Anthropomorphic Food, Musical Manuscripts

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?

Brrrr....

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.)

Three Minutes of Your Weekend

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

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

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:

Fairy Hedgehog

Robin

McKoala

Whirlochre

Even Lighter Entertainment

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!

Happy Halloween!

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.

Vacaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaation! (AKA, holiday)

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.  :)

Bookworms

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

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!)

French Kid Update

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.

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!

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.

Chicklit At Its Headlocking Best

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

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. :)

Happy Reproduction Day!

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

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

The (Fairy) Hedgehog Handbag

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

Rainbow Cupcakes!

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.

Author Withdrawal

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?