90mm fan.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Waiting
It occurs to me this afternoon that I am waiting.
I do my work stuff, waiting for my work day to be over so I can go home.
I wait for the evening to be over so the kids will go to bed and I can relax and watch TV.
I wait for the TV show or movie to be over so I can go to bed.
I wait to fall asleep so I can get up and go to work.
Gawd, how depressing is THAT? I didn't even notice I was doing it, but there it is. I suspect that I'm not particularly looking forward to anything in the near future, and I'm becoming a very dreary person.
I guess early March is a good time to screw up your mojo, pull yourself together and remember to take part. Ready, set, GO!
I do my work stuff, waiting for my work day to be over so I can go home.
I wait for the evening to be over so the kids will go to bed and I can relax and watch TV.
I wait for the TV show or movie to be over so I can go to bed.
I wait to fall asleep so I can get up and go to work.
Gawd, how depressing is THAT? I didn't even notice I was doing it, but there it is. I suspect that I'm not particularly looking forward to anything in the near future, and I'm becoming a very dreary person.
I guess early March is a good time to screw up your mojo, pull yourself together and remember to take part. Ready, set, GO!
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Gah, the sequel
Things remain tricksy this week. We had to call our lawyer about that woman who threatened me, because she's now going around saying that I threatened her. Whatever, I have witnesses. People who know me think this is very funny. I don't.
I'm now three weeks away from my projected end date for A Hand To Hold. I will have the whole thing penciled in by then, I expect. If not, it still goes in the drawer for a while. Then what?
I've been working exclusively on AHTH for over a year now. I have a few ideas for new stories to choose from, but first I'm planning to reread The Witch of Badenock. I want to apply what I've learned in the past year and a half to that story - specifically now that I've assassinated my inner critic and replaced her with a cheering squad comprised of my muse, my dreams and my inner child - all on large doses of caffeine. I still love that story, and now I just might not be afraid to tell it.
Actually, I'm kind of excited.
Sunday was beautiful - sunny and plus 6. We went outside and washed the car, and soaked up some much-needed rays for vitamin D. Of course that means that now the Beloved are all sick with one thing or another, so I'm planning an early escape today. Cross your fingers for me that it works out! We're having chili with jalapeno corn bread and fresh cold milk for supper. Mmmm!
Hope you're all well and happy. Take Care.
I'm now three weeks away from my projected end date for A Hand To Hold. I will have the whole thing penciled in by then, I expect. If not, it still goes in the drawer for a while. Then what?
I've been working exclusively on AHTH for over a year now. I have a few ideas for new stories to choose from, but first I'm planning to reread The Witch of Badenock. I want to apply what I've learned in the past year and a half to that story - specifically now that I've assassinated my inner critic and replaced her with a cheering squad comprised of my muse, my dreams and my inner child - all on large doses of caffeine. I still love that story, and now I just might not be afraid to tell it.
Actually, I'm kind of excited.
Sunday was beautiful - sunny and plus 6. We went outside and washed the car, and soaked up some much-needed rays for vitamin D. Of course that means that now the Beloved are all sick with one thing or another, so I'm planning an early escape today. Cross your fingers for me that it works out! We're having chili with jalapeno corn bread and fresh cold milk for supper. Mmmm!
Hope you're all well and happy. Take Care.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
How are things, you ask?
This week has been a bit of a drain and a strain, and the writing suffered for it.
I refused to give a refund to someone - to make a long story short she simply wasn't entitled to one. She told me I didn't know how to run a business. She said I should get a degree. She said I would be very, very sorry. She told me I was mental, and childish. She called me - ready for this? - she called me a skank! And then she went outside to her car, got an empty coffee cup, and threw it at our door.
A family member is angry at me because of a decision I made. I am sad, but I am not changing my mind.
Little Boy has his first detention today. Apparently, his best friend slammed a door on his fingers, and so he punched his friend in the stomach, and knocked him into a wall where he bumped his head. It's interesting to note that the Vice Principal, on calling my husband, was audibly relieved to find that we supported her decision to punish the little Berserker, and indeed said Little Berserker is finding that there really are a lot of nasty chores that need doing around the house and yard this week. I'm grateful that his BF's mom says, never mind, they're boys, these things happen sometimes. And the BF has already pretty much forgotten the whole thing.
And unrelated to all this, I said something stupid and insensitive and I feel rotten about it.
So this morning, I said Cindy you need to write. So I got myself out of bed, and made some coffee, and laid my fingertips on the keys. That's when Pebbles woke up. She would not go back to sleep. Then Little Boy came in and spilled my whole entire cup of coffee on the carpet. That's when I taught my children an important life skill: How to say SHIT. And hell, it was going to happen sometime. Why not today?
So I'm just going to wander off and answer the voicemail now. I have two beta reads going, I hope today I'll finish my comments on one and read my way into the middle of the other. I'm going to listen to Joshua Radin, especially this one:
I refused to give a refund to someone - to make a long story short she simply wasn't entitled to one. She told me I didn't know how to run a business. She said I should get a degree. She said I would be very, very sorry. She told me I was mental, and childish. She called me - ready for this? - she called me a skank! And then she went outside to her car, got an empty coffee cup, and threw it at our door.
A family member is angry at me because of a decision I made. I am sad, but I am not changing my mind.
Little Boy has his first detention today. Apparently, his best friend slammed a door on his fingers, and so he punched his friend in the stomach, and knocked him into a wall where he bumped his head. It's interesting to note that the Vice Principal, on calling my husband, was audibly relieved to find that we supported her decision to punish the little Berserker, and indeed said Little Berserker is finding that there really are a lot of nasty chores that need doing around the house and yard this week. I'm grateful that his BF's mom says, never mind, they're boys, these things happen sometimes. And the BF has already pretty much forgotten the whole thing.
And unrelated to all this, I said something stupid and insensitive and I feel rotten about it.
So this morning, I said Cindy you need to write. So I got myself out of bed, and made some coffee, and laid my fingertips on the keys. That's when Pebbles woke up. She would not go back to sleep. Then Little Boy came in and spilled my whole entire cup of coffee on the carpet. That's when I taught my children an important life skill: How to say SHIT. And hell, it was going to happen sometime. Why not today?
So I'm just going to wander off and answer the voicemail now. I have two beta reads going, I hope today I'll finish my comments on one and read my way into the middle of the other. I'm going to listen to Joshua Radin, especially this one:
Monday, February 22, 2010
Family Circus
My wonderful husband and I have been keeping an eye on BamBam lately - he's got that droopy, bleary, glassy-eyed look we've come to associate with a bout of something unpleasant and possibly messy. We've even cut his some slack in the Manners and Patience department.
But that's over now.
I caught him playing with his iPod at 3 effing 30 this morning. Of course, I asked him a round of questions like What the hell? and How often do you do this? and then I took the iPod away.
So, anyone want to buy a well-used iPod? (Just kidding, I wouldn't do that.)
How about a dumb-ass 8 year old boy?
But that's over now.
I caught him playing with his iPod at 3 effing 30 this morning. Of course, I asked him a round of questions like What the hell? and How often do you do this? and then I took the iPod away.
So, anyone want to buy a well-used iPod? (Just kidding, I wouldn't do that.)
How about a dumb-ass 8 year old boy?
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Come here, and let me rock you
At my uncle's wake, Mrs. Potter reached out to touch a photograph of my grandmother. I saw her do it, waiting as I was among the dim light and flower arrangements for my turn to see the collection. My mother saw it too, and we looked away from one another, swallowing against the tightening of our throats. The affection in that gesture was so plain to see, and so much like our own. That's just the kind of woman Nanny was.
We really miss her.
She forever had her hand up the back of our shirts, rubbing our backs. At the mall, she spoke to anyone nearby, and if they were cold to her she would wink at me. She liked the challenge, she said, and usually she could bring people out. She never let you leave her house without giving you some small treat, I never heard her criticize anyone, and she sang songs from the 1920s. Come here and let me rock you, she said, and we would clamber into her chair with her and lay our heads.
And I did. I was twenty-one years old. I didn't fit in that chair at all any more, so I perched my butt on the edge and I laid my head on her familiar shoulder. Looking back now, I see myself as I was then - finishing a rough time in my life, just beginning to heal, just beginning to grow up, and I am grateful for the gift of her and her unwavering, unconditional love. I'm so grateful for that last rock in her chair.
I thought of Nanny this morning as I was getting my daughter ready for preschool. Pebbles wanted to wear a dress, and she complained about the tights quite a bit but she decided to wear them anyway. She let me comb her hair and even put an elastic in it! I sat on a rubbermaid stool, thinking little thoughts, just enjoying the sight of her. How tall she's getting, even if she hasn't gained a single pound in eight or nine months. I watched her wash her own face, and I felt so blessed. I said, Come here and let me rock you.
At preschool I saw a plaque that said:
We really miss her.
She forever had her hand up the back of our shirts, rubbing our backs. At the mall, she spoke to anyone nearby, and if they were cold to her she would wink at me. She liked the challenge, she said, and usually she could bring people out. She never let you leave her house without giving you some small treat, I never heard her criticize anyone, and she sang songs from the 1920s. Come here and let me rock you, she said, and we would clamber into her chair with her and lay our heads.
Won't come over to my house?
Won't you come over and play?
I've lots of nice playthings, a dolly or two,
I live in a house 'cross the lane.
I'll give you candy and nice things,
I'll put your hair in a curl,
I'll put your hair in a curl,
Just say you'll come over to my house,
And be my sweet little girl.
I visited her in her apartment when she was dying. We both knew it, but we never said. I remember I'd been to the dentist and had half my face frozen. I felt awful, and she must have too. She fed me tinned chicken soup, and we took a nap - me stretched out on her sofa, she in her chair. When we woke up and it was time for me to be going, she said Come here, and let me rock you.
And I did. I was twenty-one years old. I didn't fit in that chair at all any more, so I perched my butt on the edge and I laid my head on her familiar shoulder. Looking back now, I see myself as I was then - finishing a rough time in my life, just beginning to heal, just beginning to grow up, and I am grateful for the gift of her and her unwavering, unconditional love. I'm so grateful for that last rock in her chair.
I thought of Nanny this morning as I was getting my daughter ready for preschool. Pebbles wanted to wear a dress, and she complained about the tights quite a bit but she decided to wear them anyway. She let me comb her hair and even put an elastic in it! I sat on a rubbermaid stool, thinking little thoughts, just enjoying the sight of her. How tall she's getting, even if she hasn't gained a single pound in eight or nine months. I watched her wash her own face, and I felt so blessed. I said, Come here and let me rock you.
* * *
At preschool I saw a plaque that said:
“A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was,
the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove...but the world may be different
because I was important in the life of a child.” - Forest E. Witcraft
Yes, I thought to myself, that's exactly what I've been thinking.
Yes, I thought to myself, that's exactly what I've been thinking.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
I'm doing it!
Got up a little earlier again today, and got something like 550 words before my littlest woke up and it was time to make muffins, get Sr. Stinkyfeet off the Wii, fed and ready for school. I want to say to you other writers, as the wise and wonderful Vicki Pettersson once said to me: it gets easier. You get used to it. I wish I'd listened to her then, but I think I felt very overwhelmed at that point, and it wasn't my time.
Now, though, I feel like it IS my time. The kids are bigger, I can read a book after supper if I want - crazy, innit? I can sit on the couch with a book in my hand and the children don't clamour into my lap and strangle me with their needs. They go off together to play, learn and curse each other's eyes. I feel a little lost, actually. My shares have fallen in that house, and I don't quite know how to feel about that. Sad? Free?
Both. The sad is not so much use to me, but the free I'm liking. Much better for the word count!
Anyhew. Today is quiet, sort of, and I'm toying with the idea of trying to slip into POV and getting a new scene on to the back burner. I really OUGHT to change the website around, though. It's hopelessly outdated, and I've very tired of explaining that to people. I SHOULD to reconcile my Visa. The inner battle of good versus...better. I let you know how it comes out...
Now, though, I feel like it IS my time. The kids are bigger, I can read a book after supper if I want - crazy, innit? I can sit on the couch with a book in my hand and the children don't clamour into my lap and strangle me with their needs. They go off together to play, learn and curse each other's eyes. I feel a little lost, actually. My shares have fallen in that house, and I don't quite know how to feel about that. Sad? Free?
Both. The sad is not so much use to me, but the free I'm liking. Much better for the word count!
Anyhew. Today is quiet, sort of, and I'm toying with the idea of trying to slip into POV and getting a new scene on to the back burner. I really OUGHT to change the website around, though. It's hopelessly outdated, and I've very tired of explaining that to people. I SHOULD to reconcile my Visa. The inner battle of good versus...better. I let you know how it comes out...
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Too true...
A customer just said this fabulous thing to me:
"I've got Windows problems, which is a lot like having Women's problems. It covers just about everything, and nobody wants to talk to me about it!"
"I've got Windows problems, which is a lot like having Women's problems. It covers just about everything, and nobody wants to talk to me about it!"
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