No crying on CHRISTMAS!

My grandmother is ninety three years old. She reminds us of this fact over and over again. Many of you have already read stories about her. Of my love for her, my respect, my frustration. All ordinary, really. Ordinary family mechanics.

Christmas is hard for the old who used to own it. We young people come in and make all kinds of demands about time and food and presents. We moan about being too busy and about our kids and about travel.

They forget the stress and remember it golden. They want it simpler. My gram is no exception.

Every year I've asked her to do a little less. Fewer cookies, fewer presents, come later.. leave earlier... la la la.

It's gotten to the point where she is only responsible for one thing on Christmas. The Ice Box Cake. For those of you who don't know what that is... wait. I'll put up a recipe and picture next week. All you need to know is PUDDING, YUMMMMMMMMM.

She's called five times today crying.

Call 1: "Was I supposed to bring something?"
Call 2: "I don't have the right pan!"
Call 3: "Is Rosy still allergic to bananas?"
Call 4. "I bought the wrong pudding!"
Call 5: "What is instant pudding anyway?"

I don't need the ice box cake. I have a million cookies. I just don't want her to cry. And she'll cry if I say don't make it. And she'll cry if I say make it. And she'll cry if...

She'll cry. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the wrong pudding. It's a world gone mad. It's a memory of loss. It's not her time.

But egads woman? Don't you remember your own rule? NO CRYING ON CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!

Tomorrow I'll get her a little tipsy on champagne and make her laugh.

Merry Christmas.

XO
S

Merry Christmas!!!! Vlogging... Crazy!

Baby it's cold outside

We were new to the everyday kind of love. The baby was outside playing with her papa in the snow. The room was getting dusk dark. We peeked at each other over flickering TV commercials.

The storm canceled life, so the busy stopped and all there was... was time.

So much can happen in those moments. Fights, revalations, long horrible pauses that lead to isolation.

"Want to take a walk?"He asked.
"Outside?"
"No... around the apartment... YES outside."
"Sure!" I said. And the blood started to flush out my pale winter face. A walk in the snow? In the twilight... alone with a boy? A fifteen year old dream come true and I was twenty nine but it didn't matter because we are all of us still fifteen on the inside.. right?

And the world was blue with black trees and glistening snow falling down on us. We kicked it and ran, played lovers tag.

We walked across the park that in the springtime snowed pink flowers. He walked up and over benches into snowdrifts like Gene Kelly.

And then we stopped at the liquor store... and old enough we bought two tiny little bottles of schnapps to warm us up. I took peach, and he took peppermint. We went back out into the snow.

"Ew! They're warm!" he said. "They should be cold going down and then warm from the inside out, right? yuck."

I thought fast. I picked up snow and made a ball. I stuck the itsy bottle into it.

"You're brilliant." he said.

And I didn't need the schnapps to warm me up anymore.

****

He still talks about that. How ingenious I was. But all I remember is his smile. The look of surprise.

Love/One
Boredom/ Zero

WHERE? Oh... There!

Where the heck have I been? Right? Hmmmm.... well. Let me see if I can explain.


Hi! SO besides correcting a bizzilion term papers and exams. Besides christmas carding and cookie baking... I've been working on this OHMYGOSHWHYNOTAWEBSITE?

And, I'm sure it's riddled with typos, so feel free to send me an email with whatever you find.

I built it myself! There's fun stuff there and I really hope I was able to capture the feeling of my work. It think I did.

AND: I have to admit I love the perfume commercials that erupt this time of the year *sigh*
AND: You know that new song According to you? Okay, want to laugh out loud? Listen to the words pretending that the singer is a NOVEL!!!!!! So funny. I laughed so hard this morning I had to pull the car over. No joke.

Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Happy Kwanzaa. Happy New Year.

Joy to the world. Thanks for being my blog friends. I've learned and laughed and loved so much this year.

XO S

Slow

I talk fast. I walk fast (for a short girl), I type fast, I think fast.

BUT I like things slow. Not slow from beginning to end... but slow to start... a lingering twinkle of beginning. I like cured black olives even though I don't like them.

I like a sloe gin fizz.

I like things slow because I need things to build. If there is no building... you lose my interest.

I like reading Dr. Seuss aloud to my kids. I love the way my tongue fits around his words. One of my favorite lines to read is from The Grinch "It started in low... then it started to grow."

Yep. That's how I like most things. And guess what? That's how I write. My stories slowly unfold and then barrel ahead.

I've tried to alter this. I'm four novels in now, and I've read all there is to read about snagging some interest in your book... but those first thirty pages? Yep. Slow.

When I try to hop right into my story... I feel like I'm not being me. It isn't a story I'd read OR write.

And so maybe a snazzy agent in a modern loft with a fast track life may read my third person omniscient, literary first thirty pages and say "Not for me..." and you know what? They're right! Because they like things FAST... and I don't.

And that's okay. It's how I tell my stories. And I believe in them... my stories. They are good stories.

What about you? Have you found peace with your voice?

Want to hold my hand?

It was so simple. Most right things are. The key to my secret peace.

I was a tight fist of lonesome and tyrant of rage. A small little girl with tangled hair and balled up hands. I can remember my fingernails cutting my palms. The nail biting habit fixed that.

And every, single, time I started to relax... something would happen to make me turn around again. Shut the door. Shut my eyes. Squeeze my fingers blue.

In grammar school the church and steeple game made me feel more exposed than dodge ball.

In high school boys thought me cold 'cause I would kiss but not cuddle. No hand holding.

"I keep my hands to myself... do what you want with yours."

And then you came. After a swell of chaos. In a blizzard when I was too young and everyone was mad. You were mad too. A mad little newborn with balled up fists. You shook them at me and cried your own blues. But.... when you fell asleep in my arms, your baby body softened and your tiny fingers loosened and then you were all lazy fuzz and graceful fingernails. I stroked them and admired you.

In the parking lot. You were what? Two? Yes... and you reached up and grabbed my hand. Our palms met. A perfect fit. A rush of knowing. A startled peace.

I opened up my hand for you because you asked me to. And then I practiced harder, and opened up my hand for him.

Hands and hearts. It's so simple, really.

The literary agent song

Okay. I'm NO songwriter... but I've always liked to play around with lyrics. I switch words up in songs all the time (makes my kids crazy...."twinkle twinkle little bat...")

I'm a lurker on many agent blogs, and recently there was a big bruhaaahaaaa over at Rachelle Gardener's blog about responses to queries that grew into a bit of a mess in the comment section.

Now, don't get me wrong... I've been in the query wars too. And I know I've been lucky in terms of attention. But I had a strong reaction to the complaints. As a writer I think we need to band together, agents and writers... because what we writers forget is that agents are going to go through the very same thing with our work FOR US once they sign us. So the frustrations are exactly the same. Come on people, it's like we're eating our own!

So! I decided I would write a song to help boost the literary agent's spirits.

Sing to the tune of Gloria Gaynor's "I will Survive"

At first I figured it would be a simple game
Thinking I could write a novel and gain world acclaim
and I knew that I could fail
and I thought perhaps I'd cry
But I would try....
and I let that first draft FLY

I didn't know
I needed you
I knew nothing of what literary agents do
But I caught on pretty quick
And I read all I could buy
And now I'm proud
As I hold my query high!

I know it's hard
To read them all
But you found me
(And though I haven't had the call)
I am sure it's coming soon 'cause my story's gonna sell

How can I tell?
Because I watched the market well!

So thank you now
Before we meet
Because without you
My novel's cold out on the street

And I appreciate the time
And the feedback when you can...
I understand
(And I'll make changes on demand)

Sooooooooooo Here's to YOU!
A cup of Cheer!
I'm sure you need one
At this stressful time of year
And with many writers moaning
And an industry that's groaning
Here's to you----
Here's to you-----

Here's. Tooooo. You..........!

La la la la la laaaaa la la la la la la lalalalalaaaaaa la la lalala la lalalalalalalalalal la!



*note. For all you pessimists out there who think I'm pandering. Pshaw! Why... I would nevah!*