Heptadecagon

I've thought long and hard about where to go lately. Not physically. I plan on staying here, in my house, with my family, for a long time (I hope). But with respect to my writing, where do I want to go? As all you faithful readers know, I actually know the answer to that question. I want to write novels and edit other people's works. Which means I want to be a writer and an editor. But an acquaintance of mine reminded me that I am already a writer and an editor , I just don't pay my bills that way. I'll be honest. I'd love to someday pay at least a few bills using my writing and editing skills. My first step toward meeting that goal? A new website. That's right. Thanks to Fred , I have a brand new site . I plan on blogging there, and he's imported all that I've had to say from this place. So while I might be moving, I won't be forgetting you. So feel free to visit me over at christinaconsolino.com . Once I have books to also share with you--w

What's the old saying? One step forward, two steps back? I feel as though with writing, that's exactly what I do. I find a place to publish something of mine, and then a slew of rejections settle in. I decide to follow the self-publishing route, and then doubt sets in. I decide to contact an editor to look at my work because I think I'm ready to move forward and not give up the writing life, and then, I fall back into thinking that Nah, I'll just stick with teaching, thank you. But on a sunny Sunday afternoon, when the rays of the sun sluice between the blinds and the words flow quickly, tumbling from my fingers in a scurried frenzy, it's easy to think that yes, maybe someday will become  reality . It's easy to convince myself that sure, many people can write a book. Yet not everyone will continue to work at writing such that they see a book all the way to the end, whatever end that may be. In my younger days, I might have given up on this dream. But I'

I sat in the front office, grading papers. My colleague, Ken, walked in, the usual coffee cup in hand. "You write that Great American Novel yet?" Ken knows all about my "other" life as a writer. In fact, he's been a great champion of the cause, since he himself dabbles in photography. Over the last several years, we've been co-conspirators in a plan to bring creativity and arts to the scientific world of the Biology Department. "Nah," I said. "I've never had plans to do that." I stated the truth. A long time ago, when I first put pen to paper and began writing, I never even considered that one of my stories would ever become the next Great American Novel. My intention then was to write something that somebody enjoyed. At the time, my mom read what I wrote, and she liked most of what I produced. Her approval served as an incentive to keep writing. So I did. As I progressed in my years, I still wrote, but again, not in pursuit o

Anyone who knows even a little bit about me will understand how excited I am by the announcement that my "Social tab is empty." Now I'm looking for a way to transfer that emptiness to real life. Wish me luck.

Mom moved away from her family in 1973, so the phone served as an important life line for her. I don't remember her speaking to acquaintances much, but I do remember tripping over the long, winding cord of the phone hanging between the wall and the floor as Mom spoke to her sisters. Those calls sometimes went on for ages, and I could probably have determined how long by the number of cigarettes Mom smoked during those conversations. If I could go back in time, I'd do just that, then I'd place the conversations into categories: a 1-smoke call, 2-smokes call, 3-smokes call, etc. Later on, after Gina had gone off to college, Mom spent time speaking on the phone with her, too. Trying to dispense advice about the college dorms or money or classes or boyfriends. All the subjects moms try to help their daughters with. I remember calling Mom from college as well. She knew how I was doing just by my voice. I thought she possessed a pretty unique ability until I became a mom myself