What is JacketFlap

  • JacketFlap connects you to the work of more than 200,000 authors, illustrators, publishers and other creators of books for Children and Young Adults. The site is updated daily with information about every book, author, illustrator, and publisher in the children's / young adult book industry. Members include published authors and illustrators, librarians, agents, editors, publicists, booksellers, publishers and fans.
    Join now (it's free).

Sort Blog Posts

Sort Posts by:

  • in
    from   

Suggest a Blog

Enter a Blog's Feed URL below and click Submit:

Most Commented Posts

In the past 7 days

Recent Comments

MyJacketFlap Blogs

  • Login or Register for free to create your own customized page of blog posts from your favorite blogs. You can also add blogs by clicking the "Add to MyJacketFlap" links next to the blog name in each post.

Blog Posts by Tag

In the past 30 days

Blog Posts by Date

Click days in this calendar to see posts by day or month
new posts in all blogs
Viewing Blog: In Search of Giants, Most Recent at Top
Results 1 - 25 of 364
Visit This Blog | Login to Add to MyJacketFlap
Blog Banner
on writing, reading, and other creative literary pursuits
Statistics for In Search of Giants

Number of Readers that added this blog to their MyJacketFlap: 4
1. New Beginnings

As I sent my children with their father this evening, I experienced a wave of emotion that can only be described as acceptance. This is the rest of my life: sending my children to their father's every other weekend. 

I remember reading - oh, years ago - a reflection by a woman whose custody agreement was split 50/50. She talked about wandering her house, looking in on empty beds and missing her children.

I'm going to be honest. I am happy for my 48 kidless hours twice a month.

I don't spend those hours in any exceptional way. I sleep - a lot. I watch what I want to watch on Netflix. I exercise (sometimes). I work. I clean. But for 48 hours, I don't have to worry about making sure other human beings are staying fed, hydrated, or clean, let alone productive, creative or connected to me. 

I could worry about whether they're eating vegetables at their dad's - but, hey. 48 hours without veggies won't kill them. And worrying will only rob me of what teensy bit of sanity I have remaining.

A friend calls me a "Divorce Baby," which he defines as anyone in his or her first year post-divorce. I still have several months until I level up (September 24, but who's counting?) but I am looking forward to a summer of beginnings as I learn to accept my new reality.

0 Comments on New Beginnings as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
2. "Squaring Up"

Originally published for "Ascension," January 14, 2009.

“I need boxers,” I say to my mother hopefully. Mostly Sean gets everything new, and I get passed-down jeans with ripped pockets and shirts with armpit stains. I draw the line at underwear.

“We’ll see if anything’s on sale after I look at ties.” She heads off.

That was easy. Mom must be in a sentimental mood. UNLV’s been courting Sean with a full basketball scholarship since he won the championship last year. There’s just the formality of the interview, which is why we’re at the mall after practice, buying suits we can’t afford.

On the thinly carpeted floors in the hallway of the men’s dressing room, I stretch out my legs, turn up the volume on the iPod I worked all summer to buy. Ten minutes later, I peer under the cheap particleboard partitions to see if Sean’s done. My brother’s sitting, still in his own clothes, staring at a piece of paper.

“Sean? What’s up?” He doesn’t stop me when I open the door, reach down to grab the note. 

The words stay low, stuck in his throat. “I’m off the team. Coach said it’s lucky I’m not expelled.” I tower over him. I’d kept his secret, but now. He’s in deep.

“Tell Mom I’m going to look at boxers.” I drop the paper.

I trip out of the dressing room, walk down the hall, through the men’s department, onto the escalator, up, high, higher.

0 Comments on "Squaring Up" as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
3. "Presage"

Originally published for "In Vino Veritas," July 14, 2009.

​Twenty-two hours from San Francisco to Kathmandu. Four hours until the layover in Hong Kong. Caelin will have finished grading papers by then. She arches her back, stretching, then wiggles her toes, and catches the eye of the flight attendant.

“More, please.” She indicates the travel-sized wineglass. The remaining ruby droplets glisten in the spotlight of her reading lamp. The attendant nods from the galley.

“You realize that’s basically grape juice?” Chloe peers around the headrest as her business class bed reverts to its upright position.

“It’s a second growth Bordeaux and you know it, O Queen Food Critic,” Caelin retorts. “How’d you sleep?”

“Not well. Looks like fourteen bottles of questionable Bordeaux didn’t help you sleep, either.” 

“Excited?” 

“And nervous. What if she hates us?”

“Sweetheart.” Caelin strokes her wife’s cheek as Chloe unfolds the passport she’s been clutching. A little girl with dark eyes and copper skin gazes at them, unsmiling and unafraid. “She liked us well enough before. Any kid will hate her parents at some point. Let’s just focus on getting her home.” 

The flight attendant materializes with the bottle of Château Cos-d'Estournel 1989, which streams like scarlet silk into the stemware.

“Like the orphanage is going to let her come home when you show up drunk,” Chloe teases, leaning close. Caelin smiles into her spouse’s black curls. Points of light play on the surface of her wine, casting images against the back of the seat in a rosy haze.

0 Comments on "Presage" as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
4. Sponsor Me: Camp NaNoWriMo

0 Comments on Sponsor Me: Camp NaNoWriMo as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
5. Quatern

Originally posted June 14, 2009

I failed my birthday word count challenge, and Pete wrote:
My "punishment" for you is to write a poem of at least six lines and no more than 40 lines that describes the feeling of coming >this< close to a stretch goal but falling just short at the deadline.
Neither Pete or Janey was as harsh on me as McK is going to be, so I'm still in an okay place with my lack of word count. Perhaps I will rewrite the poem after I've received the sharp end of the Koala Klaws.

I chose to write a poem in the pattern of a Quatern, which, according to Shadow Poetry,
is a sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains. It is similar to the Kyrielle
and the Retourne. It has a refrain that is in a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four. A quatern has eight syllables per line. It does not have to be iambic or follow a set rhyme scheme.

line 1
line 2
line 3
line 4

line 5
line 6 (line 1)
line 7
line 8

line 9
line 10
line 11 (line 1)
line 12

line 13
line 14
line 15
line 16 (line 1)
 Example #1: 
 True Love, Redefined  One day she hopes true love to find, One soul, one mind, two hearts entwined; Somewhere out there’s the perfect guy, For Youth has set her standards high.  He must be rich, handsome, refined, One day she hopes true love to find; Yet no one seems to measure up And disappointment fills her cup.  The years go by, her nights grow long, Her aging voice sings sorrow’s song. One day she hopes true love to find, Her definition redefined;  Simply a plain and faithful friend To see her to life’s journey’s end; For though her face with age be lined, One day she hopes true love to find.  Copyright © 2003 Linda Newman   
 Example #2: 
 The Master's Feet  Those who sat at the Master’s feet, Brothers who fished in waters deep, Threw down their nets and followed Him, Forsaking all to fish for men.  The crowds pressed ‘round to hear Him speak, Those who sat at the Master’s feet, Those who he said would be a light, For others lost in dark of night.  In the upper room hands were rung, When told a traitor was among, Those who sat at the Master’s feet, With emblems of Himself to eat.  The Master’s mother held her breath, When savage men cried for his death, And vainly struggled to defeat, Those who sat at the Master’s feet.  Copyright © 2006 James Dupy   
 Example #3: 
 Life’s Pulse - The Gypsies’ Song  As dark-haired beauties celebrate while moving round the fire light, their slender swirling hips gyrate, and on they dance, into the night.  The flames dance too, beneath the moon. As dark-haired beauties celebrate, their fathers clap or play a tune the merry clan perpetuate!  Then each young man takes hold a mate he’s chosen in the ring of fire. As dark-haired beauties celebrate, their flashing eyes ignite desire.  The mothers sit and smile.  They know the music will not soon abate. Life’s pulse is found by camp fire’s glow as dark-haired beauties celebrate.  
   
 Copyright © 2006 Andrea Dietrich   
All right, so I know you've been waiting with bated breath. Without further ado (or cliches), here is my original poem.

Wild Words

The words themselves run high and wild,
seeking to be corralled and tamed.
This adverb is a willful child;
that noun’s impatient to be named.

By sunrise we must reach our home.
The words themselves run high and wild.
A question mark is bound to roam.
The “being” verbs have formed a pile.

Even the sun is not beguiled
as she dips closer to her bed.
The words themselves run high and wild,
resist the stories in my head.

Despite the claws, the whips, the threat,
my heart is calm, frustration’s mild.
I watch the beauty as I let
the words themselves run high and wild.

0 Comments on Quatern as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
6. Quatern

Originally posted June 14, 2009

I failed my birthday word count challenge, and Pete wrote:
My "punishment" for you is to write a poem of at least six lines and no more than 40 lines that describes the feeling of coming >this< close to a stretch goal but falling just short at the deadline.
Neither Pete or Janey was as harsh on me as McK is going to be, so I'm still in an okay place with my lack of word count. Perhaps I will rewrite the poem after I've received the sharp end of the Koala Klaws.

I chose to write a poem in the pattern of a Quatern, which, according to Shadow Poetry,
is a sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains. It is similar to the Kyrielle
and the Retourne. It has a refrain that is in a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four. A quatern has eight syllables per line. It does not have to be iambic or follow a set rhyme scheme.

line 1
line 2
line 3
line 4

line 5
line 6 (line 1)
line 7
line 8

line 9
line 10
line 11 (line 1)
line 12

line 13
line 14
line 15
line 16 (line 1)
 Example #1: 
 True Love, Redefined  One day she hopes true love to find, One soul, one mind, two hearts entwined; Somewhere out there’s the perfect guy, For Youth has set her standards high.  He must be rich, handsome, refined, One day she hopes true love to find; Yet no one seems to measure up And disappointment fills her cup.  The years go by, her nights grow long, Her aging voice sings sorrow’s song. One day she hopes true love to find, Her definition redefined;  Simply a plain and faithful friend To see her to life’s journey’s end; For though her face with age be lined, One day she hopes true love to find.  Copyright © 2003 Linda Newman   
 Example #2: 
 The Master's Feet  Those who sat at the Master’s feet, Brothers who fished in waters deep, Threw down their nets and followed Him, Forsaking all to fish for men.  The crowds pressed ‘round to hear Him speak, Those who sat at the Master’s feet, Those who he said would be a light, For others lost in dark of night.  In the upper room hands were rung, When told a traitor was among, Those who sat at the Master’s feet, With emblems of Himself to eat.  The Master’s mother held her breath, When savage men cried for his death, And vainly struggled to defeat, Those who sat at the Master’s feet.  Copyright © 2006 James Dupy   
 Example #3: 
 Life’s Pulse - The Gypsies’ Song  As dark-haired beauties celebrate while moving round the fire light, their slender swirling hips gyrate, and on they dance, into the night.  The flames dance too, beneath the moon. As dark-haired beauties celebrate, their fathers clap or play a tune the merry clan perpetuate!  Then each young man takes hold a mate he’s chosen in the ring of fire. As dark-haired beauties celebrate, their flashing eyes ignite desire.  The mothers sit and smile.  They know the music will not soon abate. Life’s pulse is found by camp fire’s glow as dark-haired beauties celebrate.  
   
 Copyright © 2006 Andrea Dietrich   
All right, so I know you've been waiting with bated breath. Without further ado (or cliches), here is my original poem.

Wild Words

The words themselves run high and wild,
seeking to be corralled and tamed.
This adverb is a willful child;
that noun’s impatient to be named.

By sunrise we must reach our home.
The words themselves run high and wild.
A question mark is bound to roam.
The “being” verbs have formed a pile.

Even the sun is not beguiled
as she dips closer to her bed.
The words themselves run high and wild,
resist the stories in my head.

Despite the claws, the whips, the threat,
my heart is calm, frustration’s mild.
I watch the beauty as I let
the words themselves run high and wild.

0 Comments on Quatern as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
7. Quatern

Originally posted June 14, 2009

I failed my birthday word count challenge, and Pete wrote:
My "punishment" for you is to write a poem of at least six lines and no more than 40 lines that describes the feeling of coming >this< close to a stretch goal but falling just short at the deadline.
Neither Pete or Janey was as harsh on me as McK is going to be, so I'm still in an okay place with my lack of word count. Perhaps I will rewrite the poem after I've received the sharp end of the Koala Klaws.

I chose to write a poem in the pattern of a Quatern, which, according to Shadow Poetry,
is a sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains. It is similar to the Kyrielle
and the Retourne. It has a refrain that is in a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four. A quatern has eight syllables per line. It does not have to be iambic or follow a set rhyme scheme.

line 1
line 2
line 3
line 4

line 5
line 6 (line 1)
line 7
line 8

line 9
line 10
line 11 (line 1)
line 12

line 13
line 14
line 15
line 16 (line 1)
 Example #1: 
 True Love, Redefined  One day she hopes true love to find, One soul, one mind, two hearts entwined; Somewhere out there’s the perfect guy, For Youth has set her standards high.  He must be rich, handsome, refined, One day she hopes true love to find; Yet no one seems to measure up And disappointment fills her cup.  The years go by, her nights grow long, Her aging voice sings sorrow’s song. One day she hopes true love to find, Her definition redefined;  Simply a plain and faithful friend To see her to life’s journey’s end; For though her face with age be lined, One day she hopes true love to find.  Copyright © 2003 Linda Newman   
 Example #2: 
 The Master's Feet  Those who sat at the Master’s feet, Brothers who fished in waters deep, Threw down their nets and followed Him, Forsaking all to fish for men.  The crowds pressed ‘round to hear Him speak, Those who sat at the Master’s feet, Those who he said would be a light, For others lost in dark of night.  In the upper room hands were rung, When told a traitor was among, Those who sat at the Master’s feet, With emblems of Himself to eat.  The Master’s mother held her breath, When savage men cried for his death, And vainly struggled to defeat, Those who sat at the Master’s feet.  Copyright © 2006 James Dupy   
 Example #3: 
 Life’s Pulse - The Gypsies’ Song  As dark-haired beauties celebrate while moving round the fire light, their slender swirling hips gyrate, and on they dance, into the night.  The flames dance too, beneath the moon. As dark-haired beauties celebrate, their fathers clap or play a tune the merry clan perpetuate!  Then each young man takes hold a mate he’s chosen in the ring of fire. As dark-haired beauties celebrate, their flashing eyes ignite desire.  The mothers sit and smile.  They know the music will not soon abate. Life’s pulse is found by camp fire’s glow as dark-haired beauties celebrate.  
   
 Copyright © 2006 Andrea Dietrich   
All right, so I know you've been waiting with bated breath. Without further ado (or cliches), here is my original poem.

Wild Words

The words themselves run high and wild,
seeking to be corralled and tamed.
This adverb is a willful child;
that noun’s impatient to be named.

By sunrise we must reach our home.
The words themselves run high and wild.
A question mark is bound to roam.
The “being” verbs have formed a pile.

Even the sun is not beguiled
as she dips closer to her bed.
The words themselves run high and wild,
resist the stories in my head.

Despite the claws, the whips, the threat,
my heart is calm, frustration’s mild.
I watch the beauty as I let
the words themselves run high and wild.

0 Comments on Quatern as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
8. Sponsor Me: Camp NaNoWriMo

Hello my dears,

I am writing to you as I pack for Camp NaNoWriMo, a virtual writers retreat where aspiring novelists from around the world gather to bash out 50,000 words of fiction in a month.

That's right! I've committed to writing a 112,500-word novel in a month. And to reach my goal, I am going to need all the encouragement I can get!

There are a number of ways you can help me along my way.

Just like sponsoring a marathonner, you can donate on my behalf as I write toward the 112,500-word goal. I'll receive some truly nifty prizes for my fundraising efforts on behalf of The Office of Letters and Light, the 501(c)(3) nonprofit that hosts Camp NaNoWriMo. Your donation will help provide free writing resources for even more kids, teens, and adults around the world!

I have a sponsorship page set up here:

http://www.stayclassy.org/aerinrose

Or, there are a number of inspirational items in the online Camp Store (store.lettersandlight.org/merchandise) that will help get me through the month. You could send me a Camp NaNoWriMo Care Package full of campy encouragement, a Camp NaNoWriMo T-shirt declaring my goal for the month, a Campfire Mug to fill with writer fuel, or a poster for my writing nook.

You can find these and other writing supplies at store.lettersandlight.org/merchandise.

Thank you so much for your support as I write my novel.
Wish me luck! (And hope that I don't get poison ivy.)

0 Comments on Sponsor Me: Camp NaNoWriMo as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
9. Sponsor Me: Camp NaNoWriMo

Hello my dears,

I am writing to you as I pack for Camp NaNoWriMo, a virtual writers retreat where aspiring novelists from around the world gather to bash out 50,000 words of fiction in a month.

That's right! I've committed to writing a 112,500-word novel in a month. And to reach my goal, I am going to need all the encouragement I can get!

There are a number of ways you can help me along my way.

Just like sponsoring a marathonner, you can donate on my behalf as I write toward the 112,500-word goal. I'll receive some truly nifty prizes for my fundraising efforts on behalf of The Office of Letters and Light, the 501(c)(3) nonprofit that hosts Camp NaNoWriMo. Your donation will help provide free writing resources for even more kids, teens, and adults around the world!

I have a sponsorship page set up here:

http://www.stayclassy.org/aerinrose

Or, there are a number of inspirational items in the online Camp Store (store.lettersandlight.org/merchandise) that will help get me through the month. You could send me a Camp NaNoWriMo Care Package full of campy encouragement, a Camp NaNoWriMo T-shirt declaring my goal for the month, a Campfire Mug to fill with writer fuel, or a poster for my writing nook.

You can find these and other writing supplies at store.lettersandlight.org/merchandise.

Thank you so much for your support as I write my novel.
Wish me luck! (And hope that I don't get poison ivy.)

0 Comments on Sponsor Me: Camp NaNoWriMo as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
10. Writing Challenge Team

A month from today is my birthday.  To celebrate, I am planning a writing challenge like the one I gave myself four years ago, which was itself inspired by Write Your A$ Off Day.

My fantastic husband has secured a friend's condo up in the mountains for a 48 hour period in June.
I will have my Macbook Air, my notebooks, and not much else.  I will write and write until my little fingers fall off.  Then I will sit in the hot tub.  Then I will write more.

When I underwent this challenge in 2009, I used a fantastic network of support to encourage my writing.  If I didn't meet a daily goal, I received a "punishment" from these friends.  

As I set myself a new task this year, I ask for similar support.  If you are up for being a cheerleader, giver-of-punishments, or just general rubber-necker, please let me know.  I would love to add you to my team!

0 Comments on Writing Challenge Team as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
11. Writing Challenge Team

A month from today is my birthday.  To celebrate, I am planning a writing challenge like the one I gave myself four years ago, which was itself inspired by Write Your A$ Off Day.

My fantastic husband has secured a friend's condo up in the mountains for a 48 hour period in June.
I will have my Macbook Air, my notebooks, and not much else.  I will write and write until my little fingers fall off.  Then I will sit in the hot tub.  Then I will write more.

When I underwent this challenge in 2009, I used a fantastic network of support to encourage my writing.  If I didn't meet a daily goal, I received a "punishment" from these friends.  

As I set myself a new task this year, I ask for similar support.  If you are up for being a cheerleader, giver-of-punishments, or just general rubber-necker, please let me know.  I would love to add you to my team!

0 Comments on Writing Challenge Team as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
12. Looking elsewhere

Please come visit me at my new site: In Search of Giants! We've moved!

3 Comments on Looking elsewhere, last added: 6/6/2013
Display Comments Add a Comment
13. Coming Apart

written for the 2012 Lascaux Flash Fiction contest
Picture
by Catherine Vibert
Coming Apart
by Aerin Rose

The trailer’s lit up like special effects from an old UFO movie, shining lasers through the trees, onto the barn, into the chickens’ pen. The truck’s gone, leaving a flattened circle of mud. I float into the kitchen.

“Hey, Sam. I told Ms. Winston today that extraterrestrials are vegetarians.” The alien’s eyes chime, missing nothing as he skins dinner for the men. Sam points a greenish finger at my arms.

“Don’t worry, it’s just marker.” I pull Sharpies from my backpack. “Ink. See?” The lines on my pink skin are black with silver stitches, reinforced, holding everything together. “Ms. Winston”—fourth social worker since mom left, the only one who’s made me swear to tell her the truth—“said I looked like a Tim Burton character. She might be a keeper.”

The metallic echo of those words zooms around my brain, a lost ship trying to find port. Something that happened . . . couple of years ago? Yeah. The kitchen. Breakfast. Uncle Jasper and my father. “Not like her whore mother.” “No, she’s a keeper.” Oh. After the first night.

I study Sam as he finishes with the blade. His shiny skin has turned dull like snot: we both hate the cutting, the oozing, the fluids. His eyes sing, sounding like a unicorn or church bells. The knife glows, a redneck light saber. I hear the chickens screech and the truck wheels in the gravel.

The truth I will tell Ms. Winston tomorrow is that aliens don’t burst at the seams. They shatter.

0 Comments on Coming Apart as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
14. Coming Apart

written for the 2012 Lascaux Flash Fiction contest
Picture
by Catherine Vibert
Coming Apart
by Aerin Rose

The trailer’s lit up like special effects from an old UFO movie, shining lasers through the trees, onto the barn, into the chickens’ pen. The truck’s gone, leaving a flattened circle of mud. I float into the kitchen.

“Hey, Sam. I told Ms. Winston today that extraterrestrials are vegetarians.” The alien’s eyes chime, missing nothing as he skins dinner for the men. Sam points a greenish finger at my arms.

“Don’t worry, it’s just marker.” I pull Sharpies from my backpack. “Ink. See?” The lines on my pink skin are black with silver stitches, reinforced, holding everything together. “Ms. Winston”—fourth social worker since mom left, the only one who’s made me swear to tell her the truth—“said I looked like a Tim Burton character. She might be a keeper.”

The metallic echo of those words zooms around my brain, a lost ship trying to find port. Something that happened . . . couple of years ago? Yeah. The kitchen. Breakfast. Uncle Jasper and my father. “Not like her whore mother.” “No, she’s a keeper.” Oh. After the first night.

I study Sam as he finishes with the blade. His shiny skin has turned dull like snot: we both hate the cutting, the oozing, the fluids. His eyes sing, sounding like a unicorn or church bells. The knife glows, a redneck light saber. I hear the chickens screech and the truck wheels in the gravel.

The truth I will tell Ms. Winston tomorrow is that aliens don’t burst at the seams. They shatter.

0 Comments on Coming Apart as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
15. Glog: All Summer in a Day

0 Comments on Glog: All Summer in a Day as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
16. Glog: All Summer in a Day

0 Comments on Glog: All Summer in a Day as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
17. My Latest Thing

Well, not quite "latest."  I've been painting for about a year now.   These are just a few designs. I started it because my dramatic daughter loved having her face done (those are her blue eyes).  I've done a couple of school events, and am thinking of setting up this summer at farmer's markets, etc. 


2 Comments on My Latest Thing, last added: 3/17/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
18. My Latest Thing

Well, not quite "latest."  I've been painting for about a year now.   These are just a few designs. I started it because my dramatic daughter loved having her face done (those are her blue eyes).  I've done a couple of school events, and am thinking of setting up this summer at farmer's markets, etc. 


0 Comments on My Latest Thing as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
19. A Tearful Goodbye

2 Comments on A Tearful Goodbye, last added: 11/10/2011
Display Comments Add a Comment
20. Productive Learning Environment

0 Comments on Productive Learning Environment as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
21. New Literacy Glog

1 Comments on New Literacy Glog, last added: 3/8/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
22. Stretching

 Stretching my writers' limbs, that is.  I have three weeks off school, so I plan to do some non-academic, non-APA formatted writing.  This is something I dashed off a while ago - want to help me edit it?  What changes would you make?

Beth stared at the wine list, trying to look like she was making a careful selection. Actually, she was trying to catch her breath as she mentally reviewed all the things she had probably said wrong. Her freshly manicured fingernails dug into the leather-looking plastic of the three-page wine list. Perfect. Now she’d taken too long to look and needed some intelligent order to give the waiter, who was waiting for her with practiced patience.

“Um,” she said. “I think I’ll try this Merlot, the Australian one.”

“I’ll have that, too, please,” said the man sitting opposite her. She glanced at him as the waiter nodded and briskly took the wine list from her hands. Tall, with dark hair and thick eyebrows, he was better-looking and more interesting than any of the other disastrous dates she’d been on in the last three months. He was also the only one who hadn’t been a blind date.

She smiled. He smiled back. He seemed far less nervous than she felt.

“So,” he said. “Want to share an appetizer? Or are you just going to have a salad?”

“Hey,” she replied indignantly. “I’m a modern woman, and I love to eat.” He laughed. “How do you feel about bruschetta?”

 “Oh, god, you’re a foodie. No one else asks how you feel about food.” She met his eyes and could tell he was teasing. The light flickered, showing flecks of green in the brown. She folded her hands together in front of her.

 “So, Anthony, how long have you had this problem with food? Did you have a bad experience as a child?”

 “I have been scarred for life, and I retaliate by eating food instead of appreciating it,” he quipped. She laughed, and relaxed a little. The waiter brought their wine and took their order.

“I didn't think you were allowed to drink."  Anthony raised his glass by way of a toast while Beth mentally analyzed every possible intent he could have had in making such a statement.

1 Comments on Stretching, last added: 3/9/2012
Display Comments Add a Comment
23. Stretching

 Stretching my writers' limbs, that is.  I have three weeks off school, so I plan to do some non-academic, non-APA formatted writing.  This is something I dashed off a while ago - want to help me edit it?  What changes would you make?

Beth stared at the wine list, trying to look like she was making a careful selection. Actually, she was trying to catch her breath as she mentally reviewed all the things she had probably said wrong. Her freshly manicured fingernails dug into the leather-looking plastic of the three-page wine list. Perfect. Now she’d taken too long to look and needed some intelligent order to give the waiter, who was waiting for her with practiced patience.

“Um,” she said. “I think I’ll try this Merlot, the Australian one.”

“I’ll have that, too, please,” said the man sitting opposite her. She glanced at him as the waiter nodded and briskly took the wine list from her hands. Tall, with dark hair and thick eyebrows, he was better-looking and more interesting than any of the other disastrous dates she’d been on in the last three months. He was also the only one who hadn’t been a blind date.

She smiled. He smiled back. He seemed far less nervous than she felt.

“So,” he said. “Want to share an appetizer? Or are you just going to have a salad?”

“Hey,” she replied indignantly. “I’m a modern woman, and I love to eat.” He laughed. “How do you feel about bruschetta?”

 “Oh, god, you’re a foodie. No one else asks how you feel about food.” She met his eyes and could tell he was teasing. The light flickered, showing flecks of green in the brown. She folded her hands together in front of her.

 “So, Anthony, how long have you had this problem with food? Did you have a bad experience as a child?”

 “I have been scarred for life, and I retaliate by eating food instead of appreciating it,” he quipped. She laughed, and relaxed a little. The waiter brought their wine and took their order.

“I didn't think you were allowed to drink."  Anthony raised his glass by way of a toast while Beth mentally analyzed every possible intent he could have had in making such a statement.

0 Comments on Stretching as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
24. New Literacy Glog

0 Comments on New Literacy Glog as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment
25. Productive Learning Environment

0 Comments on Productive Learning Environment as of 1/1/1900
Add a Comment

View Next 25 Posts