Heptadecagon

She never laughed so much as when she lounged with her three sisters, around the oval Formica table in the 1950s kitchen of her parents' house. Or on the cushions of the decrepit porch swing, covered with scratchy vinyl flowers, that rested against the back wall of the garage. It stood there for eons, imitating the same stance her father did in his recliner. No matter how frustrating a sister can be-- and believe me I should know-- there's a palpable feeling of being alive when your sisters are physically with you, close enough to touch, to hug, to tease. Bright smiles, loud snorts, rays of fervent, positive energy filled the scene, already redolent with scents of baking and summer rain. Vibrant, pulsating, waves of joy pummeled against anyone who dared enter into that kitchen. Usually, we walked right back out.  It would seem, I think now, in those thunderous moments with her sisters, and in the tranqui...

Seventeen episodes of Kitty Cuteness, oh my! I can't believe it's been so long since I posted some pictures of my favorite felines, but it has been. Mea culpa. Today, I have pictures the girls took. They are much better photographers than I am and somehow, seem to capture more of the cats' characteristics than I do. Benedict is an odd cat. He could be looking at someone right now, or, he could be contemplating life. Arnold sits in front of our window, looking at what? There's nothing but an expanse of carpet below him. Here Benedict contemplates the charger and ear buds. I'm surprised he's not batting them around. I think this is Heathcliff... This IS Heathcliff, in all his majestic glory.

I love description. In fact, authors who use description in the proper way allow me, the reader, to see the scene, to immerse myself in the writing, and to be present in the story. That's the beauty of choosing the right details to include in your story. But more always means better , right? Not so fast. The other day I received a piece via email and sat down to edit it. Within the first paragraph, the author had plans to take me on a journey down a river. I was excited! I couldn't wait to see if the banks of the river were made of sand, silt, mud, or grasses. I wanted to know what the foliage looked like and whether or not the fauna and insects seemed familiar to me. But by sentence number two, I found myself mentally tripping over the multitude of words and having to go back to the beginning to read what was written. The similes and metaphors tried too hard, and the adjectives and adverbs were far too many. Exhibit A: Majestic gray Barnacle geese with thin, spo...

These days, when I get up in front of a class and try to tell the students something and what I want to say doesn't quickly come to mind, I think to myself, "What do I know? Do I really know anything? And even if I know anything, how do I not know that Alzheimer's isn't already rearing it's ugly face." And I go back to thinking about all these things that I know. I write better when my computer sits on the dining room table and I'm facing west. I don't know exactly why that is the case, but I suspect that it has to do with the way the light comes into the room. One of my writing group friends had a breakthrough moment last night, and I hope that her last day of spring break is filled with a multitude of words. The Simpsons' writers are nothing short of geniuses. Really. Certain people are meant to exist in your life only for a short time. It is okay to dispose of them when the relationship is no longer meaningful to you. I like Superman...

My children love to create objects: with paint, pencils, clay, play dough. You name it, they will use it. Yesterday morning, Aaron and Melina decided to manipulate some clay into a few objects they wanted to play with. I can't remember the name of this guy, but Aaron made him look exactly the way he should look. Melina wanted a snail. She attempted the task once and turned to me. I found a YouTube video and made this. "And now, can we bake them?" Aaron asked. "I don't think this is oven-bake clay," I replied. "It is," he assured me. "Really?" I had my doubts. But I went ahead and placed these two creatures, along with a bowl that Talia had made for Melina, into the oven. As I suspected. The clay was NOT safe for the oven. Only the white hardened in the heat. Another good lesson learned here: always listen to your mother--she's probably right.

The last Lyric Lover post was dedicated to all the people who needed a pick me up. Sadly, I'm now in that camp. I'm not entirely sure why, but I think it has to do with the following: we've been sick as of late, I haven't run as much as I would have liked, and I'm tired of my job. Yes, that's right. I want a new job and I'm actually looking for a brand new one. (So, if you know of any places of employment that want a person who loves to edit and write and who might not have that much experience but does have a passion for editing and writing, send them my way. Please.) Anyway, I have found that anytime this song comes on the radio, I'm dancing in my seat. And any song that can get me smiling and moving is a pretty good song in my opinion. Plus, I do love the lyrics.