Heptadecagon

Well folks, we're at the end of the year. I started out this year thinking that all I needed to do was surpass the number of blog posts from last year (and make it to 319 posts ) but then something changed (we all know what that was, and I am not going to rehash the topic). And since I wasn't doing any REAL writing, I told myself that I'd try to blog each day. Well, it worked. I might have missed a day or two here or there, but for the better part of 2015, I wrote down a few thoughts (or borrowed a picture to help me convey my thoughts). I don't have time to blog each day anymore. I need to keep the faith and believe that I will find more publishing success in the form of a short story or novel. I need to take the time to revise that short story and novel, and I won't do that by posting here each day. When will I post? I'm not sure. I have so much in my head--all the time--and as I've said before, writing is a form of therapy for me. (I also recently sai

I'm not a very big drinker, but our friend Ben introduced us to two friends of his... And now, I have a problem. A big problem. When you mix the Rum Chata with the cool root beer, you end up with a creamy concoction worthy of any milk shake (although not as thick). It's reminiscent of homemade, vanilla bean rice pudding--a dessert that I rarely make but wish I did. If you like rice pudding, that's a great thing. And even if you don't enjoy rice pudding, go ahead and try these two together. You can go with a 1:1 mixture, or if you'd rather not overdo it on the Rum Chata, then try a 1:3 mixture instead. Get ready for yumminess. (The folks over at Rumchata.com have the real recipe--called a Root Bear Float--which can be found here .)

As most of you know, I'm not just a writer. I'm a teacher, a mother, a wife, a sister, an editor, a runner, a friend. I could probably find more hats to throw into that list, but then, I'd bore you. (As if you're not bored already, right?) So I need to have goals for this new year that encompass more than my writing life. Because if there is one thing I realized over the last year, it's that I am motivated by personal goals. (I'm not going to go into why that might be, but just know that it's true.) Found this cool image here . So, as 2015 rolls into 2016, I need to figure out, then, what those goals might be. I'm sure several of you might be able to come up with some goals for me, but I also have a short list of my own. And just like my writing goals, I have one word that will bring those goals together: Improve . Yep, I'd like to see myself become a better teacher, mother, wife, sister, editor, runner and friend. (Along with all those othe

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The 27th day of December...the 361st day of the year. We only have 365 days, which means I should discuss a little something about my writing goals for next year... Do you remember what my goals were for this year? If not, let me remind you : 1. Write and publish one profile for Literary Mama . 2. Write a review for Literary Mama with my sister, Gina. (The piece may or may not get published this year, considering we need to find a book, query Literary Mama , and then write the review.) 3. Query a total of 100 agents each for After We've Fallen and Beyond the Trees . (I'm a glutton for punishment... you all knew this, and I've already started querying, so it's not really as many as it seems. The only caveat is this: if I keep getting rejections, I need to look at my letter, my first pages, my writing. So this goal might not be realized this year, either.) 4. Finish writing my first complete draft of Hunting for Lilacs . 5. Get at least 30,000 words of The

Oh, crap! Are you kidding me? I'd just said his name! "Davy? Is that you, Davy Sandstone ?" "Yes, but the name's Dave. And you would be?" His cluelessness didn't surprise me. Our interaction had been somewhat strained and, at least for me, painful over the years. Since elementary school, our paths had crossed at the pool (where Davy had tried to drown me), the library (where Davy always managed to beat me in the Summer Reading Race), or at the movies (where we both worked the summer we were 16, and where he became known as The Popcorn Extortionist ). Whenever I ran into him, I tried to exchange nothing more than an unhealthy glare. Oh, there was that one fall, when Davy had expressed fleeting interest in my friend, but I hadn't spent much time with him since we both went to Meadowlark Elementary School. And why didn’t we spend time together? Because of something I like to call The Name Shortening Incident. For the longest time, I despised Dav

When I was a child, one thing meant Christmas: The Muppets and John Denver. Yep, that's right. This classic from 1979 jumped into my mind the other day, and I haven't been able to shake it. The first time my older sister and I watched it, we loved it. And every time it ran in the following years, we loved it even more. Once our little sister came along, we introduced her to it (I believe), but I don't think she holds the same fond feelings for this masterpiece. The video is long--a full 51 minutes, so I don't expect you to watch the entire thing. So I pulled out the song that Gina and I would sing the most: Christmas is Coming. If nothing else this Christmas, sit back, relax, and have a good laugh at the video. Or imagine two pajama-clad little girls with long hair and spaces between their teeth, walking around a 1970s-decorated house, singing at the top of their lungs. It's a great memory for me to have, and one that I'll treasure as long as I reme

A conversation in our kitchen last evening... Aaron: Dad, what comes after nano? Melina: I know! I know what comes after nano! Wrimo comes after nano. Me: That's my girl. Tim: Pico, Aaron. Pico comes after nano.

She finds herself standing in front of the open refrigerator, alone, staring longingly at the Margarita mix that rests in the door. Is it too early? she thinks, and glances at the clock. 7:35 a.m. That answers her question. She shuts the door and putters out of the room, onto a task that needs to be done, and tries to shake the want, the need from her mind. Miscommunication is a big problem, despite the technology that exists to help with communication. We're overrun with ways to get in contact with each other and when we do, it still doesn't mean that one person will understand exactly what we're trying to say. Rain or snow? It's December, and she watches the frigid droplets of rain as they trail down the side of the house and puddle on the driveway. The scene is almost too much to take on a day when she's got five children at home and a cake to bake for the office. She roots around in her cabinet, fingers flailing in the dark, and comes up with the jackp

In August 2012, I joined Twitter . Now as most of you readers know, I'm not a big Twitter fan. I use it for Literary Mama purposes mostly, to give a shout out to the masses that writers I work with have published something with us. But I don't have the time to use Twitter well, and really, I wouldn't know how to use Twitter well. (I know the lesson there--if I used it more often, I'd learn how to use it. But really, I have other things to do.) So here is my question to you: What are the rules of Twitter? I wonder if they exist, and if they did, would I understand them? Which leads to my second question to you (which has to do with followers): Why would anyone follow me, get me to follow back, and then unfollow me? Is that behavior just to increase their followers number? I'm at 963 followers right now but I know that number will fluctuate. I don't expect people to follow me back if I follow them, and if I do follow someone and they follow me back, I don'

This time of the year, the girls start asking about Cherries in the Snow. For those of you not familiar with what that is, it's a dessert. And a pretty delicious one at that. Best of all, it's easy. In fact, the only downside I see about it is that the dessert is heavy on the artificial ingredients. Hence, I make it once a year and only once a year. (I guess another downside would be that it has cherries in it, if you don't like cherries. I would imagine that another fruit could be substituted pretty easily.) Ingredients: 1 8 oz tub fat-free cream cheese 1 cup sifted powdered sugar 1 12 oz carton frozen whipped topping (reduced-calorie), thawed 8 cups cubed angel food cake (cubes about 1 inch in size; homemade or store bought) 1 20 oz can light cherry pie filling (I usually buy two cans, because we love the cherry part) What to do: 1. Beat the cream cheese at medium speed of a mixer until it is smooth. Gradually add the sugar and beat until blended. Gently fol

It's that time of the year when radio stations pull out songs from the past, like Dan Fogelberg's Same Old Lang Syne (1980). On my way back from the grocery store the other day, I heard it. I always turn the music up and think about the poetry behind these lyrics because way back in high school, we studied this song. As I've aged, I've learned that I can be sentimental about anything, and that I can apply lyrics or situations to my life, whether or not I've lived them. Between the high school memories and my penchant for crying, I found a few tears sprinkling my face once again on that ride back from the store.

I had blocked off Tuesday morning as the day to run a few errands and to wrap my presents for the kids. (Thank goodness that Santa's presents arrive wrapped already. I mean, who has time to do his job, right?) So I found myself standing at the dining table, scissors in one hand, tape in the other, staring at the colorful wrapping paper spread out before me. I was there--in Ohio, in my house--and yet I wasn't. For my mind immediately jumped to my mom and her ability to wrap presents. From a young age, I was awed by the gifts my mother would churn out. Perfect corners, straight ribbons, bows that curled (before you could buy the already-curled bows). I'd attend birthday parties and mothers would comment on how nicely wrapped the gift was. Sometimes, people would ask me if I had the store do the wrapping. "Nope," I'd say. "My mom wrapped it for me." I felt proud of Mom at those moments. These are not presents my mother wrapped. I found the picture

Dear Student, It's been almost two months since I last wrote a letter like this, and considering grades were due yesterday, I thought I'd send this out posthaste. What is that? You're not sure what I mean with the term posthaste ? Somehow, I'm not surprised, considering just last week you asked me what the word viscera meant. Ha. Yes, don't deny it. You asked me, at the almost-end-of-the-semster, what I meant by that word. I wanted to chuckle in your face, but I'm a better person than that, and I know we all make mistakes. But you came to class most of the time, so I'm not really sure how that term slipped by you. (In case you still haven't looked it up, viscera refers to the internal organs within the body. And posthaste means without delay. By the way, you're welcome.) But unlike past letters, I'm writing today to say thank you. (Yes, I'm actually writing a positive Dear Student letter.) Because this past semester has been, in one wo

Good words to live by:

In the Things I Never Thought I'd Hear category: Aaron: Mom, I have a boner. Me: How'd that happen? Aaron: I'm not sure. It just did. I know these things happen with him. I've seen them happen, by golly, but somehow, I didn't think that my 11-year-old son would admit to me that he'd had an erection. Or that he knew what the word boner meant. I know I didn't teach him that word (I guess I'm pointing my finger at you, Tim.) And in case you're wondering, yes, we've talked all about erections before. He knows that they just happen and that they're a sign that everything is working right. So rock on, Aaron. But, later that day, as Aaron was playing Wii with the girls--and my mind was still thinking about our prior conversation--I heard Aaron say: I almost exploded myself.  He meant that he accidentally made his character explode, but yeah, you know where my mind went. I have no plans to go there again. *Shudder*

I am a very lucky woman. I've had my share of ups and downs, but along the way, I've learned from most of those experiences. I've learned to let go of the things I cannot control, and to not dwell on the negative from the past. I've also learned to hold tight to the goodness that surrounds me. While I have many more lessons to learn, I'm okay with where I am in my life right now. In fact, I'm more than okay. I'm great. But I know people who could use my help. And so, when I sit in my car and hear a song like the one below, and I know there is no way at that moment that I can give them a call or to wrap them up in my arms, the only thing I can do is whisper to the universe to deliver a small miracle. This is dedicated to you, people. "Hold On Forever" by Rob Thomas Another night and here we are again All our faults laid out ahead Let it out, then let it right back in All those voices in your head And we both know everything, but we

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Melina takes her Mommy role very seriously. She's mom to many dolls, stuffed animals, and figurines. Every once in a while, those friends of hers need a little love during the day, and who better to ask to babysit than her very own Mommy. So, a few weeks ago, I took Panda to work with me. Panda in the front office, near the secretary's area. Panda with the fish tank. She was loved watching the fish but felt bad that they were held captive. I had to stop Panda from trying to eat the plant. Who doesn't like to rest up against a specimen of a human brain? She had trouble seeing the slide under the microscope. Her ferociousness scared some of the kids and they had an exam. So I let her face me while they took the grueling test. Panda found out that I use computers quite a bit during my day, and that they are good resting places. This computer nap was in my lecture room. Panda helped me grade the exams, but due to FERPA, I didn't let

I'm not a #TBT participant . Normally. But yesterday was so busy, as was every other day, and I've been sleeping in way past 5:15 a.m. Which means my blogging time has been limited. In addition, FRN was so kind to scan a bunch of old pictures, and I've been laughing my way down memory lane. So today, it's #TBT, despite the fact I did not ask permission of my big sister to post these lovely gems. Yep, that's me. Gotta love that bonnet. I love how G has her hands on her hips, and me? Hands on the tummy...messing with my belly button. I have always loved this picture, despite the fact that I look like a boy in a red dress. Usually I cried if I had to sit on Santa's lap. Not sure what happened here.

I had no plans to lie here all day in this hospital bed, but with David next to me as a guard, I knew I wouldn't be moving any time soon. Or at least not soon enough for me. He still clung to the belief—put there by Marissa—that I'd be headed to rehab. I still clung to the belief that I could go home. What an impasse. I adjusted my shoulders and tried to move my legs. They felt heavy and full, as if leaded shrapnel had filled the hollowness. Crap, maybe Marissa was right. How could I go home if I couldn't get out of bed myself? I fell back against the pillow and closed my eyes. How had I gotten here? I thought back to everything I'd done in my life. From the Air Force, to marrying Angie, to having the kids. I tried to keep my faith and foremost in my mind as I could. Sure, I'd have my moments, my sins, but I'd learned my lesson and moved on. Was this God's way of punishing me? Saying I'd done something wrong? It was easy to believe that. Place the bl

Wow! It's been a long time since we've seen photos of these guys. As you can tell, a lot of sleeping goes on around here when the kids are away. And, we of course need to add another shot of Shadow.

A year ago today , I lamented about my oven, which had an issue I thought would never be resolved. The company finally repaired the problem, as you know, but what you might not know is that my oven now runs hot. I don't know why I'm telling you this now, on a year later. I just thought you should know. And so, because I have nothing else to do this morning, I'll tell you about a few other things that I know. We drove to Michigan and back from Michigan with the best dog ever. I think the grandparents and the cousins were glad to see the big guy. Now, I want to take him everywhere, but I know that's not possible. I'm not sure why we expect my mother to eat food that doesn't taste good to her. She was never an adventurous eater to begin with. Why would she try things now, when many foods have started to taste like sawdust? Melina sat down to watch Scooby-Doo yesterday and I realized that the episode she was watching was older than I was. Crazy. I'm sc

I haven't seen her since early October, right after I dyed my hair black. Despite the package claiming that the hair dye was semi-permanent, the color hasn't faded much. I'm no longer Snow White, but I could very well be a younger version of herself, at least as far as my hair is concerned. With me being out of sight and out of mind, will Mom remember that I died my hair? Or will she, when I walk through the door, be just as surprised as the last time I saw her? I wonder this as I pack my bags. I wonder it as I load the car. I wonder as I climb into the driver's seat. I also wonder, what do I hope to happen? If she's forgotten about my hair, it simply reaffirms the fact that she has Alzheimer's disease. And if she remembers? What does that do? Does it give me hope that the deterioration of her brain has slowed? Or does it simply mean that she's gotten lucky, and one random, nonessential piece of information managed to find it's way into her memory and

Despite owning four cats, I am not a cat person. I don't swoon over every cat I see, nor do I treat my cats like people. However, as you can tell by the Kitty Cuteness series (which will possibly return next week with its 14th installment), cats amuse me. So when I find something like this, I must share. (If you're interested, you can find these photos yourself if you go here .) Good little bit of Friday fun, no?

Aaron and Melina, watching a new episode of Doctor Who... Melina: Oh! [Enormous smile fills her face.] It's heaven! Aaron: No, it's not. It's space, Melina. Jeesh! Heaven? Space? Same difference to some, no? And of course, just that snippet of a conversation provoked some thoughts and made me wonder. What sort of story could I write about heaven and space? Heaven or space? And what if they are the same? Furthermore, would Melina describe heaven and space the same way? I think she'd see heaven as a closet with unlimited sparkling dresses and bejeweled shoes, but maybe I have underestimated her. The end of my semester is looming near, so I won't have time to think about where I can go with those thoughts in terms of a new story, but I want to leave you with a few pictures that might help you create something wonderful. (I usually try to say where I find pictures, as I can't claim to have taken most of the pictures I post. However, I can't remember where

Hello, how are you It's so typical of me to talk about myself I'm sorry I hope that you're well I could go on and sing the rest of that song, but I don't have much of a singing voice. (I don't know about where you live, but this song is playing on the radio ALL THE TIME.) And really, all I wanted to do was say hello . It's been a long time since I asked how you all are. In fact, for the past month, I've made it all about me, something I'm not really used to at all. (But wait, you say. This is your blog. Isn't it really all about you? Everyday? Yes, I guess that is one way to look at it.) So today, I'll hope that you're well, and that's all. Not so exciting for a Wednesday morning now, is it? (Yeah, that's all I have for today. Sorry. If you need something else, go watch this video.)

Here we are--December 1, 2015--and NaNoWriMo is ( finally ) over (as of 11:59 last night). Although I finished my 50,000 words two weeks ago, that month was the longest 30 days of my life. I'm not kidding. Even after reaching the 50,000 word mark, I couldn't walk away from the novel (I ended the month at 61,823 words). I felt like I had to write at least a few more words for the book each day to help with our regional word count. Really? Why did I feel so obligated? I have never even met most of the other people in my region. And hadn't I already done my part for the Dayton region? ( Yes . The short answer is yes. The long answer involves my OCD tendencies and is, as always, the subject for another post.) While I had plans to write a wonderful "I'm back" sort of post today, or maybe even share a scene from The Chocolate Garden , I realized that I needed to make sure that everyone out there who might be reading this--that means all five of you--understands e

You had to know this was coming... That's right, we have only one day more of the crazyness! And then, I can walk away from this book for a while. (Did I do any writing yesterday? Not much--35 words to be exact. But I ran a 5k race in a respectable time, something I wouldn't have been able to do a year ago due to that not-sure-how-I-got-injured injury. So there's that.)

I am so, so glad this month is almost over. You'd think posting easy posts like those I've been putting together this month would be welcome. They are so not! I don't like focusing on how much I've written (or not) and I don't like that my posts lack merit and wit. (I know, stop laughing. My posts rarely have either.) And some days, like today, just frustrate me because... Yes, as you can see, if I had written just 35 more words on The Chocolate Garden yesterday, I'd be sitting at 61,000 words for the month (a nice round number). But I couldn't. I just couldn't. (Which is silly, really, because this post is longer than 35 words.) I guess I have my goal set for tomorrow. And tomorrow reminds me that we're one day closer back to the old grind. The break has been a pleasant one, to say the least. I hope you've enjoyed your little holiday as well.

Is this getting tedious for you yet? It is for me. But I said I'd keep a log of my NaNoWriMo writing for the month of November, so buckle up for a few more days, will ya? Yesterday I took some time to revise a short story I had written a long time ago. (Okay, not that long, but at least a year.) My writing group had looked at it, but I wasn't happy with the ending. Or the opening lines, for that matter. And I really don't know if it has potential. I'm certainly not wowed by it, but then again, I'm not wowed by this award winner , either. (I'm not going to apologize for that comment; writing is clearly a very subjective business.) I also took some time to simply look around the internet for what was trending. What did I find? Glitter beards. Yes, I said glitter beards and included a picture from the site as well. http://www.earthables.com/manscaping-trend-glitter-beards-1474751792.html I'm not going to judge. I mean, I wear a striped fleece after al

When day 26 lands on Thanksgiving, you can imagine that I didn't get any NaNoWriMo writing done. In fact, I only wrote 66 words for The Chocolate Garden yesterday. But we had a good day, and I'm thankful for the fact that both pies turned out well and so did the turkey. I'm also thankful for the crazy family I live with and the lack of silence I get on a daily basis. Someday, it will be so quiet around here, I might go looking for noise. And on that note, I thought I'd let someone else say (in more eloquent terms) a little something about gratitude. For it is important to be grateful every day of your life, not just on Thanksgiving Day: You simply will not be the same person two months from now after consciously giving thanks each day for the abundance that exists in your life. And you will have set in motion an ancient spiritual law: the more you have and are grateful for, the more will be given you. ~ Sarah Ban Breathnack

This is how the 25th day went... It started out with a little writing. How much, I don't know. But Thanksgiving is today and the desserts needed to be made yesterday. (Yeah, Tim is a good cook, but baker, he is not.) And those kids of mine had made requests: 1. Pumpkin Chiffon Pie, 2. Cheesecake Pie, and 3. Brownies. Two of the three recipes come from my mom, and as you all know, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's this past summer. Most of the time I think about Mom, I'm okay with the diagnosis of Alzheimer's. I mean, what can I do? Worrying about the diagnosis, about Mom, or about my own possible diagnosis down the line would do nothing. But as I went through the motions of making those desserts yesterday, a sadness overwhelmed me. My mom can no longer follow a recipe. The desserts requested by the kids will no longer be made by my mom. Because I don't want to forget these recipes, I'm posting them. Pumpkin Chiffon Pie (recipe that Mary C. uses, from