. . . for raising my consciousness and increasing my awareness last night. Because I would never do that on my own.
Gah. What a dreary, self-important bloated event that was! The irony is that my politics are definitely progressive. But guess what. I seriously resent being lectured to. I also want my Oscars to be a party, not a rally.
And if I never EVER see gravity-defying breasts I'll be happy.
Monday, February 29, 2016
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Special Super Power
Can you think of a moment in your life when you felt thoroughly validated?
Here's mine: I was getting ready to park in front of our house (we don't have off-street parking) when I noticed a car behind me. I'd have to park quickly, I knew, so I did the parallel parking thing and NAILED IT.
As the car passed me, the driver--a teenage boy--gave me two thumbs up because yeah. I won't lie. I was impressive and we both knew it.
That's my special super power--parallel parking. As one of my boys said, "Mom is oddly good at that."
What's YOUR special super power?
Here's mine: I was getting ready to park in front of our house (we don't have off-street parking) when I noticed a car behind me. I'd have to park quickly, I knew, so I did the parallel parking thing and NAILED IT.
As the car passed me, the driver--a teenage boy--gave me two thumbs up because yeah. I won't lie. I was impressive and we both knew it.
That's my special super power--parallel parking. As one of my boys said, "Mom is oddly good at that."
What's YOUR special super power?
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Writing historical fiction
There are two kinds of writers who write historical fiction.
The first kind is the writer who LOVES history for history's sake. She adores research. He pores over primary and secondary sources. She pins maps on her bulletin board. He travels to see and smell and hear the places he's writing about.
The second kind of writer has a more utilitarian view of history. If the setting works for the story, she'll use it. As for as the research part, he'll do the absolute minimum--gathering just enough of the facts (ma'am) to get by.
Which is the more common type of historical fiction writer? I suspect the first kind. Generally speaking, writers (and readers!) who love history are naturally drawn to the genre.
Why am I even talking about this? Because I had lunch with a writer friend yesterday who is researching turn-of-the-century Utah in order to write a mystery. And, in fact, he has a lot of the plot worked out. But here's the thing. He often avoids the actual writing part, because he worries about getting the historical details right.
Here's what I told him. STOP RESEARCHING. He has enough to write the story. And if he gets stuck, he can connect the historical dots later. As important as the research is, it shouldn't get in the way of writing the story itself. It shouldn't be a diversion.
Why do I know this? Because I am the second kind of historical fiction writer. I don't love research because it feels like HOMEWORK, duh. And when I wrote Charlotte's Rose, I got some of the details wrong. For sure. But at least the story got written.
I know. I'm a genius.
The first kind is the writer who LOVES history for history's sake. She adores research. He pores over primary and secondary sources. She pins maps on her bulletin board. He travels to see and smell and hear the places he's writing about.
The second kind of writer has a more utilitarian view of history. If the setting works for the story, she'll use it. As for as the research part, he'll do the absolute minimum--gathering just enough of the facts (ma'am) to get by.
Which is the more common type of historical fiction writer? I suspect the first kind. Generally speaking, writers (and readers!) who love history are naturally drawn to the genre.
Why am I even talking about this? Because I had lunch with a writer friend yesterday who is researching turn-of-the-century Utah in order to write a mystery. And, in fact, he has a lot of the plot worked out. But here's the thing. He often avoids the actual writing part, because he worries about getting the historical details right.
Here's what I told him. STOP RESEARCHING. He has enough to write the story. And if he gets stuck, he can connect the historical dots later. As important as the research is, it shouldn't get in the way of writing the story itself. It shouldn't be a diversion.
Why do I know this? Because I am the second kind of historical fiction writer. I don't love research because it feels like HOMEWORK, duh. And when I wrote Charlotte's Rose, I got some of the details wrong. For sure. But at least the story got written.
I know. I'm a genius.
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
What I've been reading lately
I just finished The Man from Beijing by Henning Mankell and thought it was kind of a mess, frankly. Too sprawling. Too many threads left hanging--and not in a good, artistic way. I've been despairing of late over disappointing mysteries and thrillers. Part of the problem is that they're just too damn long. It's hard for a 500-plus page thriller to hold up under its own weight. The payoff with most of them just isn't there. What's wrong with a tidy slim novel ala Agatha Christie?
I also just finished The Swans of Fifth Avenue, which really captivated me. It's maybe overwritten in some places--especially toward the end. But the imagined lives of Truman Capote and his swans--Babe Paley, Gloria Guinness, C. Z. Guest, et. al.--packed a real emotional punch.
I also just finished The Swans of Fifth Avenue, which really captivated me. It's maybe overwritten in some places--especially toward the end. But the imagined lives of Truman Capote and his swans--Babe Paley, Gloria Guinness, C. Z. Guest, et. al.--packed a real emotional punch.
Friday, February 19, 2016
RIP Harper Lee
Even though I was an irritating child, the Coach never seemed particularly irritated with me--so the moments that he clearly WAS irritated with me stand out in my memory with a special clarity. One of those moments occurred over the Thanksgiving break of my 8th grade year.
Ugh. Eighth grade.
Anyway, I was in the middle of reading To Kill a Mockingbird when we had to meet up with aunts and uncles and cousins in Pleasant Grove for Thanksgiving dinner, which we held in some sort of recreational hall--maybe even a church?--because my dad had thirteen siblings and I had a boatload of cousins. No mere home could contain us all.
Well, I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay home and read because I was love, love, love, McLoving that book so much. But my parents forced me to go with them. WHAT IS WRONG WITH PARENTS? So I took along my book and skulked outside and hid myself and read in the freezing cold away from cousins.
The Coach apparently noticed I was MIA. So he came looking for me. And when he found me reading instead of socializing he was peeved, which surprised me. At the time I wondered if he was mad at me for being a dork. I was often mad at myself in those days for being a dork. I'm still not sure why he was so bothered, although now that I'm a LOT older than he was at the time, I suspect it had something to do with tricky family dynamics. Because families have dynamics. That are tricky.
Anyway.
I turned on the TV just now and heard the news that Harper Lee passed away. And the idea occurred to me that I'd like to write a column about how much To Kill a Mockingbird has meant to people.
If you want to tell me, I'm all ears. And in the interest of full disclosure, I might quote you.
Ugh. Eighth grade.
Anyway, I was in the middle of reading To Kill a Mockingbird when we had to meet up with aunts and uncles and cousins in Pleasant Grove for Thanksgiving dinner, which we held in some sort of recreational hall--maybe even a church?--because my dad had thirteen siblings and I had a boatload of cousins. No mere home could contain us all.
Well, I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay home and read because I was love, love, love, McLoving that book so much. But my parents forced me to go with them. WHAT IS WRONG WITH PARENTS? So I took along my book and skulked outside and hid myself and read in the freezing cold away from cousins.
The Coach apparently noticed I was MIA. So he came looking for me. And when he found me reading instead of socializing he was peeved, which surprised me. At the time I wondered if he was mad at me for being a dork. I was often mad at myself in those days for being a dork. I'm still not sure why he was so bothered, although now that I'm a LOT older than he was at the time, I suspect it had something to do with tricky family dynamics. Because families have dynamics. That are tricky.
Anyway.
I turned on the TV just now and heard the news that Harper Lee passed away. And the idea occurred to me that I'd like to write a column about how much To Kill a Mockingbird has meant to people.
If you want to tell me, I'm all ears. And in the interest of full disclosure, I might quote you.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Scampering husbands
Ken Cannon, as I've indicated here, is a superior husband and superior human being. The only way in which I am superior to his superiority--not including the part where I could give birth and he couldn't--is that I have a much better sense of time than he does.
This means that over the years I've done a fair amount of waiting for him. Which is why whenever I have to take something to his office and he's supposed to meet me on Broadway for the handoff, I always end up illegally parked in front of his office building. Waiting.
So today I called him before I left and said BE OUT FRONT. And he said I'LL BE OUT FRONT. So I left our house with confidence in his eminent out-frontness surging through my bosom.
But he wasn't there. I had to call him on my cell and when I got him on the phone, it was clear that he'd gotten distracted and had lost track of time. Within moments of my crisply-worded call, I saw him scamper out of the building and toward my illegally parked car as though his life depended on it.
Which it did.
Here's the good part, though. Seconds after Ken Cannon came scampering out of the building, another man (I didn't recognize him) came scampering out, too. And he headed straight for the car illegally parked in front of ME being driven by a grumpy middle-aged blonde.
His wife, no doubt.
Clearly all across America, it's Scampering Husbands Day.
This means that over the years I've done a fair amount of waiting for him. Which is why whenever I have to take something to his office and he's supposed to meet me on Broadway for the handoff, I always end up illegally parked in front of his office building. Waiting.
So today I called him before I left and said BE OUT FRONT. And he said I'LL BE OUT FRONT. So I left our house with confidence in his eminent out-frontness surging through my bosom.
But he wasn't there. I had to call him on my cell and when I got him on the phone, it was clear that he'd gotten distracted and had lost track of time. Within moments of my crisply-worded call, I saw him scamper out of the building and toward my illegally parked car as though his life depended on it.
Which it did.
Here's the good part, though. Seconds after Ken Cannon came scampering out of the building, another man (I didn't recognize him) came scampering out, too. And he headed straight for the car illegally parked in front of ME being driven by a grumpy middle-aged blonde.
His wife, no doubt.
Clearly all across America, it's Scampering Husbands Day.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Things that can happen in a single second
Louise has this fabulous book of writing prompts. If I can remember to, I'll get the title from her and pass it along to you. Anyway, one of the prompts goes like this: "What can happen in a second?" And here's what I rush wrote (in about five minutes).
1. You can decide to switch lanes on the freeway and run into that car in your blindspot.
2. You can see how much you weigh when you step on a scale. Sad face!
3. You can taste salted caramel gelato.
4. You can see Donald Trump's face on the TV screen and go WTF?
5. You can call your dog's name.
6. You can notice that your dog chewed up the sock you knit on the way home from Texas.
7. You can hear church bells ring outside of Louise's apartment.
8. You can catch the scent of someone's perfume. "Light Blue" by Dolce and Gabbana, just like Kelly used to wear.
9. You can strike a match.
10. You can forget the thought that was on the tip of your tongue.
Feel free to add a list of your own.
1. You can decide to switch lanes on the freeway and run into that car in your blindspot.
2. You can see how much you weigh when you step on a scale. Sad face!
3. You can taste salted caramel gelato.
4. You can see Donald Trump's face on the TV screen and go WTF?
5. You can call your dog's name.
6. You can notice that your dog chewed up the sock you knit on the way home from Texas.
7. You can hear church bells ring outside of Louise's apartment.
8. You can catch the scent of someone's perfume. "Light Blue" by Dolce and Gabbana, just like Kelly used to wear.
9. You can strike a match.
10. You can forget the thought that was on the tip of your tongue.
Feel free to add a list of your own.
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