Heptadecagon

It's that time: the point in the year where I need to face up to whether nor not I reached some of my writing goals and what my writing goals will be for the coming year. Last year, I had this to say about what I'd do with respect to writing in 2016: So what's to be done for the coming year? Instead of individual goals, per se, I'm going for one word to encompass what my year will be. And that word? Revision.  Revision of The Chocolate Garden , a short story called "Personal Chaos," After We've Fallen , blog posts, you name it, if it needs revising, I'm going to consider tackling it. I haven't quite figured out what will get revised first yet, but I have time to think that through. Was I successful? I didn't revise The Chocolate Garden  much, if at all, but After We've Fallen experienced extensive renovations. I also started the "Draft Makeover" series for the blog posts (meaning I've revised several posts), AND, I revis...

This past Tuesday, the kids and I ventured into the basement and began to clean house. We started with the bookshelf that housed the games, many of which we hadn't reached for in years. "Keep or donate?" I'd say as I held up a box. Much of the time, the kids yelled, "Donate!" and a pile of very nice toys began to grow in the middle of our air hockey table. We moved toward the next shelf, and the next, and by the time we'd made it through the blocks (keep), the dinosaurs (also keep), and the dress up clothes in the old white dresser (donate), we'd collected all of this: It's not the greatest picture, I admit, but if I had been planning on putting the goods in my car--a Honda Pilot--said goods would have filled much of the back seat. We then headed upstairs to my room, where we gathered another group of items: piles that Aaron had removed from his room as well as clothes from Melina and the twins. After we were done, I looked at all t...

Margie had expected her sister, Carol, to call. It was Christmas Day after all. But as the hours went by, and the phone stood silent, the realization that her sister had once again snubbed her began to take root. Why? What had Margie done? Those thoughts tumbled through her brain as she gathered her cup and saucer, poured the water she'd boiled over the tea bag, and sat down at the kitchen table. There, she spied the photo book she always liked to look at on holidays. The photos--all worn and faded at this point--reminded her that life hadn't always been so colorless and that at one time, she'd been happy. Or at least she thought she'd been happy... The trill of the telephone pushed through Margie's thoughts and her hands trembled as she reached for the receiver. "Hello?" Margie had forgotten to look at the Caller ID before she'd pushed the TALK button. "Margie, it's me, Rita." Margie's shoulders relaxed and she leaned back ...

~Henry Page, Our Chemical Hearts (by Krystal Sutherland)

She didn't understand the fuss behind the Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas controversy. For years, people had been shouting out Merry Christmas! to her best friend--a Jew--and he'd never said a word. Just pasted a smile and shouted back, Merry Christmas!  "It's the spirit of everything," he'd tell her when she asked if he was annoyed. "They're simply wishing me good vibes. Why should I complain about that?" Why should he indeed? She knew a few folks who would complain. Put the Christ back in Christmas , they'd say. But what about those who simply celebrate secular Christmas? Or Hanukkah? Or a whole host of other winter time holidays?  Happy Holidays , she thought, pretty much covered everyone, so she'd be sticking with that phrase, thank you. After all, it wasn't always about her now, was it? Math had never come easy to her. Never . She'd probably struggled to put two and two together at some point in her life. And here she wa...