Will Write For Donuts

2011-12-23T17:16:00.002+01:00

Just a quick note, here, Bloglodytes. I am around, honestly, and checking in on most of your blogs at least occasionally, but the offspring are being little time-suckers at the moment. Anyways, we've survived the worst and the days will be getting longer now (at least for those of us in the northern hemisphere. For the rest of you, it's summer, so I have no sympathy at all) and before you know it those crocuses will be squirting up to say 'sproing!'

On the writing front, I intend to be back with pencils and a vengeance in January, and in the meantime, Echo Ink Review has a story of mine ("Ink") in their December issue. Click on the link, scroll down slightly (look for the oyster) and then squint as you try to make out my name on the cover. They claim it's available at Amazon, but I haven't seen it there. Check your local library, if you're curious and have time during the holidays? Do libraries even still stock short fiction publications?

Have a good rest, Bloglodytes!

Lost in Übersetzing

2011-10-13T17:03:00.000+02:00

Oh, man.

The offspring roam the hills on the Beara Penninsula.

Everytime I go away for a bit, Google "improves" blogger. If I could program (and I can't, so you're safe, Bloglodytes) I would launch a series of platforms with the motto "We won't change unless you make us." I would have "Blogosaur" for people to write their blogs on and it would never change. And "NOFACELIFTBOOK" which would also never change.

So. Enough of my technophobe whinging; how are you, Bloglodytes? I've been on holiday, rain, sun, wind. The usual mix in west Cork.
Actually, I came here today to complain about something else. I've joked elsewhere about the quirks of (mis)translation. While roaming around some online bookstores the other day, I found some English books with inexplicably translated titles in German. I don't know if this happens in other languages, but it is a rampant illness in German, which drives a lot of Germans batshit, I know. I was reminded of a comment I ran across in a local TV guide about a mediocre TV movie. I can't remember the original title of the film in English (*found it! It was called Woman Undone!*), but the German title was Gnadenschuss im Flammenmeer. The basic plot was that a man was found burnt in a crashed car with a single gun shot wound to the head. His wife, whose fingerprints were all over the gun, powder burns on her hands, and who had also been in the crash, had no memory of the incident but was put on trial for murder (or something like that). She loved her husband and could not believe the evidence. At the end of the film, we find out that he had been trapped in the car, burning alive (she had presumably been thrown clear). With no way to free him, she shot him so he wouldn't suffer. The reviewer commented that the film was very bad, and that the one -perhaps- redeeming quality, that little bit of suspense, was annihilated by the crappy German translation of the title. Gnadenschuss im Flammenmeer, means 'mercy-shot in a sea of flames.' Gee, I wonder why she did it? (Check out the Den of Geek for a more extensive list, including Man With Beard's personal favorite, the inaptly named Schlappe Bullen beissen nicht (Floppy cops don't bite, AKA Dragnet)).

So, the book titles I ran across:

Norton Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth has been swapped for the nondescript Milos ganz und gar unmögliche Reise, or 'Milo's completely and absolutely impossible trip.' Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... You could swap out the name 'Milo' and use the same title for the Narnia Books, or The Hobbit, or even Neverwhere... The Incredible Journey... My last trip to the post office with the opening times from hell...

For some inexplicable reason, Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog In the Night-time has been "translated" as Supergute Tage oder Die sonderbare Welt des Christopher Boone. 'Super-good days, or the peculiar world of Christopher Boone.'

Some are down-right boring. An Abundance of Katherines was translated as Die erste Liebe (nach 19 vergeblichen Versuchen). 'First love (after 19 unsuccessful attempts.)' What's wrong with Ein Reichtum von Katherines? John Green, if no one bought the German language version of your book, you now know why.

Linda Urban's A Crooked Kind of Perfect has become
Das Leben ist kein Klavier, or 'life is not a piano'.
Thanks for that, and here I was trying to get myself tuned.

I know not all things can be translated, and I realise that publishers need to sell according to their markets, but I don't think that's the problem here. I think it's a bad case of the people who make up the titles in Germany completely underestimating the abilities of their viewer/readership. They project their lack of imagination and creativity on the public. And change- not translate- titles that don't need to be changed.

Any film that hits German TV in which a woman (or man, or police officer, or whatever) does, well, pretty much anything *other* than roll over and take it will be given the title 'FILL IN THE BLANK- A Woman (Man, Police Officer, Enraged Daffodil) Strikes Back.'
'Rape- A Woman Strikes Back' (Little White Lies)
'Abuse- A Daughter Strikes Back.' (Silent Lies)
'Trial- A Cop Strikes Back (Mistrial)
'Soggy Cereal- A Comic Strip Character Strikes Back.' (Made That One Up But You Get The Point.)
They do this instead of translating the title.
In the case of these films, it's become a sort of shorthand for 'skip this film, it's a crap made-for-TV film.' You might even call it a public service. Sometimes they butcher the titles of good films, too, but they are running TV stations and I don't expect better of them. I live in a fantasy world where book publishers have higher standards than TV people. When it comes to the books, it seems like the publishers are shooting themselves in the foot by giving the books mediocre titles that are likely to attract the sort of people that wouldn't enjoy them and conversely not attract the ones who would. But there's also the translation issue; I sincerely hope the books were translated more faithfully than the titles. It wouldn't instill me with confidence, you know? If they're that frivolous with the title, what have they done with the rest of the author's carefully chosen words?

Maybe it's time for a film project:
Shitübersetzung- ein Manuskript schlägt zurrück.
'Crap translation- a manuscript strikes back.'
Anybody up for it?

2011-08-18T13:50:00.000+02:00

It's August now. After the coldest summer in the last thirty years, we are now having hot, perfect for bathing weather, now that the kids are back in school. So cruel. OTOH, Middlekid is taking a life-saving course until late September, so I'm glad to know she won't be turning blue.

I did aim to post once per month, minimum. I skipped July. Did anybody notice? I hope not. I hope you were all taking advantage of your breaks and weathers, whatever your hemisphere. I look forward to catching up on your blogs.

On the writing front, things are going surprisingly well. I thought it would be harder to get into the rhythm again after taking the whole summer off, but there I was in the shed, scribbling away, brimming with new tortures for my characters.

On the publication front: The Fucking Fairy Story (some of you may even know what I'm talking about) has been shortlisted somewhere for almost a year. Beads of sweat, bloglodytes, beads of sweat!
And- here's where it gets a bit weird: I've had a short, flashy tidbit accepted somewhere else. Now, this somewhere else is new, but I liked the look of their e-zine, and I liked the name, so I sent them something- no money, but so what? They had technical difficulties, there were delays, etc., so I queried and they wrote back that they wanted it, yes. Time slithers on, and what do I read on their blog, but that the pdf issue has gone out to all subscribers nearly a week ago. I just kind of assumed since I was in the magazine, they would send me a copy or a magic link or something and I wouldn't have to beg for one. It's mailing list only! It's not even available on their web-site! I wanna see! I wanna see! And once I've seen that I'm really in it, I'll post a link over their where those sorts of links are so you bloglodytes can see too. Still, anybody else think this is odd?

Hope you're all writing furiously and happily. It's nice to be back!

Dreaming of Cats

2011-06-17T13:01:00.001+02:00

I had a dream last night;
Middlekid has a small but tall chest of drawers in her room. In my dream, Peppercorn crawled out from underneath it, and had about eight kittens with her. The reason she disappeared was because she was busy having kittens, not because some wastrel ran over her. Weird, considering we had her fixed in March in real life.

It was a lovely dream, but I don't know where to file it.

Of Cats and Assholes

2011-06-15T10:01:00.001+02:00

Some miserable, worthless fuck-wad ran over our cat this morning. No one seems to have seen anything, and the coward drove off. Any way you slice it, Peppercorn is gone, gone, gone, and Mandy has to stay locked in the house because he won't stay off the street, sniffing the spot where she was lying.

This just sucks.

Anthropomorphic Food, Musical Manuscripts

2011-06-09T14:09:00.001+02:00

Normally, I don't like eating things with faces, but for a punschkugel, I'll make an exception.

In other news, there is such a big, big difference between the phrase "the novel is in the bag," and "I have bagged the novel." Is there a day in the future when I am sure enough of myself as a writer to start a project I believe in and ram it right on through to the end without waffling, wandering off, being unfaithful? In short, the novel is back on the back burner, yes, again, because I feel like I'm beating my own head in with a brick that would rather be doing something else.
I really do fantasize about a day when I feel as if I have some clue what I'm doing as a writer and I know it may never come. Maybe it doesn't need to? Perhaps this is just the way I do things. Work on something a bit until it stalls. Put it aside and work on something else until that stalls. As long as I don't just play musical manuscripts, I mean, as long as things are getting finished and submitted in their own good time, it's ok, right? Right?

Kapwing!

2011-06-06T15:29:00.000+02:00

I'm getting better at handling rejections- some still hurt more than others, but for the most part they are all a learning experience. At some point I was vaguely thinking there must be a magic number of times you can submit something before it becomes impossible ignore the fact that it's crap, even if you still can't see it. I never really got around to deciding what this number is, or if it even exists; I retired many things myself, especially in my first year or so of submitting because my learning curve was steep. (You know what I mean, perhaps? That "thank BOB nobody ever accepted this!" story?)

The ones I stuck with have either been accepted somewhere (yay!) or had enough positive comments that I knew they were worth subbing. Except for this one story. It has been held rather long in some places, read by more than one reader in some places, but, in the end, always returned without comment.

And I've submitted it more than any other story. Hmmmm.... What's a writer to do? Perhaps it's time for a cooling off- I'll shelve it for a half year or so and then look if it's really any good.

So what about you, fellow bloglodytes? You ever have story you really thought was good that no one wanted to touch?

Art & Fear

2011-05-30T14:03:00.001+02:00

I flatter myself I'm not wholly chicken. I do think it takes a certain amount of bravery to be an artist of any sort. You have to be willing to expose yourself in all kinds of ways. I write things, sometimes, thinking oh, no. I shouldn't write that- people will think this character is me and that I'm a weirdo (not saying I ain't, but still, who wants that for their grand epitaph?). Or worrying that a piece of writing makes me look immature or conceited or obsessed. Or just exposes me as a crappy writer...

I look into Bayles and Orland's Art & Fear from time to time, when I forget what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. At the end of the day (read: at the end of my life) I can't guarantee that anything I will have written will be meaningful to anyone, so I might as well make sure it's meaningful to me. I'm making use of the vacuum, I guess. Usually, I accuse the vacuum of being guilty of giving me so much space that I lose the plot, quite literally. The upside is that I have enough space to decide, firmly, if I'm willing to stand behind a piece long before anybody else has seen it. Happy writing, Bloglodytes. Keep pecking away at those keyboards.

April, April, macht was ich will.

2011-04-05T13:03:00.001+02:00

Hello, fellow bloglodytes. I've been a bad blogger, I know. Sometimes I have the impression there is an inverse correlation between the amount that I write and the amount that I blog. Man With Beard has been away a lot recently, but the good news is, I've written about 35,000 words in the past three weeks. The bad news is, somebody has to type it in now.
Any volunteers? I'll e-mail it to you and...
Oh.
Wait.
Nevermind.

(ps: The proverb is actually 'April, April, macht was er will.' Or, April, April, does what it wants. What I wrote says 'April, April, does what I want.' Which has probably just jinxed me.)

Shiny Lights in the Dim

2011-03-12T07:32:00.000+01:00

Peppercorn on the pelmet, ready to laser all intruders (who don't bring kitty snacks.)

Be it the sun or the cat, I'm all in favour of lights in the darkness.

Spring has arrived, and the purple crocuses and other garden inhabitants are popping up, which makes me very happy. Spring is usually a prolific time for me, so I'm trying to get busy. I'm plowing on with my novel again. I begin to wonder if my characters are all half-lizard; they don't seem to want to get going. I poke them with pointy sticks and they lie there like so much road-kill. I have come to the conclusion that I am poking them with the wrong stick. I need a bigger one. Or one made of marshmallow. Or a stick shaped like a tank. I don't know. I'll try anything once, though.

I have an obscene number of books on writing, which I read and re-read bits of, off and on. I honestly can't tell if any of it is sinking in or not. I would love to believe that my subconscious is making use if it all without telling me, but who knows? Writing down words and shredding them afterwards seems to be the most effective learning method for me, so I'm off.

After this word: I hate to bring this up, almost. I know I'm very late to the game, either pro or con, but I'm just reading Twilight (yes, that Twilight) and I'm sort of in shock.

Still February

2011-02-28T09:26:00.000+01:00

Feel free to ignore this post if it makes you uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable.

Some of my fellow bloglodytes remember why I started this blog. It was an outlet, and a dumping ground for feelings that didn't have anywhere else to go. It was also, and I hope has been, a place to heal, grow and become less whiny. To try and shift my focus and energies onto something more productive than being sad. But it's nearly March, and I'm finding it difficult. I know some of you guys now, in a pixilated, ethernetty sort of way, so it doesn't feel like I'm just dumping my negativity into the nowhere anymore; it feels like I'm dumping it on people, and I'm sorry about that, but it's got to get out, or I'll explode and the mess in my office will be even bigger. So I'm trying to keep writing, trying to get everything ready for Thirdling's BD party, and just generally trying to keep my chin up, but I suspect I will not be my usual barrel of laughs this month.

Let's blame my overuse of commas on present circumstances, shall we?
Over and out.

Brrrr....

2011-02-01T11:08:00.001+01:00

Last year I wrote this whiny post in February (do I write any other kind?) but somehow never saw the last comment, made by Paca, in the comment trail. I happened upon it just now because I was wondering if I had posted pictures of last February, and if it was as much of a frozen wasteland as this February.

Anyway, here's a poem, inspired both by Paca's comment and, alas, my current nasal condition:

Ode to Boogers

The boogers that sit in my nose

Resisting the firmest of blows

Are thoroughly überdried

Heck, they are petrified!

At least seventeen on the Mohs.

The rhythm is a little off, but the meaning is very deep. Yes, I know it's a limerick, but "Limerick to Boogers?"

Anyway, it is really cold. I honestly can't remember the last time we hit February and there wasn't a single Schneestolz or Schneeglöggli or Crocus up. A few things are just barely peeping up.

These bottom sprouts are yellow because the girls raked the yard three weeks ago when we had a brief warm spell and the snow melted. That's how little sun we've had since then! Three weeks they've had. I had to turn the flash off on the camera. It's so grey, it kept trying to flash. That was at 10:30 this morning, not twilight or something.

The middle ones are daffodils. I wonder if they will make it up by Easter. Only we like a wee bit o' flowery stuff with our annual Pagan Reproduction Day celebrations. >:]

If I make peace with the boogers, will we have to sign a Nasal Treaty, do you think?

(Sorry. I needed the laugh.)

Not Dead, Just Hibernating

2011-01-25T10:26:00.001+01:00

I'm running a little behind. And the photographs are in exactly the wrong order; sorry about that. They are mostly self-explanatory, at least.
From bottom:
1) Mandarinli ('Mandy') in the Weihnachtsbaum
2) Mandy in the tree, attacking a chocolate mouse
3) Peppercorn, trying to blend in, failing to blend in
4) Offspring, making annual Snow Goon
5) View from office window
6) Peppercorn, fishing.

Now! This is a writing blog, right?
So.
I have stopped submitting anything temporarily. I am a strange sort of mental lummox, and can't seem to remember that the important thing is the writing bit and not the getting published bit, so I am not submitting before summer, just writing. Writing writing writing. At the moment I am only writing crap, but at least I am writing. I can't seem to remember how, can't seem to open that vein at the moment, and can't tell if I'm trying too hard or not trying hard enough. This leads to desperately boring activities such as writing a list of the items on my desk. I don't dare write about any of the characters in any of my half finished stories, because they are all against me anyway and won't cooperate.
My mind even goes blank when faced with EE's engaging cartoonery. Of course, it's always possible that Evil has installed a mind-suck virus to dupe the minions he lures onto that page- I wouldn't put it past him, but I'm blaming the whole thing on

WINTER

which I hate.
The mere fact that setting all my manuscripts on fire would produce heat is an almost unbearable temptation.

Winter is Generally Cold

2010-12-08T15:35:00.002+01:00

I guess it's easy to see why the winter holidays are so popular. A couple or five thousand years ago the winters must have seemed even longer and darker since there was a very real chance you wouldn't survive them.

So, sodding the whole 'Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam' aspect of the holidays for the moment, what do they mean? It's cold, nothing's growing, and it's daaaaaaaaaaaark outside. A feasting tradition was long established before Christianity cobbled Christmas onto the winter solstice. When we slaughtered our Tofurkey at midwinter (after all, everything you didn't kill, you had to feed!) most of us didn't like to watch the people down the street starve and freeze to death. When days were at their darkest and Spring seemed an impossible thing, we tripped down the road with a tuna casserole. (I mean that metaphorically. In my case it would be a vegi-lasagna.)

What I'm getting at is that calling a winter Geschenkschlacht* 'Christmas' seems counterintuitive. It's just not possible that no one thought of giving presents in midwinter till 2000 years ago. When times are hard, we throw bread and garlic fried tofu at each other in all affection. Right? Because if that wasn't the case, we wouldn't have even survived till 2000 years ago. So I want a new word. Not Christmas, not Chanukah, or any of those others- yes, fine; you can keep them as well, but they all make me uneasy. Somehow each one implies (maybe it's only inside my squidgy little head) but each one implies that only those people practicing that religion are kind and good-hearted enough to lend a hand in the mid-winter when times are hard. This is what I object to. "Winter Is Crap, So Let Us Give Each Other Presents" doesn't lend itself to good acronyms.

So, Bloglodytes? Who's got a good name for it? Anybody?

*(love that word! It literally means 'gift-battle.' I envision it a bit like a food fight only with everything wrapped and less messy.)

Three Minutes of Your Weekend

2010-12-04T14:22:00.000+01:00

are about to be sucked into a vortex, never to be seen again, unredeemable, etc., etc., but in return I give you How to Embarrass Mum and Dad.

Childhood Favourites of Mother(Re) as a Kid

2010-11-21T14:06:00.002+01:00

Inspired by Prickles (who seems to have caught the virus from JJdeBenedictus) and since I have nothing else appropriately retro to post for retro week, (unless you feel like having my entire collection of GTP entries inflicted on you,) I thought I'd post something inappropriately retro.

The fun thing about this song is I have actually seen it performed live. I was in fourth grade when this weird man with an insane beard who must have been really, really old came and sang for us (in 1978) and I never forgot it. I checked I Eat Kids out of the public library again and again, and whatever else they had by good old "Barry Louis Polar Bear," as he is now known in our house. When I had kids, his albums were out of print (or whatever albums are out of.) I googled him and voila! He said they've been re-recorded and I bought the new album. The fun bit is, he turned out to not be as ancient as he appeared to my 10 year old self. He's only 14 years older than me, and there are only a couple of years separating our kids in age. And, after several e-mail exchanges concerning nostalgia and availability of records and whatnot, I can also say, he's a really nice guy.

Imagine my surprise and delight when he turned up as the theme song for Juno! (Which I haven't managed to see yet, by the bye.)

Actually, my favorite favorite is "I Need You Like a Donut Needs a Hole," but I couldn't find it on youtube.

Bloglodyte Reonion

2010-11-16T21:44:00.001+01:00

At the good natured cactorial proddings of the cute, fluffy, undangerous Paca, I am moved to write the following:

It is true that we write for ourselves. We would write even if no one were reading it. In fact, many of us did, blogging along with no perceivable audience for months on end, writing our little stories, sending them out, and listening for that distant and inevitable "kapwing." (Actually, I want to design a T-shirt like that for Cafepress or Threadless or one o'them- a manuscript flying across the shirt with the word "kapwing" written under it. "Kapwing" is a nice word. I really like that word.) Errrm... ..

What was I blogging about? Oh, yes; community. Yes yes! We are good little writers and would write on faithfully into the vacuum, but! But but but! It is so much more rewarding if other people will tell you it's crap so you don't have to do it yourself all the time. No one is better at telling you, in the nicest and most productive manner possible, than the Evil Editor. I can't remember how I found EE. That's the sad truth. I was strung out on rejection slips, looking for ways to better myself without leaving the house (am I the only one who likes to stay in her Dr Denton's all day?) and so I started, shyly, putting in my cartoon captions, my less than 50 words for the Guess The Plots, just to get some response, even if it was only a single comment. Occasionally I even made one. I lurked around reading the blogs of the other minions, when all that was no longer enough, I. I. This is hard, you know...

i did a writing exercise.

Yes, it's true. But being the chicken hearted pathetico that I am, I didn't have the guts till March, 2009.
It was a lovely challenge. Write a rejection letter! Here's what I wrote:

Dear Ms. Wildesel:

We regret to inform you we will not be needing your services as a teacher at the Townham Primary School again next year. While we freely admit it was our mistake to believe your were using 'humour' when you answered the question 'What do you like most about working with small children?' with 'crushing their fragile little egos,' we do not feel legally or ethically bound to extend your employment. In addition, we would recommend that if anyone in the future is desperate enough to entrust you with another school class, it may be a good idea to check which students can swim before planning an outing to Bottomless Lake. Also, please familiarize yourself with the difference between 'dyslexia' and 'anorexia' for the good of all mankind.

We appreciate your application to renew employment at our school, but unanimously agree that 'Gimme the job please because I need to pay for a new snowboard' is not a good pitch. If, after due consideration, you decide you would like to pursue employment with us, we feel it is our duty to inform you that we have land mines in the teacher's parking lot with your name on them.

Cordially,

Silvia Peabody, Principal and The Teachers and Staff of Townham Primary School, including the Custodial Staff

The School Board

Every Single Student except Cameron 'I Embrace the Darkness' Smith

Townham Hospital Medical Personnel (and Custodial Staff)

The Townham Ladies Auxiliary

And my dog, Fluffy, and his remaining three legs.

It's been one long, hedonistic verbfest since then. Be sure to check out the other retrospective posts from Bloglodytes:

Not Even a Week,

2010-11-12T12:49:00.000+01:00

have we had our new family members, and already they're part of us.

Peppercorn and Manderinli

Peppercorn is a little smaller, but much quicker off the mark. Manderinli is the big brother, but in spite of his slight size advantage, they're evenly matched for games of "search and annoy."

It's fun discovering their personalities. We have a built in cupboard in the corner of the kitchen- they come up through the bottom and sleep in there sometimes. Don't know why, they seem to feel safe here and never run away from us or even visitors that they don't know. They just seem to like it there. Maybe I can make a photograph before they get too big. We've ordered a biggish cat jungle gym/scratching post for them to inhabit during the winter, until we let them out in the spring. Perhaps it will keep them off the Christmas tree. Ha.

Even Lighter Entertainment

2010-11-08T08:20:00.004+01:00

It's Monday.

On the off chance you're looking for a way to put off real work for another five minutes, consider clicking here. My second publication, ever! I feel like such a big kid now.

And check back later this week for reports about the new feline family members!

A Little Light Entertainment

2010-11-01T19:00:00.001+01:00

Hello Bloglodytes. I promised you the other day that we would play a game, but I'm not sure it will be much of a challenge. Here's the poop: the unthinkable has happened, someone has PAID me money for one of my stories. So click here, and try to figure out which bit o' flash is mine.

If this turns out to be harder than I think it is, or if you have the patience of a two-year-old like yours truly, click here.

Happy Halloween!

2010-10-31T11:07:00.000+01:00

Prima designed the pumpkin on the bottom- no idea where she got the idea. Isn't she amazing? The top one belongs to ghosty boy; he gets one every year.

I think it's rather sad that Halloween is not really celebrated in Switzerland.
Unlike the winter holidays, when people tended to retreat to their immediate or extended families, I remember Halloween being a time when everybody went out and rang doorbells, and lots of lonely people in my neighbourhood seemed to really look forward to it. Shy people could interact and be part of the community in a non-committal, non-threatening, peripheral kind of way. I used to wonder why the old ladies on my street seemed so thrilled when we rang the doorbell. As a kid I couldn't see what was in it for them. We came and took their candy away! I remember thinking, "What crazy old ladies! They can buy a whole bag of mini-Mars Bars, and then they give them away! They should just not answer the door, and eat all the goodies!" I like to think I've changed a bit...

Happy Halloween, everybody. It's the day we all give our ghosties an extra hug.

We All Appreciate a Nice Rejection

2010-10-28T15:51:00.007+02:00

I just thought I'd pass this story along. It's called "Amid the Words of War," and was written by Cat Rambo, who sent me my favourite rejection. I'm not being cheeky here, I'm dead serious. I realise that editors can't accept everything, and one that can say NO in a way that doesn't leave you demoralized and suicidal is an asset to the writing world.

All that and she can write too.

Wow.

So have a look if you have some free time.

Also; tune in on November 1st. We're going to play a little game :)

Fluffy Things are Afoot

2010-10-26T14:46:00.002+02:00

You may remember posts about our cat, who went out in June and didn't come back. We hope she has simply wandered off with some smooth-talking tomcat to live the high life. Be that as it may, we miss her fuzzitude enormously, feline fuzzitude in general, really, so we thought we'd give it one more go. If these two wander off, that'll be all folks, because we can stand only so much heartbreak. But one last try.

So the orange one on the top there has clearly mastered the art of being cute, and will probably be named 'Manderinli,' which means 'little manderine orange.' The dark one is a bit trickier. We have a long and glorious tradition of naming our cats after edible things but all we've come up with so far is 'Treacle,' 'Molasses,' 'Sorghum'... you get the idea. Someone suggested 'Burnt Toast,' and we could call her 'Burnie,' but that got dropped fairly quickly. Jaffa Cake's been done, of course. Any ideas?

Monday, Monday.

2010-10-25T10:57:00.002+02:00

Hi Bloglodytes.
Time for that holiday debriefing I promised you, along with some whining about the weather.

Taking my holiday goals point by point:

1. This one was complicated. Did I
-recharge my writing bats
-sit in cafés
-check books out of libraries
-oil my grey cells with donuts
all in English? Yes and no. Three weeks sounded like such a long time, but family and friends soaked up so much of it (in a good way) that I did not get any time alone to speak of. See number ten. I also hardly had anytime to read- I didn't even finish the one book I brought with me for the flight over. I did however, get donuts.
2. Did I check out my sis-in-law's belly? Yes! This is a fantastic belly, and, rumour has it, crammed with Girl Power, and bigbro took us to the clinic where he works to show us an ultrasound. Even grey and pixalated, she's a cutie.
3. My old college buddy, The Ped, is still totally silly. Husband show's signs of being unworthy (doesn't think Monty Python is funny) but is otherwise a nice guy. Not my call.
4. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! Old Man With Beard fucking shaved! Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! Other than that, we had fun, but isn't it strong, this desire to have your childhood fixtures not change? Grow it back! Grow it back!
5. Shop. Did that. Should have taken a picture of it all, but didn't think to. What did I buy? Why, what any normal person would buy; 112 mechanical pencils, Halloweeny stuff since it's so hard to get over here, lots of word games in English, Candy Corn, fancy schmancy M&Ms (another thing I can't get over here,) another box of Wilton's food coloring so I can make more cakes like this, and some other bits and bobs, such as a liquid soap dispenser in the shape of the Toy Story aliens, T-shirts for the kids...
6. Yes, I ate donuts and cakes. For about one week I was royally sick of them but now I miss them already. Also, on another, totally unrelated note, some wiseass has let air out of the giant inflatable ball I use as a chair in my office while I was away. I know this because I am much lower to the ground.
7. Ethnic food, ordered in English: Mexican, Vietnamese (cooked by my friend, yummy!) Indian, Asian Fusion, Middle Eastern, and lots of faves (Clausen chilled dills, anyone?) from the supermarket.
8. Hiking. Well. Since Old Man With Beard Who Messed With My Head And Shaved (see number 4) came along, we were limited. We did go to the swamp, though.

9. Oh, bugger. Totally forgot to teach my nephews how to burp. Taught them a few curse words, apparently, which didn't go over too well, although apparently unlimited violence is OK, as long as we're all clear on who the 'bad' guy is. Go figure.
10. Hide when it's time to come home. I didn't do this. As mentioned in number three, I had very little time to myself. Even though I tend to be an early riser, since we were usually either staying in a house full of people or sharing (all five of us) a hotel room, I was kind of happy to get back to my little office (see the view here (top photo)) and an unshared computer. Yes, I'm a spoiled brat. You love me anyway?

It was a fun trip. The weather was mostly very agreeable. Listen to me; I'm using words like agreeable. I'm feeling a bit flat. I think it is just simply the case, that when you share holiday time with friends and family, you have to find activities that suit everyone, so you can't cut loose as much. Perhaps that's it. Anyway, though I had fun, I have the feeling now that I did not manage to sink my teeth into this holiday the way I had planned. Is that it? Hmmm... I have to let this feeling percolate a bit more... Anyway, I'm writing again, so that's got to be good.

Jeeeeetlaaaaag.

2010-10-20T09:19:00.000+02:00

More to come, Bloglodytes, I promise, but I have failed utterly to get a decent night's sleep since I got back, plus I have a Koala (totally justified, I add) up my butt, so this is all you get for now. Even so, these donuts are pretty righteous, aren't they? Go on! Help yourselves!

Vacaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaation! (AKA, holiday)

2010-09-17T15:48:00.000+02:00

I'm a total deadbeat, I know. Truth is, I just hit sudden burnout about two weeks ago. I've been over to EE's maybe twice, haven't hardly checked duotrope at all, and haven't written anything. Don't know why, don't care much, but I know from experience that it's temporary burnout and I hope to be my frolicky, verbose old self when I get back from holiday. Yes, that's right, bloglodytes, I'm going on hols for three whole weeks. During these three weeks I will:

1. Recharge my writing bats. I will sit in cafés (if my kids let me :) and listen to bits of dialog in English, check books out of libraries in English, and oil my grey cells with donuts, in English.
2. Listen to my sis-in-law's belly and see if anybody says anything (in English).
3. Visit my bestest friend from college and make damn sure she's still totally silly. Adjust her husbands silly-bone, if necessary, until he's worthy of her.
4. Visit the Old Man With The Beard, aka, Dad. He only speaks English.
5. Shop! Shop shop shop! Shooooooooooooooooooooooop! Did I mention shop?
6 Eat donuts and cakes with salt in them! This is the downfall of continental baking. They don't put that pinch of salt in, and I CAN'T TASTE A FUCKING THING.
7. Eat lots of ethnic food. Order it all in English.
8. Go hiking to burn off said donuts, cake and food. Talk to trees in English, and know that they understand.
9. Teach my nephews how to burp properly. In English.
10. Hide when it's time to come home again. ;)

I'll be around til the end of next week, packing and buying prezzies and doing laundry, but after that I won't be back til mid-October. :)

Attention All Editors:

2010-08-18T14:18:00.001+02:00

Next one to tell my how wonderful my story is and then reject it gets a dozen donuts up the wazoo. You have been warned.

(PS, since using real donuts would be a tragic waste, I'll be using a gene manipulated donut-shaped variety of cactus.)

Bookworms

2010-08-13T18:37:00.001+02:00

Last weekend we went to the Gnomengarten. It's a sculpture garden with the most fantastic things, as well as the most fantastic person, Jürg Ernst.

The offspring liked this top one because the bookworms are so cute. we liked them all, but I am a sucker for anything that includes duckweed. Don't know why. It was a lovely day!

Just a Bit of Fun

2010-08-11T16:55:00.000+02:00

Maybe I'm the last one to see this and you've all read it already, but I thought it was worth linking to this rejection letter.

Be sure to scroll down and read the breathtaking scenes the blogger posts to illustrate just what a loss this was to Harlequin.

(Joel Stickley, eat your heart out!)

State of the Nation

2010-08-10T08:39:00.001+02:00

So here's the poop:

I've been over what has become known as "The Fucking Fairy Story" so many times it literally giveth me a headache. I wonder if someone has written a paper on this phenomenon, let's call it the "Bruised Synapse Phenomenon." Like someone hitting the same key on the piano over and over and over.... Don't get me wrong, I still love the story, but after six rejections, I've tweaked and revised it soooooooo often, it's gone numb. You know what I'm talking about, don't you, bloglodytes? I mean, I try to have a read-through and I hear Terry Jones's voice screaming "Not this record! Not this record!"

What? I'm making even less sense than usual today? Well. Rejection makes me a bit loopy. Especially meanypants ones where the editor is foul and condescending because I was ignorant enough not to know that etiquette dictates that I wait double the stated response time to query. Is this really true? I'll admit, I'm still relatively new to this game, so I'd truly love to hear from you all. Anyway, their estimated RT was 60 days, Duotrope had them averaging 42, and it had been 90. Was I really supposed to wait 120 days?

The fun part is that when it came to actual feedback (and I'm smart enough not to look it in the mouth, even if it comes in a cranky package) her complaints were almost all limited to mechanics- which I admit may have been a bit sloppy- standard typing in the US calls for two spaces after a period, over here it's one, so I'm horribly inconsistent. Also, she complained about my not-standard-American spelling of a word. I was grateful for this, because when I looked it up, I discovered that it indeed was standard American spelling, but my character is Irish and they tend to follow British spelling rules, so even though her snark was unjustified, she did me a favour. Or favor. She also complained about a boggy beginning, which I totally agreed with. I had added a rather explanatory paragraph to satisfy someone else who didn't know anything about fairies, or mounds, or Ireland, but I never liked it. So, at the end of the day, it was valuable feedback.

Actually, The whole thing wouldn't have left such a bad taste in my mouth if it weren't for her famous and well-published tendency to blacklist anyone who has the audacity to make simultaneous submissions in her court.

On a completely different note:
They're tearing up the street in front of my lovely garden shed writing space! *pout*
What an awful racket! Nevermind. I'm going to try and finish the story I was working on about the strange little boy, before the Koala gets me.

Happy Writing.

Call for Donuts

2010-07-24T16:43:00.002+02:00

Well, thanks to Fairy Hedgehog and The Man With the Beard I now have donuts on my blog. Anyone out there having trouble reading it? It didn't seem to want to let me change the default colour of the text- the template wants it white, and while some templates let you change, this one didn't. So the background is Puce. We love puce, don't we? Yes, I can hear you nodding.

(ok, update: I did figure out how to change the text colour (why do they list that in a different place for every template? silly.) but I'm kind of getting used to the puce. But seriously, is anyone finding it hard on the eyes?)

Anyway, I was wondering if any of you out there have access to large numbers of beautifully decorated donuts and would be willing to take a photograph of them. I nicked this photograph from somewhere on the web as a temporary measure, and it will probably be autumn before I get to donut-land. Anybody good at photography?

Of course, if you'd just like to send me a couple dozen by express mail, I could take the pics myself, save you the trouble...

P.S.

2010-07-21T15:33:00.001+02:00

Does anybody know when blogger is going to allow us to upload our own backgrounds? I'm still waiting for a picture of donuts...

Cranky

2010-07-21T14:52:00.000+02:00

Let's just suppose I'm in despair. Does Clarion do a mid-life crises special? Should I just get a tattoo, like some people? I could just change the blog title to "Will Whine for Free."

Really, I don't know what I'm complaining about, exactly. Nothing's really wrong, I still have a better life than, say, 90% of the planet, socio-economically speaking, and yet there is something lacking. I have blogged about the lack of real-life writer buddies a lot (I'm too lazy to look for the links, though) and try as I might, I still can't come up with any solution that doesn't involve leaving this country. Don't get me wrong, Bloglodytes- I love you guys. But there's just nothing like someone who lives 10 minutes away threatening to come and bludgeon you with a 400g block of Switzerland's Finest if you dangle one more sodding preposition or switch pov twice on the same page. Then there's the warm fuzzy feeling of being able to offer such supportive bludgeoning services in return. I'm not asking for solutions to this problem- it's pretty insoluble unless Kelly Link or Neil Gaiman moves in down the road (Ah, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!) but I just need to whine. We now return to our regularly scheduled sommer.

Which includes:
1) Wishing my cat would come home :(
2) Teaching Prima all the math and English her pos teachers have failed to teach her over the last few years so she can have a good start in the new school.
3) Trying to keep Middlekid and Thirdling from killing each other- now that Middlekid is going to the upper school, puberty/sibling rivalry seems to be in overdrive.
4) Trying NOT to declare Switzerland to be the most boring country on the planet. Yes, the Alps are gorgeous, now GET OVER IT, already, and realise that Heidi makes lousy company!
5) Going to visit this guy, who should be cloned and seeded all over Switzerland, because he makes great company.

Sorry to be so grumpy in such fine weather, Bloglodytes. Must be the donut deficiency talking...

I Feel Like a Washcloth Someone Left on the Motorway

2010-07-04T07:06:00.003+02:00

I'm feeling a bit wrung out and run over. Maybe there should be hyphens in those. I'm too kaput to check, that's how bad it is. Buffy the bushy-tailed rodent would be angry and I don't blame her (see? see? that should be 'wouldn't' not 'don't'!)

Oh, nevermind.

Hi Robin, and everybody else. The rest of the exchange thing went ok. It was frustrating sometimes because it was clear that Randy was bored, but the French kids seemed to have been trained (Prima heard this from other kids in class) never to say what they want so we spent a week guessing. Prima spent a week in France, with Randy's five year old sister wrapped around her leg. The little girl cried when she left. Prima had a great time with her French family and some fun with her class but...

We are changing schools again. I know there must be some nice kids in her class, and I know that Prima has developed a rather defensive, hedgehog like manner (no offense, FHH; you are the softest and cuddliest of hedgehogs except when action is called for) so the kids in her class are only partly to blame. The defensiveness puts a lot of kids off, and we are trying to fix this. Not easy to teach natural self-confidence to a thirteen year old- since I have zip myself. But I've had it with the few spoiled alpha rich kids that seem to set the tone for everyone, and from the few parents meetings we've had. Well... I would probably feel differently if I got to know them better, but at first glance, my instinct is to avoid them like the plague.

Anyway, there is a list of French to be learned for the new school (haven't looked yet to see how much they overlapped), and we need to see if she is at the same place in math, so it will be a busy summer (six weeks instead of five this year, though, which is good). Sorry, bloglodytes, I know I'm rambling awfully, but my head feels like a coconut with a bicycle pump hooked up to it. A couple more notes before I drag myself out to the garden shed to write:

1. Our cat is missing. This is really putting a damper on our summer fun. She's not fixed so we're desperately hoping she just out having a good time and will come home full of kittens, but we fear the worst. It's been more than a week.

2. My daughter got a 4.5 in English. For those of you familiar with letter grades, that's about a C. For a native English speaker, this is ludicrous. The teacher said she graded her harder and gave her different tasks because she is a native English speaker, but you don't give a kid who already knows algebra trigonometry to do and then give them a crappy algebra grade if they can't hack the trig, right? I mean, to the rest of the world, it just looks like she got a terrible grade in the first year of English as a foreign language. Won't miss the English teacher, that's for sure. For the birds, this is. Like Yoda, I sound. Donut, I need.

3. Happy Independance Day, Americanskis out there!

Now don't just sit there- go write something. (Preferably in the comment trail ;)

French Kid Update

2010-06-03T08:01:00.001+02:00

Le French Kid, AKA Randy the Unpronounceable, has arrived. We have made the following observations:

1) He folds his dirty laundry.
2) He speaks three words of German. We are still trying to figure out which three.
3) He's very shy, and mumbles when he talks (which is rare enough). He only mumbles in French.
4) In the event that the subject is brought to smile, (we have only managed to elicit this phenomenon once) he has killer dimples.

Even though we are supposed to speak German to him, Bearded One took pity on him and tried to speak to him in French at dinner last night; the kid is 12 and it was a 10 hour bus ride. (Their driver got lost and wound up at the Hospital. Prima's teacher went to rescue them and guide them to the school. It was eight by the time they arrived back at our house.) Anyway, Randy did not seem to understand Bearded One's French, which is scary because Bearded one had nine years of French in school and worked in the French speaking part of Switzerland for two years speaking what he had always assumed was French.

Will keep you bloglodytes posted on Randy's progress. Perhaps we can get him to fling his dirty socks at the laundry basket like a normal kid by the time he leaves.

Junior Polyglots and Fun with Babel Fish.

2010-05-26T19:41:00.006+02:00

We live in the German speaking part of Switzerland. Prima's school has come up with a mad scheme to truck a bus load of kids over from France for a week and deposit one in our house. We'll call him... ok, lets call him Randy. He seems like a nice kid. Prima wrote to him (in French) to ask him what he wants to do when he's here. He wrote back in German. Any senior polyglots out there?

"Das Schokoladenwerk werde wirklich sein, weil wir dorthin mit der Klasse nicht gehen. Sonst für dich, werde du gern haben, nach Paris zu gehen, wenn du dort noch, nicht zu gehen. Wenn du noch nicht kennst, ist das nicht ernst, wir werden sehen, wenn du kommen wirst. Auf Wiedersehen und in in ein in den Wochen."

So. This doesn't entirely make sense. We decided to run it through Babel Fish and make it French again to see if it made more sense:

"Le travail de chocolat sera vrai, parce que nous n'allons pas là avec la classe. D'ailleurs, pour te, tu auras volontiers aller à Paris, si tu là encore ne pas aller pas. Si tu ne connais pas encore, ce n'est pas sérieux, nous devient voit, si tu viendras. Sur revoir et dans les semaines."

Prima claims it makes more sense this way, but I don't understand a word of French, so we ran it through again:

"The chocolate work will be true, because us n' let us not go there with the class. D' elsewhere, for you, you will have readily to go to Paris, if you still not to go there not. If you do not know yet, this n' is not serious, becomes us sees, if you will come. On re-examining and in the weeks. "

This is going to be an interesting week. Reckon Randy talks as good as he writes?

Towel Day!

2010-05-25T16:51:00.000+02:00

Ok, everybody. It's towel day, and in honor of a great man who died much too early and suddenly, I urge you to grab a towel and knock back a few pan-galactic gargle blasters. If you can't find any, try tequila and lemonade. Man with beard is, alas, not on the continent this week, but Thirdling has the right spirit, doing her homework.

Time to Dry Up a Bit

2010-05-18T11:54:00.002+02:00

I don't have much to say. I would like to complain about the weather, but I find that topic very depressing, plus the picture speaks for itself, I think.

So, in an effort to dry things off, I would like to remind all interested parties that YOU HAVE ONE WEEK TO FIND YOUR TOWEL! Yes, in honour of the late Douglas Adams, May 25th is once again Towel Day. We're with you, Douglas.

Chicklit At Its Headlocking Best

2010-05-12T17:23:00.001+02:00

Ok, I have to admit, I totally nicked this from Elizabeth Dulemba. But it's too good not to pass on.

Kids in the Shed

2010-04-29T10:10:00.003+02:00

The offspring think it's cool. Middlekid said, "Mommy, it's good that you're writing in the shed now. You can just wad them up and throw them straight into the old trash can like they do on TV." Sometimes kids are funniest when they don't realise the full implications of what they are saying. :)

Proactive! (No, I don't mean that yogurt that makes sure you poop regularly.)

2010-04-26T14:17:00.000+02:00

Maybe it's the kids being home, or the pollen, or fill in the blank, but in any case, I've haven't written more than 1000 words in the last two weeks. The clouds of volcanic ash have ruined my plans to slither off undetected to the Faroe Islands. Since they were purely fantasy anyway (my plans, not the clouds of volcanic ash) this is perhaps all for the best. So what to do? I just don't seem to be getting any work done at my desk, and renting a room close-bye hasn't worked out. That leaves- yes:

The Garden Shed.

The mess.

The new space!

Prima is still off today, but Thirdling and Middlekid are back to school, so I tried out my new space. No phone, no computer, nothing. (Also no heat, so this is likely to be a summer thing) For the most part, I'm pleased. There were some minor hitches today - the cat thinks trotting around on the roof while I'm inside trying to concentrate is fun, and they decided to clean out the drainage sewer in the street right next to it, which made so much noise it literally rattled the shed, but these are small things. And I even wrote a couple of pages! So, we'll see what comes of it.

Take that, all you evil rejections!

Sicker Still

2010-04-09T08:12:00.000+02:00

I said I was sick of blogging about my "almosts" and I am. But I can't blog about my writing because I haven't really been doing any. Spring holidays here, so Thirdling and Middlekid are home; Prima will be home as of next week for two weeks, and I find it impossible to work with them around. Looks like I'm headed for perma-smack. But just because I need the sympathy, a poem rejection:

"I really like this, except that this part completely stalls out, for me:"
(insert lines editor didn't like)

Which made me laugh, in a scary, pathologically dangerous sort of way, because of a comment from the teacher of the writing class I took last fall. (Teacher is an ed. ass. for BIGNAME FANCY MAG):

"I really like that section towards the end:"
(insert same lines)

(deep breath)

Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiighhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Happy Reproduction Day!

2010-04-04T10:48:00.006+02:00

Ah, spring. I love Easter. The eggs, the bunnies, the little sheepies. Here are a few pictures from the frivolities, complete with frog-shaped breakfast rolls.

Have an excellent Easter, bloglodytes, whatever you are celebrating today. :)

Ye olde spaghetti

2010-04-01T15:51:00.003+02:00

Just a bit of history, since this place is only a few hours from here.

Quiz

2010-03-29T15:36:00.002+02:00

Ok. I'm sure you're all sick of hearing about my formless rejections, I'm sick of telling you all how close I've come, it's all quite depressing, and we can't drink tequila all the time, can we? So for a complete change of pace here is a picture I took on Saturday.

Where was I? Any guesses?

ROTD

2010-03-19T13:22:00.005+01:00

Pronounced 'rotted,' of course, and short for 'rejection of the day.'

Reads in part:

"...but we've decided not to accept it for publication. I've never seen anything quite like this (and I mean that in a good way): an interesting mix of modern and traditional, of pragmatism and tattered magic. But..."

As rejections go, very nice, helpful (he goes on to say what didn't work for him, and I'm not taking that for granted- it was really nice that he took the time, and I appreciate it) but: (it's those bloody 'buts' again!)

THIS IS STILL GOING TO NEED A LOT OF TEQUILA.

Cat Post

2010-03-18T14:15:00.003+01:00

Jaffa Cake had her first taste of freedom yesterday. She sniffed around, checked out a nice Japanese maple, and then for some unknown reason, went straight up the tallest tree in the garden. Then she meowed. Unfortunately, this tree is also the one with this rosebush in it. Evil, evil, evil thing. Instead of climbing down the tree, she decided to head for the balcony (dark lump at right of picture) via the rose bush. I think she regretted it.

The (Fairy) Hedgehog Handbag

2010-03-17T10:13:00.002+01:00

There you go, FHH. Isn't it a wonderland? Looks like a happy place to me!

Round Yellow Omens

2010-03-13T11:20:00.002+01:00

Personally, I think I've been paying this blog far too much attention lately for my own good; I should be writing *more* stuff that editors will praise but reject anyway. But for those of you (none of *my* faithfull bloglodytes, I'm sure!) that are looking for distraction, I can't help Connecting this video with this story in my head. View, read, and be enlightened. Did I say enlightened? I meant abreviated. No! Ummmmm.... Anaesthetised! No.

Wait.

Exultant? That sounds good. So click on the links.

Ok. Now I am Thankful.

2010-03-13T08:59:00.003+01:00

Form Rejection this morning.

*Pout*

I have two more serious hopefuls that I hope to hear from by the end of the month. Stand by with donuts, Bloglodytes. This could get ugly.

I should be thankful, but

2010-03-10T10:08:00.001+01:00

aaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

"This piece is not quite right for our next issue, but please keep us in mind for future submissions. We would love to see more of your work."

another fourth place in the Olympics for me! Erk! Mmmmmpf. Nnnnnngak!

Inside the Rainbow

2010-03-09T14:53:00.005+01:00

Thirdling goes in for the kill :)

Makes me want to go make more, really. At the moment it's more immediately rewarding than writing. Delayed gratification isn't good for people with my attention span. Maybe I should just eat the monitor.

I suck so bad at writing lately that today I resorted to making a list of 101 things that there are roughly 101 of. Or not. Or maybe I just wish. Or things I wish there weren't. Don't read this list. Go write. You're wasting your time, I'm telling you, because I don't even know what some of these things mean.

1. 101 years of solitude (how long it would take me to write a novel)

2. 101 donuts

3. 101 kids (yours? mine? no clue why I wrote this.)

4. 101 dominoes

5. 101 oak trees in a circle. They are all 101 years old.

6. 101 gusts of wind to knock down the neighbour's annoying (i.e., sunblocking) tree. The gusts are all 101 kmh.

7. 101 bras tried on to find one that fits

8. 101 children dying of cancer today

9. 101 layers of dirt over a fossilized dinosaur egg.

10. 101 pussywillow buds on the tree outside

11. 101 rejections

12. 101 hairs to stop up the bathtub drain

13. 101 UFO sightings

14. 101 kilograms of cocaine intercepted at the border

15. 101 thorns on the rose cane in front of my office window

16. 101 orgasms (in how long? that's the question)

17. 101 cups of tea in a month

18. 101 franks to buy Prima a party dress for the school ball

19. 101 lines of poetry

20. 101 days waiting for my rejection

21. 101 raisons

22. 101 test taken my final year of college (really? who counted? who cares? I write strange things.)

23. 101 men who came and went that I would have liked to talk to but was too shy when I traveled Europe 20 years ago.

24. 101 drawings stacked in my cupboard

25. 101 rocks brought up from the river

26. 101 cookies given away at christmas

27. 101 heartbeats per minute in a newborn

28. 101 missed heartbeats when my kids scare me to death

29. 101 blank notebooks, because I am mentally ill and can't stop buying them.

30. 101 teacups, see #29

31. 101 mugs, see #29

32. 101 cm of snow would be 101 too many

33. 101 degrees F would be just right, absolutely, mindbogglingly perfect, if it were just about to rain. Good. Now, keep it like that.

34. 101 links of chain, soldered into place to make a sculpture

35. 101 steps to get to M's house

36. 101 days pregnant with my boy, give or take. give.

37. 101 years to get over it

38. "101 ways to start a fight, by some Irish gentleman whose name eludes me."

39. 101 pages of nonsense written for every publishable page.

40. 101 years old by the time I die, at least. I hope.

41. 101 times I bursh my teeth on Sundays in a year. Roughly.

42. 101 times I check Duotrope everday.

43. 101 visits to a physiotherapist is what it would take to straighten my kinked neck out, at least.

44. 101 days of snow. that's how it feels.

45. 101 ignored prayers

46. 101 socks to sort

47. 101 bills paid this year

48. 101 braids on my sister-in-law's head

49. 101 annoying writing prompts (and this isn't even one of them. perhaps I should give them a try...)

50. 101 recipes for cake

51. 101 sighs, I'm only half way through

52. 101 pounds to make a supermodel

53. 101 hours worth of gardening that needs to be done

54. 101 chocolates in a big tin

55. 101 guests at the last party I didn't want to go to. zzzzzzzzzz.......

56. 101 slugs and snails in the garden. (should I say slugcicles...)

57. 101 times a year we have pizza. feels like.

58. 101 lies I tell.

59. 101 times I'd like to hit her.

60. 101 sore places on my heart when we had to leave ireland.

61. 101 reasons to go back

62. 101 reasons why I can't

63. 101 minutes I lie awake in the night, on average.

64. 101 blogs I wish I could read every day

65. 101 cars Jay Leno has

66. 101 things in the attic I should throw away

67. 101 m&ms on Thirdling's birthday cake

68. 101 people on this earth, born at the same instant I was

69. 101 pairs of shoes in this house, for five pairs of feet. pffff...

70. 101 grams in a bar of Bärnerschoggi

71. 101 windows inside my head

72. 101 books on writing I own

73. 101 post-its, stuck to my desk

74. 101 desires

75. 101 more seconds until I need to pee

76. 101 homework assignments the kids do in a month

77. 101 times I kiss manwithbeard on the cheek in a month

78. 101 seconds to think up each entry. this is getting harder

79. 101 ladies in waiting for the queen

80. 101 grains of rice in my bowl

81. 101 doubts as to whether or not I can come up with another twenty of these.

82. 101 books I should read but haven't

83. 101 things more interesting than how a computer works. (ok, 1,000,001)

84. 101 different spoons. I like spoons.

85. 101 ml of ink wasted on this

86. 101 tiles on the bathroom floor

87. 101 responses pending on Duotrope for one of the magazines to which I subbed. One of them is mine.

88. 101 reasons why cats are better than people.

89. 101 reasons why people are better than cats.

90. 101 reasons why I should go to sleep right now.

91. 101 places I'd rather be than here, all of them warm.

92. 101 bones

93. 101 bad plot ideas

94. 101 favourite songs

95. 101 colors in my paint box

96. 101 days till summer

97. 101 marbles in Thirdling's Mürmelibahn

99. 101 things out of place in my office

100. 101 trips to the community building over the years to take kids to playgroup

101. 101 smiles, because I'm done.

Rainbow Cupcakes!

2010-03-04T11:48:00.004+01:00

I'm so bummed that we had exactly the right number of these cupcakes, so I couldn't cut one open. 25 went with thirdling to school (happy birthday thirdling!) and there are five left for her actual birthday on Saturday- seemed a bit much to make another cake for Saturday, and then *another* one for her party on Sunday, so we will have these cupcakes. I will cut one open then and see if it looks as cool as I think it's going to.

In writing news, there isn't any. :( back to the writing board.

The "no news but I'm still alive" post

2010-03-03T10:47:00.004+01:00

Hello Bloglodytes.

Wallowing in my Rejecto-rama, here, so I'm a bit grumpy. Thanks to the very efficient motivation provided by a certain furry beast, I'm still writing and subbing. Just feeling a bit blue. For now, I will attempt to post a couple of pictures taken with my new camera/phone. I'm a bit worried that the squirrels got at the crocuses I planted last fall, because this was the only one I could find!

So. I'm off to prepare 8 zillion shrinkey dinks for Thirdling's birthday. when she gets home, we will make rainbow cupcakes to take to school.

For all the other mediocre news, I'm happy to say that McKoala approved my efforts for February. Yay! Unfortunately, I am too dim-witted to figure out how to display the lovely icons that JJ designed, so you will have to wait for those. I'm very proud, though.

Author Withdrawal

2010-02-14T10:20:00.004+01:00

I always thought that was an interesting expression. It conjures up images of authors cowering in corners, trying to resist the lure of the blank page and the siren call of Open Office. Do they drink ink, in desperation? Of course, that's not what it means. But I've just been thinking about this latest rejection I got. After 180 days, the publication said they would have to pass, sorry for holding it so long, they were sure I'd find a home for it and think of them next time I have something to sub. Hey, I can live with that.(It beats my all time favourite rejection (and this from a critique group- I thought we were supposed to be supporting each other!) which went "We felt that there were issues with your submitted story that would require more resources then we currently have at our disposal.")
But it has started me thinking. It took a respectable journal six months to read and reject (mind you, I wonder how much longer it would have taken if I hadn't queried?) a one thousand word story. I was just looking at their "Author Withdrawal" rate on Duotrope. It's usually around 20%. It would be the top 20% that's being withdrawn- the stories that have been snatched up by some other, more expedient publisher because they're good, right? (ok, there may be an occaisional author who suddenly sees a glaring boo-boo that can be improved, but I can't believe that accounts for much)
I've seen some other publications that have even worse response times and even higher withdrawal rates (check Duotrope's list of unresponsive sloths) This isn't a complaint- the journal I had subbed to allowed sim subs and replied promptly and courteously to my query, but I couldn't help thinking, aren't these people shooting themselves in the foot?

On a completely different note, I was reading this post over at Making Light (which would have been much more interesting if I'd seen the film I think,) but had to post this link. I especially love the woman's question, "Would it be considered adultry if I gave the remote control to someone other than my husband?"
Now, my mind's tipping straight into the gutter (really, I advise you all to leave. Now) and I'm imagining a lover's spat with these implanted (move over boring Dune-type heart plugs!) in some sci-fi adventure:

Babs: Daniel, put your damn socks in the clothing refresher!
Daniel: Babs, you're such a nag. How can you bitch about my dirty socks laying around when you leave everything else laying around?
Babs: I do not!
Daniel: (grinning evily) Do to.
Babs: What? What? (checking end-tables and so-on) I don't see anything laying around here that's mine! (crosses arms, looks smug)
Daniel: (even smugger, jams hands into pockets.) Babs, pick my socks up for me.
Babs: Not on your- (a very intensely confused look crosses her face suddenly) Daniel! Daniel stop it!
Daniel: Socks, Babs.
Babs: (with obvious effort) Yeah? You wanna play like that? When was the last time you saw your remote? (runs offstage)
Daniel: Babs? Where are you going?
(a whooshing noise is heard off-stage)
Daniel: (running after Babs) Not the Sani-port!
Babs: (offstage) One more step and it's next!
(Daniel freezes)
Babs: (cautiously creeping into sight) Should I set it on 'Off,' or 'maximum?' Do you have a preference before I jetison?
(Danel grumbles)
Babs: What's that? You'd like to pick up your own socks? Excellent. And yes, I'd love a cup of tea.

What? I can't believe y'all are still reading this tripe! Don't you have any books to write? I'm ashamed of you!
Ahem.
Could someone give me a hand out of this gutter before you go?

Boogers.

2010-02-10T18:10:00.003+01:00

Ok. Well, I managed to stay off Koala's smack-down list last month, but this month I have kids home for two weeks holidays (what kind of sadistic country gives you two weeks of holiday in February?) and someone sub-let my head to a family of phlegm when I wasn't minding it. They keep me up all night yelling "snotters' rights! snotters' rights!" I want to write but I can't seem to concentrate, so I've read a lot of blogs this week and also some books. I've had loads of inspirations and it's sooooooo frustrating not to have the energy to follow through.
Duotrope is also killing me. This is of course, purely my own fault. I love Duotrope and owe to it every dab of organisation my submissions have ever seen. But it's just too tempting to check and re-check all the stats- has anyone responded to any submissions since I last checked? Have they responded to submissions more recent than mine? Does that mean they like mine? Or that they are passing it around for a laugh? Where's Lucy van Pelt when I need her? I'm doing my head in. (Hey, maybe I should torture myself some more! It might annoy the Phlegm Family.

I'm tempted to write a poem about this, but I can't think of anything that rhymes with 'boogers'.

Scrivener, Anyone?

2010-01-18T17:25:00.004+01:00

I've hesitated to make this post. It's pointless, boring (well, maybe not so boring) but in any case, it might even violate the rules of Blogsphere because I'm asking, not telling. What am I asking? First, the boring stuff: 1) I am computorially illiterate 2) I don't have a MAC 3) My excellent other half unscrews all my computercide attempts (actually, it's involuntary computerslaughter, really, as I don't do it intentionally) and he doesn't know his way around a MAC. What I want to know is, is Scrivener really that good? Is it worth overcoming all these obstacles? I know it won't write for me, I don't expect it too. But if any one out there remembers this post, you'll know why I'm asking.

So how bout it, Bloglodytes? Who uses Scrivener? Who likes it? Who hates it? Discombobulated minds wanna know...

Blogging in the Rain

2010-01-15T08:46:00.008+01:00

Well, we had a lovely covering of snow for a few days- not as common as it's rumoured to be in the flat bits of good old Switzerland- but it's started to rain, and the head has broken off the wonderful snowman (he even has snow buttons, as big as your fist!) and rolled downslope.

Writing is really weird. When it goes well, it seems as natural and inevitable and unstoppable as rain coming down. Of course it's coming down. Of course I'm writing good stuff. Of course. On the days when it doesn't work, it's as if I've been ordered to make it rain back up again. I try. It takes a lot of mental energy. It's like that accio thing. We've all tried that- "accio tea," or "accio donut." But no matter how hard I concentrate, I've never been able to get it to work. It's faster and less trouble to just make the tea myself. (If there's a lesson in that, I'm ignoring it.)

If there were a Dunkin' or a Krispy Kreme within 300km, I'd be on the bestseller list by now, I'm sure.

Today's Excuse

2010-01-12T13:46:00.003+01:00

Dear Notebook,

The cat is on me. She has settled herself on my collarbone and to make sure she doesn't slide off, I need to lean back.
It is impossible to write in this position.

This is sad, so sad. I know we all have our good days and our bad days, but things are downright stinky lately. Whether I struggle with the same old stories, trying to make them subripe, or sit down to write something new, nothing jives at the moment.
And my feet are cold. If this keeps up much longer, I'm going to start writing limericks. Hmpf.

A writer once sat quite alone
ignoring the door and the phone
she drank so much tea
she needed to pee
when she came back to the book it was done!

bloody book fairies. they're almost as unreliable as the dish fairies...

Recipe for Holiday Cheer

2009-12-24T13:58:00.003+01:00

Instructions:
1) Nail computer screen to ceiling
2) Grab someone kissable
3) Stand under screen
4) Hope nails hold
5) (optional) call ER/casualty/Notfall, depending on where you live

Have a great break, fellow bloglodytes. I hope to find you all refreshed and rarin' to write in 2010.

In the Deep Midwinter

2009-12-22T12:06:00.002+01:00

Hope everyone's keeping well. My online writing class is nearly over, the drawing class too, and frankly, I'm glad. I've enjoyed them both, but the time for me and paper without third parties involved is coming. I can feel myself shrinking in like a snail. I am not a winter person, but when I go into hibernation like this, good things often come out of it in the spring. I'll still be around, still be checking all of your blogs, and hoping hoping hoping that 2010 will finally bring that post I've been wanting to make since I started to blog; the one where I tell everybody I've been published. In the meantime, have some winter cheer.

All Blogs Were Quiet

2009-12-04T09:06:00.003+01:00

I've noticed lots of my fellow bloglodytes going quiet lately, including myself. There is the usual year-end hullaballoo, ill children (Middlekid is home ill now), ill selves and general lethargy brought on by winter cold and grey. On top of that, someone rang my doorbell about half an hour ago to let me know their shutting the water off because of a pipe break.

Here's a cybercookie from me and the wee ones for all of you, no matter where you are or what your faith. Extra cookies for anyone who is kind enough to pray to who/whatever they believe in that Middlekid doesn't start to barf before the water's back on.

I Keep Putting Words on the Page...

2009-11-17T11:16:00.007+01:00

...but lately, they refuse to speak to me. I am not alarmed yet, though. I don't believe in writers' block. I think it's just the distraction- birthdays (check out the bat cake!) and the new cat (who tries to sit on my desk when I write, but since it's sloped, slides off into my lap. Either she's a slow learner, or she likes it :) or the wind-up to the annual mid-winter rush. Or ennui. How do you tell writers' block from ennui? Stab yourself in the thigh with a fork. If you feel compelled to write about it, it was ennui.

Anyway, here are cats, cakes, and the last of the leaves. Time to enjoy the grey, northern hemisphereites.

Satisfying Kit's Curiosity

2009-11-03T11:08:00.003+01:00

My fellow bloglodyte, Kit Courteney, has asked me to unveil five obsessions that I have. Five. Only five. I will now draw lots:

1) Donuts. I fantasise about them more than is normal, I'm sure. I don't even need to eat them (though I enjoy that, too). I just love them there on the shelf when there are at least 30 different kinds, and they are all fresh, it makes me happy. Even if I'm not eatting any of them.

2) Patterns. I hate it if something is almost a pattern. But not quite. Things either need to be totally random, or exact. Nothing in between. This tells you more than you ever wanted to know about my housekeeping, believe me.

3) Grammar. I love it. Verb systems make me go all soppy and wet (no kids reading this, I hope?) I'm not pedantic, and I won't shoot you for using "incorrect" grammar (at least not when anyone is watching) but I want people to know what they are using and why. I have no problem with y'all. Its use is rule governed! People who don't know an adjective from an adverb and DON'T CARE are criminal, though.

4) Stationary. Don't ask. And don't look in my closet. And don't ask me if you can borrow one of my pens, because the answer is NO. I will buy you one, I will GIVE you one, but you can't borrow one. Because then I have to worry about whether or not you will give it back. And if you don't, it will leave a little hole which doesn't close up, which brings us to number five...

5) People who borrow things and don't give them back. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!! Just.... Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

As for tea, that doesn't count as an obsession. No one calls you obsessed if you breathe constantly. Why should they call you obsessed if you drink tea? Same thing...

Beautiful Human Pretzel

2009-10-20T19:02:00.005+02:00

Well, my run of not-great drawings continues, but I just had to post this one anyway. I did this sketch in about 60 seconds during the break- thus the model has her clothes on. The class is an advanced one and the models hold poses for up to half an hour, so Darinka took the opportunity to do some yoga to get the kinks out. I hope you can tell what you're looking at- her hands ran into the binding. Her shoulder blades and her knees are on the same plane. Wow. If you could see her face, you would be able to see just how much she's not struggling to hold the possition.

I've had this model in portrait drawing too, and she's always fun. Just wish I could do her justice.

Feedback.

2009-10-19T11:47:00.004+02:00

It's funny. Feedback hurts so much, sometimes, especially when you are first starting out. but really, it does get better.
At the beginning, it's like you're driving. And you're lost. Your companion wants to stop and ask this guy on the corner but you think, who's driving this car, me or him? So you drive on, facing stubbornly forward.

But you're still lost. So you pass a lady with a buggy and kids and your companion finally convinces you to stop, and he asks for direction. The lady gives them. They're pretty simple, she's pretty sure, she's only been living here for two weeks, but yes, she's quite sure.
So you follow her directions for a couple of blocks but the neighbourhood doesn't look quite right, even though she clearly said go down Maple till you get to Elm, so you turn off on Spruce. And you're lost again. You defend your actions saying, hey, the lady was out walking; she probably doesn't even have a license. What does she know?

The thing about all this is, after you spend a sufficient amount of time refusing directions, or ignoring the ones you get, you learn that they are not insults to your intelligence. They are not attacks on your personal worth, or your skill as a driver. Yes, you can probably find your own way without it eventually and thump your chest and I say I did it all by myself, but is it worth spending the whole day driving around in circles?

This seems totally obvious in a way, but haven't we all been in a car with someone, lost, who refused to stop for directions? And we're sitting in the passenger seat thinking, why? Why won't you stop and ask, you big lummox?

Oh, What Fun!

2009-10-15T11:28:00.005+02:00

Another writing exercise from EE. The brief was to use the first 20 words of seven letters or more from a randomly chosen opening and then write a scene. Really, in a way I failed, because with this many French-rooted millitary words, I gave up trying to get away from the subject of the original text. But it was fun:

Mina SCREAMED as a bean burrito on a paper-napkin PARACHUTE DROPPED into her COCKPIT. Her COPILOT'S self-confidence was SHATTERED, and he BUCKLED as Mina let-fly a barrage of ANTI-ARTILLARY mashed potatoes, which was the best weapon the school cafeteria could PROVIDE. The ESCARPMENT her class had built out of lunchroom tables was already FALLING as tater-tots RICOCHETED like BULLETS against the makeshift SHELTER. BRACING herself, Mina launched a square of non-dairy cheese pizza. The AIRSPEED dwindled when the slice caught an UPDRAFT from one of the cafeteria ceiling fans. Still CLIMBING, it overshot the intended target. To uphold the honor of Mrs. Jenkins class, Mina selflessly THROTTLED Alec Fitzhugh, Mr. Walters' class president, into surrender. Merciful of his AGONIES, she declared victory by squirting him with catsup and took him prisoner. Mrs. Jenkins was pleased.

(from New Beginning 228)

One More Post About The View...

2009-10-13T13:15:00.006+02:00

... and then I'll shut up. I did this watercolour one morning when everyone else was still in bed. It's not a masterpiece, but I really like the way drawing or painting something forces one to *really* look at things. I find they stick in my memory better.

Windows.

2009-10-11T09:35:00.005+02:00

No excuse. I always think that if I can find a peaceful place, where there are no "you suck" messages seeping out of the walls or the internet or the phone, then I will be able to scrape myself together long enough to write something publishable. I know I am repeating myself here, but it is really frustrating when all the writing teachers say "it's great! don't know what you could change!" and all the publishers say "form rejection." (ok, a couple said "it's highly creative/original/had fun with it BUT," which is better than "fr," i admit.)

*Anyway,* (I seem to have a severe case of the post holiday babbles, here) above is the view from my office window, as of this morning. Note the violas, the nasturtiums, the cool welded chain sculpture in the neighbour's garden (big wooden thing is neighbour's house). And check out the picture below that, the view from our holiday cottage. There were grapes growing inside the winter garden there. Grapes!

I ought to be writing fucking masterpieces. I mean, any normal writer would have written a Pulitzer prize winner or a Nobel candidate by now! (I would just like to record that the temptation to go off on another HHGTTG babble here is almost overwhelming. Instead, you can see what I would have babbled about the idea of "normal" here, at about 1:30.) Just look at those views! You should see the view from my office when the roses are blooming!

Still. There is something amazing about windows. I love their symbolism. Not the "normal" exit. A hole built into a structure to let in light, or air, or chase a stray bee out of. But not for people. The temptation to climb out the window and not the door just to see if it changes anything, to see if I wind up in a different place, is very strong.

The Big Whine

2009-10-10T08:41:00.004+02:00

Maybe I should just cross out 'writer.' It would take some of the pressure off. Or 'Artist.' Nevermind that these are things I have always wanted to do, and have always enjoyed doing. But my attempts to get published (and actually, my attempts to even get an education as a writer) have been frustrating. I know it takes a long time. I know it takes a Teflon-coated solid steel heart. I find it so difficult, though, when I'm never even sure I'm on the right track.

At the moment, it's more like a hollow heart. Like the next person who manages to hit it, it's going to go "BONG." (and echo a lot.)

Pout. I need a hug.
Then I need a writing teacher who actually knows what he/she is doing.

2009-10-07T12:19:00.003+02:00

For the moment, a picture will simply have to be worth a thousand words. I'd just like to say, though, that I never enjoyed hanging out the wash so much.

Holiday Quiz

2009-09-20T17:41:00.004+02:00

Brownie points to anyone who can guess the exact location of this place. It's where we are going next thursday. Yay!

Not Feeling Like an Adult Today

2009-09-15T17:41:00.005+02:00

Creepy creepy creepy.

We have had a wide variety of excellent models in my life drawing class. In all my life drawing classes, actually. Today for the first time, we had one I just plain didn't like, and it's making me feel really juvenile, like I'm 13 again.

He told us all about how he'd been fired as a secondary school teacher (I think this is what he said, but he was speaking german with a strong french accent, so I'm not sure) because he had been very vocal about the overly harsh punishments for students caught smoking, so now he is working as a model. He kept shifting his feet as he said this. We've had some models that are a bit nervous or shy, but this was something else.

Then he told us about some artsy photographs he had posed for taken by Big Famous French-Speaking Artist (of whom I've never heard, but that doesn't mean much.) He offered to show us these pictures on his laptop (which he just happened to have with him) and my Excellent Art Teacher said ok (perhaps EAT has heard of BFF-SA.) So the pictures are dragging on and on and scary model keeps saying "oh, this is the last one" and EAT is starting to itch, I can tell, and making 'we should get drawing' noises and so on.

So when the guy has finally finished looking at a dozen plus naked picture of himself and taking us along for the ride, he takes the towel off to pose, and voila, his penis is purple and standing out parallel to the floor. Hey, I guess it can happen.

He assumed one difficult pose after another and always told us what he was doing. Javelin. 100 meter dash. Bow and arrow. I wouldn't have minded his playing olympic athelete if it made him happy, but he couldn't hold the positions.

In the middle of class we always have a 20 minute break (it's a 3.5 hour class), but he decided not to put any clothes back on. Because I am such a stinky drawer (love that word) and need the practice (and focus) I usually stay in the room. Not this time. There was one last person fetching her purse to nip down to the cafe, and he was sidling up to me. I'm sure it meant nothing. I'm sure it was totally innocent. I'm sure the fact that he has no eyebrows, that his face looks like it's been pealed, that he has no lips and that his elbow does this weird sort of moon crater-dimple-inverted nipple thing when he straightens his arm had nothing to do with it. But I left anyway.

So now my skin is still crawling *and* I'm feeling guilty about it. Honestly. I really don't know if it was me or him.

Blech. Anyway, the only thing that held still long enough for me to draw it was his right foot (above).

Is There Such a Thing as Distechnia?

2009-09-14T16:32:00.005+02:00

On the off chance that anyone actually clicked on the two sketches that I posted a couple of days ago and noticed the incredibly bad quality, I have re-posted a couple of new images of the same which are... less bad.

also, i've been rejected again. didn't want to write for their stinky ol' mag anyway...

Some Drawings, At Last.

2009-09-10T17:20:00.007+02:00

We had an excellent model a few weeks ago- about 100 years old, very interesting to draw, but alas I was doing really poor work that day and didn't do him justice at all.

This week I did a little better; still not great, but here it is. Again, the model was good, beautiful, Ruebensesque, and tough as old shoes. Really, I don't know how they hold those positions.

Here are two drawings from the same pose, one in pencil, one in charcoal.

But Where are All the Books? Kibuk 2009

2009-09-06T11:05:00.008+02:00

The Book Conveyer (above)

On Saturday we went to the Kibuk in Köniz. The theme this year was "Reading Without Borders," and it featured separate stations for different foreign countries. Italy, Serbia, Ireland, France and Turkey, to be exact. There was a roll conveyer that the kids were allowed to ride on to see what it was like to be a book. Serbian snacks to try, Turkish tea, cooking workshops for the kids, and my favourite, a bookbinder to show you how to *properly* repair books instead of throwing then away. (Heidi Ernst, above, working absolute miracles on Curious George, Munschworks, and a copy of Emily the Strange that we had written off) There was a woman telling the folk tales of each station- she was great. But she wasn't reading a book.

In fact, in the Irish station (which even had a calligrapher copying pages out of the Book of Kells and making bookmarks for the kids with their names in half-uncial) there was only one irish children's book; Gulliver's Travels. And when I say 'Irish,' that's by the broad definition- written or illustrated by an Irish person, or having something to do with Ireland. The books on the table were merely in English (and not even books that I've heard of), and since they speak English in Ireland, that qualifies them. Right?

It's almost as if they organised the whole fair and then realised a week before showtime that they forgot to get some books. The offerings in the other country stations weren't very impressive. I'm particulary disappointed about the Irish books, as I am such a fan. *pout*

So.

Five stars to whoever was responsible for organising the fun bits, no stars to whoever was supposed to organise the books.

What happened? Anybody know?

May Have Found the Source

2009-09-02T09:03:00.004+02:00

of the problem. This is my WIP. There's a ton more where this came from. I know first novels (and probably all the rest of them as well) are a learning process, but do other people use this many post-it notes? Is this normal?

Comfort Food

2009-08-22T19:46:00.004+02:00

Comfort food doesn't really have that much to do with eating. Not for me, anyway. It's about someone taking the time, about a human touch, some love going into it. I think I could sit and look at cupcakes all day.

On another note, I planted my violas and pansies out today to ensure a new batch of cupcakes next spring/ summer. I'm already looking forward to them. I don't even need to eat them; just have a cup of tea and admire them.

Just Because I Can.

2009-08-18T20:25:00.005+02:00

Sally was not allowed to go out at night.
"It's dark. You'll step in dog poo," said Dad.
"The meanies will get you!" said Momma.
"Shhhh," said Grandma. "Wait till later."
When it was dark, and Sally was supposed to be in bed, Grandma took her walking stick from the umbrella stand. She took her old woolly cardigan with the patched elbows that had belonged to Grandpa Gene.
"You put on your jacket and lace up your shoes now, and we'll go."
And they did.
"Hello," they said to a young man with a spray can. He took off running.
They peeked in the window at the baker. He wasn't up yet. He was at home writing a novel almost as bad as this story. "Don't give up your night job." his friends would say.
"Oh look, a flying sofa!" said Gramma, and there it was, with a spotted chicken on it.

Kuh-ku?

2009-08-17T15:38:00.004+02:00

Fly-ku

Into the red soup
Chunks of spicy miso make
a great landing strip

Kuh-ku

Chewing sweet clover
Again and again she farts
From seven stomachs

Bye-ku

I am out of words
And all of you are relieved
To see my backside

At It Again

2009-08-14T09:37:00.009+02:00

Well, as I indicated last post, I'm taking another drawing class. The first day back was hard. The class is three and a half hours, and just physically grueling. The model held positions for 20-30 minutes at a time, and even then had to twitch and flex periodically to keep from going completely numb. Anyone who thinks modeling for a drawing class is easy has probably never tried it.

Anyway, my drawings were not very satisfactory. No real surprise, as I'm very out of practice. I'll post some later if I do some worth posting.

Still waiting to hear from various publishers. Not really expecting anything other than a rejection. *sigh.* What's a girl gotta do around here to get a decent education in writing around here? Keep writing, I guess...

In the mean time, since I have nothing else to post, I'll post these, from a walk in the alps, just for the general betterment of moods all around:

Lost For Words

2009-07-28T09:49:00.008+02:00

I don't have much to say at the moment. I am grumpy and trying to figure out what I need to do. Now that I'd decided once and for all to write and *only* write this autumn, my favourite and extremely excellent former teacher and sent me a letter, asking for a few more students to fill up his life drawing class which is in danger of being cancelled. So now that I've said I will only write, I have this to post:

I think it's the first time Middlekid has held still long enough for me to do a scribble.

Boomerang Sub

2009-06-23T08:41:00.008+02:00

Perhaps I should just crawl back under my rock. Consider the facts:

1. My local SCBWI president has made it a personal goal that nothing will EVER be accomplished in our chapter. Since I joined in 2006, we have had one meeting. When we tried to create an agenda for that meeting, we were met with cries of "No, no! This is just to get aquainted!" Presumably, we will discuss the possibly of an agenda at the next meeting, in another 3 years...
2. My GWW Kidlit class is a waste of time, with a flakey instructor who gives vague, ungrammatical, misspelled, mispunctuated, useless comments. Late.
3. My critique group has started subbing fragments. Literally. "I just wrote this down and it doesn't really go anywhere or have an ending and it's only one and a half pages long and I haven't really developed the characters at all and I haven't bothered to proofread it yet but what do you guys think?"
4. I've been rejected again.

Really, I should be happy. It was personal, no feedback, but an invitation to submit again, which isn't bad considering it's only the third submission I've made in my entire life.

(Another one to skip if you're squemish) Happy happy happy!

2009-06-19T12:55:00.003+02:00

Yay!
The "shtrange shtuff" the doctor pulled out of my uterus was not what he thought it was. I could tell yesterday, as he stood at the foot of the bed, that he was worried. I will still have to go for regular check-ups every six months, but I am probably not going to die in the near future, and that is a big, big relief.

Yay!

Skip This Post if Gynocology Makes you Squeamish

2009-06-18T08:42:00.002+02:00

Well, it was an interesting day in the hospital. I'll skip the boring details and get to the part where my trusted Gynocologist stopped in to see me. I asked him (in bernese), "so, did you find anything?" He says "yes." (He is not too much of a blitherer. Unlike me.) And I said (still in bernese: "What did you find?"

And he said, in English:

Shtrange Shtuff.

I asked him if he'd never seen anything like it before, and he indicated that he had, but I never got around to asking him what it had turned out to be on that occaision, because I also asked him *what* it was. Lot's of polyps and some squishy stuff, he said. I can call friday afternoon for the breakdown from the lab of just what the squishy stuff is.

In the meantime, I am also waiting to hear from some places where I have subbed. And I'm waiting for my nearly worthless teacher of my online children's book writing class at Gotham to comment on my homework from last week, never mind this week.

I hate waiting. It makes me grumpy. Can you tell? I'm going to try to do something productive now. Hang up the wash or something. Man, I'm a mental mess....

Lying Will Haunt You. (eventually...)

2009-06-16T09:37:00.012+02:00

One of the things I love about momming is what your kids teach you. They start out with one and only one communication skill- crying. You watch them develop, and watch their body language develop. This is fun, because at some point, they will attempt to lie. They will get better at lying. You will get better at telling if they are lying, they will get better at hiding it, and like virus and anti-virus, both working frantically to develop and mutate faster than the other guy, you do battle.

When my kids were quite little, I would just say, "I know you are lying." Because they were, and we both knew it. They would ask "How do you know?" I was not about to tell them; sometimes I wasn't even sure which bit of body language had given them away, but in any case, I wasn't about to hand over my secret decoder ring to the other side, so I told them, "when you lie, your nose turns purple. Only moms who have been to momschool can see it. Kids can't." (Momschool is something else I tell them about; perhaps I'll blog on that later.) Prima daughter then made my life even easier by casually sticking anything she could find in front of her face when she lied. It was really hard not to laugh. I'd be thinking: it's time to be stern now, don't laugh! And she'd be carrying on a conversation with a stuffed fish in the middle of her face, hoping I wouldn't cotton.

Now. Prima grew out of this, and I'm happy to say we have a good relationship, with very little lying. Middlekid and Thirdling got in a fight yesterday. Both came to me yelling "she did it, she hit me first!" and so on. After the obligatory lecture about 'it doesn't matter who hit who first, no one should have hit second either,' I told them they would have to sort it out because I wasn't there and I would never know the truth. Now the problem; Middlekid said "but mommy, you said our noses turn purple when we lie."
Middlekid is 10. I did not realise she still believed it. I should have; I remember being totally crushed around that age when my mom told me there was no such thing as Santa Clause. And then the Duh-Award drops out of the sky onto my obviously very soft head: This is so totally what I deserve for using a lie to control their lying. Oh, the maternal guilt! You have no idea...

-------------------------------------------------

So. I'm off to the hospital for another d&c tomorrow. Wish me luck, blogland. (place cool, animated frowny face icon here)

The Joys of Bloodlessness

2009-06-13T19:26:00.004+02:00

I'm not sure there are any. I meant that ironically.

Well, after all my posting, complaining about my reproductive system, I am about to do it again, so if you don't want to read about it, skip this post.

I have been bleeding since the first of May. I figured this is not right so I went to the doctor. My hemoglobin is so low, they actually laughed from the shock. My doctor kept searching my face, looking for something- what? Checking to see if I was about to faint? My hemoglobin was 51mg per litre. Normal would be 120-160. He said "I admire you that you can even stand at this point."

Anyway, I'm off to the hospital for another D&C (oh, joy) and in the mean time, I keep taking those iron pills. At least this explains my lack of concentration, and so if I'm posting nonsense, just ignore it. Can't concentrate very well...

Rules, rules, rules.

2009-06-13T10:39:00.003+02:00

I'm thinking about two things today: one is, the derth of SWISS children's literature.
I was looking for a copy of The Swiss Family Robinson. This was written by a Bernese man, Johann David Wyss, in German, so the logical thing would be to read the original. A quick look on Amazon revealed that though there are countless editions of The Swiss Family Robinson available, both in and out of print, Der schweizerische Robinson is out of print, and expensive to get second hand.
I guess this is no real surprise. America and the English speaking world in general are just so huge. They do things on massive scales simply out of Switzerland's league. But all the same it makes me sad. Swiss publishers just can't keep such a huge back-catalogue, I guess, and keep all those books in print. But even the current stuff. How big of a children's book industry is there really, in Switzerland? Does the Nord-Süd Verlag have as much of a monopoly on picture books in German-speaking Switzerland as it seems? Does one have to play by there rules to get a picture book published in Switzerland? And write something as trite and didactic as Marcus Pfister's Regenbogenfisch? If the only hope of German-speaking Swiss authors is to either do that or submit in Germany or learn another language and submit in another market, this is sad...

Now, the other thing that bugs me is the current moratorium against anthropomorphism. There is a magazine, not just of children's stories, but of children's stories, written by kids no older than 13. Stone Soup has sample issues available online, so of course, I was curious. The first two stories both feature animals- in the first story, Flynn by Hugh Cole, the animal, a dog, can talk. Now most of these stories are by children around age 10-13. And I just can't help but wonder; is it really the kids who don't like anthropomorphised characters? Or is this just another rule imposed by some powerful cynics in the big leather chairs at the top of the kidlit pyramid? Diary of a Worm, Click Clack Moo, and the Olivia series along with a gazillion others prove that kids do like these stories. If I thought that anyone was actually reading this blog I would get you a list of kidlit houses and imprints that specifically say "no animal characters, please" and look up references in all my books saying "publishers hate anthropomorphic characters." Complain in the comments if you care. Otherwise, I'll just ignore yet another arbitrary rule and write what I need to write. Man am I grumpy today... Sorry.

More Like a Cat Flap, also, a Not No...

2009-05-17T08:04:00.002+02:00

Ok. well, the critique group is just gearing up for it's second round of submissions and everyone just seems to be ignoring all my comments about ideas and stuff. That's ok. I think the only way for any of us to find out if this group is going to be productive is to try each other out; we could waste ages trying to gauge the 'fit' over the net.

The local chapter meeting. Hmmm... Well, I wasn't expecting much. When one of my esteemed colleagues commented on the lack of agenda, the Pres kept reitterating that he 'just thought it would be good to meet each other finally.' In fact, I really had the impression that his goal for the meeting was to not accomplish anything. My Esteemed Colleague (who has a lot to offer) tried to find out if there was interest in a critique group, which ended in a promise from another member to start a closed blog to which we would all have access. It hasn't happened yet. When I tried to raise the subject of logo, he refused to look at mine and said "we can post them on the website." So I took my sketch home again. We'll see.

Now, about the 'not no;' I have subbed to a certain online publication (not kidlit) and they have notified me that I have made the first round, so wish me luck.

I am finding kidlit depressing all of the sudden; there are too many rules, the competition is so negative, the community not so supportive as I had hoped. But the thought of going back to my vacuum isn't very appealing either....

New Doors? Also, a bit of a yes....

2009-05-09T06:13:00.006+02:00

So, what's new.
I think I'm getting spoiled. I keep reading books and sometimes afterwards I sit up and say, 'well, that was fun.' Or 'that was disappointing.' 'Cute.' 'Not quite there, should have done another rewrite,' is another common one.
I am thinking about how long it's been since I read a book and sat up and said, 'Yes. Yes yes yes!' And I'm wondering if I've just been reading all the wrong books, or if there really is a dearth at the moment.
I just read Neil Gaiman's Coraline, and then The Graveyard. I think that's as close as I've come in a long time. I like it that Gaiman's not afraid to be creepy- the button eyes in Coraline certainly qualify. And I like his characters. They had of course much more chance to develop in The Graveyard, and there were many more of them. I thought the owner of the pawn shop where Bod tried to sell the brooch was really creepy. I liked Scarlet- and yes, I spotted Mr. Frost, but I loved him anyway, well, as a character. Wouldn't want to eat dinner with him.
I don't think Gaiman made it clear enough what the Jacks were up to; I can't see that what they were defending was worth all the effort- actually, I'm having trouble figuring out what they were defending at all. Or some how even what they were. I don't mean we need an explanation for everything, but these holy wars are apparently being fought on a large scale, and over thousands of years, if there are that many Jacks around (or were.)
Is it just the five (now four) 'good guys' that are fighting? Silas, Miss Lupescue (probably spelled that wrong) the Mummy and whatsit? Did there used to be more? Against how many Jacks? How did the Jacks get started? Perhaps it will click when I re-read. In the meantime, I give Coraline and The Graveyard both a slightly qualified 'yes.'

And the rest of the world? I am attempting to join a new critique group. I know that a good critique group can be helpful. I know this because in my last group, there were some people who really had insights and made my work better (and beat me over the head with sticks until I stopped resisting :o)
I'm a little bit concerned now, because even though I told the woman who set up the group that I would like to exchange manuscripts *and* critiques before we started, we only sort of did that half way, and I think it may have been a mistake. There is a person in the group who critiques by telling other people how to write their stuff. I tried to point this out (in my usual extremely tactful fashion, ha ha.) and she got pretty angry. She says otherwise the critiques are wishy washy, vague, useless... I explained how "I think you should have your character pour a bucket of paint on the cat" is not the same as "Your character needs to do something much naughtier in order for the parents to punish her like that, otherwise the parents seem cruel and draconian." And why I thought the latter would be much more productive, and also how wrong I would feel about using an idea that isn't mine anyway, but I didn't get a lot of response from anyone.
We'll see how this group continues. The other two women seem cool. I just have the feeling that the critter from hell, let's call her, has some other agenda, and keeps trying to pull the group in a direction that suits her (like subbing every week, or this arbitrary 4 day turn around time.. don't remember discussing that. must have been in the fine print...) but don't necessarily suit anyone else in the group.

So. Now, after three years in my local scbwi chapter we are actually about to have our first meeting. Another person in the group has expressed interest in forming a critique group. I'm not sure how many writers there are- I have the impression that most are illustrators, but we'll see what comes of it. If there are enough writers to form a critique group in theory, it will still be a question of whether or not we are suited as to level of experience and development, level of, well, dare I say it, intelligence, style, and not least, temperament.

Wish me luck, Bloglanders.

Sucking Eggs

2009-04-05T12:43:00.003+02:00

I asked my teacher an unfair question. I asked her where I am in the continuum of writers. Ok, this was not a fair question, I know. They don't really know us, so they aren't going to be too blunt. Worst case scenario, they don't want all their prospective students commiting suicide. In reality, they don't see our faces, can't tell how hard we are taking criticism, and don't want to make us feel like shit. So I accept it that she sidestepped the question. But still. How do I get feedback? If you are a visual artist, you can publish a blog with pictures of your work and people will comment, and once you've deleted the trolls, you might even have some useful feedback. But for writers, once you published it on the internet, it's published. The houses may or may not refuse to touch it with a ten foot pole after that. I have read mixed opinions of whether or not publishing in a closed forum counts as publishing, but who wants to take chances? On the other hand, where does one go for an honest evaluation of their weaknesses, abilities, and progression (or lack thereof)?

So, maybe I suck eggs, maybe not, and what I want to know is, why can't I tell?

Anyway, this annoys me at the moment, but on the whole, life is good. Happy Pagan Reproduction Day, Bloglanders.

Gender and Race in Kidlit

2009-03-30T12:38:00.004+02:00

I've been thinking about gender and race in kidlit. I was reading another blog about the lack of diverse race in some genres (notably sci fi, apparently) and thinking about my own writing. Another blogger posted about race in writing, and about having the courage, if you are "white," to write about other races and possibly screw it up, but do it anyway.
I was thinking about my own writing and how I may be (inadvertantly) contributing to the problem. What I'm saying is that none of my major human characters is anything but white. This does not stem from a desire to have a "white" world, at all. This stems from my deep fear that if I tried to put minority characters in my stories, that they would wind up "white" with dark skin. And that I will be blamed for getting it wrong. Is this enough excuse? Should I do it anyway? I am not interested in writing books about race. But even if the book is about pffffffff..... say, eggbeaters, why can't some of the characters be other races besides white? Well, they are, but only minor characters. I'm still thinking about this.

To be honest, part of the problem that the majority of characters being "white" seems to be the distribution of authors. No one complains that Toni Morrison and Alice Walker write almost entirely using African American characters. And duh, why should they? It seem to me, the world needs more writers that aren't white. Yes, yes, the rest of us should also try to reflect the races of the world more accurately, but some of us are chicken. I feel like the pressure to do that perfectly if I do it at all is more than I can cope with.

But what about gender in picture books? Is male still the 'unmarked' gender? I realise that my default setting for anthropomorphic characters is male. So male equals neuter? Something like that. But this won't change unless we allow some of our characters to be marked for a while, until there is enough of a mix for long enough that it becomes normal.

Hmmmm... This post has come out a bit jumbled. I am going to have to think about this a bit more...

Doubts.

2009-03-22T07:41:00.003+01:00

My follow through is very poor. I have had this epiphany, you see. I get praise from my teachers for the bits and scenes I hand in as the answers to writing exercises, and if I do say so myself, they are pretty good. But it all seems to fall apart when I try to make something longer. Like, say, a plot. I can make characters. Description that blends in naturally and logically- what I mean is, there isn't really any; I just tell people what they need to know, and nothing they don't need to know. Dialogue? No problem.
But then something needs to happen. The characters need to change somehow. Grow. Fight. Why can't I do that? It makes me feel so short sighted and makes me wonder if I have some fundamental character flaw that stops me being able to imagine these complex interactions and their outcomes. Or I can think of just enough action to sustain a scene, but I can't hook them up together. Is my brain as tiny as it's beginning to feel?
Am I the only one with this problem?
Am I the only one reading this blog?

Plugging Along.

2009-03-15T08:07:00.006+01:00

Ha! Fooled you. No, I have not fallen off the face of the earth. I have survived a whole year since we lost our boy.
The writing class. Well, my first impression is that the teacher is drinking heavily, or not getting enough sleep, or something. She doesn't proofread, that's for certain. The missing words and punctuation and the fact that she tends to wander off and not finish her sentences make her entries hard to follow.
All the same, her comments on the first week's assignment were useful. The ending was cheap. She was right. But the comments on the second assignment ranged from 'it was great' to 'this is why it was great.' A good start, but it doesn't give me anything to work with.
I feel so stuck! As if all my writing reaches exactly the same level of development and sophistication and then stops. All of the students and teachers and critique groups don't seem to be able to help me. The inexperienced among them give strange or even contradictory advice (one says 'cut this bit; it's irrelevent,' and another says 'this bit's important; expand on it!') or worse yet just say 'it's perfect, I don't see anything wrong with it.' The more experienced also see where the weak spots are, but can't seem to offer any advice on how to fix it. At first I was excited that we were finally going to have a SCBWI meeting (after nearly THREE YEARS as a member) but I'm not sure how good the turnout will be. Still, I will make the most of it.

Long, long winter.

2009-02-17T14:28:00.005+01:00

There has been snow and ice around since October. This is pretty rare. I think the birds are suffering. I think I'm suffering too. I am putting a lot of energy into struggling with the schools. the Evil Boy still hits my daughter. Today he poked her with a pencil in the thigh and it looks like the tip broke off. The teacher has decided that on Friday we will have another "talk."

I hate this. I hate the implication that my daughter in any way shares the responsibility for what is happening. She avoids him, tries not to look at him, and has trained herself not to react when he pokes and hits her. And still "let's talk about it." No, let's get this boy some real parents!

Ok, end of rant.

So, in order to combat stress and spring boredom, I have signed up for a class in children's writing with Gotham for this spring. Wish me luck.

A lack of punctation.

2009-01-21T12:01:00.003+01:00

Will I ever get my period again, I wonder? We complain so much about them when they are here, but we miss them when they are gone. Periods help us punctuate, divide up and file bits of time. My temporal memory was always bizarre and cloudy, but now it's worse. No system to it at all. And since I don't seem to be ovulating, that means no baby, and then what? I have this mass of time stretching out ahead of me with no periods, commas or exclamation points.

And absolutely no belief in myself that I will ever accomplish anything. I'm floundering, as you see...

still empty.

2008-11-17T16:10:00.005+01:00

I think boredom is probably just about the most dangerous thing in the universe. And I'm soooooooooooooooooo bored. I get fantasies about pulling up the floorboards just for the heck of it. And my brain says pick a direction, any direction.

I didn't go the the memorial service. I went to the Kunstmuseum instead. We saw Ego Documents. Do egos die if you don't take care of them, I wonder?

What Next

2008-11-12T08:10:00.003+01:00

I was hoping to post at least once a month, but I'm not quite making it. Sometimes, there just doesn't seem to be anything to add. I haven't been writing much, and my drawings in protrait class are all wrong. I don't know why. Well, surely, lack of practice. But in spite of a great teacher, I just don't seem to be getting anywhere, which is frustrating. Imparo anche Italiano. Or maybe Anche imparo Italiano. Anyway, I am learning Italian, which is fun. But what? I still spend a large part of my day wading through a house full of stuff which has nothing to do with me, and I resent. I don't resent the ironing or the laundry or the shopping. I resent having to play policeman to the mess, too. "Please pick that up. Please don't leave that in the floor. Put them away, don't just shove them in a drawer." Don't become a full time housewife. Just don't. Fight for your life against it. I have never experienced anything more damaging to my sense of self worth.

And children? Babies? There is a service at the Heiliggeist Church in Bern for all people like me who have lost a child they haven't even met yet. I cannot decide if it would be a good thing to go or not.

But.
If I ever get pregnant again, I will buy my prenatel vitamins one pill at a time, and I won't tell anybody but my gynecologist that I'm pregnant until I'm in labor.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

2008-09-25T11:08:00.006+02:00

Well, I've become all but invisible here. When I signed up for 3 courses, it seemed a good idea to keep busy. I'm not sorry I did it; I have written some interesting things, drawn some interesting models, and learned some interesting grammatical idiocincrasies of italian.

And the rest of it? I'm no closer to believing I am a writer, or an artist. Why is this so hard? I do things I think are pretty good, but somehow they don't count. What does it take to get over this and just DO. (Forget the Nike commercial; in real life there are loads of people out there, including ourselves, waiting to heckle us like Waldorf and Stettler when we fail.) Yes, I will keep doing it anyway. But why so erratic? I feel like a giant factory machine, responsible for three different jobs. Quick! Fill this bin! It's important! Hurry hurry hurry! Oh, now that one is nearly empty! Quick quick quick! Throw three kids into this, and I wind up jacking all trades, mastering none... I need a cheerleading section. How sad is that. *sigh*

So, here's a tidbit I wrote as an exercise for the class. Creepy creepy:

He dipped his hands into the lake. It was undisturbed and pure- this far north there was little pollution. And it was ice cold, which was good. Ice also had a purity about it. The lake was still obsidian smooth, this early. He made out a sliver of paleness further along the shore; a night heron, standing like a statue, unseen by it's prey. He understood the night herons. His fingers were stiff and red when he took them out of the lake. He fumbled with the oarlocks. As cold as the water was, the lake was clearly warmer than the air; the mist over it was suspended, unable to rise any further. There were depths to the lake never touched by ice or sun. Nearly bottomless. Bottomless enough.
He rowed the boat out. The bottom of the boat was full, with the fishing rod on top, between his feet. Perhaps he would even fish. He heard a splash and looked to see the heron, long bill in the air like a church spire, swallowing it's prey. Good for you. He pushed his brown hair out of his eyes and smiled at the heron before rowing on.

Anyway, just for the record, I'm back to being pissed. Really, really, angry. My kids are still angry. A week or so ago my youngest daughter asked if God killed the baby. What do you say? Then she asked (not kidding here, she really said this) "Is it your fault the baby died?" She's little. She really just wanted to know. She had no idea how much that question hurt. I just said "No, these things just happen sometimes." Well, I can hardly be surprised that she's not satisfied with this answer if I'm not.

Blogger Philosophy

2008-08-26T16:38:00.004+02:00

Does a blogger who isn't blogging still exist? Perhaps I just rematerialise once in a while to write this blog.

So where have I been for the past month? Well the kids started school, and I started portrait drawing and an online writing class at Gotham, and on Thursday I start Italian.

Portrait drawing is hard. But The teacher is good. He actually thinks up exercises that will target specific skills and make us get better at drawing. This sounds obvious. It isn't. It is scary how many drawing classes are the same every day and do not move forwards. Every day you go in and draw, but they so clearly don't even expect you to improve. How depressing. Right, so if I draw anything more attractive than vomit, I'll post it. Hasn't happend yet, in spite of teacher's efforts.

Writing. I'm a little disappointed with the class. Once, I actually got a decent bit of feedback from my teacher, and she said 'I'm writing this because I'm stuck in a plane, don't expect this all the time.' Argh. I calculate I've paid about $43 per lesson. No way am I getting 43 dollars worth of feedback. Her participation in the discussions is pathetic. I would love to know how much time per week she is putting into the class. Also, tech support is nonexistant. I inquired twice about formatting, inquired also of the teacher. Never got an answer.