Heptadecagon

Thank you for not correcting me on my last post. As today is September 30, and NOT October 1, I will actually round out the month with 27 posts, a number which is also quite appealing. After all, three cubed is 27, and cubic numbers are just as cool as square numbers. But that's not why I am posting. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about certain characters. As a writer (and I am going to call myself that, because even if I never publish anything, I do write. You can't argue with that statement.) it is part of my job to make my characters different from one another. No one wants to read about a couple of characters who are basically the same. Where's the conflict, the story, in that? And not everyone speaks the same way or thinks the same way, so what I try to do is find the character's distinct voice. Is this character a girl or a boy? Are they rich or poor? What nationality are they? Do they come from the South or North Dakota? Do they come from a fa

I thought, very seriously, about not posting today. But I didn't post yesterday, and I really do try to write something every day. It isn't always something meaningful, but at least I put words to paper, so to speak. When I looked at the number of postings for the month, though, my brain went into crisis mode. If I do not post today, the number of posts for the month of September will stand at 25. Twenty-five is a great number. I met Tim at the age of 25; I got a new license at 25; it is a square number; it is divisible by five. In my book, 25 is a number at which I could go into October feeling proud. But If I do post today, I'll have 26 posts for September, a number that is lovely and even and twice the number 13; thirteen was one of my favorite years, ever. And so I sit here, torn between two numbers, knowing that Tara is going to laugh at the triviality of this whole post; that Gina will think I've gone a little off the deep end (understandably so, as the kitche

Melina does a lot of coloring and writing at school. She tries her best to sound out words and brings home, almost every day, something she has written. Usually, it has a picture to accompany it, but not always. Today, she brought home two messages without pictures, one for me and one for Tim. Mine: Mommy, I love you. Tim's: Daddy, you messed up my hair. Apparently the messages were so important (Tim put his hand out at the bus stop and mussed Melina's tresses and of course, I am Melina's favorite person.) that Melina didn't have time to make the pictures.

91. Frosted animal cookies. 92. Farrow & Ball Breakfast Room Green paint. 93. Pumpkin Pie frozen yogurt. 94. Warm socks on cool nights. 95. Reading a sentence you wrote and having a smile spread across your face. 96. Even better, reading a sentence your child wrote and having a smile spread across your face. 97. The sound of Peggy's laughter as it floats over our fence. 98. The feel of Aaron's little body, snuggling up against me, at 3:30 in the morning. 99. The scent of evergreen. 100. The Plot Sisters.

Burned muffins, I got my first rejection letter! And I'm fine with it. In the event you think I'm sobbing over here, I am not. Rejection is part and parcel of the whole writing gig and of life for that matter. While I would have appreciated a little more in terms of why the agent didn't want my manuscript, it wasn't given. In this case, I received a form letter from a person named Whitney who probably was pulled from the clerical pool to send out rejection emails. The silver lining in all of this? The mere reception of a rejection letter, one that I highly anticipated, has made me think that after all is said and done, if I've filled my rejection folder to the brim, that maybe, just maybe, I will try to self-publish my story. That's a long time off; I have plans to inundate many more agents before I jump ship. As usual, I'll keep you posted.

Melina decided she wanted to see the kitchen today. It is a fine day for that...the drywall is drying and the guys aren't scheduled to be here until tomorrow. So past the zippered plastic we crept. We looked around at the dust on the floor, and marveled at the space. Cool, so cool, to see rooms when they are bare.  But then, I noticed a problem. As I stood before the wall with the window, something didn't seem right. Since there is nothing on the wall, it shouldn't be an issue. So I looked up, and was slammed with a very simple error that up until now, no one had caught. In fact, I posted a picture of the kitchen a few days ago, and no one found the problem. I'm putting it here again. Can you see what the error is? Of course, you don't know what the plan for this kitchen is. But I do, as does the contractor, as should the crews that work for the contractor. And most of the time, when you do something that revolves around a sink, which would be beneath the wind

Last night was Religious Education Session #2. I don't know if I mentioned this, but I'm teaching not only my kids, but the two kids up the street. They are both girls; one is in Aaron's grade, the other in the girls' grade. I thought it would be fun for the kids to have some other children besides themselves in the class. I did not think ahead that having those kids, kids that they are friends with and very comfortable with, would make it a little harder to teach. To be fair, we're meeting at 6 pm on a Sunday evening. By that time of the day, we're all tired, especially me. If I could find a video and press play, so that I could sit back and relax, I would. But that goes against what I'm trying to do. So instead, we try to cover the material that is in the books we bought from the church (in case we go back to actual RE classes, they will have covered everything) and then go ahead and discuss topics that I think will be interesting for the kids. It's

It's not all lovely or anything yet, but the kitchen has some new lighting, a new plywood layer above the subfloor (they had to take everything, and I mean everything, off the floor, as it was too difficult to separate out the layers), an extended soffit and some wall repairs.  The holes in the bathroom wall have been repaired. We're making progress!

Slutty brownies and a cup of coffee make a wonderful Friday breakfast. Especially when you've made it through the first full week of a kitchen/bath renovation. And you aren't sure when the guys will show up next. And you only hope that the whole thing will be done on time so that the next time you make Slutty Brownies , you can make the layers (chocolate chip cookies and brownies) from scratch. Happy Friday!

I've given a lot of thought lately to how I can get my writing out there . There , being anywhere but in my home. This blog is a great way to find new readers, but I don't broadcast that I write it, and I don't link it up to Facebook or Twitter, mostly because I don't really think anyone wants to hear about what I have to say. If my writing were more profound, or life-altering, or some other combination of Holy cats I need to read this every day , then I might find a way to put myself out there , so to speak. But we all know why you read this blog. You either like to feel sorry for me, or you like to laugh at me, or you like to say to yourself Thank goodness I'm not that chick . Right? (I see you nodding your head, by the way.) Which of course, led me to think about Charles Dickens. I know, I know, you didn't quite get the leap from my blog to Charles. Well, neither did I. But I really did get thinking about Old Man Dickens, and how he published some of his st

9/18/2013 Dear Agent: I know what I am supposed to do. I've read the internet articles that state how to write a query letter. I've even written said query letter, and then edited it, multiple times, to the point that I've  got the letter memorized and fear that I will recite it the next time I stand up to lecture. I might start off this letter in some interesting way, hoping to find a hook and reel you right in with a bunch of bull crap, about how I found you or what it means to be a writer, but in the end, you know why I am writing: I have a book I want to have represented and I'd like to find someone to represent it. Let's cut to the chase, why don't we? Now the question is, would I like that agent to be you? I guess I should address that fact right now. I could (and should) tell you why I think you might be just the person for the job, but to be honest (and as you can tell, I'm being very forthright here), I don't know if you are the right per

81. Block parties with the neighbors. 82. Refrigerator boxes, oven boxes, television boxes, all kinds of boxes. 83. Healthy lungs, eyes, ears, noses, and all other body parts. 84. Fluffy towels straight from the dryer. 85. Sunday morning time with the ladies. 86. The first fallen leaf that signals the beginning of autumn. 87. Fall Farm Days. 88. Running long when you thought you wouldn't run at all that day. 89. The smell of vanilla extract. 90. Nights cool enough to throw a blanket on but warm enough that the ceiling fan also stays on.

Life is a juggling act. Having twins first taught me that. Adding two more kids and an active husband reaffirmed it. Finding time for myself in the midst of the chaos drove the point home. And figuring out how to write query letters, send the letters, teach the kids religion, coordinate the library volunteers for school, make sure breakfast, lunch, and dinner are on the table, make decisions for the kitchen, get the laundry done when the construction crew isn't around, and more, makes it apparent, to me at least, that I need to thank God that I'm a pretty good juggler.

Today, I became a religious educator. I guess I've always been that in some fashion to the kids, but this year, I am actually sitting down on Sunday nights to preach some catechism to Zoe, Talia, Aaron, and two neighbor kids. If I like it, and the kids like it, I might open it up to some other families. We'll see where it goes. For tonight, I didn't have much planned. We looked at the textbooks, talked a bit about how to find Bible passages, and a little more about prayer. What prayers could the kids name? What prayers had they heard of but couldn't name? Did they pray at all? By the end of the night, I admitted that I had some homework for them. The assignment: to write a prayer. And here is one that Zoe found online. She plans on writing her own, more serious prayer, but I like creativity of whomever wrote this little gem, so here we go: The Whovian Prayer Our time Lord, who art in Tardis, The Doctor be thy name. The Silence comes and demons run On earth as

Last post, I forgot to add a picture of the bathroom before demolition. I placed that one at the top:  The first three below are of the kitchen. Our sink was in front of the window. You can still see the plumbing. The blue color was the color we had on the walls when we first moved in. It was a nice color, but because the cabinets were light, there was little contrast. Hence the red color of the walls. Here is a picture of where the secretary's desk stood. Apparently it needed to be moved, since it was against code even being there. The rectangle at the top is a lovely shade of green, the color that must have been on the walls when prior residents put up the cabinets. I'd like a darker green for my kitchen. Here you can see the green again. This is the wall where the new refrigerator will go. We are all very excited about being able to open the doors of the refrigerator all the way and not hit the wall! (It's the little things, people!)

Day two of the remodel and here I am posting a few before pictures. You can't see that the tile floor is broken or that the counter top is crumbling in places. The fridge is on its last leg, but you can't tell that from the pictures, either. All in all, I was happy with the kitchen, but it was time to move on. So here we go...   I have absolutely no intention of going through this renovation step by step on the blog. However, I will post some pictures of the phases and the after . Next post will show the lovely walls after everything has been taken down. If only the walls could talk...

Today is a GINORMOUS day in our household. The wrecking crew should arrive any minute to dismantle our kitchen, and within a month (hopefully under that) we'll have a brand new kitchen, 1/2 bath, and back hallway. I'll update this post with some pictures later today. Right now, I'm taking a breather from moving everything we need into the living room and study area. Everything we don't need is in our bedroom. Which means that I will be living for the next month (hopefully under that) in a state of heightened awareness. Too much clutter? We normally have that, and now it's all in my space. Even in my bedroom! Yikes. You might see me a lot here, whining about this first world problem (as they say). I'll try to keep it to a minimum. And give you some nice photos as a reward at the end. All in all, big changes.

Saturday afternoon, Talia came up to me as I was standing in the kitchen. She placed a soft hand against my arm, and then looked up at me, a question in her eyes. "Mom, you have some bumps here. What are they?" "I do?" I said, and felt my arm. Sure enough, a large patch of skin had what felt like raised welts on it. I walked to the bathroom and flicked on the light. Huh, the large patch was actually a whole bunch of little, red, raised dots. Almost hives, but not quite. "Mom, you have some on your other arm, too," Talia informed me. Well then, the hunt was on. I found a few on my leg, some across my back, and a couple creeping up my neck. By the end of the next day, I had a few more scattered on my belly, and one or two on my feet. I hadn't changed detergent; I hadn't come into contact with any poisonous plants, and at least to the best of my knowledge, I didn't have shingles. I had been eating quite a bit of chocolate (something that h

Yesterday was a good day. I went for a run, I attended part of a meeting, and I wrote 2000 words of my new story. My drive by moment has morphed into a living thing, something that I think will only be a short-story. But we can't always write novels now, can we? So for much of the day yesterday, I thought about words, how to use them, where to put them, and which ones would come out of my characters' mouths. At the end of the day, I had an almost-finished short story. One that is spattered with cuss words (can you believe that?) but one that my kids would probably also like. What to do? Read it? Or not. I chose to go ahead and read the first draft to the twins. They sat on the red thinking chair, in the dark, listening to the voices of Len and Barbie. "What happens now, Mom?" they said. "What does that mean? When will we know why he does that?" Patience, grasshopper. Patience. By the end of the reading, the girls were excited. "I want to know wh

I could so get used to this not teaching thing!

Today has been a glorious and hot late summer day. Of course, most of the pools are closed and so we cool off by staying inside of our house, heading to the grocery store, and out to the shopping malls. On our way back from tracking down some much needed essentials (fruit, shampoo, and a birthday card, if you must know), I had what I call a drive by moment . What is a drive by moment ? Well, it means that I drive by something that makes me think. Sometimes it's a garage sale where a bunch of random little kid things sit, making me remember when all of my kids were much smaller. Other times it's an older person out for a walk, at a snail's pace, proving that it doesn't matter how fast you go, but that you are going. The drive by moments are, I'm convinced, life's way of making me notice everything around me. Which happens to be a fantastic quality for writers. Something I am trying to be. Well I can't give you details, but today, I drove by something

Warning: Mature Content (Sometimes I really think I am morphing into FRN. Really.) I woke up this morning, early as usual, with the intention of sitting down at the computer and finishing up a critique. When I got to the kitchen, I realized that I left a muffin mix out last night. The kids love muffins, and those mixes, while not the greatest, are wonderful in a pinch. I'll make some muffins and then sit down, I thought. Easy enough. Except when you forget to put the timer on. Oh, I thought I did, but apparently I didn't push the right button on my watch. (It was dark in the kitchen and I'm getting older, remember?) As I sat here, ready to open up my document (because of course I just wasted time checking email), I remembered the muffins. The muffins that just might be burned muffins . Well, I lucked out. They are fine muffins. But the whole experience got me thinking. Burned muffins . That could be a novel title (watch out, you just might see me use it), or the tit

Every once in a while I see a headline (or two) that causes me to chuckle and say, Are you kidding? Do we really need to ask that? There are others that I wonder how, if research is involved, the study ever got funded. Really. This is what I've found recently: Nonprofits Are Growing. What Is It They Do? (It is a good question, I guess.) Is Your Job Killing Your Sleep? (No brainer here.) Humans Do Blush in the Dark, German Scientists Reveal (Seriously? Someone studied this? And someone doubted it? Apparently the researchers never thought about all the people reading 50 Shades only by the light of their Kindles.) Why You Shouldn't Wear Crocs, Even Secretly (No kidding.) And my favorite: Heavy Drinking Hurts Your Ability to Read Social Cues, Study Finds (Duh. Double duh!)

So I checked my college mail yesterday morning, and I've been assigned a mentor. For a class I am no longer teaching. This is the message I received (bear with me, or skip ahead. You decide): Hey Christina, I have been assigned to be your mentor, specifically for your courses of instruction that you teach for us here at X. Beginning this semester, all adjuncts now have an specifically assigned, full-time faculty member to assist you with content or course-related issues – this mentoring program effort includes every full and part-time member of the department – and it is my privilege to support you in that role. I realize that in the past I have not worked with you in this capacity, but let me assure you that the only purpose is to help make sure that all BIO course sections are taught and conducted in similar manner, particularly regarding course content, instructional pedagogy (lecture & lab), exam content (coverage and level of difficulty), as well as “extra

I am the proud owner of a Nook. Yes, I'm finally getting around to being a part of the 21st century. I still don't have a Smartphone, but who knows, one of those might be right around the corner. Anyway, some lovely friends gave me a Nook for my birthday, and I've been having fun trying to figure out how the device works. Fun is a euphemism here for an ass of a time , pardon my language. Day 1: Crap. I'm going to take this back. Who needs this anyway? I love the feel of a real book. Day 2: I appreciate their sentiments, but how much time do I have to spend on this to figure it out? Day 3: I can do this. A Nook can't possibly be that difficult. You buy a book, download it, and read it. Day 4: Success! I can read the book. Day 5: Oh, I can borrow from the library... Day 6: Crap. I'm going to take this back. Who needs this anyway? I love the feel of a real book. Day 7: I can see the library books on the Nook, but I can't read them. Day 8: Timmy! Th

On this day a year ago, I didn't have much to say. I shouted out  a quick Happy Anniversary to Timmy, and that was that. As I often say, we've had wedded bliss: not all the years have been blissful, but we have been wedded for them all. But if I say that, it sounds like I could take or leave marriage, and that isn't true. The day I found Timmy crawling out of the sand was the day my life was changed forever. Over the course of our 15 years together (13 of them married), I've gone from an insecure graduate student (who runs) to a confident professional mom (who runs). I've changed from  wanting to run a lab, to wanting to teach, to wanting to be a writer. My hair color has changed, I've gained and lost weight, I've become more extroverted in some ways and introverted in others. And this man has ridden the roller coaster, possibly holding on for the ride with white knuckles. (I don't really know, but I can imagine.) Not once has Timmy ever said I ca

I write stories with titles such as: Beyond the Trees After We've Fallen Hunting for Lilacs Short Order Cook The Gift of the Grim Reaper If you look close enough, all of them except for the last are mostly three word titles. I've worked long and hard on the stories and even longer on the titles. The kids have their own ideas about titles for stories. The winner? The Story of the Toot That Came Alive They worked neither hard, nor long on that one, and, I think it shows.