Heptadecagon

Tim and I moved here in August 2003.  We did not know much about the area, but our real estate agent said, "This house is great, and so is the neighborhood."  I love the house, despite its many issues.  But the neighborhood, well, Frances was spot-on about that. Those first days here were tedious and long.  I didn't know anyone and I had two 20 month old children to handle.  It was easier, in some ways, because we had so much new space.  On the other hand, I missed my family and friends. I tried to fill our days with outside play and local parks, anything that saved me from dwelling on the fact that I missed my family.  When we frolicked in the front yard, we'd often see our neighbor, Mrs. S, with her dog.  She'd stop on her way out for a walk, let the kids pet her dog, chat with us, and then head on her way. Sometimes, Mrs. S would invite the kids in to her house, and we'd trek to the basement to check out her old toys.  We found some re...

If there is one thing this writing workshop has taught me, it would be that I love adverbs.  In fact, I love them dearly.  Get it? I always knew that I was a flowery writer:  I'd use several adjectives to describe the nouns, and then move on to many adverbs for the verbs.  And of course, I'd try to say whatever I just said, one more time.  In fact sometimes, I'd simply belabor the point all in the name of description.  I don't know why I did/do.  The whole approach is fine for venues such as this, where posts are pretty short and the entire setup lacks formality.  But apparently, when you write a piece that you hope to get published, you should go back and check said piece for unwanted words.  You must strike the adverbs in order to move forward. I am not sure I am completely on board with that idea.  I like knowing that someone told me something brusquely , or that the child padded lightly down the hallway.  I guess someone cou...

You will have to excuse my few days of silence.  My mind continues to reel from the loss of Ferdinand. I have kept myself busy this week:  we've gone to several stores, volunteered at school, and met with a friend at the local Panera.  I find that if I don't have the time to think about my little friend, I don't. And then, the need arises to go into the basement.  I flick the light on.  My muscles tense; my brain shivers.  I slowly tread down the stairs.  On autopilot, my eyes survey the scene, expecting to find messes.  I am disappointed when I find nothing but cleanliness.  I feel like a leftover: unexciting and worn out. He is not coming back.   He is not coming back.   I repeat this to myself daily.  I had this same problem when my dog Holly died. I was 10, and the morning of September 20, Holly sprinted out the front door as we prepared to get in the car for carpool.  A car, by all means traveling too fast, an...

Six o'clock came too early this morning.  I had gone to bed late, and slept fitfully all night.  Aaron had come in sometime in the night; he slid beneath the sheets and scooted his little body next to mine.  He was looking for warmth, while I craved coolness.  When the alarm rang, I internally groaned and hauled myself out of bed. In the kitchen was the Grim Reaper. "I have been waiting," he said, and adjusted the dark hood that covered his head.  "Today is the day."  His voice was much smoother than I ever imagined.  Its tone persuaded me that yes, today was indeed going to be the day. "What if I am not ready?  What if we are not ready?" I asked him. "Being prepared has nothing to do with my visit," he explained.  "The time has come, and therefore, so have I." I looked down at the cats who purred at my feet.  Two brothers, litter mates, who up until now had shared every experience in their 12 years.  Ferdinand glanced up ...

Some of you don't know this, but I entered a writing contest.  It was one of those spur of the moment ideas. The notice in the paper grabbed my attention, I wrote the story, and entered. And, I didn't win. I didn't really think that I would win, but sure, it would have been nice.  But I can tell you this:  I did not deserve to win the prize.  Based on what I have already learned in just two weeks of my creative writing workshop, my story might have been good, but it wasn't great.  I read the winner's entry, and while it did not blow me away, I could see the merits in the writing.  The story showed much more than mine did (I tend to be a teller ) and it had a finesse that comes from many years of writing.  In fact, when I looked at the bio of the winner, he is a published author.  Well, that made me feel a lot better! The whole experience makes me think that this particular contest could make things better for folk like me by having subcategori...

It was fourth and fifth grade field day today.  Melina and I watched milled around for a while, and then watched one event in which the girls participated.  By then, it was too hot and Melina was tired, so we left.  I heard from the kids that a good time was had by all, and that they are looking forward to it again next year!

I know not all of you care about how I fare at my writer's workshop, but enough of you do.  So I'll try to report each week, if I have the time. I went under the gun last night, so to speak.  I had my story critiqued by 5 other people and I lived to tell about it.  In fact, I was energized by the experience, and I wanted to come home and make changes.  Unfortunately, I did not have the time to do so.  Either way, I took enough notes and worked a bit on it today so that I pulled some of those changes to the forefront of my mind.  I need to find a good block of time just to think about what the people said, in order to figure out where my story is going.  Their suggestions could pull things one way or another, and to be honest, I don't know which direction I'd like to go. I'd love to go on about the moderator, but I am too tired to do so.  But I will say that she is fantastic.  It is a cool thing, for lack of a better description, to have a...