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

I've had a great time putting together blog posts everyday for these first three months of 2017. And I do believe I said I'd blog each and every day for the entire 2017 year. But I have realized that by blogging each day, I'm not finding the time to revise my work, nor am I finding time to edit other people's work. Both of those scenarios NEED to happen in order for my work to grow. So here's the new plan. Starting tomorrow, April 1, I'll post a couple of times a week, and I'll keep up the Scenes from My Week post, since I enjoy collecting those photos as a way to keep memories in tact. Once I figure out what days work best for me, I'll try to let you faithful  readers know that posting schedule. FRN, I know you'll be disappointed, but I also know you'll understand. And maybe (just maybe), if I spend a bit more time on my actual writing, I'll eventually be able to tell you that I 1. found an agent, or 2. made the decision to self-publ

Momma always told me to get a good education. "LilyAnn," she chimed. "Don't do what I did. I've got nothing but your papa, and y'll know he's questionable at times. What if you don't find that with someone? A decent relationship? With that unbelievable head of yours—" And here she'd point the stained wooden spoon or threadbare dust rag she had tethered to her hand in my direction, "—you should be able to get a good, proper, and useful education. That Bachelor's degree, heck, maybe even a fancy Master's or MBA. So you'll be able to support yourself if need be. Cause sometimes, the need be ." I listened to Momma every time her beautiful pink lips released those words into the muggy Georgia air, strung together like her own personal mantra. I wondered if someone had said "the need be" to her at one time in her life and the truth was that she just hadn't taken that phrase to heart. I tucked the thought in

I'm sitting here in front of my computer, a little bleary-eyed, because in my haste to get downstairs this morning before the whining of the cat drove me to reach for alcohol instead of my coffee, I grabbed Aaron's glasses. His eyes are slightly worse than mine, but not by much, I now realize. So I'm going to try and work with the specs because if I go back upstairs to find my own, one animal or another will likely follow me, cause a scene (much like toddlers do), and then the child who coughed her way through last night will be woken up far too early. Ah, what we do for our children. What good can come from me wearing someone else's glasses? I'll  tell you what: I found a new frame. Any of you who wear glasses know how hard it is to find the right frame for your face. I had a pair of glasses that I loved so much I bought the frame in red and black and then alternated getting new lenses in each of those frames when I needed a new prescription. Last year, though,

Not sure why, but I'm feeling a little off these days. I think these photos capture what I'm feeling pretty well.

I'm pretty sure my family believes we are the proud owner of a magic dishwasher. I can tell you we're not. It's a standard Bosch, bought in 2013 when we renovated the kitchen. We have to load the thing properly, add the soap, push the right button, and wait for the cycle to finish. The kids are mostly responsible for putting away the dishes when they are clean, but I'm not sure they fully understand how the dishes get in there in the first place. Over the last year or so, I've taken some time to show them how to load the machine properly. I've even showed them where the soap goes and which buttons to push. They can run the machine. My guess is, they just choose not to. And I have to ask why not? Doesn't the stack of dishes that piles up bother them? If this house were theirs, would they want me to leave a bunch of dirty dishes scattered around the kitchen? I can tell you, with certainty, that I'll be performing that experiment the first time I visit ea

It's Tim's birthday. I won't say which one, but he isn't celebrating a milestone. (Although, shouldn't every birthday be considered a milestone? I mean, really, you made it through another year. That's awesome, right?) But he's old enough now (and I'm not far behind him) that I think, what ? When did that happen? I'd like to write something witty and wonderful for today, but I attended a writing conference all day yesterday, and I'm wiped out. So instead, Tim will have to enjoy this little video: (I would never be able to reproduce what you just watched. Happy Birthday, Timmy!)

When we were getting ready to renovate our kitchen, Tim and I discussed what we wanted in a countertop. With four kids, several animals, and little time, we knew that we wanted something durable and maintenance free, and most importantly, one that hid the dirt that seemed to accumulate no matter how many times I wiped things up. We opted to splurge on a quartz countertop, considering it fit all my requirements, so the man at the kitchen shop helped me narrow down my quartz selections to two: I decided I would probably appreciate the contrast between the dark countertop and the ivory cabinets that we'd chosen, and hey, wouldn't the dark countertop be so perfect for hiding the dirt? Fast forward to three and a half years later, and let me tell you, this countertop does a fantastic job hiding the dirt. In fact, this countertop goes above and beyond the call of duty. I certainly can't find the dirt. But I also I can't find the twist tie, or the splotch of chili

Dear Student: I provide notes for a reason--to make my life and yours easier. But when you email me with a question that clearly indicates you haven't looked at the notes, then you're shit out of luck. Dear Student: When I assign an extra credit assignment, I would expect you to at least attempt to do the extra credit. I know you'll come crying to me at the end of the semester and beg for mercy, but guess what? You'll be shit out of luck. Dear Student: I didn't think I'd have to tell you this, but we have a wonderful (and so easy!) way of looking up information now. It is called THE INTERNET. You can also find so much information about the human body in YOUR TEXTBOOK. You cannot come to me every time you're too lazy to look something up because I'll tell you that avenue is blocked and that you're I'll tell you that you're shit out of luck. Dear Student: It is so nice that you received an A as your grade for the first course in this s

For this round of fill-in-the-blank (which come courtesy of S. B. , of course), I've asked Aaron to help me out. He hasn't studied Shakespeare in school yet, so I'm curious to see how this goes. All the world's a ________. _______ is empty and all the _______ are here. Arise fair _______ and kill the envious _______. To _____, or not to ______? My love's more richer than my _________. I heard a voice cry, _______ no more! We few, we happy few, we band of _________. All's well that ends _______. And here we are: All the world's a meme. The salt is empty and all the aliens are here. Arise fair turtle and kill the envious ninja. To eat, or not to eat? My love's more richer than my potting soil. I heard a voice cry, Cringe no more! We few, we happy few, we band of lions. All's well that ends quickly.

(This post is a response to a writing prompt over at S. B.'s site. It said, "Write dialogue for the people seated at table six." Based on the pink flowers, I figured that table six might have been at a wedding.) "Table six? Really? Doesn't she know that six is just about my least favorite number? I like four. She knows that. Why didn't she seat me at table four?" Meg crossed her arms over her chest and dropped into one of the eight cloth covered chairs at, yes, table six. "Uh, Meg," her friend Bea said, "Don't you mean us?" "Us?" Meg looked up, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. "Yeah, us. You're with me I guess, so why not?" Bea sighed. "When you asked me to come to this wedding, I thought it was because you didn't have a date. And that since we're friends, and we like to have fun, we could have a great time. But now . . ." Bea glanced around the dimly lit ballroom and felt t

March 2, 2017 celebrated World Book Day, at least in the UK and Ireland. And on that day, S. B. posted a nice little writing prompt that urged me (and everyone else) to look at the third book shelf, second book, 17th page of that book . I took the first sentence from the book I found, and used it as a writing prompt. And because I believe in full disclosure, I'm including exactly what book I used and where I found it. Don't be shocked at the messiness that has become our "library" book shelf. Third shelf is the haphazard place we keep library books. Eureka! A great find for the 2nd book. And here we have it, the first sentence... What drivel did I come up with? Read on . . . At this moment, Lucy and Edmund both sneezed. Coincidence, or something else? Mother thought. It seemed to her that more and more these days, Lucy and Edmund performed exactly the same actions at exactly the same time. That behavior might have been explained if they were identic

Because we just came off a cold and busy week . . . And because she just makes me smile.

I tend to second guess myself when it comes to using may or might in a sentence, and I know that other people do, too. So today we're going to clear up some confusion about when to use may and when to use might . (As an aside, if I just speak, without thinking, I usually get them correct. Which means that somewhere, sometime, someone taught me the rules of this game.) First off, when referring to possibility or probability, we tend to use the two words interchangeably, but if you speak to a Grammar Guru, they will tell you that a difference exists. And what is that difference? It's easy, really: We use may when we want to express anything that is factual (or could be) or possible. We use might when we want to express something that is only improbable or hypothetical. Knowing that, then, how would you fill in the following examples? Zoe and Talia          go to Nebraska. We           leave for the store in five minutes. Melina          need to eat dinner soon. Patty  

Did I ever tell you that sometimes, when I order a drink and they ask for my name, I tell the barista my name is Sparkle? Well I do. I have. And now, I have proof for why. I took a color personality test and this is what I found: According to this color test, you are a very sparkly person! You just have an aura about you that shines when you walk into a room. Your energy has the power to brighten up any situation! While you may not be the most outgoing person in the world, you definitely speak up when it matters. There is an aura of mystery surrounding you which immediately attracts people to you! You are classy and elegant. and always strive to make a good first impression! Anyone who knows me realizes that nothing about that paragraph is true (ahem, classy and elegant? I think not) but it mentions sparkly! And so, I've proven that Sparkle should be my name! Great logic, right? If Trump can do it, so can I.

I'm the type of person who looks behind me when I'm standing in line at the grocery store and offers to let the person behind me go ahead of me if they only have a few items. I do this regularly, and many times, people have thanked me profusely for allowing them to step in front of me. I don't mind, really. I think it is the right thing to do, and for the most part, I remember to glance back each and every time I go to the store. This past Sunday, I was at Aldi and had just pushed my filled cart into the line. Of course, two seconds later, I looked behind me. There stood a woman in a red coat with about five things in her hands. Me: Do you want to go ahead of me? Red Coat: Oh, thank you, but no. I'm in no rush today. Me: Are you sure? [I had to ask one more time. It would make me feel as though I'd done everything I could do to make her go ahead of me.] Red Coat: I'm sure, but again, thank you. I proceeded to unload my items onto the belt as another woman,

Do you know what happened this past week? I experienced  my spring break. Yep, that's right. All week long, I didn't have to go into work. I didn't teach. I didn't tutor. I didn't touch a single PowerPoint slide. Woo-hoo! But I did have work to do with respect to my classes: two exams needed to be put together and sent over to duplication. Monday morning, when I realized what I had to do, I crinkled up my nose and decided that the thing to do was to get them done. Then, I could move on to bigger and better things. So did I follow through with that plan and write them on Monday? I finished most of those tests on Monday, but found myself double-checking them even on Wednesday afternoon. But, I also took some time for things that I really wanted to do, like converting a WIP into something a little different (I might tell you about that sometime). After that, for the rest of the week, I began reading a friend's first draft (yeah for first drafts!), I found Aaron a

Two steps to the left, arm up. Pause. Two steps to the right, arm down. Pause. Twirl to the left again. This time, it's a curtsy as I bend to open the freezer. I pause, grab the cargo, and without thinking, its back to the left with one foot then the other.  My other arm extends and finds something else that's needed. Another twirl, perhaps a pirouette The steps of this kitchen dance aren't pretty or alluring. More function than fancy. Nancy, the dance teacher, would not approve.