08.06.18
by

Apollengies to Joyce Kilmer

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I think that I shall never see
Something as bumbly as a bee.
Molest too much the flower it flew;
It might decide to bumble you.

When my little girl was three, she came running to me in a panic outside one afternoon. “Mommy! Mommy! That bee bumbled me!” She just received a warning buzz, but she wisely decided to leave the lavender to the bees for the rest of the afternoon.

Today, the puppy was outside trying to eat the bumblebees. This seems like a bad idea, but my apparent interest in taking pictures of them reinforced her idea that they are snacks. Why else would I bother with them?

08.05.18
by

One, Two, Boogaloo

Nose party

There’s a party in your nose
And all your fingers are invited.
Show your mom your goody bag,
She’s sure to be delighted.

The dance floor’s kinda small,
But you can twist and grind.
Tear it up and lay it down,
No boogie left behind.

Tissue box across the room?
There’s storage even closer.
Your mouth is right below your nose
And bonus—even grosser!

So cram that finger way up in
Until it disappears.
When that party’s petered out,
It’s time to hit your ears!

I found this classy picture on the iPad and it inspired me to heights of verse. I’m pleased to add some culture to your Sunday.

08.04.18
by

Setting Myself Up

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For two years we waited
After we said good-bye
The click-clack of nails
Fading into the distance

Kids were growing fast
Life going on about itself
We said “someday” then “soon”
Then “today” finally came

Not a ball of fur, bigger
Halfway from pup to dog
You named yourself Hazel
We agreed and signed the paper

From quiet to not quiet
Small shadow at my heel
On the third day
My heart broke and reformed

Remembering
the end starts
with a beginning

When we lost our dogs, Daisy and Dot the dachshunds, they’d been in our lives for 15+ years. I still have moments where I think of them and grieve, two years later, so I wasn’t surprised to have a few bittersweet moments as I fell for Hazel, our half-grown Schnauzer. Hazel doesn’t know about any of that, she’s currently concerned with what room I’m in and why those kids are so loud. I’ll have to try to live in her moments, the ones that are right here, where nothing is wrong and there is no end in sight. That’s dog magic. I’m glad we have magic again.

08.03.18
by

Lavatriage

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Heart of a young parent
Inside a middle-aged host.
The floor may not be lava,
But your ankle sure is toast.

My dear 46-year-old husband did this to his ankle in the middle of our roadtrip to Montana last week. He was playing “the floor is lava” with the 6-year-old. There are many advantages to having your kids later in life, but occasionally your body decides to remind you that there are consequences for your foolishness.

The 6-year-old was the one who told me exactly how this came about. I’m glad she’s around to make sure no detail is left unshared.

08.02.18
by

I Seasoned It With My Tears And It Still Wasn’t Enough

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O gluten-free burrito,
I bought you by mistake.
I had to eat you anyway
Though taste you did forsake.
Your wrapper was so sexy,
Your words I did not comb.
I would have then discovered
Your “tortilla” was packing foam.
O sad disappointment–
Even lime chicken could not serve.
You’re the burrito I had to eat,
But not the burrito I deserve.

This is based on a true story. I have not made the same mistake again.

On another note, after publishing so many of these, I’m finding that I’ve forgotten what I’ve already done. The poem I was working on (in my head) all day is I think a repeat of one about how we eat “The Usual” around here–so you get this one I wrote in 15 minutes instead. Guess I need to make a list or something.

08.01.18
by

Vanitree

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built like a tree trunk
but just look at that thigh gap
leg-lifting the sky

This tree might have been offended by my staring at its crotch, but it gave no indication one way or the other. Clearly it works out.

Also—here we go! I actually had enough service as we barreled down the road (I was not driving, just making myself carsick) to post on August 1. You may be a little worried by this start that 2018 is going to be a weird year, and thinking about what I have—well, yes. Probably. Let’s see how weird it gets.

08.01.18
by

Bad Poem-a-Day August 2018

Sometimes, you’re sittin’ on a stump, trying to get your thoughts collected, and Life decides that you will not being doing that right now. Life does the Dance of Distraction all around you, and, well, you fall for it.

I’m finishing up the last leg of a road trip. I have poems. I have limited connectivity, and I had no plan to deal with that.

There will be poems. Probably even tomorrow. I’ll make it up to you. In the meantime, I’ll be riding all night, watching Montana and Idaho and Oregon go by until we are enveloped by our little neighborhood. Then–a shower. After that, poems.

06.26.18
by

Published: The Tiny Giant

full cover final

Look at that, I wrote a book. The Tiny Giant is published, available on Amazon and from my online store, and it’s really, really better than I could have hoped. I’ve been so busy with the last iteration, then the nuts and bolts of publishing, everything else got shoved to the side. A few things to know, for the writers interested in these things…

I wrote this book five times.

The first draft was about 83,000 words. The published edition is around 45,000 words.

The final draft has a completely different ending, four new characters, and holds the third “aging” of the main character—from 8 to 12 to 11.

The first draft had 18 long chapters. The final has 35 short ones.

A whole plot line moved to the next book, and a bunch of fancy fantasy world-building crap just disappeared.

The entire process took me four years.

I used an editor and a professional artist/designer at the end. (DO THIS if you possibly can.)

Also, I cried, I was on fire, I was depressed, and I laughed out loud. This is not a process for the faint of heart or those lacking perseverance. There are two things that I think got me through it.

  1. Be Too Dumb to Quit: A lot of what I’ve accomplished in life, well, I got to it this way. My first professional job had a glitch in the hiring process, and I had to temp for a while until a position opened up. I called the partner every week until he finally said he had something. I ran a half-marathon. I wrote a novel. I could have quit at any point, but I didn’t want to tell people I quit. I did all sort of drastic rewriting and revising and improving—because I’m too dumb to quit. It may not be an easy way to live your life, but I’ve been pretty happy with the results to date.
  2. They Can’t All Be Winners: Sometimes, stuff just doesn’t work. Characters, ideas, story lines, words. If you had a dozen children, odds are at least one wouldn’t work out like you’d imagined. I had to make painful, heart-wrenching decisions to get to the end with this. I had to cut things I really liked, true, but I also had to admit that some of it WASN’T GOOD. As much as I wanted the construct of magic I’d made to work, it wasn’t a winner. It was dragging everything down into the Pit of Incomprehensibility. When I took it out, everything was better. (I realize I may be opening the kimono a little much here, but I’m nothing if not OPEN.) On the good side of this, it shows that you’re taking risks when you have things that don’t work. I have a couple of short stories in my drawer that won’t ever get developed because THEY ARE NOT WINNERS. S’alright. I learned.

There will be a sequel, and I’ll be shopping it to traditional publishers as a series when I’m a few chapters in. I didn’t do much of that with The Tiny Giant. I felt like I wanted to learn what I was doing without the distraction–maybe that was dumb, but I still have a book and the publishers are still there. In the meantime, I’ve been doing school visits and that is terrific fun. Kids have the best questions–I might do a whole post about that experience.

If you want a fun, easy summer read, The Tiny Giant is for you. If you have kids in the 9/10+ age group around, this is great summer reading for them. There’s adventure, a dragon, and the unexpected. There are hard decisions. There are some very funny bits. Get it signed at my online store at Little Voices Publishing, or head over the Amazon and use that Prime shipping.

Now I’m working on Bitches and Dead People–all the stories are written and I’m working with a different editor on those, one with specific expertise in short fiction and some familiarity with the horror genre. It’s some fantastic writing, and I can’t wait to share it later this year.  Until then, I’ll be around a little more. Thanks for being here.

PS. Isn’t that cover the most gorgeous thing ever? Steve Ogden at Steve Ogden Art did the cover, book design, and little illustrations for each chapter head. Check him out on your fave media platform for his comics and the behind the scenes on The Tiny Giant. Here’s one of my favorite chapter illustrations. Bahahaha….IMG_7279

10.23.17
by

Signs of Surrender

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I watch from inside
as mortal becomes remains
finally, cede control

I am 44, and my multi-hued hair is turning from primarily dark brown to a sort of salt and cayenne mix.  Someday I imagine I’ll have some pinkish fluff on my head that matches the ill-mannered apricot poodle I also intend to have.  I don’t mean to dye my hair, unless I find some shockingly bright color appeals to me.  I suppose then I’ll have to dye my poodle to match.

Why such a morbid poem about gray hair?  Well, it’s not about gray hair.  It’s about realizing that I can’t control any of this, the riotous hormones, my once luxurious hair, the fluid shape of my middle.  I can only be kind to myself.  I can eat something because it makes me feel well.  I can take a walk because the outdoors sustains me.  I can see people, and write words, and spend several hours hand knitting a dishcloth, though my dishcloths have lives that are nasty, brutish, and short.  I can let go of the frustration of being stuck on the worst amusement park ride ever (Ride the MenoCoaster!  Money back if you don’t feel like screaming!) and just….slowly….breathe for a few minutes.

Just when that quiet wants to turn to tears, the school bus brings the circus back to town and saves me from a surplus of contemplation.  Maybe I should get that poodle soon, and teach it some tricks.

 

10.16.17
by

Receipt of Ideas

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Just write it down
No matter where
Card, receipts
Bleed it there

Capture that chaos
Before it’s gone
Scrawl investments
You may later draw on

When it bursts
Don’t edit, censor
The whirlwind creates
Sense comes after

I have little bits of words scrawled in the margins of everything in our house.  Some of it is probably disturbing for my husband, given the horror stories I write.  I’ve learned that I have to write down ideas.  If I think of a particularly poignant sentence construction, a clever rhyme, a novel that will surely both disturb and entertain–I write all that down.  If I don’t, I won’t remember it.

It’s a bit of young writer’s conceit that if an idea is worth pursuing, you’ll remember it.  Sorting your ideas this way is like having your toddler sort the mail.  You will absolutely get some mail.  The odds that it will be the boring looking electric bill are pretty slim, though, and you might need that.

I write it all down.  Some of it is nonsense.  Some of it I can hardly read.  Some of it turns into amazing stories or phrases or entire poems.  I fill notebooks.  It’s my hoard of possible treasure.

Note:  By “weekly,” I meant pretty much every week, not EVERY week, and by “Sunday” I meant around Sunday.  Last week I was finishing the last rewrite of The Tiny Giant and my head was wrapped up in that, as it should have been.  Have a great week.