People we see on a fairly regular basis, as well as most family members, already know that Emma has several congenital defects in her heart. To everyone else: Emma has several congenital defects in her heart. (Surprise!)
The worst of the defects, called Coarctation of the Aorta, was repaired when she was just 17 days old. Basically, it was a very narrow section of her aorta, and prevented adequate blood flow to her extremities. Since we were still brand-new parents wrestling with the reality of actually having two real crying, hungry, pooping, helpless babies, the whole thing was kind-of a blur. It wasn't until Emma was back in the PICU, puffed up on IV fluids and hooked up to every machine in the hospital (including the most expensive one and the one that goes "ping!") that we really felt scared.
Since infancy, Emma has had annual visits with a pediatric cardiologist to keep tabs on the next most serious defect, called Subaortic Stenosis. This defect is basically a membrane growing across the aortic valve, between the left ventricle and the valve itself. The membrane affects the bloodflow into her aorta; instead of flowing straight through the valve like it's supposed to, the blood swirls around and hits the valve itself. The effect of the blood hitting the valve day after day, heartbeat after heartbeat, eventually causes it to start leaking. In Emma's case, her aortic valve is also bicuspid instead of tricuspid. (For the record, Emma's fourth and final heart defect is a stenotic (narrow) mitral valve.)
This year, after reviewing her echocardiogram (ultrasound of her heart) Emma's cardiologist and surgeon agreed that the leak is starting to get worse. In the past year, it has gone from holding steady at "trivial" to deteriorating to "mild-to-moderate." In order to (we hope) slow or possibly halt the deterioration of her aortic valve, the doctors want to remove the membrane now, before the leak progresses to "severe."
Removing the membrane will require open-heart surgery. On my Emma.
This past Tuesday we met with her cardiologist again, had all her pre-op work done, and had a brief visit to the PICU at Tufts Floating Hospital for Children in Boston. Emma got to see a room similar to the one she'll be in, and was reassured to know that she'll have me either in-room with her or right down the hall (while she's still on a ventilator & sedated). She also got to meet her surgeon, Dr. Warner; he's the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery and the same surgeon who repaired her coarc eight years ago.
It's bizarre to consider the reproductive future of your eight-year-old daughter, but we want to keep Emma's factory-original parts in and working for as long as possible. If she ends up with a mechanical valve, it will complicate any future plans for pregnancy. Likewise, biologic valves come with their own risk of rejection. The longer Emma's own valve -- defective and misshapen though it may be -- can remain in her heart and working well, the more control Emma will have over her adult life.
Right now, we're trying to strike a balance between quarantining Emma completely (thus scaring the piss out of her) and maintaining the status-quo. Some of the things we would normally only be bugged about (like playing with a neighborhood kid whose nose is running like a soak-hose) are things we need to prohibit until after her surgery. We feel a little paranoid, but this is one of those times when paranoia is a good thing. According to the surgeon, once Emma is home, she can "resume normal activities" with the temporary exceptions of roughhousing and contact sports.
It's a good thing she's been considering taking a break from wrestling. See? It all works out!
Friday, June 3, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
let's take the car and save the fare
As of this afternoon, we are back to being a two-car family. We made it work with one car for just shy of eleven months, and could have gone a bit longer if our lives weren't about to hit a speed bump in the next few weeks. We'll need a second car for the upcoming drives in & out (and in & out, and in & out) of Boston next month. More on that another day.
After looking at and driving both the Toyota Prius and the Hyundai Elantra, we went with an Elantra. At this point, we just can't argue with the attractiveness of coming in nicely equipped but under 20K. Still, I really liked the Prius and we will be looking at the hybrid Highlander (or whatever it is by then) when it's time to replace the CX-9, even if it's just to drool on one for a little while.
One thing I have to explain is that we could not have made one car work nearly as easily if Dan had to commute every day; it was annoying enough with one car when he just worked in Burlington and didn't need to be in the office every single day.
This past fall, we arranged our schedule so that the girls' activities were mostly clustered around two days each week -- Thursdays and Saturdays. On Thursdays, karate ended at 5:45 (but in reality more like 5:55) and dance began at 6:00; on Saturdays, dance ran from 10:30 until noon, but Penelope's soccer game times varied from week to week. The Activities Dance got complicated a few times, but we never needed to call in a friend for a ride anywhere; usually, one parent-child team would simply sit around and wait.
The fact that we are relatively unscheduled homeschooling freaks was helpful, too: the additional stress of shlepping the girls to and from school every day (or fuming over that one carpool member who is never ready on time!) simply wasn't there. The girls still made it to most of their Fun Fridays, most of their rollerskating evenings, and a bunch of other stuff, as well. Plus, we had all of those speech and physical therapy appointments thrown in there this fall.
Would we do it again if we needed to? Without a doubt. Nobody ever complained (including me and Dan). We paid the CX-9 off two years early. Penelope and Emma got to observe (and sometimes help) Dan and I grapple with some pretty complex scheduling issues. We always managed to find a solution that got everyone where they needed to go.
Would we *want* to do it again? Honestly? I enjoyed it most of the time. We made a responsible decision that was difficult to live with at times, but we had a little extra time together several times a week and we came out of the whole adventure a little more confident in our ability to think outside the box.
After looking at and driving both the Toyota Prius and the Hyundai Elantra, we went with an Elantra. At this point, we just can't argue with the attractiveness of coming in nicely equipped but under 20K. Still, I really liked the Prius and we will be looking at the hybrid Highlander (or whatever it is by then) when it's time to replace the CX-9, even if it's just to drool on one for a little while.
One thing I have to explain is that we could not have made one car work nearly as easily if Dan had to commute every day; it was annoying enough with one car when he just worked in Burlington and didn't need to be in the office every single day.
This past fall, we arranged our schedule so that the girls' activities were mostly clustered around two days each week -- Thursdays and Saturdays. On Thursdays, karate ended at 5:45 (but in reality more like 5:55) and dance began at 6:00; on Saturdays, dance ran from 10:30 until noon, but Penelope's soccer game times varied from week to week. The Activities Dance got complicated a few times, but we never needed to call in a friend for a ride anywhere; usually, one parent-child team would simply sit around and wait.
The fact that we are relatively unscheduled homeschooling freaks was helpful, too: the additional stress of shlepping the girls to and from school every day (or fuming over that one carpool member who is never ready on time!) simply wasn't there. The girls still made it to most of their Fun Fridays, most of their rollerskating evenings, and a bunch of other stuff, as well. Plus, we had all of those speech and physical therapy appointments thrown in there this fall.
Would we do it again if we needed to? Without a doubt. Nobody ever complained (including me and Dan). We paid the CX-9 off two years early. Penelope and Emma got to observe (and sometimes help) Dan and I grapple with some pretty complex scheduling issues. We always managed to find a solution that got everyone where they needed to go.
Would we *want* to do it again? Honestly? I enjoyed it most of the time. We made a responsible decision that was difficult to live with at times, but we had a little extra time together several times a week and we came out of the whole adventure a little more confident in our ability to think outside the box.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Almost impercebtible . . .
So this evening, while Penelope & Emma were blowing out the candles on their birthday cake, Emma's hair caught on fire. Talk about surreal! I was manning the light switch & the beagle, Dan was on the living-room floor, across the coffee table from the girls. From my position, I could tell that Emma's hair was going to catch about an instant before it did. Instinctively, Emma looked at her dad, and carefully backed away from the candles just as Dan was telling her to carefully back away from the candles. Then Dan reached over and pinched the flame out.
Done. Over. Crisis averted. Both girls pulled their hair back and finished the candle-extinguishing ritual. Cake was had by all (including the beagle).
Granted, Emma needed a shampoo and deep-conditioning treatment, and will probably get a haircut on Sunday -- but once again, she has shown a natural instinct to not freak out when she is in the midst of a dangerous situation. The first happened a few years ago, when their a/c unit fell out of the window they were trying to open. Instead of trying to grab the unit & keep it in place, Emma actually leapt backwards, away from the window.
Not that Penelope is any less emergency-savvy -- after all, she did slice her pinky finger open (she was aiming for an apple core) -- but I'm not cataloging, here. Just sharing the amazement I always experience whenever my kids do something beyond their years. I shouldn't (be amazed), but I can't help it. I'm not sure I would have had the same instincts, at eight. I'm grateful that my daughters do.
Done. Over. Crisis averted. Both girls pulled their hair back and finished the candle-extinguishing ritual. Cake was had by all (including the beagle).
Granted, Emma needed a shampoo and deep-conditioning treatment, and will probably get a haircut on Sunday -- but once again, she has shown a natural instinct to not freak out when she is in the midst of a dangerous situation. The first happened a few years ago, when their a/c unit fell out of the window they were trying to open. Instead of trying to grab the unit & keep it in place, Emma actually leapt backwards, away from the window.
Not that Penelope is any less emergency-savvy -- after all, she did slice her pinky finger open (she was aiming for an apple core) -- but I'm not cataloging, here. Just sharing the amazement I always experience whenever my kids do something beyond their years. I shouldn't (be amazed), but I can't help it. I'm not sure I would have had the same instincts, at eight. I'm grateful that my daughters do.
Monday, November 8, 2010
this is what 1155 words looks like
"If I don't go to school, how will I learn?"
Oh, dear.
I hereby promise that I won't feel insulted if I catch flack or become the subject of side conversations for saying so, but questions like the one above leave me feeling sad.
My kids have never been to school, and they're learning quite a lot -- in spite of life's recent efforts to ensure otherwise. Since we've been dealing with my wrist, the past two months have seen a massive decrease in the frequency of formal lessons. There are days where we feel like we're living in the car. With the girls' speech therapy, my twice-weekly OT appointments, the girls' fortnightly Wednesday ruckusing-for-homeschoolers group, the dog's fortnightly Wednesday playgroup, soccer, karate, hip-hop, and ballet-tap-jazz each week, I'm glad we bought the audiobook version of our history text.
We're also reading several other books in audiobook form -- Meet Josephina (for next Wednesday) and the entire Unfortunate Events series. In science, we have unexpectedly focused on biology -- we're watching the Life series and the Becoming Human series; I think there's a show about Darwin somewhere on the queue, as well. Spelling has been hijacked by their speech lists and grammar has been shoved aside in favor of their NaNoWriMo stories. (For several days, now, the girls have heard me bemoaning the fact that none of my characters are cooperating. I started out writing a Young Adult novel, and now it's a mainstream mystery. Nothing in my novel is where I put it in October. Today, Penny met me at the door as I entered, bearing the sushi for our book club (we read Mr. Popper's Penguins); she was ecstatic because a new character for her story had appeared out of thin air. She hadn't planned for him, but there he was, and she wrote so much that she filled up 75% of an 8.5 x 11 sheet!)
We started this school year as eclectic school-at-homers, and I don't know what we are now -- except maybe seat-of-the-pantsers -- but the learning hasn't slowed down. They certainly don't need textbooks, an overworked teacher, and twenty other kids around them in order for learning to happen.
Humans are a driven species, and we can't easily be stopped. (Just think about the last time you really wanted your kid to fall asleep a little early. It didn't happen, did it?) We didn't need to go to school so we could learn how to walk or talk -- walking and talking were things that we learned naturally. Babies see a toddler walking, and they try to pull up on the edge of the table and make their feet do the right thing. Toddlers see a four-year-old running or jumping, and they mimic these motions, trying to run as fast or jump as high. Five-year-olds see their parents or older siblings writing, and they grab a crayon and paper, and try to write something that makes a word they know. Learning is a process that happens naturally, and it's something that we are intuitively drawn to; it is not something that's done to us, but something that we initiate and control as individuals.
Although I am weary at the things I hear from my non-homeschooling friends (It's okay for you, you were a teacher! I would never have the patience! My kids and I would probably strangle each other! How do you know what to teach them?), the last thing I expect from any of them is some sort of conversion. Admittedly, I would break into song if only a few of them realized that our decision to homeschool was simply a decision to do what was best for our kids -- just like seeking out various therapies were their decisions to do what was best for their kids. When a child needs something, a parent will do whatever she can to meet that need. The solutions Dan and I found just happened to include homeschooling, and that's the solution we liked best.
I have a very hard time believing that my non-homeschooling friends could even begin to think that learning is some mysterious thing that only happens in that town-owned building. They're all intelligent women and fantastic moms, and I know they love and respect their children as deeply as I do my children. I know they help their kids follow their passions and explore life with gusto. I've seen them in action, and they're lacking nothing.
So, why does the question above make me feel sad? It's a damn cute thing for a five-year-old to say. This little boy loves school, and can't wait to get there, because learning is important to him. He's a sponge, and that's something to crow about.
I feel sad because for me, that question is also a boundary. I don't know if it's okay for me to joke that my kids have never been to school, but they've learned quite a lot. As a left-leaning, attachment-parenting, homeschooling freak in a sea (no! in a school! hahahaha!) of normal individuals, I often wish I could see a few buoys or even a lighthouse in the distance. I really don't want to run aground.
When I'm part of a conversation about one friend's frustrations at dealing with thoughtless individuals, lip service, and a Shelob's Lair of red tape just to get her child the help he needs, I don't know what sort of reaction is palatable from me. If I just commiserate, and hope things get better, am I being callous? If I try to reassure her that homeschooling isn't as hard as it sounds (knowing that she has often thought, "Oh, I should just teach him myself!"), am I pressuring her to do something that she's not sure is best? If I encourage her to keep fighting and share what little information I know from my own time as a high-school teacher, am I brushing her off and sending the message that I think she'd suck at homeschooling her son? (She'd totally rock, btw.)
I want to support my friends, not push a homeschooling agenda. Other times, I want to be the goofball that I am, not insinuate that Homeschooling Is Better. But sometimes I do want to say something that could provide some food for thought -- especially if that friend seems frustrated with the solutions she has already been offered.
I suppose my wariness and frequent censorship in such situations is really no different from the tendency of my non-homeschooling friends to inadvertently cause me to wince as one of them says, for the twelfth time, that she would never have the patience to homeschool her kids. Both reactions stem from the desires to connect, to disregard unimportant differences, and to enjoy and celebrate our friendships, knowing that we're with people whose struggles are similar enough to our own that they've drawn us together.
Shit. I just learned something!
Oh, dear.
I hereby promise that I won't feel insulted if I catch flack or become the subject of side conversations for saying so, but questions like the one above leave me feeling sad.
My kids have never been to school, and they're learning quite a lot -- in spite of life's recent efforts to ensure otherwise. Since we've been dealing with my wrist, the past two months have seen a massive decrease in the frequency of formal lessons. There are days where we feel like we're living in the car. With the girls' speech therapy, my twice-weekly OT appointments, the girls' fortnightly Wednesday ruckusing-for-homeschoolers group, the dog's fortnightly Wednesday playgroup, soccer, karate, hip-hop, and ballet-tap-jazz each week, I'm glad we bought the audiobook version of our history text.
We're also reading several other books in audiobook form -- Meet Josephina (for next Wednesday) and the entire Unfortunate Events series. In science, we have unexpectedly focused on biology -- we're watching the Life series and the Becoming Human series; I think there's a show about Darwin somewhere on the queue, as well. Spelling has been hijacked by their speech lists and grammar has been shoved aside in favor of their NaNoWriMo stories. (For several days, now, the girls have heard me bemoaning the fact that none of my characters are cooperating. I started out writing a Young Adult novel, and now it's a mainstream mystery. Nothing in my novel is where I put it in October. Today, Penny met me at the door as I entered, bearing the sushi for our book club (we read Mr. Popper's Penguins); she was ecstatic because a new character for her story had appeared out of thin air. She hadn't planned for him, but there he was, and she wrote so much that she filled up 75% of an 8.5 x 11 sheet!)
We started this school year as eclectic school-at-homers, and I don't know what we are now -- except maybe seat-of-the-pantsers -- but the learning hasn't slowed down. They certainly don't need textbooks, an overworked teacher, and twenty other kids around them in order for learning to happen.
Humans are a driven species, and we can't easily be stopped. (Just think about the last time you really wanted your kid to fall asleep a little early. It didn't happen, did it?) We didn't need to go to school so we could learn how to walk or talk -- walking and talking were things that we learned naturally. Babies see a toddler walking, and they try to pull up on the edge of the table and make their feet do the right thing. Toddlers see a four-year-old running or jumping, and they mimic these motions, trying to run as fast or jump as high. Five-year-olds see their parents or older siblings writing, and they grab a crayon and paper, and try to write something that makes a word they know. Learning is a process that happens naturally, and it's something that we are intuitively drawn to; it is not something that's done to us, but something that we initiate and control as individuals.
Although I am weary at the things I hear from my non-homeschooling friends (It's okay for you, you were a teacher! I would never have the patience! My kids and I would probably strangle each other! How do you know what to teach them?), the last thing I expect from any of them is some sort of conversion. Admittedly, I would break into song if only a few of them realized that our decision to homeschool was simply a decision to do what was best for our kids -- just like seeking out various therapies were their decisions to do what was best for their kids. When a child needs something, a parent will do whatever she can to meet that need. The solutions Dan and I found just happened to include homeschooling, and that's the solution we liked best.
I have a very hard time believing that my non-homeschooling friends could even begin to think that learning is some mysterious thing that only happens in that town-owned building. They're all intelligent women and fantastic moms, and I know they love and respect their children as deeply as I do my children. I know they help their kids follow their passions and explore life with gusto. I've seen them in action, and they're lacking nothing.
So, why does the question above make me feel sad? It's a damn cute thing for a five-year-old to say. This little boy loves school, and can't wait to get there, because learning is important to him. He's a sponge, and that's something to crow about.
I feel sad because for me, that question is also a boundary. I don't know if it's okay for me to joke that my kids have never been to school, but they've learned quite a lot. As a left-leaning, attachment-parenting, homeschooling freak in a sea (no! in a school! hahahaha!) of normal individuals, I often wish I could see a few buoys or even a lighthouse in the distance. I really don't want to run aground.
When I'm part of a conversation about one friend's frustrations at dealing with thoughtless individuals, lip service, and a Shelob's Lair of red tape just to get her child the help he needs, I don't know what sort of reaction is palatable from me. If I just commiserate, and hope things get better, am I being callous? If I try to reassure her that homeschooling isn't as hard as it sounds (knowing that she has often thought, "Oh, I should just teach him myself!"), am I pressuring her to do something that she's not sure is best? If I encourage her to keep fighting and share what little information I know from my own time as a high-school teacher, am I brushing her off and sending the message that I think she'd suck at homeschooling her son? (She'd totally rock, btw.)
I want to support my friends, not push a homeschooling agenda. Other times, I want to be the goofball that I am, not insinuate that Homeschooling Is Better. But sometimes I do want to say something that could provide some food for thought -- especially if that friend seems frustrated with the solutions she has already been offered.
I suppose my wariness and frequent censorship in such situations is really no different from the tendency of my non-homeschooling friends to inadvertently cause me to wince as one of them says, for the twelfth time, that she would never have the patience to homeschool her kids. Both reactions stem from the desires to connect, to disregard unimportant differences, and to enjoy and celebrate our friendships, knowing that we're with people whose struggles are similar enough to our own that they've drawn us together.
Shit. I just learned something!
Sunday, October 31, 2010
It was a dark and stormy night.
Here I am, on the verge of my first NaNoWriMo and the excitement is truly contagious. HOW contagious? Penny & Emma have each signed up on the YWP site to write 500-word stories. They've been working on their characters' backgrounds, and thinking about their plots, and are looking forward to telling their stories. They've even got more writing buddies than I have! (More than a few local homeschoolers are doing NaNo with their kids, and on one of my lists, we all exchanged our kids' usernames.)
As for me, I think I'm ready. I certainly don't have any more time for preparation, in any case. The most frustrating thing about my preparation efforts is the fact that my characters and plot kept morphing into things I didn't expect. Yeah, I know that's the way it works, but it's still confusing when the characters who were born in my head become virtually unrecognizable, yet I must still work with them.
In other news, my wrist is recovering well. According to my surgeon, I'm right in the middle of the progress curve. My OT therapist disagrees somewhat, using the word "gangbusters" to describe my progress. (I'm inclined to agree with my therapist, though, since by the time I saw the surgeon, I'd had almost a whole week with far more splint time than usual. Dan was out of town, and we had more appointments each day than I care to remember. "While out and about" was my primary Splint-Required activity.) Either way, I'm free of the splint, and I've been given clearance to do whatever the hell I want to, as long as my wrist can handle the activity or weight. All this bodes quite well for my November plans.
Now, it's time to sign off so I can get Chewbone upstairs and plugged in before midnight. Yes, I'm going to write tonight. Seriously? You doubted that?
As for me, I think I'm ready. I certainly don't have any more time for preparation, in any case. The most frustrating thing about my preparation efforts is the fact that my characters and plot kept morphing into things I didn't expect. Yeah, I know that's the way it works, but it's still confusing when the characters who were born in my head become virtually unrecognizable, yet I must still work with them.
In other news, my wrist is recovering well. According to my surgeon, I'm right in the middle of the progress curve. My OT therapist disagrees somewhat, using the word "gangbusters" to describe my progress. (I'm inclined to agree with my therapist, though, since by the time I saw the surgeon, I'd had almost a whole week with far more splint time than usual. Dan was out of town, and we had more appointments each day than I care to remember. "While out and about" was my primary Splint-Required activity.) Either way, I'm free of the splint, and I've been given clearance to do whatever the hell I want to, as long as my wrist can handle the activity or weight. All this bodes quite well for my November plans.
Now, it's time to sign off so I can get Chewbone upstairs and plugged in before midnight. Yes, I'm going to write tonight. Seriously? You doubted that?
Friday, September 17, 2010
it's up to you, yeah you
bwa-hahahahahahahaha!
Here I have all these knitting projects I want to do, and NaNoWriMo, and massive amounts of attic wallboard that still need to be mudded, and meals for Debbie & Barry I want to make . . . and I go and get my wrist broken.
Not just broken, mind, but spectacularly broken, borderline shattered.
I'm not terribly upset about the forced rearrangement of my to-do list -- at least I've gotten 98% of the critical knitting done, and I can do NaNo in longhand. I'm not even terribly upset about the injury itself. I get that accidents happen. I get that I would have been better off wearing wristguards with my rollerblades. I'm beyond grateful that I only broke my wrist, and my left one, at that.
What I'm most upset about is the behavior of the girl who caused my fall. I'm talking to you, Girl in the Blue Shirt. Yes, it was by accident that you fell, then slid into me from behind and knocked my legs out from under me. But as you got back to your feet, as your eyes met mine, and as you heard me say, "Ohhhhh, that's broken!" -- why did you feel the best thing to do was to just get up and skate away?
Shame on you for leaving me there on the floor, and shame on your parents for raising you to cover your own ass instead of attending to the person you've hurt. When my daughters were four, they had more integrity and compassion than you do as a teenager. They saw what you did, and it scared them. It was an accident, but you were still responsible, and you chose to shirk that responsibility. We were at the rink for a solid 5 minutes longer, getting everyone's skates off and shoes on. One man who saw the accident got me a bag of ice from the snack bar. You never came around to apologize or check on me. I don't care if you were scared -- you hurt someone and walked away.
Here I have all these knitting projects I want to do, and NaNoWriMo, and massive amounts of attic wallboard that still need to be mudded, and meals for Debbie & Barry I want to make . . . and I go and get my wrist broken.
Not just broken, mind, but spectacularly broken, borderline shattered.
I'm not terribly upset about the forced rearrangement of my to-do list -- at least I've gotten 98% of the critical knitting done, and I can do NaNo in longhand. I'm not even terribly upset about the injury itself. I get that accidents happen. I get that I would have been better off wearing wristguards with my rollerblades. I'm beyond grateful that I only broke my wrist, and my left one, at that.
What I'm most upset about is the behavior of the girl who caused my fall. I'm talking to you, Girl in the Blue Shirt. Yes, it was by accident that you fell, then slid into me from behind and knocked my legs out from under me. But as you got back to your feet, as your eyes met mine, and as you heard me say, "Ohhhhh, that's broken!" -- why did you feel the best thing to do was to just get up and skate away?
Shame on you for leaving me there on the floor, and shame on your parents for raising you to cover your own ass instead of attending to the person you've hurt. When my daughters were four, they had more integrity and compassion than you do as a teenager. They saw what you did, and it scared them. It was an accident, but you were still responsible, and you chose to shirk that responsibility. We were at the rink for a solid 5 minutes longer, getting everyone's skates off and shoes on. One man who saw the accident got me a bag of ice from the snack bar. You never came around to apologize or check on me. I don't care if you were scared -- you hurt someone and walked away.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
everyday, everyday, everyday . . .
Now I've gone ahead and done it . . . signed up for NaNoWriMo 2010.
Those who've known me since high school will have no trouble remembering me with my open journal in my lap as I sat cross-legged in one of those clunky metal and "wood" chair-desks, head down, blissfully unaware of the activity around me, working on yet another poem. (What's that? Wendy, please solve for X? Wait, I'm in Algebra? I thought this was World History . . . )
Most of those who've met me since college will have no trouble scratching their heads, looking puzzled, and mumbling, "Huh?"
Yeah . . . I Used To Write, and I miss it like I'd miss breathing. I've been wanting to get back to writing for almost two decades, but in spite of how out-of-sorts I feel as a Former Writer, I kept letting everything else get in the way. I mean, I'm not avant-garde enough to be a poet, anymore. I don't have enough cool ideas to be a freelance writer. I don't have enough time to be a novelist. I don't think blogging counts. I don'tdon'tdon'tdon'tdon't . . . I don't want to miss that part of who I am, anymore.
Last year, I found out about NaNoWriMo over Thanksgiving weekend and I promised myself I would do it this year. Now that September 2010 has rolled around I *almost* passed on it because "I have too much knitting to do." (Seriously!! That's what I told myself!! Do you see how easy it is to cheat yourself and keep from doing something you love??? Learn from me, people. Learn from me.) Fortunately, a new friend pshawed my excuse and rather pointedly informed me that even if I don't complete the challenge (50,000 words in one month), I'll have written more than I would have otherwise. See, that just can't be argued with in any sort of logical fashion. There's nothing but truth in that statement. Even sitting here trying to come up with a sample argument for the sake of showing you how ludicrous it would sound makes my eyes get stuck in Glazed Over Mode. So, I did the only logical thing I could do -- I kept my promise, and signed up!
[singsong] I'm writing a novel! [/singsong] (Yeah, I know it's supposed to be <> but you try and get <> to show up as text if you're using them to write a pretend html code -- for a few minutes, it looks like everything will stick, but once your work autosaves, BOOM! the fake code only shows up in the html editor. I'm sure Dan could fix it, but I would rather leave this little rant in place, instead.)
Yes, 50,000 is a blasted short novel, but I don't have to stop at 50,000. I just have to get at least that far. My novel won't go (49,994) Susan smiled, reached towards Carl and (50,000)
In fact, I don't have either a Susan or a Carl. So there!
I'm excited and twitchy and I so want to get started, but the trick is that you're not allowed to begin actually writing until November 1st. Until then, I can fill my mind and my journal with all sorts of outlines, character sketches, background information, story arcs, and research. I can't start writing, yet. But in the meantime, I can get all that knitting done.
Those who've known me since high school will have no trouble remembering me with my open journal in my lap as I sat cross-legged in one of those clunky metal and "wood" chair-desks, head down, blissfully unaware of the activity around me, working on yet another poem. (What's that? Wendy, please solve for X? Wait, I'm in Algebra? I thought this was World History . . . )
Most of those who've met me since college will have no trouble scratching their heads, looking puzzled, and mumbling, "Huh?"
Yeah . . . I Used To Write, and I miss it like I'd miss breathing. I've been wanting to get back to writing for almost two decades, but in spite of how out-of-sorts I feel as a Former Writer, I kept letting everything else get in the way. I mean, I'm not avant-garde enough to be a poet, anymore. I don't have enough cool ideas to be a freelance writer. I don't have enough time to be a novelist. I don't think blogging counts. I don'tdon'tdon'tdon'tdon't . . . I don't want to miss that part of who I am, anymore.
Last year, I found out about NaNoWriMo over Thanksgiving weekend and I promised myself I would do it this year. Now that September 2010 has rolled around I *almost* passed on it because "I have too much knitting to do." (Seriously!! That's what I told myself!! Do you see how easy it is to cheat yourself and keep from doing something you love??? Learn from me, people. Learn from me.) Fortunately, a new friend pshawed my excuse and rather pointedly informed me that even if I don't complete the challenge (50,000 words in one month), I'll have written more than I would have otherwise. See, that just can't be argued with in any sort of logical fashion. There's nothing but truth in that statement. Even sitting here trying to come up with a sample argument for the sake of showing you how ludicrous it would sound makes my eyes get stuck in Glazed Over Mode. So, I did the only logical thing I could do -- I kept my promise, and signed up!
[singsong] I'm writing a novel! [/singsong] (Yeah, I know it's supposed to be <> but you try and get <> to show up as text if you're using them to write a pretend html code -- for a few minutes, it looks like everything will stick, but once your work autosaves, BOOM! the fake code only shows up in the html editor. I'm sure Dan could fix it, but I would rather leave this little rant in place, instead.)
Yes, 50,000 is a blasted short novel, but I don't have to stop at 50,000. I just have to get at least that far. My novel won't go (49,994) Susan smiled, reached towards Carl and (50,000)
In fact, I don't have either a Susan or a Carl. So there!
I'm excited and twitchy and I so want to get started, but the trick is that you're not allowed to begin actually writing until November 1st. Until then, I can fill my mind and my journal with all sorts of outlines, character sketches, background information, story arcs, and research. I can't start writing, yet. But in the meantime, I can get all that knitting done.
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