Folly

Kicky and Esmee would eat that poor cat alive She wouldn't even come out of the bushes when she saw me coming. Maybe we'll go to the Humane Society this weekend. There are a couple of cats I have my eye on...

Making chili, but I don't think I soaked the beans long enough. Nothing like a bowl of crunchy chili.

I need to read Jude the Obscure. The teenaged neighbor girl in my new book is going to be named Folly. (The mother will be a high school dropout who got the name from the novel, but misspelled Fawley).

Ordinary People

I am reading Ordinary People for the first time. I picked it up, because I understand it was this slushpile-find phenomena of the seventies, and I was curious. I also wanted to see how she handles the aftermath of the death of a child. So then, this weekend, in the Post, there was a review of Lisa carey's new novel, Every Visible Thing which referred to Ordinary People. Now, Lisa Carey is also the author of The Mermaids Singing, a novel which came out not long after I first got an agent for my never-to-be-published novel, Paper Rain. I remember my old agent talking about it, comparing it to my work. I can't tell you how many times I'll have an idea for a story/book, and then I see something similar pop up somewhere. This actually happened with The Lovely Bones as well...which came out not long after I finished another never-to-be-published book called Small Sorrows (a book about a child abduction and murder, go figure). It always makes me wonder if there isn't some sort of creative collective consciousness among writers. Either that or I'm just terminally a day late and a dollar short.

Anyway, I think I've finally decided on a point of view: third person limited, alternating between the main characters. I may change my mind. I did about a third of the way in through the last book.

Tomorrow I am meeting the cat. 8:30 a.m. at feeding time. By afternoon we could be pet owners. This is exciting stuff for someone whose only real pets in the last decade have been two bala sharks named Lenny and George (rest in peace).

rarities

I'm feeling strange today. I don't know exactly why. A bookseller sent me several books to sign. I guess he plans to sell the signed copies to collectors or something. It made me so sad...the hardcover library editions and galleys, clearly books he bought on ebay or amazon for pennies. Rarities now. None being made anymore.

On a lighter note, I think we may adopt a cat. It was P's idea...surprisingly since he's not a cat fan...but someone in the neighborhood has a stray they're watching until someone adopts her. Her name is Funny (though Kicky plans to christen her Sasha). Maybe a new little creature is just what we need around here.

I was awake half the night last night thinking about the opening of the new book. This story is so cinematic in my head...I can picture all of the scenes. I am typically a visual person, but these ideas are more visceral than usual.

Triceratops

I went to school early this morning (still dark out, coffee in a travel mug, fifty degrees -- early), and spent the hour before class wandering around the university library, which is beautifully deserted at that ungodly hour. Here's what I checked out:

From Feast to Fasting: The Evolution of Sin
Salinger's Glass Stories as a Composite Novel
Still Time (photos) by Sally Mann

The cover of Still Time is a photo, "Night-Blooming Cereus"

that I desperately wanted to be the cover of Undressing the Moon. SMP had other ideas, however. The photo book I really wanted was Mann's Immediate Family. (I couldn't get the self-checkout machine to scan the damn barcode). Anyway, her daughter, Virginia, looks so much like Esmee, the photos feel strangely familiar.

I don't know where this weird research is leading, but it will lead somewhere. It always does. New novels begin this way: meandering, exploring, and then obsessing.

There's a little boy in Kicky's class who spent the entire year last year learning about dinosaurs. He could steer every single conversation back to Triceratops. So, the other day I thought I was being clever and asked him what color dinosaur eggs are. His answer? "Oh, I don't care about dinosaurs anymore. I'm into Power Rangers." I want to be like that. Bring on the next obsession, please.

To Do

I really thought that having two mornings a week completely to myself would be exactly what I needed. I imagined myself writing away, being pro-active with my lesson plans, and cooking lavish and healthy meals to be served to my adoring family come dinner time. What has actually happened is that when the door closes and the rest of the family is gone, I find myself filled with anxiety, making elaborate lists of menial things that need to be done and then spending thenext several hours trying to prioritize and execute these items, feeling guilty the whole time that I am neither writing nor planning nor cooking anything other than my own daily breakfast burrito when I realize I've forgotten to eat. For example. Today I envisioned making a reading list, outlining some major scenes for the book, and actually reading some. What I did do:

• balanced the checking account
• stressed out
• paid the car payment
• stressed out about the clunking sound that's happening somewhere in my driver's side wheel
• went grocery shopping (the kids went to school with the most ridiculous excuses for lunch ever -- plums, hard-boiled eggs, and juice boxes)
• planned my lesson for tomorrow
• sent out a bunch of e-mails trying to procure either payment for the various and random jobs I do, or to actually procure the jobs themselves
• said "Hi" to P, who came home to grab the car emissions test paperwork
• stressed out about the car emissions test
• said "Bye" to P, who probably sensed how stressed out I was and decided that anywhere might be better than here
• made a breakfast burrito while talking on the phone to someone about payment for one of my various and random jobs, spoke to someone else about a new possible job
• returned my dad's call
• and now it's 11:30 and I have a half hour before I leave to pick up the girls

I've been having dreams where my entire world is falling apart. Last week I dreamed that we lost Kicky in an airport. I also dreamed a bunch of hippie kids took over the treehouse and turned into a sort of hip after hours club. Last night's dreams were too bizarre to mention. They've been lingering with me all morning though. I need to cut down on the caffeine. I need to get back to writing. I need the beach.

Same 'Ol Girl, Brand New Website

Sorry about the earlier post. Bad day.

Anyway, I decided to post the new website. Why not? I was going for a sort of treasure chest effect. If nothing else, at least the info is all current. I hadn't updated the old site since 2001. So much for dynamic content.

Here's the link: www.tgreenwood.com

If this is your first visit to Mermama (via the link on the new website) -- Welcome to my mad, mad world.

ARRRGGGGHHHHHH

House of Cards

The"A Prayer for Owen Meany" post-show discussion at The Round House Theatre was really fun. First of all, the performance was incredible. It was perfectly cast, and Blake Robison did an amazing job of interpreting Simon Bent's script. I was pretty nervous about getting up on stage, but the audience (for the discussion) was both small and receptive.

Did I mention my new method for plotting? I've been lugging around these spiral bound notecards lately. Everytime I get an idea (for a scene, an image, a character), I jot it down. I'm hoping that by November the book will be full, and I'll simply have to sit down, pull them out, arrange them, and write the next book. It seems pretty simple, but I've found it so liberating. usually I keep all that crap in my head until it's time to write. They're like little magic recipe cards...at least in my imagination anyway.

I need to get a full time teaching job. I am working so, so, so hard...teaching a full load without any of the financial (and other) benefits full time status. Oh, woe is me.

Real World

So after four debaucherous and languid days at the beach, I am home and thrust right back into the throes of the real world. San Diego was amazing. We got to meet our friends' new baby: Rowan, who is truly, truly, truly one of the cutest I've seen. It seems impossible to me that Esmee was nearly two pounds lighter than he is. Such a small, small peanut.

Dan and Angie's wedding was beautiful (on the beach, her dad officiating). The reception was fun and the food was fantastic: fajitas, fajitas, fajitas. I am growing softer and softer around the middle with each foray outside of the DC Metro area.

Back at home, I've started teaching again. My classes are early (8:00 and 9:35), and the back to back schedule makes me feel a little like a record skipping.

In an effort to stay sane about the book, I've been furiously jotting down notes for the new one. My plan is to write it during nanwrimo in November. I spent five years on Two Rivers, to no apparent avail. Undressing the Moon took only five weeks. Maybe I just work better in marathon mode.

On Sunday I am going to be the guest at the Roundhouse Theatre's Post-Show Book Club discussion of the stage adaptation of A Prayer for Owen Meany. I'm nervous but excited as well.

Fall is descending...and I am starting to get that lovely autumn feeling of possibility. That back -to-school hopefulness.

Painting Rocks. 

I'm back!

I am home again, home again, jig, jig, jig from Vermont. The month was terrific, but full of activity. I frankly wish I'd had just a few more days where I wasn't on the road or visiting, but when you only get home once a year you really are forced to cram things in. The girls had a blast...trips to Santa's Village, the County Fair, Ben & Jerry's factory, Lake Champlain, and their first Chinese Restaurant experience. They swam in the pond, ran in the yard, climbed up into the treehouse, and ate s'mores. My best friend and her kids visited a lot, and they were so good to the girls. Summer cousins...

This year, my grandmother decided it was time to part with a portion of my grandfather's library, as well as with his Underwood. So, I came home with seven boxes of books, an antique typewriter, and an Andrew Wyeth print I gave him year's ago that hung in his study. I can't wait to unpack everything in their new home. My parents are also bringing down his Alice/Lewis Carroll collection (about twenty books) for me. This may be the most exciting inheritence of all.

I am feeling overwhelmed by everything I have to do this week. School starts at GW (and for the girls) tomorrow. That always knots my stomach up. Patrick and I are also leaving on Thursday for San Diego. We're going to a wedding and, possibly, greeting our other friends' new baby (if he arrives in the next few days).

Today is also our seventh anniversary. Boggles the mind. Seven years.

No (good) book news yet. Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean...

Sick and Tired

I am sick and tired of summer. Literally sick. And tired. (Two more days to prep for this trip and I got hit with some upper respiratory malfunction. Does it sound like I am always sick? I'm not, I'm really not. And actually the whole stomach thing has gotten quite a bit better.) I think it's this hellish weather that brought it on. This heat is the most oppressive and depressing thing I've ever experienced. Our entire family is crabby and snotty and wheezy (except for P who rarely gets anything). I can't wait to get to the pond.

I've been reading Franny and Zooey again. I want to create my own Glass family. I think that's where this new book is going. As much as families are integral to my other books, they are really peripheral to the central story (except for, maybe, Nearer Than the Sky). I want the family to be the main character of this next one. I'm dying to see "Little Miss Sunshine" for this very reason. It looks terrific. Greg Kinnear, Steve Carell, the southwest, a roadtrip and a child's beauty pageant at the end...right up my alley.

Anyway, this may be the last post for a bit. Little access to the internet in Vermont. Probably not a bad thing for me...

Shiner

So there's a whole new attitude that goes along with the shiner. We're calling her "Bruiser" these days.

I've written what I think will be the first chapter of the new book...though you never know. I'm having a hard time deciding on the point of view, but my cast of characters is coming into focus. I also have a pretty good sense of the plot. Go figure.

I've been mostly reading about hunger and fasting, including Kafka's "A Hunger Artist" this morning. I also checked out "Hunger" by Knut Hamsen.

princess and the pea

The party was a tremendous success. Kicky found the pea for the first time and got to wear the tiara. After the shortcake, a rousing game of "Pin the Pea on the Mattress," and a terra cotta pot and glitter glue craft project, everyone went home exhausted but happy. Esmee and Kicky jumped in the pool and knocked heads. So...today the Princess has a big-ass lump on her head.

Before and After

I had a dream the other night that I was eating nails...it seriously felt like I was digesting straight pins.

Close Call

Last night I went out with L.D. for dinner. We decided on Utopia because my stomach is such a mess that I can't eat anything even remotely spicy. We had such a nice time, catching up. I had the seafood bisque which should be illegal, and then at around 9:30 I headed home.

So there is this intersection (Georgia Ave. and Aspen), which I drive through every day. I just made a comment last week to P that I'm worried that I'm going to get hit there someday. Every time my light turns green at that intersection, I make sure to look before going ahead...I've seen a lot of people blow through the red light, and so I always wait a second or two to go. But last night when the light turned green I waited a couple of seconds, and then I got the sense that I should wait a few more seconds. It was like some weird gut feeling that if I pulled forward something terrible would happen. And then, as I'm at a dead stop with the green light to go, a car coming down Georgia (on my left) at about fifty miles an hour runs right through the red light. If I hadn't waited, that car would have crashed into the driver's side of my car. There is absolutely no way I would have lived through that. I have no idea what stopped me. Maybe it was just me being cautious, overly cautious, or maybe it was something else. I don't know. I'm just glad I'm not dead today.

Stomach still hurts like a mother...L.D.'s going to send me some anti-inflammatory diet info. All the stuff I hate: dark green leafy things, whole grains.

The Princess Party is this weekend.

I have started the next book. It's about hunger.

Firecrackers 

Firecracker, firecracker, boom, boom, boom

Finally, something great happened today. I used my B&N gift certificate my sister gave me for my birthday to buy Miss American Pie (a memoir based on the author's childhood journals) and The Rich Man's Table (another Scott Spencer novel). The package came today after a violent storm, and I opened it up to find that the Scott Spencer book is signed. What a perk.

Did I mention that I think I'm getting an ulcer? I had the same thing happen when I was in college, and I'm worried that it's happening again. It's hard to believe that this stress is on the same level as the stress that caused that to happen, but maybe.

Tomorrow night I'm going out with one of my longest friends (she's actually quite a bit shorter than me -- ha, ha). She's got a great shoulder though.

Outage

I haven't written in so long, I feel like I'm calling up a friend I've neglected. Remorse over laziness.

I don't understand this place. Last week it rained for days. Days and days and days. Our porch roof leaked, an eighty foot tree two houses down just fell over one night, decapitating a telephone pole and leacing us powerless/phoneless/cableless for more than a day. And then, just as things started to look up, yesterday (the 4th of July, for Christ's sake), it came back and last night I spent six hours in a pitch black house while the air outside was exploding...I didn't know whether it was thunder or fireworks or some terrible Korean missile. This weather is killing me. It was also ninety degrees without even a whisper of breeze. The poor girls were drenched in their beds. I sent P to our friends' to celebrate the holiday...he would have gone mad, I think, in all that hot darkness.

Despite the recent weather, my birthday weekend was so nice...a visit from P's mom, rhubarb pie, and a night out which included Mexican food. Amen.

Only a few weeks left until the girls and I make our way to Vermont. P will be joining us for a whole week this year. I am looking forward to working on the new book. Meanwhile I'm reading like mad...just finished Men in Black (no relation to the movie) by Scott Spencer. I am his newest biggest fan.

29

Tomorrow is my birthday. I am wondering how many more 29th birthdays I can get away with. Maybe 2 or 3??? No big plans. P's mother will be in town, and so on Saturday night we're going out. I told P I want Mexican food. I'm pretty easy. I do require a rhubarb pie, however. I'll probably have to both make it and eat it though. The rest of the family doesn't share my passion for the 'barb...

This is me when I was really 29. I don't look that much older, do I?? (Notice I haven't included a recent pic for comparison.) 29 was a good year. I published my first novel, got engaged, got a big grant. Maybe this 29th will be spectacular too.

I've been going through the girls' old clothes and artwork...after watching an episode about hoarders on Dr. Phil, I got motivated to go through the boxes of onesies and mountains of fingerpaintings that have been gathering in the corners of our house. It's so hard to throw/give away that stuff. I finally got the collections down to a manageable size; there are some things I just won't part with. At least I don't keep tuna cans and cereal boxes, I guess.

I'm starting to think a lot about the new book. I think this one is going to have multiple points of view. I start teaching the Intro to the Novel workshop this weekend. The timing is perfect.

Squawk! Hallelujah.

I am totally obsessed with photographing these baby birds. Watching them is fascinating. I think the fourth egg is a dud. It still hasn't hatched.

I finished Holy Skirts last night. It was amazing. I checked Housekeeping by Marilyn Robinson and Ordinary People by Judith Guest out of the library the other day. I have found that getting books out of the library makes me read faster...knowing that I have to bring them back really helps me get to the end.

I am starting to get excited about going to Vermont this summer. I spoke with my grandmother this morning. She wants me to go through my grandfather's things...including a virtual library of books...and bring back anything I'd like. Time to get more bookcases. He has THREE encyclopedia sets, a leather bound set of the classics, an entire bookcase of philosophy books as well as shelves and shelves of poetry and fiction. Nevermind the files and files of ephemera he so meticulously kept. In my file is a pop-up book of Hansel and Gretel. Their house is like a giant treasure chest. I am also going to bring back his Underwood to add to my typewriter collection. I inherited my other grandfather's typewriter when he passed away a couple of years ago. My most prized possessions.