Heptadecagon

It's that time: the point in the year where I need to face up to whether nor not I reached some of my writing goals and what my writing goals will be for the coming year. Last year, I had this to say about what I'd do with respect to writing in 2016: So what's to be done for the coming year? Instead of individual goals, per se, I'm going for one word to encompass what my year will be. And that word? Revision.  Revision of The Chocolate Garden , a short story called "Personal Chaos," After We've Fallen , blog posts, you name it, if it needs revising, I'm going to consider tackling it. I haven't quite figured out what will get revised first yet, but I have time to think that through. Was I successful? I didn't revise The Chocolate Garden  much, if at all, but After We've Fallen experienced extensive renovations. I also started the "Draft Makeover" series for the blog posts (meaning I've revised several posts), AND, I revis

This past Tuesday, the kids and I ventured into the basement and began to clean house. We started with the bookshelf that housed the games, many of which we hadn't reached for in years. "Keep or donate?" I'd say as I held up a box. Much of the time, the kids yelled, "Donate!" and a pile of very nice toys began to grow in the middle of our air hockey table. We moved toward the next shelf, and the next, and by the time we'd made it through the blocks (keep), the dinosaurs (also keep), and the dress up clothes in the old white dresser (donate), we'd collected all of this: It's not the greatest picture, I admit, but if I had been planning on putting the goods in my car--a Honda Pilot--said goods would have filled much of the back seat. We then headed upstairs to my room, where we gathered another group of items: piles that Aaron had removed from his room as well as clothes from Melina and the twins. After we were done, I looked at all t

Margie had expected her sister, Carol, to call. It was Christmas Day after all. But as the hours went by, and the phone stood silent, the realization that her sister had once again snubbed her began to take root. Why? What had Margie done? Those thoughts tumbled through her brain as she gathered her cup and saucer, poured the water she'd boiled over the tea bag, and sat down at the kitchen table. There, she spied the photo book she always liked to look at on holidays. The photos--all worn and faded at this point--reminded her that life hadn't always been so colorless and that at one time, she'd been happy. Or at least she thought she'd been happy... The trill of the telephone pushed through Margie's thoughts and her hands trembled as she reached for the receiver. "Hello?" Margie had forgotten to look at the Caller ID before she'd pushed the TALK button. "Margie, it's me, Rita." Margie's shoulders relaxed and she leaned back

~Henry Page, Our Chemical Hearts (by Krystal Sutherland)

She didn't understand the fuss behind the Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas controversy. For years, people had been shouting out Merry Christmas! to her best friend--a Jew--and he'd never said a word. Just pasted a smile and shouted back, Merry Christmas!  "It's the spirit of everything," he'd tell her when she asked if he was annoyed. "They're simply wishing me good vibes. Why should I complain about that?" Why should he indeed? She knew a few folks who would complain. Put the Christ back in Christmas , they'd say. But what about those who simply celebrate secular Christmas? Or Hanukkah? Or a whole host of other winter time holidays?  Happy Holidays , she thought, pretty much covered everyone, so she'd be sticking with that phrase, thank you. After all, it wasn't always about her now, was it? Math had never come easy to her. Never . She'd probably struggled to put two and two together at some point in her life. And here she wa

On 2/11/13, I wrote the following in the first draft of this blog post: "I gave my first exam on Saturday, and much to my surprise and delight, the students did well. Very well, in fact. The exam wasn't the hardest I've ever given, but it certainly wasn't easy. But it was a first exam. It served its purpose: to let me know what sort of class I have." I laughed as I read that paragraph, for two reasons: 1. I'd forgotten that I taught a couple of Saturday courses a few years ago. 2. I'd forgotten that the students who take Saturday courses tend to do better in my classes. I've put a lot of thought into that second statement over the last couple of years. Students who take Saturday courses tend to do better in my classes . Why might that be? I teach the exact same way to each and every set of students, and usually, we have exactly the same amount of time to cover our material. What I figured out, though, is that the students who sign up for Saturday

Yesterday was a fantastic day. Full of errands, but the sun was shining, so I couldn't complain. Until I could. Because as I sat at the dining room table taking care of this and that and the other, this song came on. And now, I can't get it out of my head. You're welcome.

To see parts I and II of this story, go here and here . While the moment seemed to stretch indefinitely, Caroline knew it couldn't have. But during that time, when she stood on the steps of the church, tears staining her face, hands trembling, right after she'd whispered the words she knew Adam didn't want to hear, it was almost as if in the back of her mind, a clock began to tick. "I don't know" wasn't going to hold off Adam for long and he deserved more than that noncommittal answer. Even if he'd toyed with her heart, which she was pretty sure he had done, she didn't want to toy with his. "What do you mean, you don't know?" Adam's normally olive skin looked stark and drawn under the light of the street lamps. His hands shook as he placed the box back in his pocket and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "I..." Caroline wasn't sure what to say and tried again. "I can see it, Adam. I can see us g

Yesterday, we went to meet a new friend . We brought the friend home, and we're hoping that the cats will tolerate her. Say hi to Patty.

1. Entered in grades and had to assign far too many Fs for my tastes. 2. Made an appointment to go see this girl--see below--tonight. 3. Put together a presentation on the brain that I'll be giving to the third graders this afternoon. (I'm really excited about doing this!) 4. Spent a few hours watching This Is Us. The jury is still out on whether or not I'll finish out the rest of the episodes. 5. Thought very strongly about taking a hiatus from just about everything I can these days. I feel like the winter is already kicking me in the back end. And it's just started.

Sometimes, I just don't know what to say. That's still how I feel, four years after I first started a draft of this post. You see, four years ago on this day, December 14, 2012, Adam Lanza tore through Sandy Hook elementary school and single-handedly managed to cause the deadliest mass shooting at a school in the United States. Prior to the shooting, he'd killed his mother. Afterwards, he killed himself. I didn't address the shooting four years ago. It was too much for me to take in, I think. At the time, the girls were in fifth grade, Aaron in second grade, and Melina was in preschool. It wasn't as though the incident didn't affect me. It did. Too much, really, but I couldn't quite articulate how I felt about what happened, too many emotions were mixed together. All I could say, if I tried, was that I suffered from overwhelming feelings of sadness and anger.  But in truth, if there was (and is) something I should be long-winded about, it would be an episo

Draft Makeover #2. I had no idea I'd ever put this gem together. And by gem, you know what I really mean. In fact, I think I know why I never pushed the Publish button on this post. (First saved in mid-December, 2012. You'll know what 2012 was all about once you get to the sixth stanza.) Twas a Few Days Before Christmas With SINCERE apologies to Clement C. Moore Twas a few days before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, except for a mouse. The winter coats were hung by the back door with care, Only because I had just put them there. The children were supposedly all snug in their beds, While visions of iPods whirred through their heads. And Tim with a beer and I in pajamas, Had just settled down for a night without dramas. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, Tim sprang from the couch to see what was the matter. Away to the back door Shadow flew like a bat. Tim opened the door and almost fell flat.

If you live anywhere near me, you know it's cold outside. And when it's cold, I seem to find comfort in a bit of warm food. So you might wonder why I'm posting a cobbler recipe now, in the early part of December. No, I haven't made this recipe recently. In fact, I've never made it. But a colleague did, and I'm posting it so that I can remind myself how to find that bit of warmth I need right now. This peach cobbler was delicious and I'm thinking that this warm fruity dessert (with a dash of cinnamon if I add it) would be a wonderful addition to a cold December night by the Christmas tree. Crust Topping: 1 cup flour 1 cup sugar (my colleague cut it to 1/2 cup and it was sweet enough) 1 tsp baking powder 1 egg, beaten Filling: 2 T flour 3/4 cup sugar 4 to 5 cups fresh or frozen peaches  or blackberries 1 stick unsalted butter, melted 1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. 2. Combine the flour, sugar, and baking powder in a medium bowl. 3. Make a wel

Twelve weeks ago , I wrote my last letter to you. I'm flummoxed by that number. Twelve? As in, it's been three (!) months since I felt the need to address you? I thought for sure that you'd manage to do something to disrupt the teaching balance I'd found and cause me to write a letter sometime throughout this semester, but apparently, you did not. And here we are, in the final week of class (the countdown that began that first day is ALMOST OVER!) and I'm writing a letter to let you know something important: I will miss you. Gah! Did I actually just write that sentence down? [Pause, gulp.] Yes, I did. In fact, let me write it again, a little larger this time: I will miss you. I know, I can't believe it either. I was so sure last August--when the countdown to December 9 began--that the semester would be full of arduous days and complaining, both on my part and yours. And for the majority of the semester, it was. I heard about so many things from you: h

This is the first post encompassing my draft makeovers . I think the date recorded by Blogger indicated that I'd started it sometime in late December, 2012. That seems like a lifetime ago, but as I sat down to read the draft, I realized that while some things have changed since four years ago, much of my life (and the life surrounding me) is still the same. And if I could talk about standards then, I can probably still talk about standards now. At school, we throw that word and variations of it around quite a bit. We need to have "standards" for the classes, or a "standard" comprehensive exam for everyone. Is the new instructor teaching to the "standards" that the college expects? Standards, standards, standards. We're so worried about them in the business and academic setting, but what about elsewhere? Well, every once in a while, I think about whether or not I'm living my life up to the standards for which they are set.  And then I think,

I have yet to determine what my writing goals will be for 2017, so I won't bore you here with my ramblings on that topic (but expect a post soon). But my semester ends this Thursday, so I'm hoping that I will find a bit of time to get back to regular blogging until the insanity of Christmas hits. After that, of course, all bets are off. My plan for this month, then, is to take a page from Kelsey's playbook and go back through my blog drafts and finish some of what I have already started. Clearly I didn't take this photo. I found it elsewhere and then again here . That task won't be as easy as it sounds, though, because I have 133 drafts sitting in my folder. Can you believe that? I started something 133 times and didn't finish any of them. I find that number somewhat disheartening, because I'm the sort of person who likes to finish what I start. But my guess is that some of the posts are early incarnations of posts already published. At least I hop

Here we are--December 1, 2016--and NaNoWriMo ended as of 11:59 p.m last night. Just like last year, I managed to finish my 50,000 words by November 14, only two weeks in. And just like last year, I couldn't walk away from the draft. I felt compelled to add a few more words here, and tweak a few places there, until I made it to the same word count as last year: 61823. You know this already and I know you know this, but for any new readers (Ha! Like that will happen!) I'm providing some much-needed (and maybe unsuitably placed) backstory here. I think I've now solidified the fact in my mind that I can write a draft of a novel in less than a month, which means that next year, if I participate in this fun game, I need to find a new challenge. What is that challenge, you ask? Some would think that I'd up the stakes and say to myself, If you can write a draft in two weeks, why not one week? But as crazy as you think I am, I am not that crazy, nor do I have the lati