Super Secret Secret Summer Project

So I am fully in the throes of what we've been referring to as "The Super Secret Secret Summer Project" around here. The excitement and thrill was at a high yesterday when I spent an hour on the phone with a woman whose situation is eerily similar to my narrator's. I found her on the web, and she graciously has given me the details of her story as well as invited me to her home in Scranton to look through her papers. Her generosity is overwhelming. We may have to start calling it "The Super Secret Secret Scranton Summer Project." Argh...I am so superstitious. My horoscope forbade me to discuss the details of this artistic endeavor, but I'm just about losing my mind over it.

We leave for Vermont a week from Sunday, and I am so excited to have a whole month to dedicate to working on my own work. I am going to be a writing, picture-taking fool for a month. I also plan to spend a pretty large chunk of time floating around in an inner tube with the girls.

Also, I just entered a small portfolio of work in Aperture's annual contest. I'm not expecting anything, but it was good to help me focus on selecting the best pictures I've taken so far.

Here's one:

"Sleeping Beauty"

Yes, we let our children play with firecrackers.

Ohh Mermama

Ooooh am I back on track. Writing, writing, writing. Can you hear the tappety-tap, clackety-clack?? What a little Ocean Beach Street Fair can do for inspiration:

A Nose Knows

I did it.


I swear. It's there! A teensy tinsy ocean-colored gemstone,
my left side.

I will post more OB Street Fair pictures soon. I am exhausted and jet lagged and ready for beddy.

What Remains

So, talk about serendipity....I was clicking through the On Demand library last night looking for something to watch while P was at a baseball game, and on Cinemax I found "What Remains," the documentary about Sally Mann. It was incredible. And it hit close to home for more reasons than I had expected. For one thing, there is this incredible scene in the film when she finds out that the NY gallery where she is scheduled to show her latest exhibit (a collection which took her four years to create) cancels. It is heart-wrenching. It made me really, really think about how very precarious an artists' ego is. And how even established artists...truly accomplished and celebrated artists...face self-doubt and the anxiety that they are no longer creating anything of value. Needless to say...it was relevant. Besides, it really confirmed what I suspected about her both as a photographer and as a mother. What an incredibly humble and committed artist, mother, and wife. It's a great film...check it out on Cinemax this Friday (at 2:45 a.m. or some ungodly hour).

Off to teach my Intro to the Novel class tonight. I wrote almost 4000 words this week. A breakthrough for me. I hope.

Chili Cookoff!!!

Check out the party they're having for my birthday in Ocean Beach!!

http://obstreetfair.com/2003Video.shtml

I am so excited to go to San Diego. Who would have thought that what used to be home would one day be a vacation spot?

Writing Without Writing

I have all sorts of free time now, and I cannot...for the life of me...seem to get to work. I find myself googling photographers, studying pictures, making treks to bookstores for photography magazines, and suffering what may very well be carpal tunnel in my right index finger from snapping so many pictures. I have submitted CD's to two different fine arts magazines...what the hell am I thinking??? And all the while, despite this sort of manic high that taking pictures is giving me, I feel the same sort of guilt I always felt as a kid when I had to pick which stuffed animals to sleep with and which ones were relegated to the floor for the night. It's the Catholic in me...I can feel guilty about just about anything. And the fact that I am getting so much more out of images than words lately makes me feel like an infidel.

Anyway, next week is my 29th birthday. Again. I'll be in San Diego at the Ocean Beach Street Fair -- my favorite holiday (the street fair, not my birthday). My forever-friend Heather and I are going to get our noses pierced at Dr. Jeffe's and then drink a lot of beer and take pictures of the freaks. It seems like a silly thing to do...the piercing not the drinking and picture taking...but why the hell not? The girls are thrilled by the prospect of Mommy having a pierced nose. I've psyched myself up for it by watching people getting it done on youtube. There's something for everyone there, isn't there?

Anyway. Just checking in. Procrastinating. Writing without writing. Maybe that's what the little catch phrase for the blog should be.

Here's a picture Kicky took of me taking pictures of her.

And pictures of Kicky taking pictures of Esmee. I've really started something here, I fear:

Change of Plans

I haven't been steamed up in awhile. It actually takes a whole heckuva lot to get me really, really going. But you know what? Sometimes that's where the good writing lives. I must (reluctantly) admit that I have, as of late, completely lost interest in the book in I wrote in November. The thought of revising it has actually makes me grimace. So...I started sketching some things out last night, and the story just came...materialized out of the great frustrated ether of my mind. For a change, I think I'm going to be hush hush on this one, but it's more personal than some of the stuff I've spent the last few years writing. Maybe I'm just getting more fickle.

Anyway...it's firefly season here again. But this year I've got a good camera:

Black and White?

So I just finished a book that has, in many ways, stirred up something inside of me. Lots of things actually. The timing is serendipitous, I think, and perhaps if I had read this book even a year ago I might not have reacted so strongly to it.

Anyway, Dani Shapiro...whose wonderful novel, Family History, I reviewed for the San Diego Union Tribune a few years back has a new novel out called Black and White. It is based, according to the author, on her imaginings of what an adult child (and former subject) of a famous photographer might be like in the aftermath of her mother's fame. The connections to Sally Mann are no secret...and the author makes no bones about this in her interview on NPR. But while the book truly was compelling, well-written, evocative etc... I just kept feeling like there was something wrong with what Shapiro was doing. I mean, Sally Mann is very much alive, as are her children. And while this is fiction, and (according to Shapiro) she used the photos as a jumping off place for this book, the art itself is almost identical to the actual, controversial, Mann photos: a Popsicle-stained chest, a pee-stained bed, a black eye, a child hanging (though from a rope rather than a hay hook). I don't mean to suggest that the novelist has any particular allegiance to what is now a part of our culture...art becomes, to a certain extent, part of our cultural inheritance, a part of our collective visual vocabulary. However, it is not necessarily the assimilation of Mann's now iconic images by Shapiro that bothers me. It is, rather, the premise of the novel itself...that photography, and the photography of one's own children, is, by nature, exploitative. Of course, she does not come out and say this explicitly, but the story is told via Clara (the grown daughter of the fictional Ruth Dunne) who, in her early thirties, is reunited withe her estranged mother after fourteen years. She is so angry, so paralyzed, so stunted by her mother's "work," that she can barely function. The now dying Ruth is depicted as a manic, egotistical, and impossible artist who is completely unable to see beyond her own nose (or camera viewfinder). Fine, fine, and fine. But what really irks me, is that we side with Clara. We have to. She is the heroine of the novel, and the victim or her mother's art. The end of the novel...I won't give it away...means to offer some hope, some resolution for Clara, but, to me, it lacks credibility, because we never really see Ruth as a mother. Not really. We see her through Clara's very own viewfinder...distorted, warped, and larger than life. Now, fine, fine, fine...but what about Sally Mann? I mean, the real woman. The photographer. The mother. What does this mean when an author takes an artist's work, a living artist's work, and then fabricates a life, full of motives and agendas, for that artist? Never mind that in addition to the familiar images Shapiro borrows, there is one fictional photo (published in Vogue) which makes Ruth's character just plain wicked. And there is no such photo in Mann's portfolio...not that I know of anyway. If I were Sally Mann, I would be furious. Indeed, I am so curious to see if there is any fall out from this. Besides, and I hate to knock what is, for all intents and purposes, a very well-crafted and riveting novel...it's been done before. Exposure by Kathryn Harrison is a terrific novel based on the shattered life of a child muse. And, more recently, The Effects of Light by Miranda Beverly-Whittemore, examines what it means when childhood and art reside together. Beverly-Whittemore, who herself has modeled for Mona Kuhn, gave a much more compelling argument for the inherent complexities, the gray areas, if you will of the photographer's ethical responsibilities: to her subjects, to the truth of experience, to art.

I started reading this book after I spent the afternoon photographing my own children gleefully running naked through a sprinkler in the backyard. And it plucked a raw nerve. I truly believe that artists, particularly photographers, look to capture moments. To preserve them. I know that I do the same as a writer. Art, for me, is the beauty in my life. And I have spent my entire adult life trying to replicate that beauty with words, and now with pictures. I would hope that Shapiro, as both a mother and a novelist, might understand this too, but I fear that the revelations Clara has come too late and without nearly enough to evoke them. And lastly, I worry what people might infer about Sally Mann, who strikes me as a terrific mother, based on this novel and its sometimes uncomfortably close comparisons to the real artist's work (if not life).

Then again maybe this is all intentional...the author distorting the truth, "staging" the picture, to her own ends? Is writing a novel of this sort any different from the photographer who exploits or manipulates reality in the name of art?

Rant/review over.

Home Again

Just what I needed. The lake was exactly what I needed...a little bit of quiet, but mostly a change of venue. Strangely, this photography kick has made me realize how very similar one day is to the next around here. (How many pictures can I take of my children jumping into an inflatable pool or lounging on a cushy couch or examining bugs on leaves?) The three hours in the car, trying not to hit any bumps which always seem to piss off the temperamental dual mini-DVD players that are strapped to the headrests like mental patients, the juice bag disasters (I will never, ever buy a bag of juice again), the fruit roll-ups stuck to the upholstery, the "are we here?"'s (Yes, we're here, I said every time. Where else would we be??) -- none of it mattered when we finally pulled up to -- no joke -- Serenity Now -- the haven on the lake. My pulse slowed down to a crawl the second I got out of the car and the kids were free.

The girls were delirious. I had some nice grown-up time with old friends and some cool new folks, and then twenty-four hours later, we left again to return to the city...but I feel salvaged somehow.

My beauties...

To the lake

The reading last week went well...though I didn't know anyone in the audience. Everyone I knew who planned to attend had things come up, and actually it was nice, because my nerves disappeared looking out into a see of unfamiliar faces. I read some of my poems, and realized, about mid-way through the first one how very intensely personal my poetry is. My fiction is so, I don't know, fictional. This felt weird. You know how you're supposed to visualize the audience naked? Well, I kept envisioning myself naked. Anyway, I have a new respect for poets. And strippers.

We're headed off to Deep Creek Lake this weekend. The girls are so excited to go to "the beach." I'm excited to be near the water again too. It's been hotter than hell here, and a lake will be a nice change from the kiddie pool. Though Esmee and Kicky don't seem to mind our suburban beach much at all:

The One Trick Pony's Lament

I am struggling trying to figure out what to read at my reading on Sunday at The Writer's Center. I know they'll be selling books and I should read from one of the novels, but to be honest, I am so tired of reading from those three books. They're old. They don't really even represent who I am as a writer any more. I imagine it's (on a smaller, less rockstar- oriented scale of course) what The Rolling Stones must feel like when they are asked to play "Satisfaction." I'm tired of them (my novels not the Stones). I actually found a discussion about my work on a website (yes...I search every so often to see if anyone is still reading my books. All of you writers do it. Don't pretend you don't care), and someone referred to me as a "great writer but not very prolific." I've written three whole novels since Undressing the Moon was published! (Granted one was a real stinker, but still.) I want people to hear/read what I'm writing now. I think I may just throw caution to the wind and read my poetry. What have I got to lose?

Aperture

So I am having a hard time getting back into my book. I actually knew this was going to happen...maybe this is why I've been Martha Stewarting the house for the last week instead of revising. It's ironic really, since I am just finishing up teaching a Revising the Novel workshop this week. I mean, I know how to do it...it's just daunting, and, frankly, no fun at all. The characters are inconsistent. The pacing is off. It is, indeed, a bit maudlin, and I am second-guessing every single word. It's not that I'm giving up. I actually got up at 5:30 a.m. filled with good intentions. I even sat down, coffee in hand, by 6:45. BUT, I should have known it wasn't going to happen when I heard the pitter patter thump of two pairs of feet at 6:05. Yes, that's right...twenty-minutes of uninterrupted work. Jesus. Anyway, wound up doing nothing this morning...read some of the book I'm editing, ate four muffins, watched "The View." Jesus. It doesn't help that I got two poetry rejections this week: The Iowa Review and Tor House. I expect they'll come pouring in soon.

Lastly, I am still obsessing over my new love. I can talk f-stops and exposure all over the place. I got shutter speed and white balance on my brain. No room for writing???

Oh, I almost forgot to mention Mother's Day. It was soooo nice. Patrick gave me a tripod. Kicky made an art installation on the front door. And Esmee? Well, just look at her. that's gift enough. We all went to The Capitol Lounge for brunch and then spent the afternoon in the backyard. I even fell alseep in the hammock...though I awoke to a size 11 toddler foot in my face. All in all, I'm happy to be a mermama.

School's Out for Summer!

I'm done! I'm done, I'm done, I'm done. I am in vacation mode...but first, I had to make order out of the chaos that was my home. I just waded through six months worth of crap that had piled up on my dining room table and "office." What remains is a beautiful workspace. Novel-writing worthy! I have a few more organizational things I want to get done before I implement my new summer writing schedule, but I'm getting there.

Meanwhile, I am obsessed with my new camera. I have two pictures that I am certain will be included in my upcoming "show" at The Atlas. Here's one of Esmee.

I am trying for a Sally Mann sort of feel to these pictures...I just adore her work, and there are so few photographers who approach children in the way she does. I feel like I'm starting to capture something with the girls...though I'm not sure what. Lucky for me, they are both quite at ease in front of the camera.

Anyway....I am on a summer vacation high right now. How many grown-ups get to have that??!!

And then there's maudlin...

Finally heard back from Henry...he likes the beginning of the new book, though he warned against being too maudlin. I think maudlin might be my specialty. Anyway, we had a nice chat about it, and I plan to dive in again soon.

Good news here is that school is OVER come Friday. I actually teach my last class tomorrow morning. I have a hell of a lot of grading to do, but at least I can park myself in the hammock to do that.

I am always buzzing with a sense of possibility this time of year...one of many carryovers of childhood, I think. I am making lists all over the place...summer projects, reading lists, writing goals, etc... I am so excited to work on my photography. The new goal is to have an exhibit of work up at the Atlas's gallery by the end of the year. Poetry is not going so well, and I am debating whether or not I should quit. I'm actually starting to dread writing the poem a day (and, to be honest, I'm a few days behind). I have over a hundred poems, and I think I miss my novel. Would that just be terrible? I hate quitting things, but I also don't want poetry to become a sort of torture either...

Oh yeah....other big news here is that I got my hair cut. A lot. It's the best haircut I've ever had. I feel like some sort of sassy mama now :)

There is a God.

Sanjaya finally got the boot.

Option, options

So, the ball is rolling. Today the film producer optioned Nearer Than the Sky... I have a great feeling about this. That's the good news of the day -- and a seriously welcome change to an afternoon spent watching the madness at Virginia Tech, imagining my own classroom, my own children in theirs. I can't get any sort of handle on this horror. There was something portentous about this whole day...frigid weather and violent wind. I spent most of the day examining the trees around me, wondering if any of them might come crashing down.

Anyway, here's a lovely picture of our garden before the storm:

A Little Easter Surprise

So Easter was one helluva a gluttonous event; check out the carnage!

Kicky, on the other hand, exercised remarkable self-control (probably after last year's hard-boiled chocolate barf fest). Esmee wound up with an all-night bellyache as well as an earache which was later diagnosed as a giant acron-size ball of wax in her ear. Beats a jellybean, I suppose.

Three weeks until the semester is over.

Viewfinder

I am too busy. There. That's all I'll say...the edivence is in these sparse mermanderings.

Anyway...a few big bits of news here. The first is that I finally bought the new Digital SLR camera I have been coveting for nearly a year now. It's my new favorite possession. It takes amazing pictures...already, and I don't even know how to use it yet. Here's one of Miss E.

Secondly, I booked my flight to San Diego for the Ocean Beach Street Fair and Chili Cookoff. It's one of the things I miss most about OB. And this year it's on my birthday! What a present.

Lastly, I have a producer and screenwriter who really want to work on getting Nearer Than the Sky made into a film. Lovely, lovely people. I am so excited.

Last night was a crazy night, a rockstar night (well as close as I'll get to a rockstar night anyway). I joined a few of the GW faculty at dinner with Vikram Chandra before his reading. His new monster of a book, called Sacred Games (900 plus pages) came out not that long ago. I haven't read it yet...but it sounds fascinating. Vikram was very kind and friendly. Joining us at dinner was Howard Norman who is married to Jane Shore (whom I adore). They have a home in Vermont, and they invited me to swing by this summer. Oh...do I love hanging out with writers. I got a chance to catch up with some of my other colleagues who I haven't bumped into yet this semester, despite my taking up residence in my office.

Three and a half weeks left of school...and then I will be finally be able to get back to work on the novel. Still writing poems, though lately they've been pretty crappy.

Why do my children look so sad???

Eight Arms

I am not dead.

I was simply luxuriating in the blissful nothingness of an uneventful springbreak, and now I am a single mother while P globe hops with his buddies. He is in Amsterdam until Wednesday night, and (can you believe it??) his cell phone is for the first time non-functional. This is good for him. I suspect the beers and everything else are good for him too.

I actually managed to get a lot done last week. I collected fifty pages of poetry for a contest...the collection is called "Small Sorrows." I'm as proud of it as you would be of a homely child. I mean, I made it, even if it's not perfect. I also painted an octopus for the girls over E's bed (see below). I revised the novel a little bit, watched a lot of movies ("Half Nelson," "Sherry Baby," and "LoverBoy" -- as well as "Barbie Princess and the Pauper," "Peter Pan," and, tonight, "ET").


But the nose will be pressed back against the old grindstone again tomorrow. Ah well....six weeks until summer break.

Second Story

I finally sent Henry some of the new book...and after re-reading it tonight, I feel good about it. Really good. It's requiring some research on stalkers...who'da thunk. I always wonder what the lady at the Circulation desk thinks of me. Hunger, Starvation, Fasting, Stalking, Salinger. Light reading fare...

The poems are coming along nicely...54 and counting. Today I wrote a nasty bad-love poem using each of the twelve Chinese horoscopic (is that a word?) animals.

I've been reading a lot lately. I finished The Knitting Circle by Ann Hood which just made me cry -- maybe too close to home. I am reading Chris Bohjalian's newest The Double Bind now, which I am amazed by. I'm not sure how he's going to pull off the sort of literary high jinks he seems to be up to in this one, but I'm just along for the ride.

We're talking about putting a second story on the house, and I've been fantasizing about a new office/library. That and a tub that doesn't require the contortionism our existing tub does. Not in the library, I don't think. Though that that might be an idea...

Freezing Rain Allelujah

Amen, it's raining ice! Just when I thought I might lose my mind, the weather went berzerk, and I got a grown-up snow day (and suspect I'll get another tomorrow). Time to catch up on all my work. Time to catch up on the house which is falling into massive disrepair around me.

Today was a weird day. I finally got confirmation from UMD that the position I applied for has been filled...a disappointment, but good to know I made it so far along in the selection process this time. And, the director of the search committee is also the director at Breadloaf, and asked me to join them for a night and a day this summer while I'm in Vermont. So exciting!

I've submitted my poems to two contests so far: The Iowa Review and The Florida Review. Both have a $1000 prize. Now wouldn't that be a treat??!! I am fairly certain my poems aren't quite the caliber they're looking for, but I swear I'll get a poem published before the year is out. All part of the resolution.

I sent Henry the first 40 pages of the new book. God, my heart just aches that Two Rivers is dead in the water. Move on. That's all I can do.

Sorry this is so schitzy. My brain is fractured and fragmented these days.

Catch-Up

This semester will kill me.

Sorry for the delay. Here's the last month in a flurry...Flagstaff was wonderful, lots of snow and sunshine. Esmee's birthday, a ride on The Polar Express, belated Christmas celebrations, a night out at Kama Sushi...the best sushi ever. Lots of great times with both sisters and all the family. Then, to San Diego. Oh, my heart. That's where I belong. Every time I have to leave, it feels like I'm tearing off my own skin. We caught up with all of our friends, got a chance to show the girls off, and then spent lots of time at my super duper girlfriend, Heather's house with her husband and her own two beauties. So hard to come home.

THEN...school started. talk about biting off more than you can chew. I'm like a crazy cave man gnawing on the leg of an elephant this semester. Three classes at GW and one on Saturdays at the Writer's Center. I have sixty students. And I KNOW THEIR NAMES. It's nuts. I didn't think there was room in there for sixty more names.

Since we got back, I have thrown a belated class birthday party for Esmee (which went great until I gave a Reeses to a little boy with peanut allergies...he's fine, no reaction, what does that say about what's in a Reeses though???). Here is my birthday lovely...

I have also managed to write 31 poems in the last 31 days. Some suck. Some don't. If I get gutsy I'll post a couple.

But for now, I need a beer and some American Idol.

Post-Holiday Mean Reds

What is it Holly Golightly said she got sometimes, The Mean Reds? After dragging the tree out of the house leaving a pound of needles in its wake, after washing out the now-empty snowman cookie jar, and after putting out the mountain of cardboard boxes for recycling, I'm feeling agitated. I hate the days after Christmas.

Anyway, Christmas was awesome. The girls were precious...they swear they heard Santa's sleigh taking off ("the whooosh," Kicky explained). It was a day of gluttony all around. Eggnog pancakes, eggs, and bacon for breakfast -- a four pound roast and nearly five pounds of mashed potatoes for dinner. We all went to bed that night fat and happy.

Christmas may be over, but the packages keep coming. Today we got the Cuisinart Indoor Grill we ordered (it has a griddle and a panini press!!) and my book on the Minnesota Starvation Experiment arrived. I am obsessed with this...found out about it during my research for the new book. 36 men (mostly conscientious objectors) volunteered to participate in this experiement at the end of WWII in an effort to understand how the ravages of war would be remedied...they were starved and refed over the course of a year. Fascinating. I think Sam's novel is going to be about this.

Anyway, here are my cuties on Christmas Eve....

Huuuuuuup.

That's just me coming up for air.

Alas, as the semester came to a close and just as I thought I might be able to breathe again, I took on more freelance work...needless to say, the blog and my novel have been put on the back burner on a stove that is probably not even in my kitchen. This morning I got up at 5:00 just to let my characters know I haven't stranded them in their unfinished story. I am feeling particularly antsy to make some headway because I have big plans, BIG PLANS, for next year. I might as well make the announcement now...

My first New Year's Resolution:

1. Live like a mad poet for the next 365 days: 365 days. 5 days off. 360 poems.

I am going to live, breathe, and eat words next year. I am going to try to live my life, for one year, through a poet's eyes. (That and exercise more. Eat less crap. Be a better mom. Watch less TV. Well, maybe not that much less TV.)

I did it.

I really did it. I finished a very rough draft of a novel. 29 days. 51,000 plus words. 200 pages. (This is the screen shot of my NaNoWriMo profile page...) I am sick, exhausted, and happier than I've been in a long time. Wow. It's 9:40 in the morning, but I feel like I need to pop the cork on a bottle of champagne.

I did it.

Mad Hatter (Knitter, Shopper, Writer, Raker)

I am in super-duper-girl mode today. Kicky had a field trip to see the Lincoln Memorial, so I got an extra hour at home to work. I got up at 5:00, wrote 2500 words, got the girls dressed and fed, went to Target (finished birthday and Christmas shopping for the girls as well as bought a gravy boat), came home, knit a sweater (well, part of a sweater) while watching a documentary on eating disorders (research), picked up the kids, raked every goddamned leaf off the front lawn, and ate a bowl of homemade chili. I can do anything!!!! (Actually, I'm not feeling so hot...sort of feverish with chills...but I can still move mountains!!!)

This weekend Kicky is having a Mad Hatter tea party for her birthday (15 or so kids). I'm making a teapot cake complete with a door mouse and "Eat Me" cupcakes. Then, later that day, the Thayer Family is arriving (yay!) with our awesome nephew. I am so looking forward to their visit. I love Thanksgiving; it always means sisters visiting. I wish my own could be here. We're having about ten people for Thanksgiving, and I am going to get the biggest turkey I can find. I'm thinking 50-60 pounds...

Washington Post Post

Here's the article on NaNoWriMo in the Post this weekend.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/11/09/AR2006110901695.html

I should make it to 20,000 words today.

Me, the girls, and my amazing boots. 

Gala

Wowee. The gala at The Atlas last night was nothing short of spectacular. It started out with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, an a capella group of DC cops (the Doo-Wop Cops). Then we were led into the flex theater for dinner (food from the three ethnic groups that founded H Street: Jewish, African-American, and Irish). The sweet potatoes were the best I have EVER had. During dinner we were entertained by a hip-hop dance troupe and Cirque de Soleil acrobats (not together...though that would have been interesting). After dinner, we were all led upstairs to the main stage theatre for a musical based on the history of H Street. Lastly, there was dessert (little tiny pies and donuts and tarts). It was incredible...so moving to see this building, this community beginning to flourish again. And my husband was a ROCKSTAR. The media was following him around with cameras. I am soooooo proud of the work he's done. His mom came for the event as well, and she was teary-eyed throughout the whole night.

The book is still on track...16,000 plus words at this point. And joy, of joys, Effie (from Breathing Water) is back! I won't spoil things, but I was so excited when I sent Mena on a walk to the boat access area at Lake Gormlaith, and found Effie there (and she wasn't alone).

Tomorrow I am talking a game plan for Two Rivers with Henry...as well as about this new book. I am excited about it. God knows if it will ever sell...I need to stop worrying about that. It's paralyzing.

Oh, lastly, I got interviewed this week by a Washington Post editor who is writing a story for the Sunday Source on NaNoWriMo. My picture might even be in the paper! How exciting. Now I HAVE to finish the novel this month.

Still ahead

I took yesterday off from the novel to clean the house...NINE loads of laundry, good gawd. But I was back up at five a.m. today, and I'm at 12,000 words. The book is sort of all over the place....not much has happened in the present story, but we're getting a whole lot of the family's history. I really, really like Finn. I actually like the whole messed up bunch of them. Franny is hazy...but then, again, she's the dead one.

Anyway, the grand opening gala at The Atlas is Wednesday. P's mom will be here tomorrow night to help us celebrate. I'm so proud of all that he's accomplished since we got here. The Atlas was featured in The Hill Rag last week....with a terrific picture of him in one of the theatre spaces.

Nocturne

So whatever bug I had came and went...thankfully, and I wrote through it. I have now gotten up at five o'clock three days in a row, and I have almost 8500 words (I haven't uploaded since this morning). It's amazing how holding back all these months is making this whole process go so easily. I've spent so much time thinking about the story that it actually feels like it's writing itself. Also, I didn't wind up making a soundtrack CD. I just turn on MusicMatch and find music for the mood I'm looking for, and hit Play. (Today it was Norah Jones and Yehuda Hanani, an Israeli-American cellist I discovered.) If I had to pick a song/composition to be theme song right now, it would be this: Nocturne, Op. 19, No. 4 - Tchaikovsky . It's so beautiful and haunting...

Things I didn't know before I started: Mena is Greek. Sam has a stalker/potential biographer. Finn is in love with a girl who's going to Brown.

Fall. 

Day One

Good writing day...check out my word count! I got up at 5:00, fought to get MusicMatch started, and then went for it. 12 pages down. I am starting to get the stomach bug though...cancelled class tomorrow, since I spent much of my day crippled in pain.

Sad news in the literary world today. William Styron has passed away.

More tomorrow as long as I am able to get from my bed to the computer.

The Countdown Begins

Only three and a half hours until NaNoWriMo begins. Tomorrow, I start writing the novel that will change my life. Scary, huh???? Check out the Nano counter...it will update as I spew. My goal for Day One is 2500 words. Any ideas for a first line? (Keep in mind the book is about manifestations of hunger.)

Meanwhile, check out my lovelies:

The eyebrows are what make the costume. I missed my calling as a makeup artist, I think.

Pandas and Pumpkin Guts

What a great weekend...a beautiful wedding last night. Today, I finished the panda mural for our neighbors' new baby. Then while P and the girls carved pumpkins, I made hot cider and Rice Krispies Treats. I just love Halloween.

(I based this on illustrations from a really sweet book called Big Panda, Little Panda).

Good thing I have on Kicky's old mermaid costume. This looks fishy.....

Good Mail Day

The boots arrived today (and they fit!!!!). So did some really pretty yarn I ordered. So did a rejection from Soho which said that Two Rivers has "enormous commercial potential" -- too literary for the mainstream publishers, too commercial for the literary folks. I can't win.

Did I mention I'm going to write a doozy of a novel next month? (I figure if I say it enough times I'll be too ashamed not to follow through.) I am tying up all loose ends here (editing stuff, lesson plan prep, house stuff...hell, I've even started Christmas shopping). I imagine wee hour mania for a month and dream a pretty little novel at the end. I told my agent my plans today. I'm certain he's ready to write me off as a certified lunatic any day now.

But here's a real crazy thing. I found a scarf knitting pattern on a blog which (come to find out) is written by a knit-chick who also is a nanowrimo lunatic. Is this proof that compulsive writing and compulsive knitting have something in common???

I won!! 

In the trenches

I am in a bidding war...as we speak...ebay, a pair of vintage Frye harness/biker boots I've been coveting for months. Wish me luck. (Wow, this is like gambling or something...)

Wish Lit

In case anybody's interested in what I want to read (or if you want to get started on your Christmas shopping) ...here's the list I've been compiling on amazon:

Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl
(Mostly interested because it's gotten such a huge amount of press.)

Strange Piece of Paradise by Terri Jentz
(Mentioned on my friend, Nichelle Tramble's fabulous blog.)

Every Visible Thing: A Novel by Lisa Carey
(Sounds a lot like the book I'm going to write next month.)

Paint It Black: A Novel by Janet Fitch
(Loved White Oleander...also sounds a little like Mary Gaitskill's Veronica.)

Once Upon a Day: A Novel by Lisa Tucker
(Don't remember where I heard about this one.)

When Madeline Was Young: A Novel by Jane Hamilton
(Hamilton is another all-time favorite.)

History Lesson for Girls by Aurelie Sheehan
(Another mystery addition.)

One Mississippi: A Novel by Mark Childress
(ditto)

Cellophane by Marie Arana Jumping the Green by Leslie Schwartz
(Lots of local press...she's a Washington Post book editor, I believe)

The Tenth Circle: A Novel by Jodi Picoult
(Never read her...this one sounds interesting.)

Firefly Cloak: A Novel by Sheri Reynolds
(I'm a sucker for the mother-desertion novel.)

Freshwater Road by Denise Nicholas
(Another Mississippi Freedom Summer book...)

The Secret Life of the Lonely Doll: The Search for Dare Wright by Jean Nathan
(I was obsessed with the Lonely Doll books as a kid...totally freaky. The author's story is SO bizarre.)

Breathing Water (so much water)

Rain. Rain. Rain. God, this is miserable weather. And I still have yet to buy an umbrella. I was so desperate this morning, I brought Kicky's ruffly little Degas ballerinas umbrella to school. I looked like an idiot.

Jim's meeting ran late, so I had to meet him after I picked the girls up. We had a nice (though loud and slightly embarrassing -- the girls were putting on quite a performance -- and there was the everpresent danger of hot cocoa in little hands) lunch. Got home and decided I absolutely do not want to venture back downtown for Tayari's reading tonight. I am so useless after 7:00 p.m. anyway.

Oh -- weekend recap. I got sick. Really sick. I cancelled workshop Saturday morning and spent most of the day in bed. What a treat...it was almost worth feeling like ca-ca. No one else in the family needed me...and I slept. Also, my neighbor wound up having to have an emergency C-section. It was so scary...she was in a bit of danger for a while, but luckily both baby and mama are fine and coming home soon.

This weather makes me want to curl up with a book. I have a huge wishlist going on amazon...it's how I keep track of the books I want to buy. Still reading Ordinary People; just finished Digging to America (Ann Tyler).

Oh yeah...I just got a call from my old agent's office that there's been some film interest in Breathing Water. I'm not going to get my hopes up though...these things almost never pan out.

13 Friday

What a weird day. I woke up feeling particularly spunky, gathered my paints and brushes, had a quick cup of coffee, said goodbye to the girls and P, and went next door to work on the mural. C. in her crazy but understandable pregnancy-induced forgetfullness lost the book I was using as a reference, and so I started by painting the tree and leaves. (The pandas could wait, I figured.) So, C. had a doctor's appt. and she left me to my work around 9:00. I had forgotten how much I love doing murals. It's so satisfying to see my ideas materialize in such a vivid and visual way. There is something to be said for the immediate gratification factor of the visual arts. Anyway, just as I was packing up my stuff to go, C's mother called to tell me that she had been admitted to the hospital (pre-eclampsia) and that she was likely going to have the baby today.

I went back to the house, thrilled in that "there's a baby on the way" sort of way, and found an e-mail from the director of the program at school, accepting my insane offer to teach three classes next semester. (Private pre-school tuition is going to be the death of me.) It's normally not allowed, but the chair approved it, and it made me feel sort of nice. Valued. Respected. I then got an e-mail from a former student which was very, very kind. I felt so puffed up and happy all day.

Anyway, I'm waiting for the call to let me know whether the baby is a Declan or a Zadie (or a Lydia). P is out for some fundraiser at a bar thing-y, and I plan to watch "Shopgirl" and then go to bed early.....

6X and Beyond

DONE with the journals. And the semester is already half over. Fall semester always goes at lightning speed...

Tomorrow I am painting a panda mural in my neighbors' nursery (a big tree and a panda mama and baby). She's due in less than two weeks, so I really need to get on it. I have it sketched out; I just need to paint it. I'll post some pictures when it's done.

This weekend I plan to catch up on sleep. We are also (maybe -- babysitter pending) going to go see "DYBBUK" (the Teatr Novogo Fronta in collaboration with the Embassy of the Czech Republic) at P's work. I know nothing about it, but a night out with P sure does sound nice. Next week my writer friend, Jim Kokoris, is in town and we're going to meet for lunch. Tuesday night I'm going to hear my GW colleague Tayari Jones read at school. I feel like such a grown-up this week! I might even, I don't know, do something crazy like go clothes shopping for something bigger than a size 5T. I think I grew. Halfway thru my 8:00 class the other day I realized my pants were about an inch highwater. Is it possible to keep growing after 3---, I mean 29??

Grading Misery

I am losing my mind. I will never, ever require journals in my classes again. I spent the entire day yesterday grading my students' notebooks...deciphering illegible writing, locating the often well-hidden assigned entries, and trying to fairly evaluate the unevaluatable. (And I am only half-way done.) I've taken over the diningroom table in an effort to keep my real office clutter- free for the upcoming novel writing experiment:

Note: that's only half of the journals. That brown box? It has a 500 + page manuscript I am editing. The plastic bags hanging off the chair have the beginnings of homemade witch and cat costumes as well as a male to male HCMI cable that needs to go back to RadioShack but just can't seem to find its way there despite the fact that it cost $50, and we don't need it. Also, notice the piles on the secretary behind the table. Those are my magical mystery piles I just keep adding crap to (right now the top items are a kids' toy catalogue that has been ripped to shred, Taz's kitty brush, some important financial papers, and my rejection binder for Two Rivers. I'm waiting for the desk to break before I actually file stuff. God, I'm turning into a hoarder...

"Book" Hot

Here is the funniest discussion about whether some of the "hot" young authors out there are actually hot or not.

I read an interesting article once about the importance of looks in the publishing industry, questioning how Virginia Woolf might have faired in the biz today...

Procrast-knit-ation

I have taken procrastination to a new level today. Made it into an art form. I have thirty journals, thirty critiques, and four stories to grade as well as a 500 page novel to edit. What did I do instead??? Made matching hats for P and Kicky. Of course.

Taz at rest. At last. 

No plot, no problem, no-vember

I am getting so excited about the great nanowrimo experiment of 2006. I just got my copy of No Plot? No Problem by Chris Baty who started Nanowrimo in 1999. I just started reading it after class, and it's fabulous. The whole premise behind Nanowrimo is that a novel written with a strict deadline creates a sort of psychological freedom... As a writer, I play these games with myself all the time. Because who really cares if I finish the next book? Certainly not the publishing companies. Even my agent isn't tapping his fingers impatiently. they all have bigger fish to fry. But it matters to me. I need to write the next book. Baty says, "A deadline is, simply put, optimism in its most ass-kicking form." And I need a big kick in the ass.

I have this notion that I'm going to wake up at 4:30 every morning to work. (I actually having been getting up pre-dawn for school two days a week, and I find that I am both spunky and inspired after the initial hell of pulling myself out of the sheets.) I imagine a quiet house, a cup of coffee, two and a half hours of time to tap-a-tap-tap my heart out. I think preparation is key...and I've been taking notes, plotting and planning, imagining without letting myself write a single word. I'm hoping the story will explode out of me by the time I sit down to write. (Optimism, optimism.)

Anybody want to join me? Come on, let's write a book next month. It'll be fun.

RazzamaTAZ

We adopted our new (old) kitty today. His name is Taz (Tazzy to the girls), and he's eight years old. His family ditched him at the Humane Society when they got a dog. He's so cool...a gray tiger/tabby. He purrs incessantly, and has spent the afternoon rubbing up against things.He hasn't eaten yet, and the litterbox is pristine, so I'm a little nervous about nighttime. But I don't seem to be having any allergies, and he appears to be a mellow, mellow cat. Even P seems to be falling for him...and he's not even a cat guy. I'll post pictures as soon as my camera batteries are charged...Kicky wore them out the other day taking pictures.

Speaking of which, I just ordered a digital camera for her for her birthday. It's made for kids: unbreakable, a two hole viewfinder, handles, pink. It's only a 1.3 megapixel, but it can hold fifty pictures without a memory card, and she'll get such a kick out of it. Yesterday her class took a field trip to a pumpkin patch, and her favorite part was looking at the pictures afterwards. My little Diane Arbus. My baby Annie Leibovitz!

High Def

What a busy weekend. On Friday night we went to P's friend's house with the girls (she has two boys just about their age). We made homemade pizza (rather the kids made and then threw small weird piles of dough -- her oldest son even chucked his clear across the diningroom nearly bringing down a gigantic oak-framed mirror, apologizing, "I was only showing off!"). They were such a great couple...just as crazed and overwhelmed by parenthood as we are. It felt nice to commisserate. It's always so life-affirming to find out that your kids are no more bizarre than other people's kids.

On Saturday I taught at The Writer's Center, then we took the girls to the Humane Society to look at cats and test for allergies. After a half hour of petting and squeezing, there was no sneezing so we're pretty sure we're safe. I made a roasted chicken (with a fresh lemon, thyme, rosemary, garlic rub and parmesan mashed potatoes), and P and I had the semblance of a romantic dinner.

On Sunday morning the TV pooped out...it's been threatening to for over a year, and with the horrendous possibility of a whole day with the kids and no PBS Kids, we made a beeline for Best Buy and got a fancy schmancy HDTV LCD TV... Not in the budget, but what can you do? We turned on a football game and you could see the players' eyelashes and shoelaces. Amazing. We also made a visit to Smokey at his foster home. Fell in love...he's a sweet cat, so our application is in. They'll do a home visit soon to make sure we'll be fit parents. Last night I made turkey reuben sandwiches...

What I didn't do this weekend was tackle the pile of student notebooks I have sitting on my desk. They are a nightmare to "grade." (How do you grade somebody's free-writing???) I also didn't do the laundry. I didn't put away the clothes that Esmee has outgrown, and I didn't update Kicky's website. But I did manage to get my car to the shop to investigate the clunkety clunk, and they discovered one of my tires had some sort of tread issue. Of course, I haven't had my tires rotated, so there's no way the warranty would cover it. The kind (I'm actually not being sarcastic...he bought the girls juice and gave them lollypops and came in under his estimate)mechanic also called my attention to the fact that I have reached 15,000 miles and (if I want the warranty to cover any future problems) I would need some pretty heavy maintenance. $300 later, the car doesn't go thumpety thump anymore. What am I, made 'a money???? I also did manage to drag the Halloween decorations down from the attic and assemble a scarecrow out of overalls, a pair of old boots, a pillowcase and a bunch of plastic bags. There.

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.