Yes, yes, I should be writing, not blogging. Stop nagging.
So my highly unofficial findings indicate that we assume that nice people look something like ourselves. Interesting. Here's my next question: How do we imagine beautiful people? (Assuming we don't consider ourselves the epitome of beauty.) Below is a quick sketch -- primarily dialogue, because anytime I sit down with two characters they can talk for pages without actually accomplishing anything. Read the sketch, and then answer the question below. No talking, no looking at your neighbor's paper, and spit out that gum!
***
"I hope you don't mind. You're having a visitor today," said Lacey, comfortably installing herself in her brother-in-law's favorite chair. "You're going to meet the love of your life."
Jonathan peered around the kitchen doorway, looking grumpy. "Since when did I ask you to look for the love of my life?"
"I wasn't looking. But my cousin Delaney is flying in today. I told her Chris was tending to your sick laptop so we'd be here, and gave her directions."
"This relates to my love life how?"
"When you see Delaney, you'll fall in love. Men always do. That's just what happens." She shot a glance at her husband, Jonathan's brother, who was bent over the laptop. "Even Chris is pretty starstruck when she's around. Aren't you, Chris?"
"If you think," Chris said, not looking up, "that I'm even going to pretend that I heard that question, you're wrong."
Jonathan came out carrying a tray of iced tea, which he served to Lacey and Chris before sitting down with his own. Lacey looked him over appraisingly. "I've wanted you and Delaney to meet for a while, anyway. You're a catch yourself. Good-looking, can cook, and even cleaned your apartment today."
"I have no interest in meeting your cousin."
"Well, I can't help that. She's coming in, like, ten minutes. You'll see how uninterested you are then."
"Don't sound so depressed about it. Are you jealous of her, Lacey? Oh, come on."
Lacey sighed. "I know, it's stupid. I'm perfectly happy with Chris..."
"Thank you," said Chris.
"... but still, I wouldn't mind knowing that there are a couple of guys who break out the hard liquor every year on my wedding anniversary. When Delaney marries, she'll singlehandedly push the whiskey market into a boom. Oh, stop sneering. I'm right. You'll see."
The doorbell rang, and Lacey jumped to her feet. But Jonathan, determined to show how unimpressed he was at the prospect of this modern-day Aphrodite, pushed her back in her chair. "I can answer my own door, thank you."
He walked confidently to the door and opened it wide. "Hello?" he said. And that was as far as he got.
A woman was standing on his doorstep. From the toes of her red vintage pumps to the silky lock of hair falling into her luminous eyes, she was beautiful. She smiled nervously at Jonathan. It was a dazzling smile. "Hi, I'm Delaney... Lacey's cousin? I really hope you're Jonathan."
"Yes, I'm Jonathan. Um, good to meet you... Delaney, did you say your name was?"
She smiled with relief. "Yes! I shouldn't have worried, of course. Lacey's directions are always right."
"Yes," Jonathan agreed, feeling a little dizzy. "Lacey is usually right."
***
Question: What does Delaney look like?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
An Important Notice and a Less-Important Question
Notice:
If I'm going to finish that blasted novel by the end of next month, when my mother comes to visit, I'm going to have to spend pretty much all my computer time working on it. So I'll be a little scarce in the blogworld for a bit. Don't give up on me -- I'll drop in as often as I can.
Question:
I'm reading a name book called "The Baby Name Survey Book." (My question is not, "Isn't that a surprise?") The premise of the book is that it tells you what people actually think of each name, in their very own words. Their very own words are, for the most part, "This name makes me think of somebody snobby and selfish." What I've noticed -- and I'm getting to my question here, for anyone still hanging around -- is that for girl names they like, those surveyed almost always identify her as "blond." Sometimes you get a redhead, and occasionally a brunette. But for the most part, the nice girls are blond.
So, my question! What is your default image of someone nice? For instance, when you read a blog you like. If there's no picture to clue you in, do you imagine the blogger as blond or dark-haired? I almost always assume someone is dark-haired. I know a whole lot more dark-haired people than blond people. How do you imagine me? Naturally -- you'd say red-haired, dazzling green eyes, cute turned-up nose, light dusting of freckles. At least, all of you who have been reading romance novels lately.
(P.S. -- I have short brown hair, glasses, and a dimple when I smile.)
If I'm going to finish that blasted novel by the end of next month, when my mother comes to visit, I'm going to have to spend pretty much all my computer time working on it. So I'll be a little scarce in the blogworld for a bit. Don't give up on me -- I'll drop in as often as I can.
Question:
I'm reading a name book called "The Baby Name Survey Book." (My question is not, "Isn't that a surprise?") The premise of the book is that it tells you what people actually think of each name, in their very own words. Their very own words are, for the most part, "This name makes me think of somebody snobby and selfish." What I've noticed -- and I'm getting to my question here, for anyone still hanging around -- is that for girl names they like, those surveyed almost always identify her as "blond." Sometimes you get a redhead, and occasionally a brunette. But for the most part, the nice girls are blond.
So, my question! What is your default image of someone nice? For instance, when you read a blog you like. If there's no picture to clue you in, do you imagine the blogger as blond or dark-haired? I almost always assume someone is dark-haired. I know a whole lot more dark-haired people than blond people. How do you imagine me? Naturally -- you'd say red-haired, dazzling green eyes, cute turned-up nose, light dusting of freckles. At least, all of you who have been reading romance novels lately.
(P.S. -- I have short brown hair, glasses, and a dimple when I smile.)
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The Weirdness of Mairzy
Desperate Housewife, who appears to have reached a well-adjusted adulthood despite her childhood quirks, :) tagged me for this meme. I could put as my first item that I'm lazy about links and tagging. If you read this, and haven't done it (although probably most of you have because most of my readers are from the same "neighborhood"), then consider yourself tagged.
I am to list seven weird or random facts about myself. Honestly, it's pretty difficult to come up with seven weird things. I'm so ordinary. What have I done that isn't exactly like everyone else in the world? I mean, just like all the rest of you, I:
1. ... as a child, spent summers catching grasshoppers to feed to my cats. Which kind of grasshopper did your cat like best? Mine liked the green ones.
2. ... have never been pulled over for speeding.
3. ... got my first kiss at 14 (isn't THAT a rosy memory, ugh), and then not again until I was 23. That one was for keepers.
4. ... didn't see snow until I was in fifth grade.
5. ... learned in my Deep South school that "other people pronounce 'vehicle' with a silent H, so that's why it's in your spelling list on silent letters. We don't say it that way.'"
6. ... have to have my dirty dishes arranged a certain way on the counter or otherwise go crazy looking at them.
7. ... used to confuse the word 'condiments' with another, more salacious, word. I was shocked, SHOCKED when a sign at McDonald's blatantly declared that condiments were available upon request.
So, sorry to drum in this boring list of everyday human traits and experiences. Sometimes I wish I were just a little more eccentric and not so much like everyone else!
I am to list seven weird or random facts about myself. Honestly, it's pretty difficult to come up with seven weird things. I'm so ordinary. What have I done that isn't exactly like everyone else in the world? I mean, just like all the rest of you, I:
1. ... as a child, spent summers catching grasshoppers to feed to my cats. Which kind of grasshopper did your cat like best? Mine liked the green ones.
2. ... have never been pulled over for speeding.
3. ... got my first kiss at 14 (isn't THAT a rosy memory, ugh), and then not again until I was 23. That one was for keepers.
4. ... didn't see snow until I was in fifth grade.
5. ... learned in my Deep South school that "other people pronounce 'vehicle' with a silent H, so that's why it's in your spelling list on silent letters. We don't say it that way.'"
6. ... have to have my dirty dishes arranged a certain way on the counter or otherwise go crazy looking at them.
7. ... used to confuse the word 'condiments' with another, more salacious, word. I was shocked, SHOCKED when a sign at McDonald's blatantly declared that condiments were available upon request.
So, sorry to drum in this boring list of everyday human traits and experiences. Sometimes I wish I were just a little more eccentric and not so much like everyone else!
Saturday, February 16, 2008
How August Saved Valentine's Day
We'd planned to go out Friday night. The first babysitter had to cancel (she gave us plenty of notice, bless her), so we set up another. Thursday night, Dilly developed a fever, which persisted all of Friday. So instead of a date out all by ourselves, we were stuck with an evening at home with two kids and a sick baby. The best salvage I could come up with was that August and I could go in shifts to the library. Wow, wasn't that hot romance?
August got home early, bringing with him a Target bag: "Since we can't go out for a date, I thought we'd have a date here."
He'd bought popcorn and some little York mints (it's Lent, so we're technically not eating sweets right now, but the evening seemed to allow it). To go with that, he bought us a new Scene It! game to play when the kids went to bed. Neither of us is a big movie buff, but we're both insatiable trivia geeks.
He'd found a "Luscious Dahlia" scented candle for the evening. (August: "Target's the place to go the day after Valentine's Day." Mairzy: "Oh, I knew that. I read Swistle.") And he also bought me something else -- it was black, what there was of it -- that he assured me I didn't have to accept if I wasn't in the mood... but he wouldn't mind if I were.
Despite the sick baby and canceled evening out, it turned out to be one of the most enjoyable dates we've had. Forget the roses. Bring on the popcorn!
August got home early, bringing with him a Target bag: "Since we can't go out for a date, I thought we'd have a date here."
He'd bought popcorn and some little York mints (it's Lent, so we're technically not eating sweets right now, but the evening seemed to allow it). To go with that, he bought us a new Scene It! game to play when the kids went to bed. Neither of us is a big movie buff, but we're both insatiable trivia geeks.
He'd found a "Luscious Dahlia" scented candle for the evening. (August: "Target's the place to go the day after Valentine's Day." Mairzy: "Oh, I knew that. I read Swistle.") And he also bought me something else -- it was black, what there was of it -- that he assured me I didn't have to accept if I wasn't in the mood... but he wouldn't mind if I were.
Despite the sick baby and canceled evening out, it turned out to be one of the most enjoyable dates we've had. Forget the roses. Bring on the popcorn!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Taking My Own Medicine
Today I certifiably "practiced what I preached." Because, see, there was a Valentine's party we'd said we would attend. Today, the weather was yucky and I figured it would be cancelled... but, nope, it was still on. And I didn't want to go.
I'd have to stop by the store and get snacks on the way. And -- oh yes -- Valentines for 30 kids. I hadn't told Ladybug and Titan about it so they wouldn't even know. I could tell the hostess that, um, "something came up" and I couldn't make it. Since this is a new group and the members don't know each other very well, I probably wouldn't even be missed anyway. It was easier to stay in.
But, if y'all recall, # 3 on my list was "Accept invitations." It was MY VERY OWN ADVICE.
Half an hour later, I was sitting in the van in the grocery store parking lot, scribbling names on cards for a party we were already 20 minutes late for. Once there, we didn't leave for two and a half hours: Ladybug, Titan, and even Dilly had an absolute ball. Plus, I got to meet a couple of new people, and see another friend whom I've gotten to know in the past few weeks. As we left, our arms full of Valentines, Ladybug said rapturously, "Everyone there cares for me! They all gave me Valentines!"
So, just so you know, it's good advice. Even I take it.
I'd have to stop by the store and get snacks on the way. And -- oh yes -- Valentines for 30 kids. I hadn't told Ladybug and Titan about it so they wouldn't even know. I could tell the hostess that, um, "something came up" and I couldn't make it. Since this is a new group and the members don't know each other very well, I probably wouldn't even be missed anyway. It was easier to stay in.
But, if y'all recall, # 3 on my list was "Accept invitations." It was MY VERY OWN ADVICE.
Half an hour later, I was sitting in the van in the grocery store parking lot, scribbling names on cards for a party we were already 20 minutes late for. Once there, we didn't leave for two and a half hours: Ladybug, Titan, and even Dilly had an absolute ball. Plus, I got to meet a couple of new people, and see another friend whom I've gotten to know in the past few weeks. As we left, our arms full of Valentines, Ladybug said rapturously, "Everyone there cares for me! They all gave me Valentines!"
So, just so you know, it's good advice. Even I take it.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Question
August (the introvert who nevertheless loves inviting people over) asked what I thought of inviting one of our local librarians (and her husband)for dessert. We enjoy talking with her, and would like to hear more about her recent trip to China. But, of course, we know her only through book check-outs. I'm not even sure of her name. I know Beth is a librarian, so she'd be able to imagine the situation; and as for the rest of you: Would that completely weird you out if you were invited over by someone you saw occasionally on business?
(For the record, we are a very respectable-looking family with no indications of pathological tendencies.)
(For the record, we are a very respectable-looking family with no indications of pathological tendencies.)
Sunday, February 10, 2008
How To Make Friends
or, How I Made Friends,
or, Things To Do That Will Make Making Friends Easier,
or, Lots of Advice That May or May Not Be Helpful
Every time I tried mentally organizing this post, it came out sounding like a diet-program testimonial. (Wacky coincidence, seeing as I certainly wouldn't *read* diet-program testimonials.) "I was pretty lonely, but then I applied these simple methods, and now I have friends! Tons of friends! I have to circulate a sign-up sheet to fit in all their phone calls! I have so many friends that I couldn't possibly add another until one of my current ones dies!" So as you read, please don't take it as saying that this is a foolproof and exhaustive method for dispelling loneliness. I simply jotted down a few things that have helped me make friends in my new married-with-kids life. (For instance, I don't include 'bribes to make people like you,' but that could be effective on some level).
1. Be approachable. I'm probably revealing a lot about myself here, but it seems that when we grow up and have to make friends as adults, we haven't quite left behind those junior high insecurities. And if you think you look or sound like a dork, and that the other women are going to laugh at you behind your back, then guess what? You're not going to be as welcoming to new friends as you might could be. Now, I was a member of a MOMS Club for four years, and I saw lots of junior high holdovers... including women laughing at others for being dorky. But somebody has to be the grownup, and if it's you, you'll attract the other grownups.
2. Make a date. If your acquaintance says, "We should get together and let the kids play sometime," then your answer should not be, "Yes. We need to do that." Stop. Rewind. "I'd love that! I'm free most mornings. How about next Wednesday?"
3. Accept invitations. Yes, I know, "duh" -- unless you're something of a homebody, like me, and you're a whole lot better at pity-parties than scrapbooking parties. If you are invited to lunch, a playdate, a party, then make the effort to attend. I'm a complete hypocrite, by the way: I blatantly ignored a Pampered Chef invitation last month, from someone I really like and haven't seen in months. Why? Because I hate "paying parties" and it's easier just staying home. Only you don't get as many invitations after a while...
4. Move beyond Mommy Talk. It's a grand thing to share advice, sympathy, and laughs over this bewildering adventure called motherhood. But even adventures need subplots. When you find yourself talking audibly about "pooping" in public, it's time to move the conversation to a new track. The best way to do it is to have questions in mind and work them into the conversation. For instance:
* Where are you from originally?
* What do you enjoy doing to relax?
* Books? Movies? Shows?
* How did you choose your children's names?
* What does your name mean?
* Let's talk about names, names, names
* Sorry. Got carried away there.
* But that's what happens to conversations around me, anyway. We always end up on names. Odd.
Is the idea of scripted questions corny? Yes! That's why nobody does it, and it's why you're stuck talking about potty-training week after week.
5. Invite people over. This is a sadly-neglected relic of our social past. When was the last time you got an invitation to someone's house? Well, except for a paying party, grrr. You don't have to invite people over for an all-afternoon barbecue. "Would you like to eat dinner with us? About 6:30 on Friday," works just fine. If you can't do dinner, invite them for dessert. You can have a great visit from 7:00 to 9:00, and still get to bed in time to get up for work, school, or kids tomorrow. Dessert is also a great way to invite large families over without having to fit everyone in for a meal. We hosted a family of 10 for ice cream almost effortlessly.
6. Keep in touch by email or phone. Again, I'm a hypocrite here, but only because I don't manage my time. Way too much time blogging, and not as much sending emails to non-blogging friends.
7. Converse, don't talk. I had one acquaintance, Liz, whose idea of conversation was to wait for the other person to stop talking so she could pick back up again. The friendship did not blossom.
8. Admire other people's talents, taste, and children. I don't mean you should pile on the, um, flattery to get them to like you. Instead, look for things to appreciate. It helps you step outside yourself if you notice what others do well... and it certainly doesn't hurt others' feelings, either.
As for admiring their children, the flip side of that is not to expect them to admire yours. Liz, mentioned above, could not conceive that I didn't find her child as amazing as she did. Everything he did, from smiling to gaining weight to sitting up by himself, was commented on and displayed. Did Miss Mairzy want her children admired, too? Yes, class! Did Miss Mairzy get tired of having to gush over The Wonder Child? Yes, class! It wasn't that Liz was superior about it -- she was a very good-natured person. She just forgot the cardinal rule of interaction with other moms: Only you think your child is that cute. (The friendship, I repeat, did not blossom.)
9. I did a lot of praying, which may or may not be applicable to your particular worldview.
10. And, of course, there's always the possibility that... well, she's just not that into you. But you never know till you try.
Some friendships start out with a sparkle, but even those take a couple of years to mature into deep heart friendships. Be patient, be friendly, and expect to have friends.
or, Things To Do That Will Make Making Friends Easier,
or, Lots of Advice That May or May Not Be Helpful
Every time I tried mentally organizing this post, it came out sounding like a diet-program testimonial. (Wacky coincidence, seeing as I certainly wouldn't *read* diet-program testimonials.) "I was pretty lonely, but then I applied these simple methods, and now I have friends! Tons of friends! I have to circulate a sign-up sheet to fit in all their phone calls! I have so many friends that I couldn't possibly add another until one of my current ones dies!" So as you read, please don't take it as saying that this is a foolproof and exhaustive method for dispelling loneliness. I simply jotted down a few things that have helped me make friends in my new married-with-kids life. (For instance, I don't include 'bribes to make people like you,' but that could be effective on some level).
1. Be approachable. I'm probably revealing a lot about myself here, but it seems that when we grow up and have to make friends as adults, we haven't quite left behind those junior high insecurities. And if you think you look or sound like a dork, and that the other women are going to laugh at you behind your back, then guess what? You're not going to be as welcoming to new friends as you might could be. Now, I was a member of a MOMS Club for four years, and I saw lots of junior high holdovers... including women laughing at others for being dorky. But somebody has to be the grownup, and if it's you, you'll attract the other grownups.
2. Make a date. If your acquaintance says, "We should get together and let the kids play sometime," then your answer should not be, "Yes. We need to do that." Stop. Rewind. "I'd love that! I'm free most mornings. How about next Wednesday?"
3. Accept invitations. Yes, I know, "duh" -- unless you're something of a homebody, like me, and you're a whole lot better at pity-parties than scrapbooking parties. If you are invited to lunch, a playdate, a party, then make the effort to attend. I'm a complete hypocrite, by the way: I blatantly ignored a Pampered Chef invitation last month, from someone I really like and haven't seen in months. Why? Because I hate "paying parties" and it's easier just staying home. Only you don't get as many invitations after a while...
4. Move beyond Mommy Talk. It's a grand thing to share advice, sympathy, and laughs over this bewildering adventure called motherhood. But even adventures need subplots. When you find yourself talking audibly about "pooping" in public, it's time to move the conversation to a new track. The best way to do it is to have questions in mind and work them into the conversation. For instance:
* Where are you from originally?
* What do you enjoy doing to relax?
* Books? Movies? Shows?
* How did you choose your children's names?
* What does your name mean?
* Let's talk about names, names, names
* Sorry. Got carried away there.
* But that's what happens to conversations around me, anyway. We always end up on names. Odd.
Is the idea of scripted questions corny? Yes! That's why nobody does it, and it's why you're stuck talking about potty-training week after week.
5. Invite people over. This is a sadly-neglected relic of our social past. When was the last time you got an invitation to someone's house? Well, except for a paying party, grrr. You don't have to invite people over for an all-afternoon barbecue. "Would you like to eat dinner with us? About 6:30 on Friday," works just fine. If you can't do dinner, invite them for dessert. You can have a great visit from 7:00 to 9:00, and still get to bed in time to get up for work, school, or kids tomorrow. Dessert is also a great way to invite large families over without having to fit everyone in for a meal. We hosted a family of 10 for ice cream almost effortlessly.
6. Keep in touch by email or phone. Again, I'm a hypocrite here, but only because I don't manage my time. Way too much time blogging, and not as much sending emails to non-blogging friends.
7. Converse, don't talk. I had one acquaintance, Liz, whose idea of conversation was to wait for the other person to stop talking so she could pick back up again. The friendship did not blossom.
8. Admire other people's talents, taste, and children. I don't mean you should pile on the, um, flattery to get them to like you. Instead, look for things to appreciate. It helps you step outside yourself if you notice what others do well... and it certainly doesn't hurt others' feelings, either.
As for admiring their children, the flip side of that is not to expect them to admire yours. Liz, mentioned above, could not conceive that I didn't find her child as amazing as she did. Everything he did, from smiling to gaining weight to sitting up by himself, was commented on and displayed. Did Miss Mairzy want her children admired, too? Yes, class! Did Miss Mairzy get tired of having to gush over The Wonder Child? Yes, class! It wasn't that Liz was superior about it -- she was a very good-natured person. She just forgot the cardinal rule of interaction with other moms: Only you think your child is that cute. (The friendship, I repeat, did not blossom.)
9. I did a lot of praying, which may or may not be applicable to your particular worldview.
10. And, of course, there's always the possibility that... well, she's just not that into you. But you never know till you try.
Some friendships start out with a sparkle, but even those take a couple of years to mature into deep heart friendships. Be patient, be friendly, and expect to have friends.
We Want to Know
If you haven't yet commented on the Mairzy&Swistle name discussion, then pop on over there and Inform Us. Yes, we really do think it's terribly interesting. Yes, we do discuss, at length, the ramifications of names like "Kielyn." No, whether we keep having babies just to name them isn't any of your business (OH how I wish I had the nerve to say things like that in person).
For those of you who find baby naming tedious, you can apply to Mairzy&Swistle, Inc. for all your baby-naming needs. For a reasonable fee, we can identify your style, give you options, and steer you clear of Namer's Remorse. You can pay by credit card, or negotiate your bill in chocolate and toffees.
For those of you who find baby naming tedious, you can apply to Mairzy&Swistle, Inc. for all your baby-naming needs. For a reasonable fee, we can identify your style, give you options, and steer you clear of Namer's Remorse. You can pay by credit card, or negotiate your bill in chocolate and toffees.
Friday, February 8, 2008
About the Novel...
Well, since you said *please.*
I'm torn between being honest ("I don't write for a living, and I've never been published") and avoiding my lifelong habit of devaluing my work ("It's not much, I'm not a real writer, you wouldn't care about it"). So I'll just skip both and tell you about the novel.
The novel is actually a habit, like smoking, that I've tried to give up several times but always return to. I first wrote it when I was 17, and was pretty darn pleased with it. Although I downplayed it when anyone asked about it, I secretly thought it was pretty much the last word in literary achievement. Okay, Jane Austen and Dorothy Sayers and C.S. Lewis were probably better. As for the rest of the world of literature, I had them crushed and vanquished. You can believe things like that when you're young and stupid (otherwise known as 17). I did attempt to have it published back then, and was rejected several times. The world is a better place as a result.
The reading level is somewhere between Young Adult and Juvenile. It involves a princess, her family's fall from power, and What She Learns From the Experience. The moral of the story has evolved as I have grown up, fortunately. Originally the princess learned that "If you aren't good enough, God will punish you." In the current revised version, she learns that "It's impossible to be 'good enough' all the time, but God's mercy is bigger than our mistakes." Better moral to the story, and a much happier outlook on life in general, let me tell you.
Originally, the thing was monstrously long. Like, 300 pages long. I had several friends who actually read the whole thing, for which they should get a Certificate of Affection. After several years of trying to rework it, I stumbled upon the perfect way to streamline it: I told it as a serial bedtime story to Ladybug and Titan. I quickly discovered the parts that didn't work, because Titan would chant, "Talkingtalkingtalkingtalking" whenever the action dragged. It also forced me to concoct a simple, interesting plot based on getting something accomplished, rather than deep character studies that I'm not actually all that good at writing anyway.
I'm trying to get the new version finished by the time my mother (who helped me write the original one) comes to visit next month. I hope to hand her the Princess Story Lite: Same flavor, 50% less fat! After that, I might seek publication, or I might be happy just reading it occasionally to the kids. At this point, it's no longer a creative passion: it's a mountain that I'm determined to move.
And that, since you said please, is the Novel.
I'm torn between being honest ("I don't write for a living, and I've never been published") and avoiding my lifelong habit of devaluing my work ("It's not much, I'm not a real writer, you wouldn't care about it"). So I'll just skip both and tell you about the novel.
The novel is actually a habit, like smoking, that I've tried to give up several times but always return to. I first wrote it when I was 17, and was pretty darn pleased with it. Although I downplayed it when anyone asked about it, I secretly thought it was pretty much the last word in literary achievement. Okay, Jane Austen and Dorothy Sayers and C.S. Lewis were probably better. As for the rest of the world of literature, I had them crushed and vanquished. You can believe things like that when you're young and stupid (otherwise known as 17). I did attempt to have it published back then, and was rejected several times. The world is a better place as a result.
The reading level is somewhere between Young Adult and Juvenile. It involves a princess, her family's fall from power, and What She Learns From the Experience. The moral of the story has evolved as I have grown up, fortunately. Originally the princess learned that "If you aren't good enough, God will punish you." In the current revised version, she learns that "It's impossible to be 'good enough' all the time, but God's mercy is bigger than our mistakes." Better moral to the story, and a much happier outlook on life in general, let me tell you.
Originally, the thing was monstrously long. Like, 300 pages long. I had several friends who actually read the whole thing, for which they should get a Certificate of Affection. After several years of trying to rework it, I stumbled upon the perfect way to streamline it: I told it as a serial bedtime story to Ladybug and Titan. I quickly discovered the parts that didn't work, because Titan would chant, "Talkingtalkingtalkingtalking" whenever the action dragged. It also forced me to concoct a simple, interesting plot based on getting something accomplished, rather than deep character studies that I'm not actually all that good at writing anyway.
I'm trying to get the new version finished by the time my mother (who helped me write the original one) comes to visit next month. I hope to hand her the Princess Story Lite: Same flavor, 50% less fat! After that, I might seek publication, or I might be happy just reading it occasionally to the kids. At this point, it's no longer a creative passion: it's a mountain that I'm determined to move.
And that, since you said please, is the Novel.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Social Tips
1. Don't try to fit into one week: school the kids, write the newsletter article, work on the novel, feed the family, attend special services at church, stay up till 11 with the baby, and get a migraine from lack of sleep at the children's weekly learning co-op. (Yes, AT the co-op. I spent the morning lying on the nursery floor, because it was carpeted, wishing I had something more than ibuprofen to take. Like morphine, for instance.)
How does this type of week negatively impact your social life? Because not only will you not have time to call or email anyone other than your husband ("Could I get you to email me that address? And did I remember to send my library books with you? Oh, and can you make the day go faster? Because I've decided that I just don't feel like going through today.")... you won't have time to even think about any blog posts you may have said you'll do.
2. If you DO manage to get to the computer to compose prose, don't do it within sight of the 17-month-old. She will spend the entire computer session hanging on your leg saying, "Ut! Ut! UT!" When you refuse to pick her "ut," she will grab the mouse. When you move the mouse, she will reach the k00..ey...
00board. When you firmly move her way from the keyboard, she will be overcome by despair and sink her head onto your lap, and bite you.
3. Keep coming to Mairzy's blog. It probably doesn't do a whole lot for your social life, but it certainly helps hers.
How does this type of week negatively impact your social life? Because not only will you not have time to call or email anyone other than your husband ("Could I get you to email me that address? And did I remember to send my library books with you? Oh, and can you make the day go faster? Because I've decided that I just don't feel like going through today.")... you won't have time to even think about any blog posts you may have said you'll do.
2. If you DO manage to get to the computer to compose prose, don't do it within sight of the 17-month-old. She will spend the entire computer session hanging on your leg saying, "Ut! Ut! UT!" When you refuse to pick her "ut," she will grab the mouse. When you move the mouse, she will reach the k00..ey...
00board. When you firmly move her way from the keyboard, she will be overcome by despair and sink her head onto your lap, and bite you.
3. Keep coming to Mairzy's blog. It probably doesn't do a whole lot for your social life, but it certainly helps hers.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
The Dating Game, Round Two
You expect to outgrow it.
Throughout junior high and high school, it's the only thing that matters: I like him, does he like me, will he actually ask me to go with him, blah blah blah. Where I grew up, we didn't call it "going out," we called it "going with." Every single adult who heard us use the term would ask, "Going with him WHERE?" and chortle over how young and dumb we were. This from the generation that invented "going steady." (*grumble grumble Baby Boomers grumble grumble*) Of course we didn't actually go anywhere; once we were old enough to Go On Dates, there just weren't many places to go in a one-stoplight Southern town. But that didn't stop us from talking about the possibility virtually all the time.
As often happens, though, we grew up. I got married, moved away from my hometown, and had a baby all within about a year. That's when I found out that I hadn't put the dating game behind me. Now that it was easy as anything to get a date, get a kiss, get laid -- now I discovered that the playing field was still open. Only I wasn't a young single on the lookout for a boyfriend: I was a young mom on the lookout for friends.
It all felt strangely familiar. I'd catch sight of an interesting mom at the playground and strike up a conversation while our kids played. Maybe, just maybe, the chat would result in an exchange of phone numbers. If I was lucky, she'd be home when I called. We'd meet at the mall, or the library, a few times before venturing to suggest that we could have a playdate at one of our houses. All the while, we were testing the waters, figuring out if we clicked or not. We were always hoping to stumble on that one great friendship story, the one that said, "We met at this random place, started talking, and we haven't stopped for fifteen years!"
But good heavens was it hard to find that kind of friend! I wanted someone I could call up for no reason, or email seven times in one day without apology. Most of all, someone I could "go with": go with to get coffee, go with to browse shops, go with to a movie. I didn't think I was asking for much, but apparently I was asking for the moon. I did spend about a year getting together with one friend, plus exchanging frequent emails and weekly phone conversations... but it never really worked. In the end we tacitly agreed to be just acquaintances. It was pretty frustrating for someone who met, dated, and married the same guy. I thought romance was supposed to be the hard part.
When all else fails, be patient. One friend I particularly liked was Laura, who lived nearby and whose daughter is the same age as Ladybug. We instantly hit it off, but I learned -- painfully slowly -- that those fifteen-year conversations don't really happen instantaneously. It's one thing to spend an afternoon in pleasant chitchat while our children played. It took much longer for her to confide in me that she suffers from anxiety attacks, or for me to admit how lonely it could be as a stay-at-home mom. It's taken five years, in fact.
But finally. She asked me to go with her! For my birthday, no less. We left the kids with our respective husbands, and went out for lunch and coffee. Then we browsed shops together. When we headed home, Laura said, "We finally actually got away! Now that we've done it once, we'll have to do it again!"
It's only one coffee outing, I know. It's really too soon to say. But I think... I think it might be forever.
Throughout junior high and high school, it's the only thing that matters: I like him, does he like me, will he actually ask me to go with him, blah blah blah. Where I grew up, we didn't call it "going out," we called it "going with." Every single adult who heard us use the term would ask, "Going with him WHERE?" and chortle over how young and dumb we were. This from the generation that invented "going steady." (*grumble grumble Baby Boomers grumble grumble*) Of course we didn't actually go anywhere; once we were old enough to Go On Dates, there just weren't many places to go in a one-stoplight Southern town. But that didn't stop us from talking about the possibility virtually all the time.
As often happens, though, we grew up. I got married, moved away from my hometown, and had a baby all within about a year. That's when I found out that I hadn't put the dating game behind me. Now that it was easy as anything to get a date, get a kiss, get laid -- now I discovered that the playing field was still open. Only I wasn't a young single on the lookout for a boyfriend: I was a young mom on the lookout for friends.
It all felt strangely familiar. I'd catch sight of an interesting mom at the playground and strike up a conversation while our kids played. Maybe, just maybe, the chat would result in an exchange of phone numbers. If I was lucky, she'd be home when I called. We'd meet at the mall, or the library, a few times before venturing to suggest that we could have a playdate at one of our houses. All the while, we were testing the waters, figuring out if we clicked or not. We were always hoping to stumble on that one great friendship story, the one that said, "We met at this random place, started talking, and we haven't stopped for fifteen years!"
But good heavens was it hard to find that kind of friend! I wanted someone I could call up for no reason, or email seven times in one day without apology. Most of all, someone I could "go with": go with to get coffee, go with to browse shops, go with to a movie. I didn't think I was asking for much, but apparently I was asking for the moon. I did spend about a year getting together with one friend, plus exchanging frequent emails and weekly phone conversations... but it never really worked. In the end we tacitly agreed to be just acquaintances. It was pretty frustrating for someone who met, dated, and married the same guy. I thought romance was supposed to be the hard part.
When all else fails, be patient. One friend I particularly liked was Laura, who lived nearby and whose daughter is the same age as Ladybug. We instantly hit it off, but I learned -- painfully slowly -- that those fifteen-year conversations don't really happen instantaneously. It's one thing to spend an afternoon in pleasant chitchat while our children played. It took much longer for her to confide in me that she suffers from anxiety attacks, or for me to admit how lonely it could be as a stay-at-home mom. It's taken five years, in fact.
But finally. She asked me to go with her! For my birthday, no less. We left the kids with our respective husbands, and went out for lunch and coffee. Then we browsed shops together. When we headed home, Laura said, "We finally actually got away! Now that we've done it once, we'll have to do it again!"
It's only one coffee outing, I know. It's really too soon to say. But I think... I think it might be forever.
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