Troublesome Timothy

         This Saturday I spent the night with my granddaughter. Her parents never go out--just the two of them--so this was a real treat.

        On the agenda: 

• do some fused glass (using a microwave oven kiln)
• make some chocolate goodies for Riley's mom (bake brownies, then crumble them up. Add a 1/3-1/2 cup of Nutella, and a splash of kahlua or vanilla. Roll into balls. You can then roll them in cocoa or sprinkles or crushed nuts, but it's not necessary)
• eat dinner (or those brownie things)
• watch a movie (or two)
• entertain my granddaughter with my ability to fall asleep in a sitting straight-up position repeatedly
• make my granddaughter laugh with my snorting-myself-awake skills

       After she went to sleep, I had a secret thing to do--do something with her Elf on a Shelf, named Timothy. Apparently this Elf is a way to get revenge on your kids, because the first year, and during the first few days in December, it's fun. They alternate with who is responsible for making sure Timothy has the chance to get into some mischief. 

       But after the first year, or on the 24 day of keeping up with that prankster elf, parents are getting into fistfights. 

        "It's your turn with that %$#@ elf."

        "I'm too tired. And besides, I've run out of ideas. YOU do it."

        "Go, and do something with that elf."

Last night, Timothy slipped into a giant vase-like bottle.
What is that next to him?
(The opening looks huge, but my arm is a bit fat, and I almost got it stuck as I dropped Timothy
into the bottle. THAT would have been like an episode of "I Love Lucy.")

Here's a close-up. Timothy was eating some of
Riley's Cheezits in the middle of the night.
The nerve of him! Riley told me that no matter
how much aggravation he causes, he always has a smile on his face...

          We got everything accomplished. In fact, I was a true over-achiever when it came to the last two things on the agenda.

        However, as I read for a few minutes before falling asleep a little after one o'clock in the morning at a reasonable bedtime for a nine-year old, I came upon a solution for a pesky problem I was having with my WIP. 

        I wasn't fretting over it. It just came to me.

        Agatha Christie said, "The best time for planning a book is while you're doing the dishes," and I'd have to agree. When our brain is not engaged--or so we think-- it is engaged. The cogs turn without our prodding. Things surface.

          So, if you have a grandchild and would like to get back for all the gray hair their parents caused you, it's not too late for "Elf on a Shelf."

           And if you're revising/drafting/puzzling over a piece, do something that is off-track (like washing the dishes or walking the dog) and maybe... just maybe... you will get back on track in no time...

        

         

Shakespeare and Me

       Every year, since I read Donna chronicling her "wins and losses" when it comes to publishing, I've bought a cheap planner and kept track of my submissions. The first year or two, I even did the same--in January, for each submission, I noted whether it had been rejected, accepted, or whether the jury was still out.

      Now, I just use the planner to not always note when I've submitted something, so I don't look l like an idiot and resubmit it to the same publisher.

      This year I decided to go with a humorous planner. 

      Every week, there is a humorous version of a movie script, a book, a play or a TV show--a version that cries out for revision.

       Here is one example:

Macbeth

All:  Double, double, toil and trouble
          fire burn and cauldron bubble

Second Witch:  Fillet a fenny snake
                                  In the cauldron boil and bake
                                  Eye of newt and a touch
                                  of cinnamon
                                  A pinch of sugar, now stir
                                  it quick again.


       It reminds me of my Tuesday night writing group--the one that meets in a bar/restaurant. I had brought a piece about various critique groups I have belonged to over the years, and in it I noted that because of the WWWPs (my current "main" writing group) I had gotten some things published in anthologies and was 79,000 into a manuscript.

       One of the women looked with admiration at me. "That many words! That's really good." Then she saw the dubious expression on my face and said, "Isn't it?"

       I replied, "Yeah, unless the 79,000 words are sh*tty... and then it's just a big pile of poop... or a doorstop."

       Because it's better to proclaim something publicly so my friends can call me out and embarrass me when I fall flat on my face encourage me, I am going to set a goal:  by the end of February 2016 I will have finished this version of my manuscript. I think hope it's a doable goal. After that, I hope to have some time to look at it as a whole piece, and see what still needs to be done to it.

      I also hope it's not an even bigger pile of poop by then...

      Do you have a pile of poop that you're hiding away? Tell us about it. This ain't no scratch and sniff blog, so you have nothing to fear...

       And here's my attempt at a poem that's 60 words (or less) for Mama Zen's challenge. (It's 53 words long, not including the title.)

  

Circus Girl Smokes While Rehearsing Her Stunts; Nina Leen, 1949

I Know... Do You?

Shaddup and don't even bother.
I know already.
These cancer sticks'll kill me.

But hey!
Dangling above these
popcorn-eating chumps
hangin' by just some cheap rope...
well, that ain't safe, 
neither.

But hey!
Don't my rear end
look good
upside-down like this?

Or didn't you think 
I knew
that you 
noticed?

Give Thanks

       Well, Thanksgiving is over. The turkey was not stuffed, but I was. The holiday is over... done... fini and even though I was fortunate to have five days off in a row, that string of leisure time is over... tomorrow, it's back to work.

        Everyone is thankful for their family (the family members who are not crazy and unmedicated). Everybody is thankful for their friends (again, the ones who have a semi-consistent grip on sanity and/or they've found the right combination of drugs). Everyone is thankful for their health, their home, the life they've carved out.

        I thought I would try to think of some of the things that I'm thankful for--the type of things that don't usually get mentioned...

* Ginger beer only comes in regular-sized bottles.

      This ginger-flavored soda (similar to root beer, but quite distinctively different) comes in a 12.7 oz. bottles. If they came in 2-liter versions, I'd be swigging on it all day long. (And if it DOES come in jumbo-sized bottles, please do NOT tell me.)

     Sometimes, size does matter...


* Erica Jong has a brand-new book out.

      Her Fear of Flying came out many decades ago. I've only read 50 or so pages of Fear of Dying, so it's too early to proclaim my love or indifference. However, so far I'm enjoying it.

* I haven't managed to screw up my flash drive yet.

  This looks just like the one that has my WIP on it (just shy of 80,000 words so far) except the cap of mine has a part of it broken off. There have been some moments of panic. Like the time I thought it had gone through the washing machine. The time that I thought it was lost--really lost. The other (several) times I thought it was lost. I'm very careful to make sure it's safe to eject before I yank it out (I learned that the hard way a long time ago) and I know I'm a dinosaur for even using a flash drive these days. (Yeah, I know I should put it on the horizon or the cloud or the atmosphere or whatever it's called. But hey! You! Get offa my cloud.) But that's what I am--a lumbering, almost-extinct creature with arms that are often too short and ineffectual.

Probably soon (after another near-catastrophe) I'll make it into a google doc so it's always safe... no matter what kind of crazy mess I create. But not today.

That's all I got right now. Three is pathetic--barely even warrants the title "list"--but that's it for now. Which means you can add to the list. Leave a comment. Tell me what you're thankful for--other than the traditional Norman Rockwell answers, that is...
       

The Dread of the Dead

Dread

is when you're dead,

and no one cares.

No one mourns.

No one glances back.
No one wears black.

No one cries--not even a bit.

No one gives a shit

that you're gone.

That you've passed through life,

and brought no laughter,

made no one more strong,

done nothing but wrong...

That is dread.

No friends, 

no family,

no photos to speak of the you

that once was--

to vanish without making

even a temporary ripple...

that's dread. 

This was written right off the cuff, and it shows. However, I was intrigued by Mama Zen's poem, followed the link, and Shazam! It led back to Shay and her poetry prompt. Perhaps my wretched mess will prod someone else to try it... and soar.

Last night my family spent most of the evening debating over the existence of God/a soul, the meaning of life and other serious and somber topics, so Mama Zen's poem was an easy segue into this POS poem...

It's in My Head

         On Tuesday I met with my rather new writing critique group. You know, the one that meets in a private writing room at a bar/grill... The group that eats fried chicken and taco salads (me) and drinks buckets of beer (not me). The group that fascinates the bar regulars and makes them curious-er and 
curious-er (me wonders why).

         One of the writers shared a western short story they had written. As we talked about the strengths and weaknesses of the piece, they spoke of some tidbits about the major characters... tidbits that were not evident in the story.

It's in your head... but it's not down on paper. 

        It made me think of the thick skin we have to have as writers. When our writing is sucky, we have to be able to hear and listen to constructive criticism. When our writing friends' writing is sucky, we have to be brave enough to tell them.

       What was a time when you had to say something difficult (or had to listen to something difficult) as a writer?

        And if you're in the St. Louis/St. Charles area this evening, stop by the Spencer Road Library (427 Spencer Road). From 6-8, there will be 105 authors and illustrators in attendance. Blog friends of mine, like Donna Volkenannt, Pat Wahler, Robin Tidwell, Marcia Gaye and others will be there. It's a fun evening every year.  

        And Sioux-on-a-Stick will be there (if I can dig her up). She's not as wild as COAS, but she does pull the occasional prank.

Friends... and France

      On Thursday (11/19), there will 100 local authors gathering together at the Spencer Road library. This fun event will run from 6-8 in the evening, and there will even be refreshments. (Yum!)

      Some of my writing friends and acquaintances will be there. Donna Volkenannt. Pat Wahler. Doyle Suit. Robin Tidwell. Marcia Gaye. Sheree Nielsen.

      This is not my first year going, and even though I don't sell many books, it's the connections that I enjoy... the camaraderie we share... the encouragement that's thrown my way--that's why I keep coming back to this event. It's writing friends--all over the world--who ensure that I keep writing.

       Which makes me think of my friends and family in France. The France I know is far from Paris, far from any big city. And yet, still, I am saddened.

   
      This is the France I know...

My sister, daughter and granddaughter... hiking
surrounded by the Pyrenees

I've never been to Paris (except the airport). All I know of France is beach towns, tiny villages, and a few largish cities (Pau, Bordeaux and Toulouse).

However, I've always found France to be a country full of people who are passionate in their conversations and their appreciation of life. Their priorities aren't all askew. They protect their past as they continue to move forward.

To see their country attacked... It's reason for all of us to stop and hug and reach out and think.