Rated: 18+ · Book · Inspirational · #1201980
Coffee and ideas bouncing off the walls.
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Grab a cuppa Joe and fall into a seat. Here you may find the latest news, a bit of gossip, a rant, or a movie review. You'll definitely see what makes me tick.
|Working outside in the sunshine Sat/Sun/Mon really put a pep in my step. Sunday I was especially busy--raking leaves, cleaning the patio, planting flowers, and turning over soil. Monday I set pavers in the garden for a walkway and strung the bean pole. Not used to the hot weather, but this old girl is holding her own. Sunday night we had the first official BBQ of the season. My poor neighbor, Dan, matched me shovel for shovel all day--he's is in his 60's. If I felt achy on Monday, I bet he felt worse--not only does he have 25 years on me, but he was slamming beer while I was slamming water. Eric supervised all day, standing there bowlegged with a pipe in his teeth.
A little sunshine and exercise really does cure depression, at least when it's mild and due to almost a month of rain. It's raining again today, but I don't mind. I couldn't take another day of manual labor anyway.
This is my favorite time of year. Everything is blooming, but the weeds haven't had time to pop through the mulch. We've got five more flats of flowers and vegetable seedlings and no place to put them, so.... Remember that evil rim-eating driveway? I talked the hubster into turning it into a tomato patch! If the neighbors have a problem with it, they can eat a tomato.
Thank God the environmental movement is taking off. A garden in the front yard morphs from "white trash" to "organic living." Yeah, that's the ticket.
Normally we'd go to Spiral Grove's Beltane festival and dance the Maypole, but this year we're going to the MayFest at the school. We may enter the cake-decorating contest if the rainbow doesn't fall on the palm trees and squash the hanging monkey. That's the design, anyway.
Also, Saturday, May 2nd is my anniversary! Eric and I were handfast eight years ago in the backyard. It's also my birthday. (And I still forget both.) I am delighted I will be 43 again! Because last year I thought I was 43 and I was only 42. (They say the memory is the first thing to go.)
I feel 25, so please let me keep my holey memory!
|makes a boring port.
I haven't written anything in months. There's plenty of time, but plenty of other stuff I'm also procrastinating on. What could inspire me to write every day? A clean house? A "room of my own?"
Who the hell knows? Those are just excuses; I'm smart enough to know when I'm fooling myself, but I look the other way.
Lately I've been wanting to shut down the computer and walk away from WDC, walk away from my life. I've accomplished nothing in my life except giving birth to a great kid. For some people that's enough, but I've always wanted more. And I've always been too lazy (or afraid) to go after it.
Maybe I should meditate on the subject, but you guessed it--too lazy. I think I'm suffering from a low grade depression. I get through the day with no energy left over for fun and games.
I want the energy and optimism of youth, but I can't catch it. My get up and go left about the time I got sick, and it's never come back. The thrill is gone. The passion is gone. And all I have left is responsibility.
The sun is shining , the leaves burst forth all at once this week after days of rain. The dogwood flowers are open, fat little white windmills welcoming guests to the house. Guess I should go outside and at least tidy the yard.
Doodle wants to enter the cake decorating contest next weekend in her school's Mayfest. (Which happens to fall on my 43rd birthday!) Normally we go to Beltane at Gretchen and Alex's house, but I want Doodle to have new experiences.
Trust me, Mom baking a cake and putting on more than a sad covering of icing is a new experience. We'll do a practice run this weekend. I'll take a picture to prove I can talk up a storm about food. Making it? Not so much.
|(I've copied her email because she explains how the term witch should NOT be a pejorative term. Much more succinctly than I could. What struck me hardest was the phrase "created a whole mythology of Satan worship". It's true, and those ancient lies continue to harm good people.)
Time to Apologize to Witches
I've always thought that the ability to apologize gracefully is a mark of a good leader.. We all make mistakes -- even popes, and whole religious traditions. An apology is a way to take responsibility, to signal a change, and to assure the world that it won't happen again.
And if apologies are being given out, Witches would like one. It's more than time that the Catholic and Protestant Churches both apologized for centuries of persecution of Witches, Pagans and those they deemed 'heretics' for believing something different than standard dogma. How about an apology for the Papal Bull of Pope Innocent the Eighth, in 1484, that made Witchcraft an heresy and unleashed the Inquisition against traditional healers, midwives, and any woman unpopular with her neighbors for being too uppity? It's high past time to apologize for the Malleus Maleficarum, a vicious document written by two Dominican priests in 1486 that created a whole mythology of Satan worship, attributed it mostly to women, and unleashed a wave of accusations, torture, and judicial murder that have haunted us ever since. An apology won't do much good, now, to those accused, tormented, and destroyed because someone coveted their property or needed a local scapegoat, nor to their children left motherless or fatherless centuries ago. But it might clear some air.
One of the reasons many of us modern-day Wiccans still proudly call ourselves Witches is to consciously identify with the victims of those persecutions. The Witch persecutions are a suppressed history of abuse. Just as suppressed memories of childhood abuse can hamper us in adult life, suppressed cultural histories still constrain our emotions and our imagination in subtle ways. The Witch persecutions left a residue of fear inside women--that if we speak too loudly or too forcefully, become too strong or visible, we will be attacked. They made imagination, intuition, and magic suspect. They set a pattern that judicial torture is sanctified once your enemy has been labeled 'evil'. And they made nature herself something a dangerous and suspect.
We use the word "Witch" consciously, as a way of reclaiming our power as women and as men. We reclaim the sacredness of our bodies and our sexuality, the healing traditions rooted in an understanding of the natural world, the power of intuition and imagination, the respect for nature and the love for all living things. As long as there's a word someone can use to shut down thought, we're not free. Claim the word, shed light on the hidden history, lance the wound, and we can begin to heal.
So yes, it's time for an apology. The viability of all nature's life support systems are threatened today by what our civilization has become. What better time for the religions of the book to signal a new respect for the religions of nature?
By Starhawk | April 11, 2009; 12:18 PM ET
|Today, the fam got up late. That always means a lot of questions. "Did you brush your teeth? Did you put on socks?" And that's just what I asked Eric.
It also means driving the muchacha to school. On the way back, I get to cruise by the latest, greatest, and most expensive houses in the area. What strikes me first is the style that's in vogue here. I like the Craftsman inspired McMansions disguised as bungalows. I like the muted colors and the fake stone, the flagstone steps and decorative arbors. Not sure if it's what's prevalent in other area of the country, or if the County approves only styles that mesh with the original 1940's cottages that are rapidly disappearing.
They're pretty houses. What I don't like are the damn three-car garages in my face. I realize the plots are small and there's not much space for a driveway. I get the design principle, but I still think it looks like hell. I won't comment on the feng shui principles lest people get the idea I know what I'm talking about, but I've always gotten high on the art of placement, even before I realized feng shui was an oriental technique and not a foot fungus.
So from a common sense, symbolic standpoint, what does this behemoth home for vehicles say? To me, it says keeping the car protected is more important than welcoming guests. Otherwise, the entryway would be prominent and not the attached garage. People around here love their Mercedes, Beamers, and Jag-U-ars. So much they hide them in a garage.
You might say I'm jealous and you would be correct. We've spend tens of thousands of dollars to haul this original 1940's bungalow kicking and screaming into the 21st century. Believe me, if we had a spare hundred thousand lying around it would be gone, and I'd be sitting in a spacious solarium with my wireless laptop gazing at the flowering fruit trees.
What we wouldn't have is a three car garage menacing our guests as they approach. Our old van would not be parked in the stupid dirt packed driveway with concrete pads on either side for the wheels. Idiodic design, that--it's taken years to learn how to not scrape the rims on the three inch lip of concrete that serves only to make it impossible to mow the grass on the other side. Our van would be sitting on a gleaming new faux stone driveway leading to a deck and steps to the backyard.
But one must be content with what they have. Old van, old house, new pergola. And really, a bigger house just means more space for your junk to get lost in, and more floors to clean. I figure by the time I get this one just so, Doodle will be going to college. She can stay here while she attends George Mason or Georgetown. Mommy and Daddy will be hightailing it to a McMansion in the country, either before or after the 4 month tour of the US in our brand new motor home, which will be garaged somewhere in the vast space BEHIND the house.
Dream on, girl!
|We had the MOST fabulous time this long weekend in Williamsburg. So much to do, so little time. Since it was Doodle's Spring Break she, of course, picked Busch Gardens. We saw most of the countries in two days, including a cute pet show and some fun 4-D attractions. After the Battering Ram, I said, "No more." But somehow she talked me into DaVinci's cradle. I left my stomach back there somewhere. Never again.
Mom picked Colonial Williamsburg. Can you believe I've lived in VA all my life and never visited? My parents didn't do vacations and once I got out on my own I wasn't about to pick a boring historical site. Okay, maybe the archaeology at Jamestown, but it wasn't open to the public back then.
Unfortunately it rained on Mom's day. But we got a brief introduction to 18th century gardening techniques and learned how one became a lawyer. Plus, of course, some awesome shopping. We can't wait to go back, since it's only 2 1/2 hours away.
Dad didn't get a day--he got the nights. *wiggles eyebrows* Actually, the man is a head on top of a huge stomach so he picked all our eating establishments. Doesn't take much to make him happy.
Next time I'm springing for the ensuite jacuzzi tub. My hips, legs and feet hurt from all that walking.
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Egg number 105
|It's lovely having Doodle home for a week. Tomorrow evening we'll be leaving for Williamsburg to step back in time. We'll also sample the latest roller coasters at Busch Gardens. We might be back Saturday for a birthday party, or we might not.
This will be the first time we've taken a spring vacation more than a day trip somewhere. I'm excited.
Have a fabulous week, enjoy the fickle spring/fall weather!
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How cool is that? My first "of the month" anything here at WDC.
|This fool is too pooped to pop. I need a nap.
Thanks to friends old and new who made this April Fool's day a memorable occasion.
The slush laundry monster beckons from the bowels of my hovel. I'll start raiding ports first thing Monday morning.
|I was just over at Lane Diamond's blog. This entry: "Invalid Entry" got me thinking along several different lines, but I'll pick one.
Don't run away!
I don't understand why many of the stories here lack good mechanics. I know grammar is hard for some people, and the English language is one giant cluster@#$% of different languages and rules, but still. If English is your first language it shouldn't be that difficult.
There seems to be an entire generation of Americans who lack proper writing skills. I know my third grade teacher made us diagram sentences until our eyes crossed. I loved it.
And this is the actual text from my daughter's kindergarten letter this week:
In the computer lab, we worked on our teddy bear stories, typed our own words and edited with Mrs. X. We really do have clever imaginations. We wrote fiction stories about bears as well, making sure we introduced the main characters and the setting at the beginning, created a problem or main event in the middle and resolved it (and tied up all the loose ends) by the ending.
Screw the research. Doodle's writing the next Short Stories newsletter.
Somewhere between 1975 and 2009 I suppose we lost our way. Was it funding? Different priorities? It's a shame the kids in the middle got shorted on the deal.
I'm sure parental involvement, natural talent, and differences in funding have an impact, too. But my mother was illiterate, so if I didn't understand something I asked the teacher. (That's what we pay them for.) Our school district's tax base was mainly farmers and blue collar workers. Personal computers had not yet been invented, no art classes, no field trips. The school concentrated on the basics, and not much else. Reading, writing, and math. Back then school was boring, but you learned.
Could it be the video game influence? Hormones in the water? Too much TV? Laziness? Entitlement? All the above? I don't get it.
|How do you handle praise?
I don't handle it well. I'm never sure if the person is being polite and says the same thing to everyone, if they're sucking up because of the blue case, if they're afraid of me , if they want something, or if they really mean it.
The worst predicament is when my friends say nice things. I know they don't want to hurt my feelings, and of course I don't want to hurt theirs. I want them to lie to me and tell me my ass doesn't look huge in these jeans, but I want them to tell the truth about my writing.
Yeah, it's contradictory. I already know the steps to take to make my ass smaller--I just don't do it. Writing is still a huge learning experience. So many variables like style, genre, and mechanics that everyone sees something different. That's a Good Thing, even if it makes reviewing (and getting reviewed) a headache. And I think it's why some people only review poetry, or only give private reviews, or don't allow ratings on their items.
While I missed my calling as a cheerleader, I still try to be precise in my word choices. If the item isn't great, then it's good. If it isn't good, I can find at least one thing that's done well. If you get a gushing review from me with a five, it's for real. My reviews are slowly getting more serious, and if that puppy wouldn't look fine as rain and twice as comfortable in a book, it doesn't get a 5. Five is damn close to perfect. Polished and publishable.
I think there's two items in my port with a five star average. For the most part, I agree with my average ratings. If anything, they're too high--just like everyone else's.
It kinda bugs me the way people throw around certain words and phrases, especially the word "talented". Well, we're all talented to one degree or another. My talent doesn't really lie in telling a story, but in editing that bad boy until my eyes bleed. That's easy to see--compare the 15 for 15 minutes entries to finished stories. It's like a 3 year old wrote the former and an adult wrote the latter.
So I'm uncomfortable saying someone is talented unless their entire port is quality, including the poems. In my eyes, that's less than 10 percent of the site. The number of people who can write with their eyes closed and hands tied behind their back is small. And I'd say it's distributed relatively equally among case colors, maybe slightly less in black cases, but only because so many are young people who don't yet know if they're serious about writing.
And that's why I qualify my statements. You have a talent for (fill in the blank.) I loved the way you (whatever).
You will rarely see it on site, but my husband laughs at me when I go barreling through the house in search of a pen, muttering, "That's brillia t! My God, I am a genius!"
Only to be followed by, "I suck. Did the cat write this?"
Which I hear from the peanut gallery is completely normal for a writer. Thank goodness!
Anyway, I don't want anyone to suck up to me. Tell me the truth. If you're full of shit I'll say, "Thanks" and leave you to your arrogant misconceptions. If you don't "get" my work I'll explain it. And if you have a good point I'll edit until my nose bleeds, too.
I've never fully clicked into social norms, so I can't tell when people are just being polite. Without inflection, body language, and a background setting I have no idea how I'm supposed to act--and even then I never fail to insert my foot into my mouth. Big lies I can spot a mile away. Little lies blend into the background.
So my question to you, all three of my dear readers, is:
Do you tell little white lies on the review page? Do you soften the blow? It's hard as hell not to, because you know what it feels like to get a 3. It shouldn't hurt, but it does. Do you ever feel guilty for the rating you've just given? I shouldn't, because it's honestly how I feel (at that moment, anyway, right Chy?) But sometimes I do. I wonder how sensitive that person might be and if I've just hardened their shell or if I've scared them off writing forever.
And I never put a rating below 3 on the public review page (except once for In-Depth, because they asked for it.) A piece needing that much work wouldn't benefit from more fluffy reviews, it needs a serious overhaul.
I know. I should make a static of my review strategy, but it keeps changing. And, you can already hear the next excuse--I'm lazy.
|Doodle forgot her Pooh bear this morning, so we walked back from the bus stop to get it. I had to drive her to school at 8:30. The school wants you to wait until 8:45, when the buses are gone, but I wasn't thinking.
I turned down a dead end street. I spaced out at the stop sign. I turned into the parking lot, not noticing two little girls about to cross my path. I'm sure I'll feel guilty about that all day.
I'm just completely useless without at least two cups of coffee. I've always said that as a joke, but unfortunately it's true
I was planning on going shopping for new pants, but that will have to wait. I'd probably run over a little old lady in her wheelchair.
I've had my coffee, but I still can't think straight. I'd check my horoscope and biorhythm except I'm afraid the day could get worse. I'd rather not know. Ya know?
It's been bugging me since before the election, and I thought it would go away, but it hasn't. I felt the hatred under the words no one would say. (Lock up your white women. Muslim brother=terrorist. Charming=Hitler.)
This vague, undefined notion that Obama is sending us to hell in a handbasket. Listen, I'm not asking you to give me point by point proofs--just fucking say it out loud instead of all the innuendo and code words. What freedoms, exactly is Obama taking away? How are his policies making us less safe? If you're freaking about upping the tax on the richest in society, you must be loaded, right? If not, why do you care if Bill Gates and Bill Clinton must pay an extra ten grand? It's funny that the conservative side was silent when Bush was looking the other way when trucks of money disappeared and we're spending in the red to kill people in a foreign country, but suddenly the bail out package is what's breaking the bank? You know, the bail out package that was absolutely necessary to prop up the banks which made poor decisions guided by greed. Tsk, tsk. Personal responsibility doesn't apply to corporations, though, does it?
Please send me some of the good shit you're smoking. I want to help the economy, so I'll pay top dollar for a pipe dream.
Cheney was the mastermind of the previous administration, and even he didn't have a good argument against any of Obama's policies except to say none of our present economic condition was HIS fault.
I'm sick of the veiled Bible references to the end times and the crocodile tears of people who need to seek professional help for their mood swings. (Glen Beck) I'm sick of labeling every progressive piece of legislation with "socialism" or "communism". I do not think those terms mean what you think they mean.
This is America. You can say whatever the hell you want, and no one will send you to Gitmo as a human circus act.
So I'm dying to know...why is Obama the anti-Christ? What is it about the man that sends conservatives into a tailspin? What part of his policies have people buying bomb shelters and waiting for their savior? I'm willing to listen if you're willing to talk.
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Have a fabulously creative week, guys!
|All your friends are leaving you in the swirling dust of their rush to publication. Satuawany is counting her words. MaryLou is drawing up house plans for her novel. asymmetrical's been in an alternate reality for months. Nada 's had more book deals than you've had inquiry letters. ShellySunshine has enough energy to go to grad school and publish a book at the same time.
And then there's all those amazing Rising Stars.
What the hell is your problem? No excuses. It doesn't matter that they're smarter and more talented. Can you handle the truth? We shall see.
1. You. Are. Lazy.
Books don't write themselves. Nor do the 22 unfinished stories I found on your hard drive. Short attention span much?
The last time you were so involved in a story you forgot to make dinner was over a year ago. It was fun allowing the characters to take control of your fingers, consequences be damned. Use your noggin, girl. What is different about now?
That's right, you're medicated. No more manic Mondays rolling into tired Tuesdays. An even temperament is a good thing. I'm pretty sure civilization was built on the slow, steady eventuality of planning and implementation. You've got your brain back! Use it.
2. You. Are. A. Hypocrite.
Do you even read your own newsletters?
You can't wait for inspiration, you have to go after it with a club.
Hard work, remember? Talent only means one less edit than everyone else. Why you wanna go and spout shit you don't believe?
3. You. Are. Insecure.
You put on a good show, but if you really thought your stuff was good you'd spend more time writing and less time reviewing and chit-chatting. WDC won't go offline if you're not there to return an email.
4. But mostly, you're just lazy. And we all know what diamond_hoop says: "Writing is hard work; you mustn't be lazy." I'm just thrilled beyond words that you like to edit, but you have to write something first.
Truth hurts, don't it? Now pick up a pen and give me 15 minutes of free writing. Then open the folder with the paintbrush and palette icon and work on your "masterpiece". Write, research, or edit--I don't care. Just work. Two hours a day.
That means right now, dumbass.
P.S. You can do this. As an incentive, I'll buy you a HUNDRED dollars worth of books if you write 3 new chapters this month. Salivate all you want, but keep your drool off the manuscript.
|The gratitude switch has been turned back on. It isn't just that spring is coming and my family is doing well, it's this site.
The people here lift me up when I don't ask for it, praise me when I don't deserve it, and generally make a woman feel like a damn queen.
In addition to my best buds always dropping a kind word in my blog or sending a c-note, there's the organizations with members too numerous to mention.
Showering Acts of Joy. Simply Positive. The Angel Army. The Author's Fan Club. Rising Stars. Week of Cheer.
I've received more reviews in the last two weeks than in the last year. Most of them have been short and sweet. A few caught my typos. And a few gave me great ideas to make my items shine. Who could shun either silver or gold?
The downside is I could never return all those reviews, but I'm going to try. I will definitely send a private line or two to those I've never reviewed before.
I won my first 75K awardicon by picking GabriellaR45 's star in the Rising Stars auction.
And so you see, I can never repay all the generous, kind, helpful authors on WDC. I'm stumbling over my tongue looking for synonyms for "thanks" but the words won't come. Guess I should get back to work, edit some stuff, play around with Review Fools.
And thank my lucky stars I found you guys.
|MaryLou asked me why my husband won't teach Doodle his native tongue.
I'm not sure I can answer that, except to remind you that opposites attract.
You've got an agnostic Republican, capitalist pig traditional entrepreneur married to a bleeding heart hippie crunchy feminist Pagan Democrat. There's no shortage of voices raised in anger and song in this house. We love each other deeply, and hurt each other deeply.
His life proves the American dream: Come to America--you have the freedom to prosper with hard work. I'd like to think my life illustrates our common ideals, too: Education is liberation.
As you might imagine, we have different priorities for our daughter. Mine is to open her mind (or shape it) and give her the self confidence to find her bliss. His priority is to ensure she has the basics, and assets to fall back on.
In typing this, I can see a subtle sexism in his traditionalism. I visualize a dowry of a cow and two goats gold coins appearing on a wedding table. But there's nothing wrong with wanting your child to leave your house with either a good education or a sack of gold coins. Both is even better, so we complement each other very well.
I hate to psychoanalyze my own husband, but he has approved this message. Everyone is a walking sack of dichotomy, and he's no different. There's a part of him that rejects his roots. It's common for second generation Americans to push away the old country in favor of the new one. Plus, Indonesian is not a common language. Nor is it easy.
The short answer is that he doesn't place value on it. The other short answer is he's lazy. Guess we're more alike than I though.
|Doodle's teacher suggested we send her to summer school. It isn't a remedial program, it's an enhancement program. We were thinking of a week of camp, but three weeks of learning about other cultures sounds like something I'd love to do. It's an opportunity to get hands on experience--they make crafts, try on costumes, play with artifacts.
Our little berg of a county had nothing even close. We didn't even have kindergarten except the one Catholic school in town.
Eric doesn't want to push her, but it isn't about a grade. It's about learning. Only a few kids from each class are picked, so it's a total honor. We'll find the money one way or another. Because that's what parents do--give their kids stuff they never had.
It's especially cool that this town puts so much emphasis on diversity. While there isn't much in the school district, the county is full of people from all over the world. One day, she might be working with them. It would be nice for her to know a smidge about each country. Their little brains are so open when they're young, why not?
To be honest, it's also a bit of a snipe at my husband, because he refuses to teach Doodle Bahasa (Indonesian). I know how to say "uno mas cerveza" in Spanish and that's about it. Latin is useless if you want to communicate with a living person.
I want her to have private Spanish lessons, but we can't afford that. I just send her next door and ask the neighbors to speak Spanish so she'll pick some up.
|I have a huge stack of movies I haven't watched. One, they're all rated R. We watch family movies together, and then Eric and I are too tired to watch an adult movie. Plus, the Wii is gobbling up our time. However, I'd rather Doodle play video games than watch TV. Goddess knows that girl isn't coordinated in real life. She takes after her mama.
I'm so proud of my girl. I guess you can tell that--I went through my port and most of the pictures are of Doodle. What can I say? I only got one kid and she's the light of my life. We've read 60 books in 2 weeks--I only had to read 6 of them to her. Okay, so 10 were phonics books, but still, all reading is practice.
Get this--I even got a library card because Scholastic is bleeding me dry. And there's 50 books on my personal list I couldn't possibly afford. I figured at 42 I should finally act like a responsible adult and return my books. We'll see how that pans out.
So far I've had a good week. Did the Simply Positive challenge a day early (and if you want a challenge, try it next time!) I got some great reviews from people I've never met, who aren't afraid to tear into my prose.
The only down side is several of my friends are still in the hospital or sick. Send out some prayers for Judy, Cissy, and my friend Phoenix if you're so inclined.
It's hump day, so I need to get off my hump and clean this pig sty! Have a great week.
|And his ass-inine friends, too.
You'd think 25 years of driving experience would count, but you'd be wrong. My dear daughter knocks me off the road and/or laps me every time.
|A room full of strangers once made my hands sweat, and invariably run back out the door. But that had to change, because I don't want my daughter to be afraid of people. So I suck it up, wish I still took Xanax, and try to make small talk.
I thought yesterday's pool party went well. First off, I knew several of the mothers, so had no problem chit-chatting about our kids. The children looked so cute, but small, playing around in the baby pool together. I thought the idea pure genius since it's the middle of winter.
My husband isn't afraid to talk to anyone, but he misses a lot of social clues. He asked the parents how much it cost. I could see they were uncomfortable with the question, but since the information is public, they told us, in hushed tones.
Someone wanted to know if the boys and girls all played together. I mentioned that on Thursday, with seven kids out sick, they did. Doodle played with boys she usually doesn't mention by name. She said so and so was the "mean kid" and pulled her hair. I told her to put on her "stone face". If that didn't work, pull his hair. I assume she's timid around boys because they play rough, and she's not used to it, having no brothers and few neighbor kids to play with.
It didn't occur to me until this morning that I had been rude, basically calling someone's kid a brat. Everyone in the class knows he's the mean one, but mentioning it in front of the parents (including his dad) was tres gauche. But I don't think of stuff like that. I need a governor on my damn voice box.
I so envy my sister. She's the ultimate hostess. Four kids and 18 years worth of birthday parties give her the experience to know what to say in any situation. She doesn't understand my shyness. I don't understand her openness.
I was just reading in Utne Reader about social isolation and the art of conversation. The author talked about salons and Socrates? That's different. I could prepare my opinion on a given subject and expound upon it in front of a crowd. No problem.
Ask me a question about philosophy or history and I'm happy to talk your ear off. Just don't ask me to make small talk to the parents of kindergartners. I'd rather gnaw off my own arm.
|This damn place never fails to amaze me. Just when I'm thoroughly convinced my writing is incomprehensible gibberish, someone makes my day. In this case, some of the comments on my dialogue newsletter made me blush.
It's definitely gratifying. I work my ass of on my newsletters, to pack them with information. (It ain't for the payment in gps, let me tell you.) I want both new writers and seasoned writers to not only find a tip, but be entertained. I think Doodle's kindergarten teacher has inspired me--she makes learning so much fun I wish I was six again!
Although I edit fifty-four times, it never turns out the way I expected; there's always an error in there somewhere. Usually I think of the best stuff after the NL gets sent. Thankfully, no one has pointed out the small stuff yet
I think I'll write about the perception of perfection next month. That will force me to think about lots of things--research, editing, self-confidence, writing goals, and where our writing priorities lie. Less research, more soul-search.
The weirdest part is that everything I learned about writing came from trial and error--and past newsletters. I'm not coming up with anything new, just compiling information. My motivation is selfish, really. If people read the newsletters, maybe we reviewers won't have to keep typing the same advice over and over.
One can dream.
Plus, although it's gusty outside, it's warm. My dear friends keep blessing me with random acts of kindness I couldn't possibly return, Doodle is over her cold, I have no house work or housework to do this weekend, and my muse is peeking in the room. I just booked our summer vacation at the lake. One of my beloved friends is kicking cancer's ass , and another is sending postcards from all around the south as he vacations with his boyfriend.
Blessed? I'm tickled.
I want to dance and sing and maybe even drink some Bailey's tonight!