02 Monday Mar 2009
Posted in good reads, Motherhood, Writing
If you find yourself wandering around the blogosphere next week, check out this fun, worthwhile event (click here):
Created by a group of blogging librarians, teachers, parents, illustrators, authors and people passionate about literacy, Share-A-Story — Shape-A-Future is a venue to share ideas and celebrate everything reading has to offer our kids.
Their goal: building a community of readers, one person at a time. Sounds good to me! There are weblinks for each day, March 9-13.
27 Friday Feb 2009
Posted in Motherhood, Writing
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Do you ever feel that your kids are growing up so fast, you have to stop and try to focus amid the blur?
My wonderful sister-in-law once gave me this wise advice: “The days may go by so slowly, but the years fly by too quickly.”
I did not believe her when my babies were small. Those days, and weeks, and months were L-O-N-G. I did not recognize what doing that job 24/7 would do to an introvert like me. I was never alone long enough to fully recharge. I stumbled through life, day after long day, wondering what was wrong with me. To have uninterrupted time in those days, I had to resort to tricks, such a 2 lb. bag of m&ms doled out one at a time to a toddler. In retrospect, that was a really bad idea. Unfortunately, sometimes desperation is the mother of invention.
Now, when I write, it recharges me. It helps me look at single snapshots of my life with my kids, and reflect on the Now of it. The years have started flying by, indeed. I better write fast to keep up.
26 Thursday Feb 2009
Posted in get along like cats and dogs, Writing
Kitty, I hate to tell you this, but while you’re not watching the screen, I’m blogging about how much I love the dog.
Sorry, littlest dude.
Please don’t chew my eyeballs out while I’m sleeping, OK?
Nice Kitty?
I will write about your sweet, fuzzy cuteness another day.
If
I
still
have
eyeballs.
18 Wednesday Feb 2009
Posted in get along like cats and dogs, Writing
My dog talks to me during the day. Not the way the Oreos talk to me when I am alone in the house; she makes sounds that other people can hear,
a rrrrwaRrr rRwaaarrr rwwaRRaar.
I am pretty sure I know what she is trying to “say”: “… hey there, Mrs. More-Highly-Evolved-Mammal, how about you back away from the computer and use those opposable thumbs of yours to hook the leash on this here collar and take me for a little walk around the neighborhood????”
I may not be clear on all the subtle nuances, but I am fairly certain of the main idea. One look at her long face and I don’t even need to hear the words.
Which reminds me of an old joke: a writer asks “What time is it? and the dog answers “Now, now, now, now, now!!” There is no past or future for the dog, it is always now. Always a good time for a walk, even when we just returned from one.
10 Tuesday Feb 2009
Posted in Writing
When I was little, I had some big dreams for my future:
1. Become Ballerina
2. Write a book
3. Not live in small town
The whole ballet dancer thing did not work out so well. To begin with, I lived in rural Wisconsin and ballet teachers did not hang around long (see dream #3). I was thrilled to take ballet lessons for about six months in my tender youth. I had to wear Sally’s hand-me-down black ballet shoes with the little elastic strap, but I did not care. Then the teacher moved away. I had not even scratched out Sally’s name in ball point pen yet and inked in my own. At that point, lessons were a 20 mile drive, and that was not an option. Now, parents will drive a long way, for, say, harpsichord lessons in French, but this is now and then was then and that was the end of that.
Those too-small ballet shoes moved with me to college in Madison, where I was free to take as many dance classes as my business school schedule would allow, and I did just that. I loved it. By then my dreams had evolved (speak Italian, published author, make lots of money); I already knew that I would never, ever, ever be a ballet dancer, but I loved the classes anyway. I wore the suede bottomed ballet shoes when I walked to accounting class. I had pink ones and lavender ones that laced up the ankles with delicate strings. Bad for the arches, but good for my soul. The big buzz-kill came when my college boyfriend told me I looked like a pale pink sausage in my matching leotard and tights. I think the brand Oscar Meyer was specifically mentioned. It was a funny joke, but I made the choice to believe the words.
I will continue to keep you posted on the status of dream #2.
As for the small towns, I’m over it. I have lived all over and traveled a lot and now realize that home is wherever all my boys are, no matter the size of the town. My dreams have continued to evolve (play the harp, published author, successfully grow rosemary indoors). I am open to the possibilities of anywhere. I’ll pack my long-stored lavender ballet shoes and go.
24 Saturday Jan 2009
Posted in Writing
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I now check facebook a lot. After days spent obsessively snooping at what everyone else was doing, I felt some tentative confidence to make several brief posts. My first post, to a long ago acquaintance, I hit the wrong button and it took me three days to figure out she never saw my carefully crafted reply on her wall. OK, I now understand how to reply to someone writing on my wall. I think.
I spent another week “trolling” for new friends, which I thought was such a clever play on words until my cousin used the exact same phrase. On a facebook post. So much for my creative way with words. Perhaps I was mining new veins for gold. Never mind.
I still find FB nerve-wracking. It seems unpredictable, what it discloses about people. It announces status updates of questionable nature. One friend suddenly came up as “no longer married” . That freaked me out (did she just announce an impending divorce in such an impersonal and public way?) Then, of course, I figured out that she is 40-something like me and she just hit the wrong button. But that begs the question — how many wrong buttons have I already hit and inadvertently sent bizarre updates about myself? Does it broadcast how often I have changed my profile picture because I thought it made me look old/fat/ridiculous? Ridiculous as in ridicule-inducing-ousness? Does the act of changing my profile picture umpteen times in itself broadcast something lacking in my character??
I lay awake at night thinking about these things. But I have joined a FB writers’ group thing (thanks to Kent for the hook-up) and now check the discussion boards, and even posted something. About blogging. Nothing bad happened, that I know about. From that group, I am starting to see the light about how social networking can create and enhance a writer’s platform. I have yet to join a local writers’ critique group, so social networking provides a viable online alternative for feedback. Plus, peeking into the lives of all these writers, talking about their elevator pitches and revising chapter 25, helps inspire me to write more every day.
Progress.
14 Wednesday Jan 2009
OK, so, not one to rush into the 21st century, I am finally poking around to see what Facebook is all about. And, um, blogs. I was inspired by the speakers at a recent Writer’s Digest conference in Cincinnati. Jane Friedman (great speaker, by the way) stressed the importance of creating an online presence, a robust platform, a connection to an identifiable network; creating waves! gaining visibility! being remarkable!
All this took me about a month to digest before I could face the keyboard.
So, Facebook is a first baby step to figure out “what the fuss”. And, now, the start of a blog of sorts.
Facebook feels weird. I am afraid to write on anyone’s wall (feels like graffiti) so I just skulk around, peeking at what other people write, looking at their pictures – like a peeping tom outside the windows of someone else’s neighborhood. Turns out lots of people I know across the country are on there, of course. Which everyone else apparently already knew. Having I been living in a cave? (Or a suburb???)
jane, candid 