We carved a pumpkin
But forgot to decorate
The yard with cobwebs.
We donned our costumes
But forgot to get candy
For trick or treaters.
We asked for tricks and
Treats, but we forgot dinner.
Somehow we all lived.
October 2008 Archives
Nothing is quite so personal as a writers notebook. And being personal, the relationship between a writer and their notebook is appropriately convoluted and emotionally saturated. Some writers buy beautiful notebooks and then remain paralyzed, afraid of actually writing in them, afraid that their words will not do justice to the glory of the pretty graphic prints or fine leather binding. Others will only write in college ruled, plain fronted, spiral bound notebooks. The plain Jane packaging a psychological trick to convince themselves that they aren't violating a Notebook d'Art. Taking a pen to those blank pages will not mar the beauty of the possible. The unlimited potential, the supreme power of blankness.
These are two of my notebooks. One I bring to my read and critique group, mainly to copy down the movies everyone keeps mentioning, and the other contains my ideas for the graphic novel I'm writing. I originally started with basic college notebooks, but soon found that I'm far more inspired by something beautiful or intriguing. Although, I still haven't managed to write in my leather ones. (Leather is just so permanent!)
We have been married
Years ago today, and I
Am so glad we did.
Exhibit A.
For the past two months Kyna has been subjecting us (me specifically) to a tiny taste of what she will be like as a teenager. And let me tell you, it is horrific. At first I tried to delude myself into thinking it was a late case of the Terrible Twos, but as time wore on and the 'I hate you's' flowed I began to suspect that this was some sort of a primer. A small taste of what I'm in for from this child who inherited all her father's stubbornness, which, by the way, is more concentrated in her because she's smaller overall, a great deal of his intelligence, as well as his driving need to tell everyone exactly what he thinks. From me she got blue eyes.
Needless to say I'm doomed. My options for emotional survival are slim and I'm resorting to some pretty far fetched solutions. Take the above exhibit A for example. This is Kyna's new bed. It was bought off a charming couple on Craig's list and lovingly decorated by Kyna's very self. Prior to this bed, she had a tall Ikea bunk bed that made cuddling up for bedtime stories impossible. It is my belief that having more 'cuddling' time will (maybe) lessen the horrendous foreshadowing of things to come, and maybe we can keep the teenage years from creeping into the childhood years.
Cats are so much easier.
Otherwise known as National Novel Writing Month. In November I will attempt to write 50,000 words in thirty days. That will be around work, parenting, and the genetic need for a minimum of eight and half hours sleep a night. So far, with my job, I've managed to write about ten pages every two weeks. Under NaNoWriMo rules I will have to produce about five pages a day. That's without dialog. Dialog creates inordinate amounts of white space. Space without any words. Which is bad. NaNoWriMo is all about quantity. Quality is burned in effigy and internal editors are chained to the radiator. All that matters is your word count, your friend's word count, and whether your word count is higher.
If I write one word blogs during November, or all my haikus are missing the last line, that is because these words Do Not Count.
So on this day, sometime before November 2008, I, Daisy, do hereby pledge to write long winded paragraphs, abysmal subplots, crappy dialog and ignore plot structure altogether. In regards to character arc, if my finished work has a consistent protagonist, it will be a miracle. May the one with the highest word count win.
Wish me luck!
If I write one word blogs during November, or all my haikus are missing the last line, that is because these words Do Not Count.
So on this day, sometime before November 2008, I, Daisy, do hereby pledge to write long winded paragraphs, abysmal subplots, crappy dialog and ignore plot structure altogether. In regards to character arc, if my finished work has a consistent protagonist, it will be a miracle. May the one with the highest word count win.
Wish me luck!
Ok, firstly, I did not take this photo. Not that I'm criticizing whoever did, I mean, it's not like every picture I take is dead on fabulous, but still, I'm just saying being in focus helps.
Secondly, Congratulations Baby! Chris took his oath of allegiance with twelve hundred other newly minted Americans yesterday morning. Here he is at work today, blending in with the rest of us citizens.
This spectacular cat cup was made by Kyna in art class. I can not even begin to tell you how proud I am of this masterpiece. Firstly, it is a cat. She got that from me. Cats rank higher even then plants in my world. Humans come in a distant fourth, somewhere after dogs. Secondly, it is a cup. It is a useful item. As I've mentioned before, I dislike things that sit around without a purpose (other than dust collection), so this little piece of brilliance now has pride of place on my dresser and usefully holds my barrettes.
To be a good mom
Requires tea, lots of sleep and
a good foot masseuse.
This is the sunset through the incredibly filthy window of my study. We have this deplorable corrugated plastic shade cover over part of our patio which adds an intersting linear structural element to this photo. It will be the first thing to go in early spring when we redo the back yard. In the meantime I'm trying to expand my photographic repertoire without leaving my chair.
My most wonderful friend, Gayle, plucked this little heart-shaped beauty from her pomegranate tree the other day and gave it to Kyna. Friends, kids and pomegranates. It doesn't get much better than that. Happy Love Thursdays everyone!
Is dependency
On foreign oil anything
Like me and coffee?
Kyna attempted to electrocute herself today. I guess since she is six and in first grade we thought we were through the woods in regards to outlets and other such electrical hazards. Obviously we neglected to realize that with this increased maturity also comes the ability to go get a screwdriver from the toolbox, or to pull up a chair so she can climb on the bathroom counter, or even independently make up her mind to change her bathroom light bulbs without adult supervision. Not one of these scenarios had crossed our minds as something to watch out for, and certainly not as a combined endeavor. Yet that is exactly what happened today. Miraculously the screwdriver she chose had a rubber handle. Miraculously she lived. Miraculously neither Chris nor I had to witness the event, instead, when tidying up before bed we noticed that her bathroom lights wouldn't turn on. A flashlight revealed that none of the light bulbs were in the sockets in the lights above the mirror. Further inspection revealed the screwdriver, its metal shaft charred a smoky black.
When presented with the evidence, Kyna crumbled. Apparently there were sparks. And smoke. She had to run to the other bathroom to put a wet cloth over her eyes. I haven't yet decided if that was scary enough for her. Maybe it would have sunk in a bit more if the whole event had been set to a massive parental freak-out, which is what would have happened had I seen what was going down. I'm sure I could have coordinated my screaming with the sparks, like those firework shows set to music, only not quite so melodic.
When presented with the evidence, Kyna crumbled. Apparently there were sparks. And smoke. She had to run to the other bathroom to put a wet cloth over her eyes. I haven't yet decided if that was scary enough for her. Maybe it would have sunk in a bit more if the whole event had been set to a massive parental freak-out, which is what would have happened had I seen what was going down. I'm sure I could have coordinated my screaming with the sparks, like those firework shows set to music, only not quite so melodic.
We watched the VP debate with friends last night, and while waiting for the gory details to unfold, I manged to imbibe a glass too many from my wine bottle. As a consequence I'm moving pretty slow today. Things like forethought and coherence seem particularly difficult. Luckily ordering pizza and calling it a week take very little of either and I am turning my brain off for the rest of the evening. Maybe I'll even finish off that bottle to make the transition to full vegetable that much smoother.
As I was driving to work the other day I caught a glimpse of the morning sun through a very exuberant cosmos bush at the edge of my garden. This morning I made a point of snapping a few photos before I drove off.
