dfable

A Beautiful Day at Stonecoast

2008-07-07T22:52:55Z

Today was a beautiful day in Maine. The mild temperature, sunshine, and the whisper of a breeze really lifted my spirits, but truthfully even if the weather had been bad, it would've been a beautiful day in Maine.

I've said before that there is a lot of angst that comes with an MFA program, and I've had my share, but it's days like these that make me feel so connected to this writing community and the astounding environment that surrounds the Stonehouse. I really am lucky to be here, despite being in a dorm room with boogers on the headboard. No, I did not put them there.

Why such a good day? Today was filled with meaningful interactions with fellow writers, a huge leap in my third semester project thanks to friends--and you know who you are, I got to listen to some awesome readings, great presentations, and to top it all off I just had a most fantastic dinner. All full up now, so it's time to write.

** Two bad things. We all miss Erin Underwood and Jim Kelly so much. I know Erin will have a great time in Ireland, and I hope Clarion is treating Jim well.

Spying Eyes

2008-06-12T12:30:06Z

Is there anything creepier than being on the second floor of your home and looking out your window to find two dark eyes staring in at you? Yikes! It doesn't matter that the eyes belong to a curious squirrel, because it is still startling. I'm writing in my pajamas in here, and I don't like that disbelieving little face and twitching nose pressed up against my window. It makes me feel as if I'm on display in my own habitat. And now that I've yelled at the squirrel and made him leave, I can hear him, on my roof, running back and forth, and I'm sure he's tempted to come back and have another peek at the freak behind the glass. That would be a mistake. I'm ready. I've raised the window, so the screen is all that stands between me and creeping Mickey. And I have a gun. Ok, it's a water gun, but it will still shock the hell out of him. Hehehe.
You think I'm mean? I'm not. This is the same critter that climbed under the bottom of my car and ate up my electrical wiring costing me $800. I don't mind...

He came back!!! I missed him! Damn, those things are fast. Well, I did still water the window pretty good. I'm sure he's been taught a lesson. Or, yeah, it was me who was taught a lesson. I've got too much work to do to be on patrol. The good news. I've got seven kids with very little to do this summer. That squirrel messed with the wrong mother.

CHOCOLATE

2008-05-26T14:11:37Z

On Saturday I received a box of chocolates. No name sender, but I have a few clues. I know it was someone from LJ, because the letter enclosed with the chocolate said "Thank you for taking part in our pre-launch LiveJournal Truffle sale." If not for the note, I might not have eaten the candy, titled The Seven Deadly Sins Plus One, since my mamma always told me not to take candy from strangers.
The sins?

ENVY: Key-lime flavored white chocolate center with candied ginger. Gluttony: Milk chocolate ganache with Heath toffee bits. Greed: Dark chocolate ganache with Valrhona cocoa nibs and Godiva liquer. (Oh, la, la) Lust: Pomegranate with dried Bing cherries. Pride: Dark ganache center with Chambord raspberry liqueur and a black raspberry. Sloth: Half dark chocolate/rum ganache, half peanut butter. Wrath: Three chiles, clove, cinnamon and ginger. Plus one... Hazel: White ganache with Frangelico liqueur and toasted hazelnuts.

My husband had pointed out that I had a package during the day, but I thought it was books for school and was in no rush to open it. Thus, it was around ten when I finally did grab the package. I was on my way upstairs with it when I realized it wasn't books. I set it in the hall and began to rip it open. Because, ya know, it's a surprise for me! My daughters gathered around. Yes, we squealed when we saw that there was chocolate inside. Yay! After I read the note, my oldest daughter got her laptop and tried to play detective to find out who might have sent it. Meanwhile I poked and prodded each piece trying to figure out which was which. In the end, I settled for the taste test, passing each luscious truffle around so we could all taste. Mind you, it was around ten o'clock at night, and we were giggling and eating chocolate and generally keeping my nine year old up--as he pointed out when he got out of bed and joined us. That's the problem with having older kids who are just starting their night when the youngest is going to bed, but hey it was the weekend, and we gave him chocolate so he didn't really mind.

And the winner of the chocolate extravaganza? Wrath! I know. I'm as surprised as you, but yes chiles and chocolate are an incredible mix. You must try it.

Thanks to whoever sent the chocolate!! You rock! Oh and thanks to Polidori chocolates. You rock, too! Now, whoever sent the wonderful gift will you please show yourself? I so think I know who you are. Do I?

The Undead Lori Finiker

2008-05-16T16:32:46Z

I blogged a few weeks ago about my trouble with my new novel. I felt stuck. Well, I've solved the problem. I did it in two ways. One, I switched from first to third person. And I was very much against doing this. My mentor had prodded me to make the change, but I felt as if I would be losing my main character's voice if I did that. And it was true, her voice was diminished, but it also helped to pick the pace up of the story and to unlock the story from many of her internal musings. Anyway, that worked for a little while, but I still found myself reaching a point where I felt blocked. After a little thought on the matter, I decided I need a new POV. I needed to know what the evil demon characters were up to in the story. Now, I didn't know if this pov shift was going to be permanent or just a way for me to jar my own subconscious into becoming more aware of the peril of my main characters predicament, but at that point it didn't matter. I started a new chapter by titling it, something I normally do. I titled it, The Undead Lori Finkier.
Wow, what a change. I went from being blocked to having to stop myself from writing, because I was neglecting my "real" life chores. The character is a complete delight to me. Mean, evil, and sarcastically funny or just plain viciously funny. I guess that makes me a bit of a freak. Anyway, I don't know if this will help anyone, but I thought I'd pass on the fact that I rid myself of writer's block by making a few shifts. Anyone know of any other ways?

They Evacuated My Kid's School, Again.

2008-05-14T19:59:58Z

Last week, the school officials evacuated my kid's middle school, because a threatening message was written on a bathroom wall. They caught the kid and had him arrested. It seemed a bit drastic to me, but as a parent I guessed it was better to opt for safe than sorry. Anyway, you'd think that would be the end of this kind of prank. Not so. Today, I found this note in my email:

"Just a short while ago, the school received a report that a threat was written on the restroom wall. To ensure student safety, the building was evacuated and students were taken outside. The police were immediately called and are conducting a systematic search of the building to ensure it is safe. The students will be dismissed at the regularly scheduled time. No other buildings in the school district were affected but the district chose to communicate with all parents to ensure that an accurate message was delivered."

Not only was the school evacuated, but all after school activities were cancelled, including a band concert. This really upsets me. Do they need to pull the alarm every time some smart-ass writes something on a wall? And what are we teaching our kids? The school claims they're teaching zero tolerance and accountability, but I think they're teaching the kids how to get out of class. I think they're teaching the kids that the world is a scary place and even your classmates can't be trusted. And I don't agree. These are six through eighth grades. These kids don't need to be treated like small personality bombs waiting to go off. I refuse to become one of those people who jumps at shadows, who sees the worst possibility even in the local middle school. I really believe this school needs a new policy or a shot of common sense.

Tree Huggers Party

2008-05-04T15:43:08Z

Last night I went to the "10 Year Anniversary Party" of an organization known as Pennfuture--a pro-conservation, pro-renewable, and anti-pollution advocate in Pennsylvania. What an amazing night. I spoke with people who ran organic farms, environmental consulting firms, and many people who'd made big changes in how their local communities work to conserve. Truthfully, I felt a bit of a slacker talking about changing my lightbulbs and my new big recycling bin.

The governor of Pennsylvania spoke, as did Teresa Heinz Kerry, but the highlight was a presentation by Al Gore. I've seen a lot of people speak on a lot of subjects but I have never been simultaneously moved, fascinated, uplifted and horrified all by the same speech. He spoke of oil at $200 a barrel, spoke of OPEC backing down on prices when the US becomes too agitated, because they understand that by lowering prices we fall into complacency. His point was that, in addition to making immense profits (and increasing our national debt), OPEC "manages" us politically by lowering prices if we get too serious about renewables.

Mr. Gore spoke of a twenty-something from one of the world's poorest countries (Papua New Guniea) who at the recent Bali Summit summed up the rest of the world's frustration with US ambivalence: "Lead, follow, or get out of the way." The man was from a country, as Mr. Gore described, with a large segment of its population still literally in the stone age. He told us this to demonstrate how far behind we've fallen from the rest of the world on the issue of climate change. He made the point repeatedly during his speech by saying, "We need to start choosing the hard right over the easy wrong."

The room was energized with the speech, and more than a few people shouted out or made comments. It was a lot more lively than you'd expect from a group of environmentalists, or so said a joking Governor Ed Rendell.

At the end of the night, I briefly spoke with Mr. Gore and mumbled something about how I'd really appreciated his efforts and that I had learned a lot from his speech. He was very gracious, and suggested that changes must begin at the grassroots level.

Pennfuture has managed to do amazing things in Pennsylvania, and the room was filled with people dedicated to making the hard choices. I know we're all aware of the problem, but it takes a night like this to reinvigorate our daily efforts, and that's why I'm sharing my experience with you. Now, go out there and save a tree or something.

Sandlot

2008-04-18T13:58:42Z

My son asked if he could go to the park today with his friends to play baseball. I hesitated. He's nine but still my baby. I did let him go, because people keep telling me I have to start letting him go.
I cannot express how cute a pack of boys, nine and ten years old, look with their bats, hats, and gloves as they march off with the cocky attitude of those freed for the first time from the confines of their suburban neighborhood. Adorable.

How Did I Get Here?

2008-04-11T14:24:05Z

I finished my third packet and sent it off to Nancy Holder. I was pleased with my annotations, but I have to say that I am not at all happy with where my new novel is going. I've got 25,000 words of a story I had imagined as a fight against God over information brought back from the dead by a modern day Prometheus, and have ended up with demons and people leaving their bodies and some really organized ancient evil that has popped up out of nowhere. I can't write any more because in my mind I have my three main characters on stage --setting being a living room with a blue couch, throw rug, coffee table, and a dusty floor lamp, and I'm sitting in the empty theater watching them, waiting for them to do something, but they are all staring back at me with WTF looks on their faces. How did I get here?

Black Holes and Dragons

2008-03-29T12:56:17Z

I read in the NY Times that there's a lawsuit in a Hawaiian court that intends to stop a giant particle accelerator from creating a black hole that could destroy the Earth. My favorite lines from the article:

"The possibility that a black hole eats up the Earth is too serious a threat to leave it as a matter of argument among crackpots,” said Michelangelo Mangano."

But it's not just black holes we need fear:

"There is some minuscule probability, he [Dr. Arkani-Hamed] said, “the Large Hadron Collider might make dragons that might eat us up.”

I prefer the dragons.

Santa is lonely

2007-12-12T01:48:11Z

At my daughter's high school, the morning announcements have "commercials" done by the kids for clubs etc. At the end of one of these "commercials" Santa popped up and said, "Ha, ha, ha." My daughter thought this was odd, so she asked a teacher and found out that a few serious girls were offended at the traditional phrase of "Ho, ho, ho." They said it was degrading to women. Poor Santa, all he wanted was to get laid.

No Purpose and a Pistol

2007-07-17T18:27:39Z

I came back from Stonecoast to a home and family and life in disarray. And as I run around trying to catch up with stuff, make appointments, and fix things, I find myself enjoying my family with the kind of delight one can only have when they've been away from home for awhile. So here's a story. My daughter Kristine, my son Luke, and I were in the kitchen talking about life.
Luke, a pessimist at eight, said he thought the world hated him, because it had tried to kick him off the planet twice. Of course, Kristine and I started laughing as he explained his harrowing near death experiences. I said, it sounded like the beginning of a story, "I knew the world hated me when..." Kris, always clever and funny said, "I knew the world hated me when it put me on Earth with no purpose and a pistol."
Not only is that funny, but I think it pretty much sums up what I was feeling by the end of my residency. ; )

I'm still working on my new novel. Plus, I've gained someone to bounce my ideas off as Julia Spencer Fleming, famous mystery writer, is now my mentor. Yay!

Well, back to work.

One Long Day!

2007-07-07T01:19:49Z

I started driving at four am. I arrived at noon, a little poorer as a Massachusetts officer saw fit to give me a ticket. :P to him. But I got here and am thrilled. Today was a whirlwind of meeting people, learning the lay of the land, and carrying my belongs in through a torrential downpour. Soggy.
We listening to faculty readings tonight, which was our esteemed teachers reading from their novels and poetry. All I can say is WOW! They did three minute readings, and just when you thought there was no way to get any better material into three minutes, someone else got up to read their stuff. It's truly a unique experience to be around people with such talent and to know they're here to share it with you. Can't wait for tomorrow!

Off to Stonecoast!!

2007-07-06T08:16:55Z

It's four in the morning, and I'm off to Stonecoast. My car is packed with all sorts of stuff and books, lots of books. I'll keep you informed of my adventures. Talk to you again in Maine!

Fourth of July!!

2007-07-04T12:53:12Z

Happy Fourth everyone! Now go out there and blow something up, but leave Guy Fawkes out of it. He's been through enough.

I Dream About Dead People

2007-06-15T12:24:01Z

I dreamt the other night about my husband's dead grandmother. It was a great dream, meaningful, but when I told people about it, some of them acted as if this was weird, dreaming of the dead. It wasn't my first dream of someone dead. In fact, I've had a few, but now I can't help but wonder how common it is to dream of the dead.

I had a friend tell me that when her daughter was sick in the hospital, near death, her grand-father appeared to her in a dream, put his hand on her head, and said, "It will be alright." And it was.

Now I have to ask you. Fess up, ever dream about someone who was dead? No, it doesn't have to be someone you met or knew in life, just someone who was without a doubt dead. I guess that excludes Elvis. ;)

Megan Abigail Stewart

2007-06-12T13:12:22Z

My daughter, my third oldest child, graduated from High School yesterday. She’s such a great kid, and I’m so proud of her. So here’s a story about Meg. When Meg was around ten we took a cruise to Mexico. Now, when I say “we” I mean, me, my husband, our seven kids, and about twenty-seven other people. Every two years we take a cruise with all my husband's siblings, their spouses or intimates, all their kids, and his Mom and Dad, step-dad. We always have a great time, and that trip was no exception. Still, when it was time to return to the ship, Meg realized she’d lost her room key--which gets you on and off the ship.
Of course, her uncles had a fun time on the bus back harassing her about how she was going to be left behind in Mexico. I tried to reassure her. I told her that I’d hand the lady all our keys at the same time, and in the confusion she could slip on. I was just trying to avoid one of us having to wait, while someone sprinted to get another key.
Anyway, we get to the ship, her uncles still aren’t letting up, even as they themselves are getting on, she’s starting to look nervous, biting her lip, tensing her shoulders. I hand the attendant eight cards for nine people, and she starts, one by one, to count as we go through. It comes down to the last card. Her uncles had passed onto the other side and were making discouraging remarks. She looked so nervous when that last card came up. I smiled at her, and said. “Go on, Meg. Get on the boat.” I figured I’d wait while my husband got another pass. Meg shook her head. At this point, she was convinced someone was getting left in Mexico. I told her to go. She said, no, and I swear she looked like she was steeling her little body. I started to argue, and with two hands that kid pushed me through the turnstile and onto the safety of our ship. Thus, assuring that she would be the one left in Mexico.
Every time I think about this I laugh. Our attendant, recognizing her innate heroics, allowed her on the ship right after me. But I’ll always remember her sacrificing herself and yelling, as she pushed me, “Go, Mom, go!”
This is Meg. She has no problem being the hero. She has no problem doing what she feels is right. She has stuck up for kids on the bus even when it meant she gained enemies for all her school career. She is smart and fun and I’m already starting to ache with the idea of her leaving for Penn State. I guess this time, it will be me doing the pushing.

Love Bugs

2007-05-30T02:44:12Z

Back from Florida. Florida is filled with bugs. I know, you know this, but I’m not talking little lizards and giant roaches, both of which I saw. The roach made an appearance at a fancy dinner. Yuk. Still, the bug I saw the most in Florida was the Love Bug. Aw, it has such a cute name. It is not cute.
I went during peak Love Bug season, and they were a swarming, horny mess.
The aptly named bug was mating the entire time I was down there. They are harmless, and so the fact that they were doing the nasty in my hair, on my arms, legs, and yes down my shirt, should not have bothered me, but it did. At first, I flinched at every unwanted landing and swatted them away. A swat, not even a heavy swat, will kill a Love Bug and its mate. Their guts are very sticky. After awhile, you give into them. Love Bugs fill the air. They fly while doing the nasty. Talk about multi-tasking. There isn’t much you can do, short of seeking shelter. And if you paid for a vacation in Florida, you are not likely to retreat in the face of a bug orgy. I’m still a bit itchy, and yes, I feel cheap.
Love Bugs are black with reddish heads, and I’m pretty sure the female is the larger of the two. The male, stuck to her butt by his butt, is pretty much dragged wherever the female wants to go, typical. The female is tenacious. I saw one, the male dutifully attached, holding onto the gut splattered windshield of my car as I drove forty-five mph. The poor little male on the back was flapping around like an unwanted appendage. At first, it looked like fun but then got insanely gruesome. They were both blown away in the end. *snort* Many Love Bugs die bitter deaths, but not to worry, there’s plenty more where they came from.;)

Bedknobs and Broomsticks

2007-05-17T13:25:08Z

If you've never been intimidated by a snotty store clerk, then you've never been to Neiman Marcus. I remember trying to buy something there. I pulled out my visa. The clerk's eyes, skimmed down ever so slightly, while her nose remained firmly in the air. Yeah, I'll admit it, that's a good trick, and I was impressed. It's not easy to look down your nose at someone. Turns out, they don't take Visa there. They take the Neiman Marcus credit card or check. I think I must have sputtered for a moment, asked her to repeat herself, and sputtered again. I mean, aren't they in the business of making money? What my Visa dollars aren't good enough for you? It's money, sort of.
Needless to say, I don't go into Neiman Marcus anymore. I go through it. And there are some stores in the King Of Prussia Mall, those stores with just a few items scattered about on the racks, and six gorgeous clerks waiting for someone to enter, that I wouldn't bother to go into, but sometimes you get sucked into a store you know nothing about. That happened to me. I passed this bed store. It looked so cool. A bed that vibrates, separate controls so you and your spouse can adjust up or down, and a bunch of safety features so your kids head won't get crushed underneath. I need a new bed, so I let the sales clerk tell me all about it. According to the well-mannered clerk, this bed would solve all my sleep problems. Sleep. I'd sell my soul, well nearly. I was pretty interested, until he dropped the price bomb. $15,000 for a bed! Bedknobs and broomsticks, does the thing fly? What do I look like a working girl? I mean, I can't get a deduction on my taxes! Who are these people? Who are these people with Neiman Marcus credit cards? The ones that buy 15,000 beds? The ones that buy those houses with intricate wrought iron gates, whose front doors you can't even see from the street? Who are they, and how do we throw them out of office?

Summer Plans

2007-05-07T13:54:00Z

My son came home from college, after a final rugby game, which his team won, and it has me thinking about summer. It looks like trouble. In addition to working on the ending of my novel, which is so close to done I keep saying it's done, and a few short stories, I'm doing editing work for Oceanview Publishing and getting ready for Stonecoast. In Mother's Day May, I fly with the family to Florida to attend a wedding and a family reunion. In June my second oldest daughter, third child, graduates and is off to Greece. Deep breath.
My oldest daughter, oldest child returns from Ireland at about the same time that my lawn will be filled with heavy equipment. We're getting a pool. July starts with a trip to NY for July 4th. July 7th is my fourth oldest daughter, fifth oldest child's birthday, but we'll have to celebrate early, because I won't be there. I'll be at Stoneocast, which will take a huge amount of prep work if I believe the reading list being circulated. Days after finishing Stonecoast, I'm on my way to Colorado. My sister is getting married, so the nine of us head out there for a week. August is VP reunion(yay), two birthdays, three kids off to college, another trip to NY, and settling into some kind of routine. Summer ends back in NY for a Labor Day party. It's a beach party and the very best kind of fun, which includes, family, friends, and feasting. So what are your plans?

Poetry is Dangerous

2007-04-20T17:09:57Z

A fellow Stonecoaster sent this to me on the listserv. He asked the students to forward it to anyone we felt should read it, and because I feel it's important, I'm posting it here.

Poetry is Dangerous
Kazim Ali

On April 19, after a day of teaching classes at
Shippensburg University, I went out to my car and
grabbed a box of old poetry manuscripts from the front
seat of my little white beetle and carried it across
the street and put it next to the trashcan outside
Wright Hall. The poems were from poetry contests I had
been judging and the box was heavy. I had previously
left my recycling boxes there and they were always
picked up and taken away by the trash department.

A young man from ROTC was watching me as I got into my
car and drove away. I thought he was looking at my car
which has black flower decals and sometimes inspires
strange looks. I later discovered that I, in my dark
skin, am sometimes not even a person to the people who
look at me. Instead, in spite of my peacefulness, my
committed opposition to all aggression and war, I am a
threat by my very existence, a threat just living in
the world as a Muslim body.

Upon my departure, he called the local police
department and told them a man of Middle Eastern
descent driving a heavily decaled white beetle with
out of state plates and no campus parking sticker had
just placed a box next to the trash can. My car has
NY plates, but he got the rest of it wrong. I have two
stickers on my car. One is my highly visible faculty
parking sticker and the other, which I just don’t have
the heart to take off these days, says “Kerry/Edwards:
For a Stronger America.”

Because of my recycling the bomb squad came, the state
police came. Because of my recycling buildings were
evacuated, classes were canceled, campus was closed.
No. Not because of my recycling. Because of my dark
body. No. Not because of my dark body. Because of his
fear. Because of the way he saw me. Because of the
culture of fear, mistrust, hatred, and suspicion that
is carefully cultivated in the media, by the
government, by people who claim to want to keep us
‘safe.’

These are the days of orange alert, school lock-downs,
and endless war. We are preparing for it, training for
it, looking for it, and so of course, in the most
innocuous of places—a professor wanting to hurry home,
hefting his box of discarded poetry—we find it.

That man in the parking lot didn’t even see me. He saw
my darkness. He saw my Middle Eastern descent. Ironic
because though my grandfathers came from Egypt, I am
Indian, a South Asian, and could never be mistaken for
a Middle Eastern man by anyone who’d ever met one.

One of my colleagues was in the gathering crowd,
trying to figure out what had happened. She heard my
description—a Middle Eastern man driving a white
beetle with out of state plates—and knew immediately
they were talking about me and realized that the box
must have been manuscripts I was discarding. She
approached them and told them I was a professor on the
faculty there. Immediately the campus police officer
said, “What country is he from?”

“What country is he from?!” she yelled, indignant.

“Ma’am, you are associated with the suspect. You need
to step away and lower your voice,” he told her.

At some length several of my faculty colleagues were
able to get through to the police and get me on a cell
phone where I explained to the university president
and then to the state police that the box contained
old poetry manuscripts that needed to be recycled. The
police officer told me that in the current climate I
needed to be more careful about how I behaved. “When I
recycle?” I asked.

The university president appreciated my distress about
the situation but denied that the call had anything to
do with my race or ethnic background. The spokesperson
of the university called it an “honest mistake,” not
referring to the young man from ROTC giving in to his
worst instincts and calling the police but referring
to me who made the mistake of being dark-skinned and
putting my recycling next to the trashcan.

The university’s bizarrely minimal statement lets
everyone know that the “suspicious package” beside the
trashcan ended up being, indeed, trash. It goes on to
say, “We appreciate your cooperation during the
incident and remind everyone that safety is a joint
effort by all members of the campus community.”

What does that community mean to me, a person who has
to walk by the ROTC offices every day on my way to my
own office just down the hall—who was watched, noted,
and reported, all in a day’s work? Today we gave in
willingly and whole-heartedly to a culture of fear and
blaming and profiling. It is deemed perfectly
appropriate behavior to spy on one another and police
one another and report on one another. Such behaviors
exist most strongly in closed and undemocratic and
fascist societies.

The university report does not mention the root cause
of the alarm. That package became “suspicious” because
of who was holding it, who put it down, who drove
away. Me.

It was poetry, I kept insisting to the state policeman
who was questioning me on the phone. It was poetry I
was putting out to be recycled.

My body exists politically in a way I can not prevent.
For a moment today, without even knowing it, driving
away from campus in my little beetle, exhausted after
a day of teaching, listening to Justin Timberlake on
the radio, I ceased to be a person when a man I had
never met looked straight through me and saw the
violence in his own heart.

Tribal Update

2007-04-14T14:05:42Z

Dinner with Bogwitch and Orogeny was awesome! We ate in China Town, at the same restaurant that Orogeny, Gurunya, and I had dinner at for Philcon. We even sat at the same rickety table.
Bogwitch showed off her beautiful mermaid tattoo, and it was GORGEOUS. The food itself wasn’t that great, and I ended up eating a soup with unnamable parts bobbing around in it. That seems to be a trend. In Boston it was fish parts soup with Prusik, Avocadovpx, and Gurunya. In Philly, it was spicy Chinese soup, with stringing black stalks, soft white spines, and hard gray matter floating in a shiny broth. Yes, I ate it. I only spit out one piece, the gray brain thing, and that was because my teeth couldn’t break through it. I am not a picky eater.
We went for a two second walk, but it’s cold here and Bogwitch was wearing sandals. We then had a harrowing car ride back to Bogwitch’s hotel, but Orogeny assures me I am a good driver. Just don’t ask Mur about that. ;)
We had coffee back at the hotel and talked and laughed like loons. So much fun, but I wish we could have had more of our tribe there with us. We missed you guys, and reminisced fondly of you all.
Strange but true. As we talked, I had a flashback, a suppressed memory form that final party at VPX. I’m not sure how many of you remember this, but somehow a few of us got into a conversation about gross things we’d seen on the internet. The top prize involved a man with a cavernous, well, black hole. Hmm, enough said. I wish I hadn’t remembered.
I also learned Bogwitch can call crows on command. I just might travel to her house to see that in person.
Orogeny believes Bogwitch has a familiar, the rat in her house, but it may not be a rat, cause its got a fury tail. Hmm, witch, familiar, crows. Yes, she is awesome! And so is her family. And so is Orogeny. Thanks for a great night, chicas!

How to steal food from a bear

2007-04-11T00:02:12Z

I was reading How To Stay Alive In The Woods by Bradford Angier, a survival guide that I've found to be extremely amusing. In it, I discovered an entry on how to steal food from a bear. I thought this was a unique section, because one wouldn't normally think to steal food from a bear. In fact, if I saw a bear in the wilderness, I'd most want to know how to get away. Anyway, here's a sample:

"If you are unarmed and really need the bear's meal you will plan to execute your campaign with all reasonable caution." Thanks for the info. I was just gonna walk right up and snatch the deer carcass away from him.
"This will probably mean, first of all, spotting with the minutest of detail, preferably at least two paths of escape in case a fast exit should become advisable. This should not be too difficult where there are small trees to climb."

Ah, yes. The old climb a tree to escape the bear after you've stolen his food. Works every time. Especially, if the trees are small. Bears can't climb.

The author goes on to advise that the stranded woodsman or woman might want to consider just eating the bear. In fact, "...many of our close acquaintances, who live on wild meat, relish plump bear..."

Yeah, by our close acquaintances does he mean those cavemen in the Geico commercials?
I think we could solve the obesity epidemic in America, if we just insisted that everyone who wanted dinner had to steal at least one meal from a bear. Just a thought.

dfable @ 2007-04-05T09:16:00

2007-04-05T13:33:18Z

My husband was reading, The Road by Cormac McCarthy, and he pointed out to me that the author doesn't use he said or she said. I thought that was fantastic. I'm now going through my novel, which is near complete, trying to take out all the unnecessary he or she said. It's amazing when you look at them with critical eyes, how weighty those two words can seem. Anyone else a purveyor of too much he said she said?

Clutter

2007-03-28T13:44:25Z

I cleaned out the drawers of my bookcase yesterday and found an old album--Walk On The Wild Side by Elmer Bernstein. Never seen it before. I wonder if it's worth money? I also found the transcript of an unknown girl, and she was damn smart. Never seen or heard of her. I also found a letter from a dead guy. Can't see him anymore, but it came at the right time for my husband, who really appreciated the find.
I also found amidst countless pictures, drawn by kids or taken of kids, a small pamphlet called The Underground Grammarian. This I've seen before. It was written and given to me by a teacher I had in college, R. Mitchell. I read through it and was so interested to find many of today's topics in the pages. It's from Summer 1991. In it, he speaks of the Gulf War. He brings up some of the qualms people had before the war, and with heavy sarcasm mentions that people are now trying to decide if the war was just by the number of casualties. He writes, "There is some number of dead Iraqis, x, that will show the war just. What a relief. And there is some other number, x+1 that will show the war unjust."

The entry is so much more detailed than just those sharp comments, but I had to share as it seemed so poignant to today's headlines.

Bookcase clean. Mind still cluttered.

Magic

2007-03-22T01:54:11Z

I’ve finally feel comfortable working through my ending. Thanks to all of you for the advice and support. I also took a cue or two or three from Ursula K. Le Guin’s Steering The Craft. Her advice gave me practical ways to focus and improve my writing skills, while reminding me to trust my instincts. I started Tomb of The Wild Magic with a very real vision in my head. I saw the first scene, a girl, naked, walking in the desert. I followed the instinct on who she was, let the story, her story and that of the other characters come through in a rush. And it was a rush. But when it was done, and it came to revising, I began to doubt my ability to make the story real for others, as real as it was in my head. And that doubt took all the joy out of the process.
I knew when I started this novel what the ending would be, but somewhere along the way, I lost my conviction. I remember now. In Steering the Craft, Le Guin said, “…the story, the work itself, has a shape its trying to achieve…” I needed to read that, to have someone who’s done the work and been successful at it reassure me that writing is something alive, something that weaves itself despite learning and skill. It’s magic. And that’s why I write.