a jigsaw story

Science has always been a puzzle to me. This time, though, science taught me something about puzzles, puzzles of the jigsaw variety.

A student's science fair project compared how long it took several individuals to assemble several jigsaw puzzle. On the computer!!!

Where have I been? Working too hard? I had no clue!

I assembled my first one online this morning--38 minutes (I hope it was rated HARD).

Challenging? You bet!

At least it wasn't a Ravensburger . . . or 3000 pieces!

of dealing and blessing . . .

. . . and last year's resolutions.

Had to laugh when resolution time rolled around a few weeks ago. I was still wedged uncomfortably in the throes of 2007's three top-rated resolutions. Never mind the rest of the list--the usual stuff like exercising semi-regularly or replacing porch railings or thiswouldbetheyearI'dgobacktoFrance. . . I was into major league resolutions: taking stock of life, health, career. 2008's only resolution? Keep plugging away at 2007's five-year plan . . .

That's meant dealing. Delving into scary places, inside and out. Stepping out into the unknown, hoping I'll know how to fly when the footing fails me. Facing life's limitations and admitting their very existence. Trusting in a higher power, in someone watching over me, somewhere. . .

That's meant blessing. Reaching out. Drinking from deep wells of support, of caring. Filling heart and soul with peace--peace in the depths of winter . . .

Amazing!

this should be on my other blog. . .

. . . where I have nothing posted! I did have a letter there--draft mode only. A response to a long-ago episode (being rejected for a freshman creative writing class with a famous author) that deflated my aspirations of becoming a famous author in my own right. . . I did share that experience with colleagues, and the author, last fall.

Enough said on that account!

Writing that letter last June was catharsis. I understand now that the decision not to write was and is mine. Which may be why, the last morning of this week's state conference, I sat among writers and wanna-be-writers to soak in the wisdom and experiences and advice of yet another published author, author of adult novels such as those I aspired so long ago to write.

It's no longer so much about being a published writer as it is about understanding how one gets there--the process. And about figuring out where, at seventeen, I went wrong.

This is some of what I learned.

• Don't base a novel on personal experiences. Who would care except me, anyway? And the danger is that, like in most of my writing, I'd be writing just for that audience of one: me. That's OK in a blog or writer's notebook but would be a profound waste of time over 10 drafts of a 300-page novel, don't you think? I do. . .
• Capitalize on my strengths as a researcher: that was sooooooooooooo validated yesterday :-)
• Make the audience (and, first of all, myself) really care about my characters. That matters more than anything.
• Let the setting lead (a place to use some of that research) and the characters react to it.
• Keep chapters short, even in a long book, and avoid long stretches of description or dialogue.
• Use simile to show the native intelligence and wit of characters whose spoken language is not SAE. Use dialect sparingly, if at all.
• When you don't know what to write next, write about the weather. . .
• When you don't know what to write next, read.
• READ NOVELS WRITTEN FOR ADULTS BY AUTHORS WHOSE CRAFT IS WORTH STUDYING (which means varying my too-longstanding diet of YA novels and professional texts).
• Read a lot of poetry.

I'm sure there's more in my notes, but this is what I still remember, one day and one cover-to-cover professional book later.

Will I ever publish that best-selling adult novel?

Probably not. . .

Do I feel more validated, more empowered, understanding what the process of getting there would (or would have) required?

Yes!

admitting my mother was right. . .

. . . gets no easier with age, I'm afraid. But I had to call her this afternoon, knowing I was fueling her lifelong passion for "I told you so." I did call. She did say, "I told you so."


I don't like (some people actually do, weird as it seems) going to the doctor. So mostly I don't. The last few years have been so crazy, so full, that it was always next week or month or year that I was going to schedule that long overdue physical, with the myriad of tests sure to be exacted of someone my age. I'd have almost convinced myself that this was the week, when my mother would ask me if I'd made that appointment. I'm contrary that way. Nag me about something and I'm out the door, in the next county or country, doing everything but what you want.


This summer I finally cut her a deal: stop nagging and I'll make the appointment. She did. I did.


Doctor, lawyer (another story for another day), Indian chief was the first installment. This is hopefully the last.


I think the label is Tis. . . looked surprisingly inocuous as I watched it being snared (my insides on wide screen TV and I was loopy enogh to be fascinated!) and glimpsed it again in its zip-loc bag. Just eight days ago. An innocent little time bomb, as it turned out. Perfect timing on my part, as it turned out.


But my mother was right. And I had to tell her so. And I did. . .

New Year's Eve, part 3

New Year's Eve, part 2

so now it's New Year's Eve. . . and I'm bloggin'

not your ordinary holiday, or is it?

blogging on Christmas Eve???

I guess some would say I should get a life???

But it's been one of those simple pleasure kinds of days . . .

Can't remember the last time I baked macaroni and cheese. . . Maybe when the kids were little? Or made a German chocolate cake . . . Yes I do snap my own greenbeans, sometimes. . . fix both ham and turkey on occasion too. Today, it was all about the sheer simplicity of the menu, the simple pleasure of sharing it with family, and the pleasure of finding just the right combination to satisfy all those varied palates.

Too soon to share the gift stories--only Christmas Eve after all. But Campbell says I have his "number" (let's see what he builds with his tools this year. . .) and Michelle is in Tiffany heaven and my refrigerator gallery is about to graduate from clutter to elegance, thanks to Christie. . .

So, when everyone left my house for the next stops in their soveryfull lives, I opted for the children's Christmas Eve service--too tired for Midnight Mass and wanting to get out early tomorrow to see what Santa leaves tonight on his two other local stops. . . 5pm service. I snagged one of the last parking places in the back lot at 4:20. Not a seat to be found inside, until Father Bob makes this Southern gentlemen plea and one Southern gentleman finds me and offers me his seat. And, like a Southern lady (sorry, Mama, I wasn't very French independent tonight), I say thank you. Front row, one of the best seats in the house for the children's Christmas pageant. Two favorites: "hark, the herald angels. . ." (Mama always asked me to sing that for her at Christmas, in those long ago days when I actually could sing!) and "away in a manger. . ." (old favorite with a new memory today, Michael singing to the Baby Jesus in his green wicker cradle on my hearth this afternoon) . . .

I must have been a very good girl this year, I think, to be so richly blessed on this Christmas Eve. . .

Joy to our world

and peace to all people of good will . . .

Christmas and paper cranes. . .

Paper cranes are the oldest ornaments on my tree. . . I've made a zillion of them, before and since this one and her sisters came to be--but kept none but the original family. I think there are seven of them now. . .

I can still make them from memory. And I did so just the other day--a get well wish for a dear friend and colleague. . .

Amazing how one thin book, an amazing story between its covers, has shaped so much of my life. Sadako, in her lifetime, did not reach her personal goal of 1000 (and, honestly, I doubt my "zillion" is close to 1000 either) but, in her memory, shoolchildren around the world fold thousands each year. This is one of the few years when I haven't taught some of them how . . . yet.

Charleston in December. . .

I really, really, really did not want to spend the last three days at a conference in Charleston!

But I'm glad, from this vantage point, that I did. . .

Simple pleasures. . .

being among friends

splurging on dinners that cost waaaay too much

but taste oooooooh so good

laughter

knowing it's OK to be me

books, books, and more books

valuing old customs and new ideas

feeling good about Monday's presentation

and checking it off as done

summer in December

having someone to clean up after me

not minding a bad hair day

leaving the car parked for three days

walking

taking the stairs

clearing my mind for the days ahead

and filling up my heart

with peace