I'm not ignoring you...

... I've just been very very busy. Deadlines for my history project are pressing and I'm being squeezed trying to keep up. Lately, my typical day is: get up, work on my book most of the day, take care of dinner, and then, if I'm not going to an evening rehearsal or meeting, read research books at night. I try to squeeze in some exercise here and there, as well as my regular teaching, volunteer, and household obligations. The time I would usually spend writing a blog entry—sitting in front of the TV at night—I'm catching up on the books I need to review to write the next day's section. So although I've read/watched a couple of Emmas, and there's a huge stack of Boy's college letters I'd like to plow through, and there may even be pictures from some cookies I made last month (or was it February?), I just haven't found the time to sit and write for fun. Next week, I promise.

I'm not a nun ...

... and so I'm not good with habits. This is my way of explaining why I've been slacking on the blog this week. Last week I went on vacation and had limited internet access. (Meaning I had to walk across camp and endure a slow network ... don't get me started on the glacial slowness of checking my mail via Yahoo instead of Outlook. In any case, I was on vacation and taking a break from all kinds of work except cooking.) Upon my return, I had yet another deadline staring me in the face, and so the blog took a backseat to writing a sports profile.

At least, that's my excuse. But really, it's because it doesn't take that long to get out of the habit of doing something. Inertia isn't just a principle of physics; it's a lifestyle. A body at rest tends to stay at rest, and so when I got back from vacation I didn't want to do anything I'd been doing before. I didn't want to go to TKD class, although once I got there I had fun. I didn't want to go into the basement and do my regular cycling, although once I got started I kept going for 45 minutes, distracted by a great book. And I didn't want to engage my brain and think of something to write in the blog.

But now I've met my deadline, forced myself to exercise, and written this entry. So now I have no excuse; besides, while contemplating what to write today I came up with two or three ideas, so it shouldn't be hard to keep going. Although it may be a few days before I review the second part of Faust; returning to a 19th-century German poetic drama requires overcoming a great deal of inertia.

Mission (impossible) accomplished!

You might remember that almost two weeks ago, I confessed to being a total mess. I said, give me a week, I'll have it all straightened up. Well, I had another couple of assignments interrupt, but I have finally waded through the mess, cleaned out (and dusted) my shelves, thrown out old documents, CD programs, and manuals, and straightened the pictures the cats keep rubbing against and moving out of alignment. And I'm not making it up! I have proof!


Hey, you can see the floor! There are big empty spaces on the desktop! The knickknacks aren't sneezing from all the dust! As a reward, I'm taking some "me-time" and sending out some queries today. Why shouldn't an editor say yes this time? After all, if I can clean up my desk, anything is possible!

I'm a mess, I confess

I have a new excuse for not writing a long entry in the blog today. Let's just say, I've been putting off care and pruning of my desk for some time:


You have to understand, the floor is not my fault. I had all that stuff neatly put away (okay, crammed on a bookshelf), and then my very helpful spousal unit decided to straighten up the bookshelf while I was away at a conference. I had so many assignments (paid and volunteer) waiting for me when I came back that I didn't have the spare weeks days hours to clean anything up. But I have a little free time now, so I'm gradually making progress against the mess. I'm sure by next week I'll be able to post a picture of my newly neatened workspace.

Playing hooky...

All work and no play make Diane something something. Boy has the day off from school and has graciously consented to go to a movie with me (despite there not being any action movies or Will Ferrell comedies in the theaters), so I need to spend my computer time writing assignments, not blogging. So in addition to playing a little hooky from work, I'm playing hooky from the blog, too.

Besides, I haven't seen a movie in 2009 yet, and I'd like to see more than one of the five films nominated for Oscar's Best Picture nominees. Maybe I can get a future blog post out of it.

What are you doing here?

You should be enjoying the vacation season, if you're lucky enough not to be working between Christmas and New Years. Catch some of the holiday sales, as I did. (I bought blankets for the spare bed, but no shoes. Why are there umpteen gazillion pairs of black shoes, and no navy ones?) Sit around and watch movies at home, as we've been doing. (Currently Boy is watching one of the great classics of modern cinema, "Animal House.") Eat all the treats you got for the holiday, as I can't stop doing. (We finish one batch of gift cookies, and someone gives us another. It's nice to be loved, but my waistline has its limits.) Do some of those little projects around the house, as I'll being doing later. Take a nap and enjoy feeling snuggled into your house during the nasty weather.

Don't waste your time coming here. I got nothing. Everyone in the house is on vacation, and so my brain has decided it's joining in. That assignment due in three weeks can wait. So can the blog. Maybe tomorrow my brain will wake up.

And now, a commercial interruption...

I'm still looking for a "G" word to explore, I have a cool picture/post about basting quilts and writing I'm thinking about, and I should have another haiku review soon. But now, I'm too crazy busy to spend much time on the blog. This was my schedule last night:

4:30—Take Boy to the orthodontist
5:30—Go to high school and pick up/order scrip for fundraising
5:45—Pick up pizza on way home for dinner
6:00—Don't eat pizza, but go to TKD instructor's meeting
7:00—Duck out of meeting and go to band rehearsal (late)
10:00—Get home and eat rewarmed pizza for dinner.

And here's today's schedule:

morning—make double batch of cookies for craft fair bake sale
afternoon—make poster thanking businesses who allowed us to post signs; stop at grocery store to pick up milk and posterboard
???—squeeze in some writing? I do have an assignment due by the end of the year.
3:00-5:30—help set up at craft fair
5:00—duck out early to place craft fair signs near freeway exits
6:00—help officiate at TKD testing

So instead of cogitating on the letter G, or the parallels between basting and writing, I will be making gingersnaps. Sad for you, Dear Readers, who need a little amusement in their day (extremely little); but Happy for me, who will be required to perform quality control on said gingersnaps. (Hmmm, G is for Gingersnaps? I will think as I bake.)

And if you're in the Plymouth-Canton area Saturday, please stop by and do a little shopping at our holiday craft fair. It supports the wonderful Plymouth-Canton Marching Band, who were National Finalists once again this year and placed 11th in the country!

The Unofficial Haiku Excuse: I'm not lazy

So it's been a while since I posted my last Haiku Review. It's not that I don't want to. It's not that I've forgotten.

I am not lazy
An offer I can't refuse
awaits when I'm done.

You see, the next movie on my to-do list of the greatest movies ever is really two: The Godfather and The Godfather II. I'll admit, I should have seen these before. They're giants of American cinema, I know, but I'm not that fond of the whole mobster genre. So Coppola's masterpieces remain on my unviewed list, along with The Untouchables and any movie with James Cagney. But I'm determined to get to them ... as soon as I can clear five straight hours from my schedule. Which is easier said than done, as I'll demonstrate. Just check out what I've been doing for the past two weeks:

Sat 10/4: Morning, volunteer at Humane Society event; spend lunchtime at black belt show rehearsal; attend Michigan-Illinois game and try not to vomit; pick up Boy on way home.
Sun 10/5: Afternoon out with the family; remind myself what they look like.
Mon 10/6: Teach day class in morning; assist in evening class.
Tues 10/7: Evening flute choir practice.
Wed 10/8: Attend morning class. How did I get an evening free? Try to make dent in 20 hours of DVR recordings.
Thurs 10/9: Volunteer at humane society. Evening band practice.
Fri 10/10: Attend (and participate briefly in) black belt show.
Sat 10/11: Attend 7-hour TKD seminar; run home, shower, run out to Boy's marching band performance.
Sun 10/12: Spend day picking apples and canning applesauce with friends.
Mon 10/13: Morning day class; evening assisting.
Tues 10/14: No rehearsal tonight! Spend three hours doing groceries and assorted non-fun shopping.
Wed 10/15: Attend morning class; attend meeting for marching band volunteers, then attend critique group meeting in Ann Arbor.
Thurs 10/16: Get hair cut, then volunteer at humane society; evening band practice.
Fri 10/17: Tournament team practice. (I'm tired already just thinking about it.)
Sat 10/18: Nothing scheduled today! So we're going to visit family in Canada.
Sun 10/19: Flute choir concert

Oh, and over that two-week period I also produced the program for the black belt show, played chauffeur to Boy several times, did the laundry and shopping and cooking, kept up the blog, and wrote 3000 words worth of critical essays to accompany the horrible coded sketchtops I complained about last week. Amongst all this, sitting down to make up for my cinematic deficits seems a bit self-indulgent. But it will happen soon, I promise. Give me a chance before you dump a horse's head in my bed.

Deadlines make my brain hurt

Or maybe it's the ungodly hours I'm keeping. Saying "I'm not a morning person" doesn't begin to describe things. It's true, I'm not a morning person at all. Get me up before 7 am, and I'm likely to grunt and squint for a good hour before I can produce intelligible human speech. But I'm also one of those people who needs sleep. A lot of sleep. Eight hours is livable, nine is preferable, ten is optimum. With the start of the school year, I'm lucky if I get seven. Since Boy is now in high school, we have to get up at 6 am because the bus comes at 6:30. (Thank goodness he's not a high-maintenance girl requiring an hour of prep time.) With September comes band practice every Thursday, and I don't get home until after 9:30. On Tuesdays I have flute choir, and I don't get home until after 10. Every other Wednesday I have critique group, and I can be out until 10. So by the time I get home, put my stuff away, deal with any mail or school handouts, have something to drink, check the weather, feed the cats, and scoop the catbox, it's close to 11. The math just isn't working for me.

Okay, sometimes I cheat and go back to bed after seeing Boy off to school. This will get rid of any headaches I wake up with (and morning headaches happen more often when I get less sleep), but try not to do it more than once a week because it eats up my days. I don't work at the computer all day every day. Monday and Wednesday mornings I have TKD class. Thursdays or Fridays I volunteer at the animal shelter. At least once a week I spend the half the morning doing grocery shopping and other errands. My goodness, no wonder I feel like I don't get any work done!

So while I'm adjusting to the fall schedule, I'm feeling a little squeezed by deadlines. My mom entered us in a quilt show, so I was working to complete a quilt by this weekend. (And today I finished the last step, the binding, hooray!) I've got an assignment due at the end of next week; it's under control, but I don't have any wiggle room. If I don't finish early, I'll be under the gun to get something ready for my critique group to read next month. Then there's another assignment coming in, more chapters to write, concerts to practice for, seminars to attend .... erk. I guess I'll just keep on with my usual life management style: "selective procrastination." Earliest deadlines first, then I'll worry about the rest.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a nap.

Confessions of an Olympic Junkie

Oh, my blog posts will be short and few these next two weeks. Hi, my name is Diane, and I'm an Olympic junkie. I'll watch nearly anything if it's Olympic. Gymnastics? I love watching the tumbling and near-falls. Swimming? As a kid it was the sport featured in my gold-medal dreams, before I discovered I was short, slow, and klutzy. Diving? Hoo boy, look at 'em twist and tumble—and how do those 10-meter divers manage not to crap their pants every time they look down from the platform? And we haven't even started the track-and-field or taekwondo or archery or rowing competitions yet.

Thanks to the joy of TIVO, I don't have to watch all the commercials, all the "human interest" stories, all the replays and interviews. I don't have to stay up until 1:30 am to see the end of live competition. I don't have to procrastinate on Chapter 17 by writing in my blog....

Whoops! I think there are pretty horses jumping for gold! See you later!

Procrastination Vacation!

Ah, summer! It's August, and the fish are calling us. "Come catch us!" they whisper. "Come filet us!" they hint. "Come fry us up in pancake mix and butter!" they suggest. "Come eat us!" they insist. We shan't disappoint them.

Yes, it's time to join what's becoming an annual ritual for my family: fish camp. We find a place on a lake, rent a few cabins and a pontoon boat, catch fish like crazy, and eat eat eat! This year we will have almost 40 people from four generations of the family: my 92-year-old grandmother, still healthy and witty and determined to enjoy everything now that it's our turn to cook; 7 of her 8 children (plus 4 or 5 of their spouses/partners); 10 of her 11 grandchildren (plus 6 of their spouses/partners); and 8 or 9 of her great-grandchildren, from Boy, the eldest at 14, to the newest addition, only 3 months old. It will be quite the gathering, complete with food, cards, food, swimming, biking, food, reading, sightseeing, and I think some food.

So, Dear Readers (all six of you), I am taking a break from this blog. Although my laptop is accompanying us up North, I won't being trying to work. I have no need to procrastinate, and thus no need to spend time here. Besides, half my regular readers will be up at camp with me. Through the magic of scheduled postings, a new photo-of-the-week entry will appear on Monday; if I manage to finish The Pioneers tonight, I might schedule it to appear during the week. But maybe not. The fish are waiting, you see, and I need to get ready.

The Quilt Files, Episode 1

This blog is a wonderful way to avoid starting Chapter 17, I've discovered. Unfortunately, now it's exerting a pressure of its own. If I haven't put something in the blog for a couple of days, I feel guilty. My invisible audience is clamoring for more! If I don't create new entries, they'll never come back! If I can't write something in the blog, my own personal procrastination vehicle, how pathetic is that? It's bad enough I'm avoiding Chapter 17, which is something productive that could actually be published some day (soon, ohpleaseohpleaseohplease), but now I can't think of something to blather about in my blog! If I do more than one vacation photo a week, I'll run out quickly. I've gone through all three cats, plus the shelter. Nationals are over. I can't read more than one classic every couple of weeks, and I don't want to blog about reading science fiction or Stephen King, that's not very impressive.

I know! I will introduce a new feature to The Blathering: The Quilt Files. I can blather about projects I've done, complete with pictures. If I limit it to once a month, I might last the rest of the year. Maybe it will inspire me to finish that last row on the quilt I'm making for my niece (if I don't decide to keep it for myself, heheheheh).

So here is Episode 1 in The Quilt Files: My first finished project, completed December 2002. It's actually a lap quilt, about 35" square. I had purchased some charm packs (4.5" square) featuring this family of fabrics for another project. That project required red, orange, yellow, green, dark blue, and purple fabrics. These were the colors left over: black, white, pink, light blue, and maroon. I figured, easy peasy: piece together the squares, add borders, and voila! A handmade Christmas gift for Grandma! (They always appreciate handmade, or are too kind to say they don't.) The piecing took only a weekend, and then it took several weeks of quilting by hand to finish the project. It's hard to tell from the photo, but I alternated diamonds and 8-pointed stars in each of the squares, stitched in the ditches of the small border, and quilted diamonds in the big border. Considering I started with leftover scraps in weird colors (and I tried several arrangements before settling on this one), I thought it turned out fairly nice.

Of course, Grandma was thrilled to have a handmade gift. When she left her home for hospice care, it was one of the things she took with her. My aunt says that when Grandma passed last December, she was using my little quilt. I like to think she spared a thought for me that last day.

Now the quilt is back with me, hanging off my writing chair. When it's not too hot out, I like to wear it in my lap. It's warm and cozy and the cats like to sit on it. And now I'm the one who looks at it and gets warm memories of a loved one. Not a bad result for my first quilting project.

The Feline Anti-Literacy Brigade, Part 4

Wait a minute, you may be thinking. Didn't you say a few posts ago that you had a limit to the felines in your household? Didn't your other half swear up and down that "Three Is Enough," that we now have a replacement-only policy? So what gives? You didn't bring another feline home, did you?

No, I didn't. I respect the house rules, and besides, Agents 1, 2, and 3 would not be pleased to share their duties with a fourth feline. But if I can't bring the kitties home to me, I can certainly travel to meet them. And that's exactly what I do once a week: I travel to the Humane Society of Huron Valley and volunteer a couple hours as a "Cat Comforter." The shelter does great work, but it's old and cramped. It's stressful for the kitties, and a stressful kitty isn't as friendly and appealing as a happy kitty. My job is to go in, give the kitties attention, help them relax, and hopefully make them more adoptable. And if I can't convince the kitty to come out from the back of the cage, sometimes I'll go in to meet them:

There were actually four kittens in this cage. The black one with white paws was being curious and crawling on top of me—and on top of her brother, who was trying to sleep on my lap. (You can see his white forepaws sticking out in front of his black head.) What you can't see are the two grey ones that were sitting behind me, occasionally trying to crawl up or behind my back. One of the hazards of comforting a cage full of kittens is that they regard you as their personal jungle gym, and you can end up with itty bitty kitty scratches on your back and arms.

Right now we're in the middle of kitten season. It starts around Memorial Day, and lasts most of the rest of the year (although there only a few kittens in November and December). Last year, we had almost full kitten turnover every week. I'd go in, and each of the 10 cages would have a new set of kittens in them. (Replenished by the numerous volunteers who foster litters until they're old enough or there's room enough to be adopted at the shelter.)

This year we seem to have an excess of black and black-and-white kittens (a couple kitlers among them). Some of them have been there for almost a month, which can't be good. They'd much rather be with people, from the way they snuggle and kiss me when I take them out of their cages.

So procrastinating by volunteering at HSHV is a win-win all around: the kitties get some attention, while I get kitties who are actually grateful for attention and a great excuse not to start working on Chapter 17.

Out of the mouths of babes....

I couldn't resist sharing more wisdom from Boy, who, as a teenager, is frequently full of it*. So lately I've been trying to suggest he should keep up with taekwondo, or some kind of physical activity, as one marching band rehearsal a week does not constitute an exercise plan. Here was our enlightening conversation:

Me: I'm going for a walk while it's still cool. Do you want to come along?

Boy: Mo-om, no! I've got marching band rehearsal tonight.**

Me: Will you go with me to class on Friday or Saturday, then?

Boy: I also had a sectional last night. I got some exercise then.

Me: Twice a week isn't going to keep you in great shape.

Boy: Mom, I'm growing an inch a week.*** I don't need to work off my food.

Me: You're not going to grow an inch every week.

Boy: [Silence. His point has been made.]

Me: Arrgh!

I have to give him credit for his reasoning, though. It's almost as twisty as mine when I'm trying to avoid starting Chapter 17.

*Besides teenage wisdom, he is also frequently full of something that rhymes with "it."
**To be fair, marching band rehearsal does last three hours, and works the calves something wonderful.
***This is not inaccurate. A few days before I left for Nationals, the doctor's office measured him at 4'11.75". I measured the day after I got back, and he was 5'0.75" tall. Now he is trying to convince me to leave for the rest of the summer in hopes of outgrowing his classmates.

Where Did the Week Go?: A Procrastination Journal

So it's Friday and I'm staring at my computer once again, wondering why I haven't even written one paragraph in Chap. 16 since last week. I have to get moving; I need to finish it for my lovely critique group to review on July 9, and I'm going to be away at TKD Nationals from June 30 to July 5. I should have been inspired after the writers' conference I attended this past weekend; so why am I stuck? In the same way that dieters keep a food journal to keep track of what they're actually eating, I thought I would detail what I did this week to see what I'm actually doing. Warning: this is not for the faint of heart. (Or easily ashamed—Oh, that would be me. Here goes anyway.)

MONDAY:
7:00 am—Why am I up at 7 am? I could sleep in for another hour. Give up, do morning routine of shower, tea, breakfast, etc.
8:30—Take Boy to marching band practice.
9:00—I have been inspired by conference, but not to write, only to send in a picture book manuscript to one of the editors who attended. Spend morning tweaking cover letter, hoping that arrival of manuscript one week after conference signals "professional, organized writer" and not "delusional, overeager wannabe."
12:30—Lunch!
1:00—We still have houseguests; take them around town (including stop at post office to mail manuscript, yay!) and have nice chat.
3:00—Return to computer, open up Chap. 16, then give up (mailing manuscript counts as "real work"), and play solitaire. Help prepare dinner.
7:00—Attend mandatory meeting for Marching Band parents. Get free cookies and sign up for more ways to procrastinate volunteer events.

TUESDAY:
7:30 am—Seriously, why can't I sleep in until 8? Morning routine.
8:30—Take Boy to practice.
9:00—Finally finish reading Moby Dick. Yay!
9:30—Realize I neglected the blog yesterday. My mom will complain. Add Photo of the Week Entry and Review of Moby Dick. Celebrate with a couple of solitaire games.
11:30—I promised our British houseguest a shopping trip. Take her to the big mall I never go to because it's so big. (Sigh. It's a rough job, but someone has to do it.)
3:30—Return. Smile at new pair of sandals. Start load of laundry. Open Chap. 16. Look at it, find Solitaire game while I try to remember what happens next. Give up; fetch the mail; make dinner plans.

WEDNESDAY:
7:00 am—Something is wrong with my internal clock. Damn summer solstice. Morning routine ensues.
8:30—Take Boy to practice.
9:00—Take guests to airport.
10:00—Return home, check e-mail, look at blog to see if anyone's commented on my exciting prose. See "0 Comments"; look at Jacqui's blog for new entries. Add comment that's much more amusing than anything I write here. And at least someone else will read it.
11:00—Go to doctor for clicky knee; learn braces won't help and surgery doesn't work; given prescription to build muscles around joint and use ice and Advil. Pretty much what I already knew, except for the bit about the brace.
12:30—Since doctor's office is near the animal shelter, go do my weekly volunteer work as a Cat Comforter. There are 10 cages of kittens needing attention, plus an Abyssinian was just brought in as a stray so I have to check her out.
3:00—Do two more loads of laundry. Open up Chap. 16 again, review what little I've already written, then add a sentence or two. Play a game or two of solitaire, review new sentences, delete as unsuitable.
5:30—Realize I've forgotten to review this week's critique group submission. Start reading and making notes furiously.
7:30—Meet critique group. Stuff my face with tasty Whole Foods treats Talk about silly stuff and complain Make thoughtful, incisive comments about my fellow writers' work.

THURSDAY:
7:30 am—Morning routine.
8:30—Drop Boy off.
9:00—Do grocery shopping.
10:30—Realize I've forgotten to do my knee exercises. Learn that they take almost an hour to complete.
11:30—Realize I haven't done any real training since last week. Go for 6-mile bike ride, making stops at bank and library to run errands. Return Moby Dick and pick up House of the Seven Gables. Rejoice that Hawthorne's classic has only 300 pages, with probably no mention of whale heads in any of them.
12:30—Lunch, which includes tasty side dish of Advil and ice for my knee.
1:00—Open up Chap. 16. Get interrupted by Gigi; write post about mewing silly kitty.
2:30—Look at Chap 16 again. Wonder what editor I sent previous novel to is up to; check her blog. Check links to blogs of other agents/editors. Snicker at how they make fun of people who ask silly questions. Realize I shouldn't be snickering until I actually sell novel.
4:30—Go back to Chap. 16 again. Feel guilty that I haven't written anything all week; then feel stupid for feeling guilty when no one will probably ever publish it anyway. Turn off computer in frustration.
5:30—Boy forgot to pick up stuff from Band. Run out to pick it up. Make dinner.

FRIDAY:
8:00 am—Finally! I sleep in until 8! Unfortunately, I could have slept later, as marching band practice isn't until noon today. Morning routine.
9:00—Do knee exercises while catching up on six-month-old TIVO recording.
10:00—Oh, dear, I've neglected the accounts, too. Spend morning paying bills and balancing checkbook.
11:30—Take Boy to practice. Run a couple of errands. Eat lunch.
1:00—Detail sad history of procrastination on blog.

So instead of writing, I've sent a manuscript to an editor; done three loads of laundry; maintained the family finances; gone to the doctor; socialized over two dozen kittens; made four shopping trips; written four blog entries; finished reading a classic American novel I should have read in college; made half a dozen trips as chauffeur; looked up how to spell "chauffeur"; worked on building up my knee and my stamina; and played a few dozen games of solitaire.

Oh well, I still have the rest of the afternoon, write?

The Feline Anti-Literacy Brigade, Part 2

This is going to be my last post for a while, but it's not the cats' fault. (I'm actually going to a writers' conference, like a real live writer. Then I have houseguests to entertain.) Although when she saw me start working on this blog entry, feline anti-literacy agent #2 started poking her nose into things.

Meet Calliope. She got her name not because she inspires heroic poetry (like her namesake), but because she is Clio's sister, and thus needed the name of a Greek muse. Good thing there were eight to choose from; some of the other muses's names just didn't sound right. ("Here, Euterpe! Melpomene, are you my sweet puddy tat?" Nope, that wasn't gonna happen. I'm only literary within reason.) So anyway, Callie saw me begin typing and decided to come see what I was doing. This time I was able to fob her off with a couple of treats, and now she's sleeping in the cat tree next to my office window. Awwwww, so cute. Hold on, I'll be back in a sec.

[Wipes fur from hands before returning to keyboard.] This is Callie's secret weapon: being cute and stationary. She doesn't spend much time in my lap (unless she knows I'm planning to get up in five minutes), but she does seem to be around all the time. While the other cats sleep upstairs, usually under the bed, Callie hangs out where she's always visible. Her favorite spot is on the family room sofa, and I have seen her sleep there for eight hours straight, no kidding. In the mornings I usually find her dozing in the sunshine that pools through the dining room windows. In any case, she's visible. She's cute. She sucks me away from the computer to stroke her soft, soft fur. And then she gets up and meows at me: "Hey! Lady-with-the-Wondrous-Opposable-Cat-Food-Can-Opening-Thumbs! Get me some food!"

This is Callie's not so secret weapon: her incessant crying for food. "Beautiful voice" (the translation of Calliope), indeed! MEEEEEOWWWWWWW! Can't you see I'm tiny and underweight? she whines. (Yes, I do see, Callie, but the vet says there's nothing wrong with you.) MEEEEEEEOWWWWW! Why won't you feed me? she pleads. (I did, Callie, but you turned up your nose at Little Friskies "Liver & Chicken Surprise" when last week you ate it with pleasure.) MEEEEOOOOOWWWWWW! I mean, feed me some REAL food! YOUR food! she demands, paw stretching out for a stray crumb on my plate.

Seriously, how I can work in the face of such persistence?

Summertime, and the living ain't easy....

For some reason I don't seem to get a lot of writing done in the summer. It's the season of sun and fun, right? I must be out cavorting at the pool, or reading in the hammock, or eating fresh cherries and spitting the pits at the cats; there must be all sorts of relaxing things I'm doing instead of writing, right?

Ennnnhhhh, wrong! I am not a summer person. First of all, I'm not a big fan of heat and humidity, since it tends to make me wheeze like a leaky balloon. Second, summer means "summer vacation," which means Boy is home full-time. Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with my son--probably more than he does with me, given that he's now fourteen and I have become totally embarassing--but day after day of "I'm booooooorrrrrred" gets tedious. (This year, ha ha ha, I made him think it was his idea to join Marching Band--four weeks of practice during the summer--and take a summer computer class, so that problem should be alleviated somewhat.)

Still, there are several things I enjoy about summer, although they take away from writing time. First of all, I don't have to get up before 7 am every weekday!! That means more glorious sleep, but less writing time. (Although I will argue that added sleep makes my brain more efficient. There must be some way to prove that I write more words per hour when I'm well-rested.)

The other thing I love about summer is my garden. As you can see from the picture, it's going gonzo right now: irises, columbines, geraniums, even the roses are starting to bloom. Unfortunately, that means it needs maintenance. If I want more blooms later in the summer, I need to get in there and deadhead the irises. It's very relaxing working in the garden, but I generally end up doing it in late afternoon, which is usually peak writing time for me. I also need to pick out all the sunflower sprouts from the back garden. The bird feeder is great for attracting everything from finches, sparrows, and cardinals (and grackles, blech) to a hawk that likes to eat sparrows (and grackles, yeah!). Whoops! Another reason to lose a little more writing time, staring at the birdies. (Or staring at my kitties staring at the birdies, which can be a hoot.)

Still, I can't complain too much. I'll bet that next February I'll reread this entry and think, "What was her problem? Crazy girl, at least she sees the sun more than once a week!"

The Feline Anti-Literacy Brigade, Part 1

If you already know me, it's hardly news if I tell you I'm a cat person. I luuuurve the furry little beasties. There's just something about the way they move, the way they caper about, the way they snooze in anatomically impossible positions ... they're just so cute, and I can't resist them. (Within reason, of course. Although my other half insists he is the only thing standing between me and a life as a crazy old cat lady with two dozen cats, I do have limits. "Can't resist them" usually means stopping to pet a friendly cat, not bringing them home.)

So we have three cats in our household, and they provide endless hours of amusement and possibilities for procrastination. In fact, they often take an active role in preventing me from writing or even reading. I jokingly (?) call these incidents part of their "Feline Anti-Literacy Campaign." The reason they wage this campaign is obvious: I, the Lady with Wondrous, Opposable, Cat-Food-Can-Opening Thumbs, should not be spending my time on anything other than their entertainment.

Meet Clio, leader of the Feline Anti-Literacy Brigade. Actually, I should have known what she was capable of when we brought her and her sister home as kittens in the summer of 2002. She earned her name with her first anti-literacy efforts. I was proofreading galleys of a history reference at the time, and the new kitten spent so much time crawling over them and the computer desk that I decided to name her after the Greek muse of history, Clio.

As you can see from the photo at the top of my blog, Clio's usual modus operandi is to sit on my lap while I'm at the computer desk. It's a very simple and effective technique. Sitting on my lap means I can't pull out my keyboard drawer; neither can I reach my hands into the keyboard drawer. Thus, I cannot type, and my hands are free to gratify her need for a belly rub. Of course, she does not want me to capture photographic evidence of her anti-literacy efforts, which is why my poor camera endured the savage attack documented here.

Clio's other anti-literacy techniques include: chirping on the floor (an irresistible invitation to play); vomiting on the carpet (an irresistible invitation to steam-clean); and producing incredibly foul smells (an irresistible invitation to scoop the cat box). I turned the table on her efforts, though; a few years back she was stationed in her usual anti-literacy post, on my lap, when she released an incredibly foul smell. My anti-muse had struck! But in so doing, she inspired my poetic muse. Within a few minutes, I had the following stanza:

You come to sit upon my lap
To find a comfy place to nap.
Nothing’s softer than your fur
Nothing’s sweeter than your purr
Rumbling from your little heart,
Why, then, o Kitty, must you fart?

Four more stanzas soon followed; Boy recited the poem, complete with whoopie-cushion sound effects, for his third-grade class; and I was off to the poetic races. I now have over 20 "Poopy Poems," as I like to call them, on topics such as scooping the cat box, watching the cat barf, and enduring the cat chewing my hair.

So take that, Clio! You may entice me away from the computer have me wrapped around your little paws, but you can't squelch my creativity.

It's always the big ones that are the hardest to finish....

So this weekend I attended a baby shower for the lovely little Miss Amilia, bringing along a cute pink "stars and moon" baby quilt as a gift. I love making baby quilts. They are small in size (around 45" square), making them a manageable project that only takes a few weeks. You still get the fun of picking out and matching fabrics, piecing the patterns, and seeing the whole thing take shape--but the hard part, the quilting, takes much less time. In fact, because the quilt is so small, I often do the quilting by machine, which even makes it kind of fun.

In contrast, full-sized projects can be a chore to quilt. I started quilting about 7 or 8 years ago, and during that time I've completed over half a dozen baby quilts, along with four wall hangings of similar size. I've also finished a twin-sized quilt for Boy (who does not wish me to name him here in my blog, because who knows who's reading teh internetz?), as well as a couple of queen-sized quilts I made as wedding gifts. As for my very first quilting project, a queen-sized log cabin pattern for my own use? I'm still quilting it by hand. I worked a little on it the other night, and I should finish the quilting by the end of summer--but I've got another baby quilt to make, so it's possible I may put it off yet again. In the meantime, a king-sized quilt (again for me) is still awaiting my hand-quilting efforts. I finished piecing it almost a year ago, but have been waiting to complete the backing, basting, and quilting until I finished the log cabin.

I was thinking about this because last week I found a similar way to procrastinate with my other huge creative endeavor, writing. I really should have focused on revising Chapter 15 in my current novel-length project, and then started writing Chapter 16 so I have something for my critique group next month. I've only got four more chapters to write, but I know once I've finished with them there's a lot more revision I have to do on earlier chapters. But instead of chipping away at the bigger project, I spent most of my time jotting notes and writing sketches for a new idea that popped into my head. It's a completely different kind of piece--humor instead of fantasy--and the main character was whispering to me: "Hey! There's more fun over here! Stay with me and play; leave working with those other folks behind!"

I guess brainstorming new ideas, for me, is kind of like going to the fabric store. It's fun to consider all the possibilities, envision how they might work in the pattern as a whole, and calculate what the result could be. Why wouldn't I rather do that than stub my fingers on the hard quilting needle of revisions?

Of course, at one point the current project was whispering, "We're the fun ones!" Like a quilt, it started out as lots of fun--it's just getting to the end where it becomes a lot of work. So maybe I should ignore this new idea and focus on finishing the old project ... but what's the expression? All work and no play makes Homer something something? (Yes, I am a huge "Simpsons" fan, as if two references in one post didn't give it away.)

If creativity is a gift, I don't want to refuse it. I certainly don't want to turn it into a chore. So right now I'm keeping two windows open: doing a little piecing here, a little bit of quilting there. It might take longer to finish, but hopefully the results will show more loving care.

Blogging still counts as writing, right?

This is all Jacqui's fault. She started a blog. I started reading it. I composed a few cute little responses to her very clever pieces. Boy, this is fun, I thought, not at all boring, like revising Chapter 2 in my novel for the umpteenth time. Maybe I should start a blog....

So I arrived here, starting my very first blog. After all, they say that any writing is good practice, right? And practice makes perfect, erm, improved, right? And who can't stand to improve their writing, especially an aspiring novelist still seeking that first contract? So typety-typety-type, I will write! I will improve! I will stun the publishing world with my talent and self-deprecating wit!

What's more likely, though, is that I'll just blather on about writing, reading, and other stuff you may (or most likely may not) find interesting. But hey, this is the internets! I'm sure somebody else out there is trying to put off revising Chapter 2 for the umpteenth time, so maybe they'll find my blog. We can procrastinate erm, exchange ideas, together.

At least that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.