the pieces of my life

Q: How many servings of candy corn are there in a nine-serving bag of Brach’s candy corn?

Sorry, that was a trick question. Because all of you, knowing me, would answer, “One.” But I’m PMSing, which means it’s really only about 3/4th of a serving. But what to do what that needed additional 1/4th? How long before the kids notice that their candy stashes are slowly disappearing?

Hey, did you see what now lives in my front room?

It is freakin’ ginmormous.
“How am I going to cart that thing around?” I muttered this morning.
“Bass cases have wheels on them,” Doodles said.
“This one doesn’t,” I said.
“Oh,” he said. “I guess Pie will have to carry it by the handles.”
Really? Your sister is going to carry this thing? And this is coming from the boy who frequently asks, “Mom, can you please carry my viola?” Viola, boy! A viola is the size of that bass’s pinky! And, help me lord, because that bass is a 1/10th size. I cannot fathom the mama bass that goes with this baby bass. The girl had better stop growing right where she is, if she plans on continuing to play bass. Jealous much?

Eating 3/4 of a serving of candy corn makes me realize that too much candy corn is not a good thing. It really needs to be balanced with other foods. Like, say, a bag of gummy bears. Or a box or twelve of Peeps. Why don’t my kids have any good candy in their candy stashes? And it’s not just because I’ve already eaten it all. They have bad taste in candy.

On a non-musical, non sugar-related note, guess what I just received!

Yep, containing my lovely essay (yes, I know you can’t read the name, but that is my finger pointing to me).

Get yer own copy of The Best Women’s Travel Writing, Vol. 9: True Stories from Around the World

I’m off to work on the ol’ novel. I advise you all to lock up your candy cabinets. When I’m writing, no sugar is safe from my clutches.

I’ve been cheating on you.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I really thought this would last forever, and if you’ll bear with me, I’m willing to make this work. I don’t want to abandon everything. We’ve had 11 1/2 good years together, and we can have 11 1/2 more.

But, yes, I am cheating. And I don’t plan to stop. While you have been fun and lighthearted and it’s been great hanging out and chatting about Doodles and Pie and the cast of characters that make up my life, lately I’ve been wanting something more, something else. Not better, mind you. Just different. I have other interests, other things I wish to explore. Writing. History. Grammar. Things I know you tolerate, but don’t pine for. I appreciate you putting up with my fetishes, but I found a place where I can let them all hang out. So, yes. I confess. I’m cheating. I have a second blog.

It doesn’t mean anything to me, I swear. You will always be my first love. But I need to see this through. Maybe it will go nowhere. Who knows? But I need to see where this can take me.

I swear, it’s not you. It’s me. I still love you. I hope we can still be friends. xxxooo

My husband is taunting me with pictures on Facebook of elegant dining rooms and lingering dinners. He texted me a photo of the snacks at one of his meetings: a bucket–yes, a bucket–of gummy bears. He went to bed last night with no one kicking him in the ribs.

I–oh, wait a minute. I just stepped in a pile of Kix lying on the floor and have made a huge mess. What was I going to say? Whatever it was, suffice it to note that I am not having the elegant time of my husband, who has been swept off for the week for a conference in Berlin.

But alas it is not all bad here. Well, the sobs from the girl about missing Daddy, the boy’s refusal to practice his viola, and the insult-to-injury early release day today notwithstanding, things are going just hunky dory.

For starters, I’ve learned my daughter will not only live with me her entire life, but I shall have the privilege of chauffeuring her until the end of my days. In the car, we had this discussion:

The girl: When Doodles goes on his retreat this weekend, I get to be alone with you and Daddy!
Me: Yes, you do.
The girl: Doodles, you had two years alone with Mommy and Daddy.
The boy: Huh?
Me: Yep. Before you were born, Doodles.
The boy: Oh.
Me: But, Pie, you’ll have two years alone with us when your brother goes away to college.
The boy: But I want to go to M.I.T., so I won’t be going away.
Me: Even if you do get to go to M.I.T., you’re going to want to live on campus.
The boy: I can do that?
Me: Yes. It’s part of the college experience, moving out of the house, living with friends. It’s something you’ll be ready to do by the time you go to college.
The boy: Okay.
The girl: Not me! I’m not going to college because I don’t ever want to leave home!
Me: You may find you feel differently when you’re 17.
The girl: No way! I just won’t go to college.
Me: Well, if you feel that way, we are in a major college town and there are plenty of schools you can go to and still live at home. Heck, there’s a college just 15 minutes away.
The girl: And you’ll drive me to class?
Me: Uh, no. You’ll drive yourself to class.
The girl: No way! I’m not going to college unless you’re driving me to classes!

Let’s re-visit this blog post in 2023, shall we?

In the meantime, I’m getting a decent amount of editing done on my novel, and I’m feeling good about the changes I’m making. And I just had a short-short accepted for publication in the Sierra Nevada Review, which is always an exciting thing. And I know I have a big bag of gummies coming to me at the end of the week (are you paying attention, Adam?).

Back to writing. Gotta get as much done as I can before I’m expected back behind the wheel. Ta ta!

I’m about 1/3 of the way through edits on my manuscript, but there are so many more pressing things that I’m having a difficult time focusing on the work. For instance:

1) I’m distressed that my 4th grader has spelling words that not only do I not know how to spell without the help of my good friends Mr. Merriam and Mr. Webster, but words of which I’ve never even heard! An extra Girl Scout cookie for anyone here who can properly use “argillaceous” in a sentence without first looking it up (and if I’ve told you the definition, you are disqualified). I’ve told the boy he has two options as far as I’m concerned on today’s spelling test that I’d be fine with: He can spell everything right except for “argillaceous” or he could spell everything else wrong and spell “argillaceous” correctly. Heck, I’ve typed “argillaceous” four times now, and I still have to refer back to the list of spelling words to see how it’s spelled. By the way, this is the same list where my son has to spell the word “gentle.”* “How could you have spelled ‘gentle’ wrong?” He said, “I could have sworn she said ‘gentile.'” Another reason it’s hard to be a Jew in the public schools.

*The kids are given a pre-test of 30 words. The first 10 words they get wrong are their spelling words for the week. If they get fewer wrong on the pre-test, they have fewer spelling words for the week. Nothing annoys me more than the weeks when the boy has three spelling words for the week and he still spells two wrong on the Friday test.

2) I’m three shoe boxes short for today’s Brownie meeting. These important things take up brain space, people!

3) Goats. How can anyone work when Taylor Swift is singing with goats. I’m obsessed.

4) The knowledge that at this very moment, people are frolicking with sea lions, marine iguanas, and blue-footed boobies and I’m sitting here not writing.

I’m working on the Galapagos slide show/recount of the trip. But then I’m also working on the novel, the boy’s spelling, Brownies, baking hallah, and all those other wonderful things so it may be a bit. But I promise one thing when I do get to it: There will be nothing argillaceous about it.

My novel needed a new first chapter. I had one that jumped in time, and it was confusing. I had another that sort of plopped you into the novel in a way that didn’t draw the reader in. So I went back to the drawing board (or the computer screen, as the case may be) and wrote a new first chapter. I found the perfect point in time for the novel to start. I wrote beautiful words that just fell into place. I read it and read it again, and it was just right.

Then I realized that toward the end of my book, there was a scene missing. It wasn’t glaring, no one was going to read the novel and think, “Hey, why wasn’t that in there!” but it’s a scene that just makes sense to have, I thought. So I wrote it. Wasn’t sure about it. Did it come across as filler or did it really further my plot along? Was it believable? Did it drag?

This morning I had my writing group. Oh how I love my writing group. For starters, being in a room with other writers means being with people who simply understand. Who don’t ask why my novel isn’t for sale. Who don’t ask why I don’t just publish something. Who empathize that it takes years to–I almost wrote “perfect,” but to a writer, nothing is ever “perfected”–finish a novel to a writer’s almost satisfaction. Then, of course, is the feedback. My group has fresh eyes and can see things I miss, can tell me where holes need to be filled. The world of my novel is so firmly grounded in my mind that I can make leaps that a reader might not make. And the group can call me on those.

We went over my two new chapters. And as suspected, one needs a lot of work and one is great as is. But, of course, as you can probably guess, I had it backwards. They didn’t buy my first chapter. I think “baffled” was the word one of them used. Whereas for the chapter I was uncertain about words like “adored” and “loved” were bandied about. When they explained why they were confused by the first chapters, I wanted to smack myself on the head for not seeing it. And when they showed what they liked about that other chapter, it became clear to me that, “Yes, this really is a critical part of the story.”

So now, it’s back to Chapter 1, which isn’t as scary as it seems, because Chapters 2 through 22 are in great shape. I just need to get that Chapter 1 so compelling that the reader feels s/he must keep reading. Back to the computer screen!

This morning when I woke up, I thought about a run. My general rule is that if the temperature is above 20 degrees, I’m willing to run in it solo. I’ll run in lower temperatures, but only with friends. A quick peek at weather.com showed the temperature was 23 degrees. I was excited for a nice brisk run. And then something made me look back and I saw that 23 was the high for the day. I had to click on the “right now” for the moment’s temperature. Which was 3 degrees. With a wind chill of -9 degree. Hello basement elliptical trainer!

I hate coming home from Miami Beach.

Miami Beach is such bliss. We spa’d it. We ate it. We drank it. We visited tourist sites. We visited friends. We had ice cream.

Making art with Nana

Fairchild Tropical Gardens

First year she made it up till midnight

Kayaking on Biscayne Bay

Relaxing on New Year’s Day

But it’s not real life and as much as I always say I’d like to move back, I know that the fun we have comes only from being there once a year. Plus, as much as I complain about the cold, I have become fond of the change of seasons.

And coming back has its upsides. Right before we left, I sent my new novel to my agent and she responded telling me, “It’s not there yet.” I was blue about it for a bit, but then I gave myself the distance of the break and I have a whole bunch of new ideas I’m really excited to try. I’ve also been on a huge family history kick (but that’s a post or twelve for another time), and I met some relatives while home who showed me old pics and I discovered some relatives I didn’t even know I had, and it’s all providing fabulous inspiration for my novel, which takes place in 1935. With my bounty of information, it’s time to dig back into the novel!

So I’ll just make more tea, wrap on another scarf, and get back to business. 2013. It’s going to be the year of the novel!

Don’t you just love that post-holiday feeling? The presents have been given. The food has been made and consumed. The decorations put away. Just that post-holiday glow as you prepare to head on your winter vacation? I know! It’s probably my favorite time of year, too!

Wait, what? Your holiday hasn’t happened yet? You’re still in the throes of shopping, cooking, stressing? Suckas! We are so done! “It’s the most wonderful time of year…”

And I received an awesome present to boot from my hubby, who when he goes rogue off my Amazon wishlist, always manages to get it right!

That baby is going to be framed and hung in my office!

By the way, those of you who are here reading my blog. Take a break and go read this new blog on the block: An Awesome Person’s Blogs. It’s okay, I’ll wait. Did you see that? Did you see who has a blog now? Yep, my boy, Doodles, has started his own blog, and I’m embarrassed to admit, he’s updating more than I am. So go on. Subscribe to it. Read it. Comment on it. You won’t be sorry.

Okay, now back to me, because that’s what really counts around here. I’ve been working, working, working on my novel, and I sent it in to my agent. Whoo hoo! And she turned it right back around to me to work on some more. Just what every writer wants to hear.

Which means I need to go get myself another Old Fashioned. Because I need to write drunk. The editing will come later.

Adam makes coffee every morning, which I appreciate. What I don’t appreciate is that he never gets the amount right. Some mornings, there’s almost a full pot sitting there at the end of the day. Other days–like this morning–I’m drinking up the dregs trying to eke that third cup out of the pot. The man saw me for a FULL 3.24 minutes this morning. Couldn’t he glean in that time that it was clearly a mega-coffee day? Are you telling me that man can’t read my mind! What’s the point of marriage if he can’t simply intuit how much coffee I require on any given day?

Sigh. Today is a novel day. Not in the “new” sense, but in the “I’m going to finish this damn thing” sense. In the past week, I’ve survived a crying drop-off, two Sukkot parties at our sukkah in the rain (one of which was for Pie’s entire 2nd grade class), my father visiting (yes, Peter, you do require “surviving”; doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy having you), our first Brownie meeting of the year (18 girls!), orthodontists, periodontists (why, yes, I DO have gum surgery in my future, thank you very much), eye doctors, curriculum night, and very little writing. This week will be a little better but I plan on tuning much of the world out while I edit my novel. I took a class at Grub Street on Microediting, and one of the great takeaways is to read your writing out loud because you can hear a lot of problems you can’t see. It’s working beautifully, but I have to tell you, it takes a lot of time–and a lot of tea!–to read a 75,000 word novel aloud. I’m about 1/3 of the way through.

Maybe I need to put another pot of coffee on. If you see my shaking later, know that it’s simply an overdose of caffeine.

Am I memorable? Am I notable? Sometimes, perhaps. Sometimes, perhaps not. But today, today I am. Today I am notable person (hence why you should click on “notable”). And that is a good thing.

Running has to be the least forgiving sport. Take a couple of weeks off, start back up again, and… splat. It’s starting from zero. Last week was readjustment week and I ran one miserable run, but I was so tired, it didn’t even count. But this weekend I had to start up again, so I plunged in. Although plunge isn’t the right word. Waddled in? Flopped in? Whatever it was, it wasn’t pretty, so I’m back to plodding along at a snail’s pace. I ran a miserable three on Sunday, a horrible six yesterday, and plan on making myself unhappy with a four or five tomorrow. Running sucks. The only thing that sucks more than running, though, is not running, so I guess I’m stuck.

We’re back in sprint mode. School starts this Thursday, today is full of doctor’s appointments, orthodontist appointments (yes! We are there! Orthodontia has begun!), errands, the start of soccer practice, and general crankiness. Seemingly overnight, our calendar has gone from lazy summer days to being filled with dance class, religious school activities, viola, piano, soccer, Girl Scouts…. I am dizzy just looking at it. And the Jewish holidays are smack upon us! Time to start baking hallah, finding new fruits, and planning the sukkah.

But it’s good for us. Pie has had a rough week without routine. She’s anxious for school to start and I know once the first day passes, she’ll be fine, but for now, there’s this little body that has been appearing in our bed in the wee hours of the night. And, frankly, I am dying to get back to writing! The second draft of my novel has been critiqued, and I am eager to get the third draft written. I’m excited about the novel (again! don’t worry; this feeling will pass), and I have been fidgety that I haven’t had any writing time for over a month. This Thursday, it’s novel time! My goal is to have it to my next set of readers come October, which means a lot of focused writing for me.

Run. Write. Parent. Run. Write. Parent. It’s going to be a busy fall!