Heptadecagon

This is it. I've got myself geared up for tomorrow. The start of a marathon of sorts, plunking down at least 50,000 words in one month. Yes, I've done it before, but that writing wasn't planned, so I wonder if the same zeal might be induced to overtake me. I don't know. I can't be sure. But in the event it happens, I've got pencils sharpened, computer charged, characters sketched out, and plans to keep the coffee coming. I might even neglect my subbing duties for the month. We'll see. http://www.jmlalonde.com/ So please forgive my lack of quality writing on the blog for the month of November, but be sure to check out how I'm doing. I promise to keep you updated, but remember, since Aaron's birthday is on the first, I'll only be giving you progress reports on the 2nd through the 30th. Which should work out fine, since I like to post first thing in the morning. Happy Writing to those of you also participating in NaNoWriMo !

"NaNoWriMo is really just the concrete version of the idea that it’s okay, it’s great, it’s important to make your creative self a priority; that it’s okay, it’s great, it’s important to believe that you have something to say that people want to hear. ...Because when you start believing in your stories, you start believing in yourself. And to paraphrase the great Mal Reynolds , once we’ve done the impossible, it makes us mighty. Practice believing impossible things. Your story matters. Let it make you mighty." ~Sarah Mackey, Director of Community Engagement at NaNoWriMo . See her video, below.

I received a lovely little email this morning from Orange Leaf Frozen Yogurt . The subject of the email was, "Your new latte addiction." I've never had a latte in my life. In fact, just to be sure what a latte was (other than a coffee drink), I looked it up. Apparently, it is a drink made from espresso and steamed milk. The milk I could get behind, the espresso, not so much. But of course, Orange Leaf is a frozen yogurt franchise. So what they are serving is yogurt, not coffee drinks. However, you know that I've tried to limit the amount of sugar I take in each day. So the chances of me trying this new flavor over at Orange Leaf is slim. Why am I telling you this? Just because. And because I have only a few days until NaNoWriMo commences and I have characters to sketch, which meant posting something easy today was the first thing on  my list.

Usually these posts tend to run long because you know how I can go on and on about a topic. (I know you love that about me.) Today's post won't run long. In fact, I stole some words from friend (thanks, Ben!) who borrowed them from website, which you can find here . I don't need to say much about these words. I'm sure many of you are nodding your head right now, remembering the times you've forced a smile on your face when really, you felt like crumbling. I've been there more times than I can count, but I know that very few people realized what I was going through. So what I want to say is this: KEEP SMILING. No one's life is perfect, and sometimes, the smile you see on someone's face doesn't tell the whole story. But by giving a genuine smile back to that person, or a quick hug, or even just a moment of your time, you're doing something. And doing something is usually better than doing nothing.

Over the last several weeks, my twice-a-week runs have dwindled to once-a-week. Now you all know I'm not running much even on those two runs, but with one, I'm only managing 30 minutes a week. And, I'm not walking very much either, because I don't like that form of exercise much. What does this lack of exercise mean to me? I don't care much about the fact that my leg muscles aren't what they used to be or that my bum is a little flabbier. I don't even care that my shoddy abdominal muscles are even shoddier now. What I do care about is the fact that I think my blood sugar might be suffering. You see, I'm pretty in tuned with my body and I try so very hard to eat well. Actually, I enjoy fruits and vegetables the most, so eating healthy has really never been a problem. And the sugar, I've mostly cut that out, at least in it's refined form. What I'm finding now, on the days (or weeks) that I'm more sedentary, that even eating pasta or piz

Over the past year, I've taken to wearing a Tree of Life necklace that once belonged to Talia. It lays nicely on my sternum when I wear V-neck T-shirts, and I like what it symbolizes: the interconnection of all life. The branches on my tree are a little curlier, but you get my drift. If you want one, go here . The other day, however, I happened to look up something for class and came across a jewelry design I'm pretty excited about. And for me to be excited about jewelry, it must be something cool. Well, it is. Behold my new fascination. Jewelry designer, I am not. You can find it here . Yes, dear friends, that structure is a multipolar neuron! You can see the cell body (complete with nucleus), dendrites, and myelin-sheath covered axon! I love teaching the neuron at school, and when I saw this piece, I became energized. Not only by the thought of keeping a neuron close to my heart, but for what that neuron means to me now--a structure that is currently deterioratin

Autumn is my favorite season, as long as the temperatures are still somewhat warm. So far, we've been lucky here in Southern Ohio. The last few weeks have been blissfully temperate, so I'm hoping we don't get slammed with cold anytime soon. However, as the saying goes, if we wait five minutes, the weather will change. (Check back with me this afternoon. I'll probably have something to say about the weather again.) I don't have a good camera or the time to take pictures of fall around here, and I needed a little inspiration. Thus, a few nice fall pictures to get my day started. http://theodysseyonline.com/colorado/fall-my-favorite-season/189995 http://letsgomommy.com/10-fall-finds-apple-orchards-pumpkin-patches/ http://vinovinti.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/bigstock-autumn-fall-scene-beautiful-710452241.jpg http://www.picturecorrect.com/tips/tips-for-taking-great-fall-photos/ https://blog.mozilla.org/theden/2012/09/28/try-a-fall-theme-for-

I found this very short story earlier this morning and it made me really think about relationships that have come and gone, and relationships I've read about or know about. And you know that in my opinion, anything that makes me think is worth keeping and sharing. *For all of you worriers, I'm not thinking that I missed the boat by marrying Tim. I did, in fact, win the jackpot when I decided to hit on him.

I've gone and done it: jumped off the deep end of the pool without thinking about how it might affect me and mine. Actually, all I've done is sign up for NaNoWriMo . Yeah, that's it. Nothing big going on here at all...only that I have plans to write a 50,000 word novel all in the month of November. What? Yes, I just said that I signed up for NaNoWriMo during one of the busiest months of my year. Have I gone crazy? Is the Pope Catholic? So here's the deal. While I'm writing my book, I have no plans to actually write on this blog. That doesn't mean I won't post, it simply means that my posts will be very similar to a captain's log of sorts. A log of how I'm faring and the status of my book. Therefore, each day in the month of November, starting with the 2nd (this way Aaron might get a birthday post...we'll see), I will answer the following questions: 1. How many words I wrote the day before. 2. Did I make the word count goal for the day

I love this forum sometimes, because I can say what I want when I want to say it. And presumably, you'll all let me. What is it today? I'll tell you. I am tired of hearing the word gorgeous . Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Are you tired of it yet, too? Over the last year or so, I've heard that word used for everything and anything: that gorgeous story, her gorgeous essay, this gorgeous show, his gorgeous recipe, these gorgeous sentences.  Never is anyone talking about a person, or a piece of art, or an animal--the types of things we, in the past, would have described with the word gorgeous . And while I appreciate non-traditional usage of words, and how language evolves over time, I still have a problem.  EVERYONE IS USING THE WORD! The thing with gorgeous language is this: it's only gorgeous when it's novel. After it's overused, it's just done.

Dear Student, I don't know anything about you other than your name and that your blond hair likely comes out of a bottle. I don't know anything about your friends, either, except that the girl in the far left corner of this room looks like the stereotypical redneck and that your brunette friend in front of you could stand to smile. Perhaps if she smiled, she'd be somewhat attractive. Oh wait...I just saw Ms. Brunette smile and the contortions of her face scared me. So forget that I said anything at all about her physical attractiveness. In fact, from what you've showed me so far, all three of your personalities are so unattractive that your looks just don't matter.  We've spent 37 minutes together now, a time during which I had to reprimand you several times for talking. As a substitute teacher, I understand that you walk in the classroom and rejoice. Your teacher is out for the day and you can, presumably, do less work. I get that feeling--I really do. Be

Dear Readers: I was so rudely reminded that I haven't posted any true kitty cuteness pictures in a while. That's because, my dear friends, the cats are larger, and no longer cute. I'll say it like it is. Actually, I'm kidding. The reason I'm not posting more cute pictures of my feline friends is that with my schedule, I'm not home. So, I'm not taking pictures. However, our furry creatures helped us out recently with a few candid photos. I know, Shadow is not a kitty. But he has to deal with four kitties. He deserves a medal. Don't you wonder about the spine? Over sixteen years old and still looking pretty handsome. They don't quite fit as well here as they used to...

(Don't know who A.A. Malee is? She's a poet and her information can be found here .)

I love when Melina tells stories. She includes details about the setting, many of which a true writer would be proud. She sets up the scene, makes sure the listener is engaged in listening, and then, with that flourish of her hands that can only belong to Melina, begins to tell the story. The only problem is, she doesn't always get the story right. Like the other day, when she closed the story with, "And then she died of natural resources." I guess I know she's at least paying attention and learning something at school.

Sometimes I walk along and a writing prompt just slaps me in the face. If you're not exactly sure what the words say, I'll tell you: FunTime Inflation Station . Yeah, I had some fun with that one. Perhaps you will, too.

Melina arrived about six and a half years after the girls. That number can sometimes cause a problem. What 13-year-old girl wants to hang out with her 7-year-old sister all the time? Not the two 13-year-old girls we have in our house. However, other times exist where the three of them have fun. The audio on this video is pretty awful, but the kids don't say much anyway. And yes, Melina is dressed in a pair of my pants. And only those pants.

Picture this: I'm sitting around a table in the workroom of the high school yesterday morning, with four (count them) high school teachers. Because the morning is filled with testing for the kids, I'm simply filling in where needed. The other teachers are not subs--they are full-time employees who happen to not have a roomful of kids at the moment. Hence, they, too, are filling in where needed. Most of that filling in is spent distributing/collecting test material and picking up attendance forms. In this moment, it is clear that the five of us (Lady #1, Lady #2, Man #1, Man #2, and me) are not imminently needed. Since the other people are full-time employees, they're sitting in front of a computer, connected to the internet. Based on my lowly sub status , I'm reading a book, after having worked on writing up a critique for a fellow Plot Sister. All of a sudden, a call comes through the walkie-talkie. The woman in charge (Lady #1) picks up the walkie-talkie, says &

In writing, there's something called the unreliable narrator. What is this you ask? According to Now Novel , the unreliable narrator "is a character who tells the reader a story that the reader cannot take at face value. This may be because the point of view character is insane, lying, deluded or for any number of other reasons." I'm sure you've all read at least one book with this type of narrator. A couple of summers ago, the book Gone Girl was a hit. That novel is a great example of a story with an unreliable narrator. (If you're not sure why, you should go read it. As much as I detested the characters, and felt the book was over-hyped, for those of you who like a thriller, you might be pleased. So I won't spoil any more of the story.) A more classic example of an unreliable narrator would be the teenager Holden Caulfield in The Catcher in the Rye . (For the record, I didn't like that book that much, either. I remember my dad repeating over and

As many of you know, I've done it again: made a change to the color of my hair. This time, it's black. As in all over black. With my pasty skin and pale lips, I probably look like a walking cadaver, but with a little red lipstick, I feel more like Snow White. Overall, the response has been positive. I've had a few people exclaim, "Oh my gosh! I LOVE IT!" and a few more give two thumbs up. The twins like the black hair--and want black hair of their own--and another friend told me to milk the color for all it's worth: "Become the emo/goth girl you never were," she said. The issue I find the most interesting with respect to my own response is that I'm simply not used to all-over color. Even before I began putting a red stripe in my hair, my head could be called chameleon hair. I had the sort of hair that lightened in the sun, hair rife with natural highlights, even in the winter. Had someone asked me what color my hair was, I always said brow

"History of tampons?" Zoe's face screwed up as she looked at me with the question in her eyes. She'd just read the last words I'd typed into my search box. "It's for a blog post," I said. She didn't say so, but the look on Zoe's face at that point indicated that somehow, she wasn't surprised that I'd looked up the subject, nor that I had plans to blog about it. My only reasoning in even wanting to blog about this particular subject is that I think I should thank the person who first invented these little plugs. As much as I find my period a necessary evil, I am so thankful that I have some option other than the sanitary pad. As an aside, my mom never really mentioned a tampon as an option. I'm not sure if she was just embarrassed by the whole bloody parts deal, or if she really didn't want her teenager wearing a tampon for fear of toxic shock syndrome. It wasn't until college that I was able to live that one week a

Thank you, Jack Handey.

Those two items are what I need from the store today, but I know that if I don't write them down, I'll likely forget them. With four kids, a husband, two jobs, and several hobbies, if I don't make a list of what I need to do or what to get, it won't get done or bought. I never used to be this way. In college, I rarely used my calendar. I could remember due dates of all the projects and assignments I had, plus what time I needed to be at work. I could throw in a social engagement or two and still be fine. My memory was so sharp. I wonder sometimes if my inability to remember everything is simply a consequence of a full plate or if, like my mother, I'm on my way to dementia. I have no way of knowing, and no plans to fixate on the possibility that I might become like her. Worrying never did anyone any good. In the meantime, I'll continue with the lists and hope that I don't lose them!

Every once in a while, I like to shake things up. That includes shaking up this blog. How will I do it? Different background? Better writing? I'm not sure yet. I'd like to think that in whatever way I shake this blog up, it's going to be awesome. However, I can't promise a darn thing. Just thought I'd warn you.

Wednesday night arrived and so did my turn for having my work critiqued. I'd put this night off since June--it was originally scheduled on a night when I needed to be in Michigan. But there it was, staring me in the face. I went back and reread my material, wondering how I thought about it. Was it any good? Could I identify where it needed work? And did I care? That last question worried me. I vacillate between feeling gung-ho and indifferent about writing. Probably because I'm finding so little time to write these days. And if I have so little time, how am I supposed to practice the craft? What I found out Wednesday night is this: the chapter I had revised the most--the one I wrote, rewrote, tinkered with and teased because I was reading it a Sinclair's National Day on Writing last year--is the chapter my group LOVED. And we all know what that means--with revision, my writing probably isn't all that bad. So, the challenge is on. To find the time to tweak and mass

Slight warning here: Not too bad, but not for the littlest readers in the bunch. Don't ask me how I got there, but I found myself on a Goodreads page for Unraveled , by Lorelei James. No, I haven't read the book, but if I did, I hope you wouldn't judge me. It can't be any worse than Fifty Shades . Or maybe it can, but I'm not going to find out. I've made myself a promise to concentrate more on better literature these days. But I digress... Once at the page, I scrolled down to read the synopsis of the book (old habits die hard and all). And then, I read the first of the Popular Answered Questions . It said (I did not correct the writer's grammar): I have a question, is there a strapon scene in any part of the book?, is just a hard limit for me, and would love to be warned, in case, thanx. If you don't know what she means by strap on , go look it up. I'm not going to be the one who defiles your mind. (Fun fact: Even though I know what a strap on

I know a lot of people who LOVE cats. I am not one of them. Yes, we own four cats. I LOVE those cats. But I do not LOVE the cats of other people. I can easily ignore other people's cats because they are not mine. (I think I feel like that about kids, too. I'm not sure, so let me think about that.) Anyway, these cats--whether they are mine or yours or your neighbor's--are really cute while they're little. And then, they grow up. And wake you up at 4:13 a.m. every morning, or piss on your clean laundry. Or, play soccer with the piece of Kix until it gets stuck under the dog's water bowl and instead of letting it go--oh no, he can't let it go--decides that it's a good time to try to get under the dog's water bowl, emptying the bowl on the wood floor. Oh. Your cat doesn't do that? Benedict and Arnold--those traitors (Ha!)--do that. ALL. THE. TIME. Hell cats, I tell you. Sometimes it's hard to love these cute kitties, but I do. So today, for the

My mother loved Ayn Rand. I can't say for sure if she still does, considering her memory is leaving her. Does she remember how much she talked about that author? Her books? Can she remember the details of the books and her philosophy? What does she remember, if any of them? Or would she pass over her Ayn Rand books without a second thought? I don't know. I do know that for all the reverence my mother gave to that author and her works, a piece of irony exists. For I stumbled across this quote the other day: What would happen if Mom read that quote now? If she did, would she, even for a minute, admit that it applied to her? It didn't take me but a millisecond to understand that those words describe Mom to a T. My mother has always lived at that stage: the half-way, the almost, the just-about, the in-between. Before her memory began to deteriorate, did she recognize that fact? Her house was always almost painted. Her filing just-about done. Was she half-way to getting

I've seen the following poster before, but now, I'm deciding to share it. I can't take credit for it. And I can't read the bottom of the poster to see who printed it. Just make sure to keep these in mind...

Overheard at our house last weekend: Aaron: Hey. I opened up my present from Aunt Tara. [He holds up something toward Melina, then lays it on the floor.] Look at my sleeping bag. It's really silky. Melina: Oh yay! [Melina dives onto the sleeping bag.] It's silky, but not jersey silky. Aaron: . . . [Look of confusion on his face.] Melina: My dresses, Aaron . The jersey fabric. They are much silkier than this sleeping bag. Aaron: It's still silky. I'm not convinced Aaron had a clue what Melina was talking about. I just know that I thought the word jersey referred to a sports shirt up until I was about 37 years old. Then, I move to Ohio and find out that cows and dresses can also hold onto that descriptor. So you can see where he comes from, but Melina? We're still not sure where she came from.

The boy is either not trying very hard, or he's just plain stupid, but because we're only five weeks into the semester, I'm not sure which scenario describes him. He walks into class with a smirk on his pretty face and a twinkle in his eye. He seems to be listening, but every once in a while, he leans over to the girl next to him. I've seen them around campus, together, so I can only suppose they're dating. But again, I can't be sure. Today he takes his lab exam. He stands before the first question, set out on the lab bench, with a scowl on his face. I look up and wonder if he will be able to answer it. The question isn't difficult. In fact, the first few questions concern the microscope--the easiest subject on the lab exam. And if he is having trouble figuring out what happens when you change an objective lens from 10X to 40X, then he'll have a heck of a time figuring out the number of peptide bonds in the molecule over at number eight. What happe

On Monday of this week, I subbed at the high school. Based on past experiences, when I had nothing to do but read a book or twiddle my thumbs, I thought I'd bring my laptop with me. Maybe I could work on some novel revisions, write up a blog post, or make up an exam for my own classes. But when I got to the classroom, I realized that the school's wi-fi needed a password and some of the things I wanted to do required the internet. I walked to the unit office to ask about a password. I didn't really think they'd give it to me, but I thought maybe they'd have a guest password for me to use. "Head to the Century 21 classroom down the hall," the secretary told me. "You can ask about it there." So I did. The moment I walked into that room, I knew I'd met my adversary. A tall blond woman with thin pursed lips looked at me. She looked familiar, but I couldn't remember where I'd seen her. As it turns out, she reminds me of a bl