I fell in love with it the first time I saw it. My faux suedeskirt circa 2008 There, in the 2008 autumn catalog from Coldwater Creek, was the kind of skirt I’ve dreamed of most of my life. Long. Full. So Western in style it could have been used on Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. (Okay, so my fashion sense is cuckoo.) Draped on the model with a Squash blossom necklace, it was the essential Southwestern Dream, or so I thought. And, of course, it looked great in the picture. Even better, although the skirt looked and felt like suede, it was made of washable material. Even though it cost an outrageous amount, I ached to have it. That was the year I gave up carbohydrates and lost about 40 pounds. I intended to lose more but as a partial reward, I bought myself the skirt and for the next few years, measured my self-worth by it. If the skirt fits me comfortably, I am a terrific human being. If I can, at least, manage to zip it, my overeating isn’t that bad. If I have to wear a sweater over the waistband to cover an inch of unzipped zipper, I need to…
I guess it’s no secret I’ve finished writing a book. Well, up till last week, I thought it was finished. After 5 years of slaving away on paragraphs and polishing each sentence, I thought The Plucky Orflings was complete. I liked it, my sister liked it, and my friends loved it, so I figured it was just a matter of time until some agent agreed. Well, if so, that time isn’t now. Now, I suspect most agents are decent people. They work incredibly hard in a difficult industry that gets more challenging by the day. And, so far, not one of those that turned me down has said the dreaded words, “You can’t write.” But none of them are interested in representing my book. They say, it’s “not right for us” or “not what we’re looking for” and then they wish me well finding somebody else. Since I only write to agents who work in the genre my story falls within (Historical Fiction for Middle-Grade readers), I had no idea why my book was wrong. It’s like being told you aren’t some guy’s type when you resemble his last three girlfriends. Okay, what am I doing wrong? Last month, my rejected novel…
I used to feel so sorry for the people on that A&E show, Hoarders . There they were, self-imprisoned victims, overwhelmed by their obsessions with trash. Most of them knew they were sick but, because of their illness, couldn’t find the way to heal themselves. I’d sit in my mostly tidy living room and pity these folks, sure I didn’t have a problem like theirs. Well, I do and it’s appeared in a very odd place. I seem to be a kitchen clutter monkey. This all started last Thursday when the leader of my weight-loss group talked about how “stuff” fills up our kitchen pantries. Along with the staples we use on an everyday basis, people often store groceries they never use. As everyone in the meeting began nodding, I got an idea. “Hey, let’s all clean out our pantries and bring the extras to the next meeting so we can donate it to a food bank!” Everyone agreed so I had to clean out my own shelves. I wasn’t prepared for what I found! What was hiding in the pantry Found: flea collar for the dogthat passed away morethan 15 years ago! This is what came from my two-tier, under-cabinet,…
Parents don’t tell you (even though they should) that it can be hard to grow up with a sister It means there’s there’s always someone else around, and, whether you’re older or younger, you two are always in each other’s shadows. When the two of you are small, sisters are in-house competition for any family attention and favor. And, because a sister gets to know you well, she can figure out every last thing that annoys you. This is knowledge she uses religiously. If someone meets your sister first, they may expect you to be a lot like her. You’re not. In spite of, or maybe because of their physical proximity, sisters can grow up only seeing how they’re different, believing they have nothing in common except relatives and DNA. Ask June Elbus in Tell the Wolves I’m Home how hard it is to have a sister in the house. At one point, Greta seemed like both a sibling and a friend, but now they fight all the time. They can’t help it; they’re such different people. Greta is self-assured, in high school and a gifted actress. June’s still in Junior High and shy. There’s a lot of emotional distance between them and,…
Posts occurring on Valentine’s Day are practically obligated to have a romantic theme. Well, this is as close as I’m likely to get: the Shakespearean play that made me fall in love with love. Everyone remembers their first, I mean the first production of a Shakespearean play. It tends to dominate their world view and every play by the Bard they see after that. Present a newbie with the star-crossed lovers in Romeo and Juliet, and you’ll find you’ve created a romantic; force another to audit a poor reading of Julius Caesar, and they’ll loathe plays and politics for the rest of their days. Like so many others, the first Shakespearean play I ever watched is still my favorite today. It gave me the way I like to look at romance. Tragic lovers can entertain somebody else, I favor the wit and laughter of Much Ado About Nothing. What makes this lighthearted romp so different from Shakespeare’s other comedies isn’t the “supposed” leading couple of the piece (Claudio and Hero) but his comedic characters, Benedick and Beatrice. From one perspective these potential partners have everything in common: they’re both smart, funny, astonishingly verbal, unromantic, sarcastic and brave. Their similarities give them…