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1. There is no inspiration today. This is mainly because I am full of overwhelmedness and not inspiration. It is also because I decided that while you could write me an awesome YA about this, the Google searchers it would bring would not be Two of a Kind customers. Much like those who come here daily searching for "scurvid curs."
2. My personal state of unmotivated couchpotatoness aside, the judges have read and conferred and have decided the winner of the Worst First Line of a Picture Book Ever contest. It was hard, but in the end, we had to go with one that was: a. clearly from a picture book and nothing longer, b. both inappropriate for children and hard for them to read, & c. made Thor snork.
Thus, our winner is the fabulous and hilarious Ruth McNally Barshaw, whose terrible picture book will begin thusly:
If you ever fought with your sister, lied about something, picked your nose or wet your pants, you will eventually discover the ugly truth: Parents divorce mostly because of their kids.
Ruth is the author of the lovely Ellie McDoodle books, which you should check out. She also has a great sketch journal of kidlit authors and illustrators over at her site, which is much fun. I once gave a talk with Ruth and spent the whole time the third person was talking watching Ruth sketch and wondering what she'd make of me. Also, she gave a drawing workshop for kids here in Ann Arbor last summer and now Tinkerbell loves her too. So, all in all, a good woman.
Ruth will have her choice from amongst several prizes, including a "Books! I need more books!" pin, a pocket reading journal, and the aforementioned autographed copy of Magic Johnson's autobiography. Ruth, email me to discuss. And thank you all for coming to Jacqui's Room.
4 Comments on Apologies and a winner!, last added: 7/30/2009
I'm very happy for Ruth for so many reasons. I've read and enjoyed her Ellie McDoodle books, she once spoke at my local library, she visited my blog, I've been to her Web site and it's awesome, I believe she lives in the great state of Michigan, and she deserves it because her entry is hilarious.
A photographic bonanza in which I reveal that I look nothing like my official author photo and am stymied in my quest for a new one.
First, I got my first photographic evidence that Two of a Kind has been released into the wild. Here it is on the shelf at Nicola's Books, here in Ann Arbor (oh, Nicola's, how I adore thee).
Note that I am facing out (yippee!) and right next to Thunder Boomer, which is by the fabulous Shutta Crum, whom I am lucky to call friend and critique buddy, and who gave Two of a Kind a sweet shout-out on her own impossibly chock-full-of-goodies website. Y'all should read Thunder Boomer, or "Funda Boom!" as Destructo calls it. Thanks to my sister for the photo, and for holding back from buying more than one book last night when it looked like we'd sell out (which we did -- cue awkward running man dance).
Secondly, if you look to the left, you'll see my current official author photo, which the lovely Sonya Sones took at last year's SCBWI-LA conference. It is fine, but it doesn't look that much like me, by which I mean I love it because you can't tell at all what I look like from it and also it looks like I glow and have never seen a wrinkle upon me. This is not Sonya's fault; it was one million degrees of sunny when she took the picture.
In any case, it has been suggested that I have a new photo taken. I am a cheapskate kill-two-birds-with-one-stone kind of gal, so I thought, "Aha! I will have someone take picture of me at the launch party when I already have lipstick and that other stuff on anyway lord knows I don't do THAT very often so I might as well take a photo."
What you are about to see is in no way the fault of the lovely Amy at 826michigan whom I roped into taking said photos after I totally spaced my camera. It's just that it turns out that: 1. I never shut up am sort of talkative, and 2. While I talk, I apparently gesture and make faces like a demented circus clown am somewhat expressive.
Therefore, my choices for Jacqui's new author photo are limited to:
1. "Jacqui shows her bottom teeth"
2. "Jacqui sneers at children"
Or, 3. "Look what color Jacqui's hair really is." Sigh. Look at the books, focus on the pretty books...
If it's any consolation, you're not alone in the facial-contortion-photo boat. When I see in-action photos of me from story time readings, I inevitably look like I just drank a glassful of unsweetened lemon juice.
Holes, Part One As in, there are gaping holes of suck in the manuscript for The Tale of Ant and I promised a draft to my agent by Friday. Have I mentioned that my agent is a black belt? Blogging will be sparse until said gaping holes of suck are plugged with some acceptable drivel.
Holes, Part Two As in the middle of donuts. I am eating them by the bucketful. See Part One.
Holes, Part Three As in this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM).
"EIN GEDI, Israel – Eli Raz was peering into a narrow hole in the Dead Sea shore when the earth opened up and swallowed him."
For real. He got sucked into a 30-foot-deep pit from out of which it took rescuers 14 hours to dig him. Apparently, these "underground craters can open up in an instant, sucking in whatever lies above and leaving the surrounding area looking like an earthquake zone."
Here's the second craziest part (after the whole THE EARTH FREAKING ATE HIM bit): he's alive. He was conscious the whole time and even wrote his will on a postcard he had with him. So the sand doesn't just swallow you; it takes you somewhere that you can see.
And -- because what's a good story without a biblical reference? -- it's all happening on the exact land that was Sodom and Gomorrah.
So you know where these people are ending up, right? Sodom and Gomorrah. In biblical times.
There's a cheesy message book here in which Earth is eating people and sending them back to simpler times in an aggressive attempt to stop people from destroying her completely (this fits also because the sinkholes are in part a result of water over-use in the region).
You could write that one. OR, you could write me the story of the kids who find the portal and get addicted to the time travel. They keep diving into the sand and acting with wild abandon down there in partyville because it seems so unreal. Every time they get back, not much time has passed. Nothing seems different. But things are different. Insidious things. And the kids are not coming back alone.
you have good ideas from silly things. i like that. when you're done with ant, this is a good one to persue - lots of excellent adventures, lots of crux.
i also like the running theme of holes sucking here.
Whoo -- holes that swallow you? In Sodom and Gomorrah land? I can't imagine what Mr Raz was thinking about as he waited to be rescued: probably wished he'd lived a life of blameless and sin-free life, right down to the tiniest detail.
This is not because I don't love you any more. And, sadly, it is not because I am writing up a storm, creating a whirlwind of words that are settling themselves into the fabulous final chapters of my book. It's the opposite.
Here's a secret paradox in the writer's life*: we want to finish our books, we work hard to finish our books, we LONG to finish our books. But when it comes down to it, sometimes, right as we're about to finish our books, the words all disappear. Suddenly, "Jacqui's Mega List of Things To Do This Summer" is full of essential items, I decide the children are desperate for more time with their mother, and the exercise or the project or the interpersonal relationships I have been happy to ignore for months become invaluable.
Suddenly, after months of furious scribbling, I've got nothing. No stories, no funny, no ideas. I can't even blog. I'm wordless. Why?
Because I'm scared. Don't tell anyone, okay? I love my book as it exists in my head, the dream of it, the intention and the idea and the pitch. Once it's finished, there will be no dreaming; there will only be the hard, black and white reality of the words on the page and the answer to the question of whether they even come close to doing everything I want them to.
I'm afraid they won't and I can't. So for now, I don't. Words fail me because I am afraid that, well, my words will fail me.
They'll come back, those words. They always do. But in the meantime, what's a wordless writer to do?
* Or, at least, THIS writer's life
10 Comments on And they lived happily ever, um, nothing, last added: 6/16/2009
that wasn't so wordless. i think it perfectly expressed how we all feel. and a little like maybe after all this grand, 'i'm going to write a book!' stuff, then when we do and people are asking to read it, then freeze!
itty bitty voice inside says, 'but what if it's not good enough and delusionally, i only thought i had something to say'
thanks for expressing it so much better than i just did. then again, it's way past my bedtime.
That's what's so great about this blogging community. We've all been there and we can all relate! I am second guessing myself way too much lately. It's driving me nuts!
Um, I'm super super sorry, but I think I accidentally took your words. See, mine were missing for about six weeks, and I went out looking for them one night under cover of a moonless, dark, sky and I happened upon your sweet little house, and um, they jumped in my pocket.
I DID NOT steal them. They just decided they wanted to be with me for awhile. Shall I send them back your way? Say Monday?
That voice visits me when I start worrying about what other people are going to think. When I'm writing just for me, it's all cotton candy and unicorns.
Sharon Blankenship said, on 6/6/2009 8:32:00 AM
Isn't that what started Ant on his journey? Silly, meaningless, word count driven folly? I love Ant. Perhaps he's resting up for the last big hill to climb. Maybe he's avoiding that duplicitous Devra. Why don't you write about Devra's nutty movie producer father? It won't count and it might be fun. By the way. . . wordless does not mean speechless or idea less. Sharon
You don't sound as wordless as I feel right now. I'll tell you what I'm doing in my wordless-ness, though: I'm reading. I figure that's got to act like an I.V. eventually...
I don't usually share snippets of my writing. This is because I want to encourage the rest of you, not cause you to throw your pencils down and yell, "WHY? Why in the name of Laurie Halse Anderson do I continue to write at all when I will never compare with the literary genius of Jacqui?!"
But, as a special reward, to thank you for all your help with The Tale of Ant, here is a sneak preview for you lucky loyal readers.*
I present to you, in exciting blue font, the end of chapter 8 and the beginning of chapter 9, as they appeared in submission to my critique group** last week:
... “You know what that is?” Devra asks. “Part of a phone number?” Ant guesses. “Possibly. But it’s also our first real clue.” Ant opens his mouth to say something clever, but he never gets it out. (Dear critique group, what does Ant see? I am at a loss. Think of something, please.)
Chapter 9 (Critique group, this is where they will quickly resolve the issue you made up from last chapter) They sit at the teacher’s lounge table with the scribbled numbers and the pastries between them. Or rather, Devra sits. Ant starts in a chair, but soon takes his pastry on the move...
Are you breathless at my brilliance? Sigh.
* both of you ** bless their patient, tolerant souls
9 Comments on A sneak preview, just for you, last added: 5/28/2009
Fact: I can only be obsessed about two things at a time. My children have a permanent position as one of those things. That only leaves space for one secondary obsession. Therefore, I cannot be obsessed with running and with blogging and with household details and with my book, all at the same time.
Fact: this week I wrote two chapters, revised two others, giggled to myself while scribbling about angry beagles and snorking chlorine, and promised my agent several chapters soon.
Fact: I also gained three pounds, completely forgot to do my taxes, and totally slacked on this blog.
Fact: Writing is the secondary obsession that makes me happiest. And life is a pendulum, and as much as I love my own book right now, the love affair will surely sour and then I will dig myself out from under the cat fur and consult an accountant and be miserable but full of bloggy brilliance.
Fact: regardless, this week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment is a doozy, and there are definitely some odes to unusual things in the works. So stay tuned.
5 Comments on Just the facts, ma'am, last added: 4/10/2009
Yay for the writing stuff! Boo for the extra pounds (unless you were trying to gain) and forgetting about taxes (but at least you still have a week to do them).
I know what you mean about fitting it all in though. Good luck!
Takes me days to work myself up to write a blog (and I share it with eight other people). I would never consider myself close to being bloggily brilliant...bloggily adequate, maybe.
1. Do you think my critique group will notice if I cram fourteen single-spaced tiny font pages of densely-packed back story, funny anecdotes, and narratorial diversions into "one chapter" and present it to them today, pretending I think today is Sunday, when they were supposed to have it?
2. At what number of donuts out of the dozen that one's sister brought one to help one get through what was promising to be a tough-ish weekend does one stop being funny and officially become someone who Has a Problem?
And lastly, 3. Is it deceitful, when asked by someone younger and hipper and infinitely more cool than I am what I did this weekend, to answer, "Went dancing," if "dancing" refers to having chased one's toddler up and down the aisles at a Dan Zanes concert?
12 Comments on Philosophical Questions, last added: 4/6/2009
1. Tell them it's avant-gaurd, following B.S. Johnson's "Christie Malry's Own Double-Entry." Smile when they look blank (or be afraid if they've actually read it).
2. Anything over a 1 donut per 3 hour ratio is a problem. But a yummy one.
3. No, it's not. But you'll still get a disdainful look from the youngster if they find out.
I'd have to say yes on the first one, based on my own experience. And for number 2, I'd say it depended on the size of the donuts, whether or not they had a filling, and how great your need was. If your need is pressing enough, forget the first two; I'd say, maybe, six. As for number 3, are we talking a mildly playful kid or a truly aerobically challenging one? Chasing my first kid would not have counted. Chasing the second one was right up there with salsa or cross country skiing.
1) As long as Diane or Todd reads those pages aloud, I won't notice because they always are so entertaining when they read.
2) I cannot judge one on doughnut addiction, as I have a Coke (as in cola not cocaine) addiction myself.
3) 'Dancing' is a relative term; what some of those younger, hipper people call 'dancing' doesn't look much different than chasing a toddler around, so I think as long as you are moving and there is music involved - even if it is in your head - it qualifies as dancing.
2. All of them, and if it's a really tough weekend, I don't see why that would be a problem. (Hope your weekend wasn't too tough!)
3. Not deceitful at all.
Sharon Blankenship said, on 3/31/2009 3:56:00 PM
Jacqui, As a trained psychologist, I can truthfully say that donuts are a good medication for many occasions. If you can't think of an occasion offhand, make one up. I think that chasing a 3 year old qualifies as dancing one's head off. At least you probably looked alert and aware. As to the type. Ummmm. . . . given that you have the tiniest font squeezed into the smallest space, I doubt that anyone would really notice. Especially if we were having fun with it.
So, did they notice or did you come up with something brilliant, write it long-hand as you drove to your group and dazzle everyone with your words. Knowing you, you did the latter:)
Candace, 7 is, in fact, the magic number. You win, um, prestige and honor.
Mary, chasing my son is absolutely an aerobic exercise.
Laura, I agree. I still want to send audio of them to my agent when it's time.
sruble, thank you for indulging all my bad habits! :)
Sharon, thank you for your valuable psychological advice. Nom nom nom.
Rena, genius idea on bribing the group.
Jill, thanks for your faith. The meeting is tomorrow. I have cut some and crossed fingers. I just love it all too much; they will tell me what has to go.
There is no odd news today. This is in part because I searched high and low and all around the world wide web and found not a single bit of inspirational odd news. It is also in part because I am very busy.
What's that? Am I very busy working? Well, yes. To tell you the truth, my novel is going swimmingly and I am back in love with it. But I am also busy with something else today, something very, very important and deep and secret and grown up. All I can say is it rhymes with "bitting at a borts bar with The Bighty Bor watching the bickoff to Barch Badness."
Go Gophers! (They've come a long way in a couple short years. But yeah, I still have a soft spot for the other U of M, too!)
Sharon Blankenship said, on 3/19/2009 6:12:00 PM
The mighty Thor? At a sports bar? Hard to believe, there are no zombies, undead, werewolves, etc. there. Oh, wait. Maybe there are. One never knows. After all, it is Ann Arbor. Sharon
Ever have days when ALL of the world's problems weigh on you? Like you're trying to write your cute middle grade mystery/adventure novel and the evil writer-hating voices in your head say things like, "There are children starving all over the world and this is what you're doing?!" or "How long are you going to stick your head in the sand while Michigan's economy tanks? Go ahead! Fiddle around with words while Rome burns."
"Shut it," I tell the voice. "Gabriel Garcia Marquez said the best thing a writer can do for the world is write."
"Oh did he? When? In what book?"
"HE SAID IT! See? It's copied neatly here above my desk."
"He never said that."
"HE DID TOO!"
Why don't you Google it and prove it?"
"Fine!" I yell. "I will."
Thirty minutes later, I hear giggling.
"Shut up," I say. "What's so funny?"
"Google Google Google. You got nothing. And meanwhile, the polar ice caps are melting."
I put down my pen and weep. "I know. And I love polar bears! But what can I do?"
"Nothing. You're useless. Put away the laptop and go get a donut or a bag of chips."
And she is right. And I have to obey.
What? That never happens to you? Oh. Well. Me neither. I was just speculating. Nobody crazy talking to herself around here.
Munch munch munch.
8 Comments on That Evil Writer-Hater in Your Head, last added: 2/20/2009
Since you probably have some comments that have been made but haven't been moderator-approved yet, this may be a repeat of some (currently unseen) comment ahead of me. But if no-one else has put you out of your Gabriel Garcia Marquez misery yet, I think the quote you're looking for is...
"I think that a novel about love is as valid as any other," he once remarked in a conversation with his friend, the journalist Plinio Apuleyo Mendoza (published as "El Olor de la Guayaba," 1982). "In reality the duty of a writer -- the revolutionary duty, if you like -- is that of writing well."
(I found that tidbit in an article at http://www.themodernword.com/pynchon/pynchon_essays_cholera.html but it also shows up quoted elsewhere.)
Perhaps the evil-writer-hater-donut-pusher needs a name?
People need stories. They need stories to help them understand the world, to help them learn to read, to make them laugh, to make the cry, to make them feel, to deaden the pain, to inspire, to educate, to inflame, to soothe, you name it. People need stories.
Now, that snarky little hater in your head might try a different approach, like the one in my head. My hater insists that I *should* be writing, just not *this* story. The hater asks, "Does this story really need to be told (again ... snicker, snicker)? Is it the best story you have? Will this change anyone's life for the better?"
On the plus side, my hater inspired a fun discussion with our priest the other day on vice in fiction ...
That evil Writer-Hater has been visiting me lately, too, mocking me and making me feel guilty for global warming, strife in West Africa, and the crimes of Pol Pot. S/He is trying to convince me I'm a crappy writer, too. And you may be right: a donut might be just the thing to shut her up.
Oh, the deep thoughts I have for you on MLK Day and writing and literature! Oh, the hilarious anecdotes I have for you involving my children and squirrels and all manner of other chaos!
And last night, I was supposed to write it all down. But instead I did this:
Mmm. Yum. Back tomorrow.
3 Comments on Excuses, excuses, last added: 1/20/2009
Oh Jacqui...I was going for the Ravens...my dad is a big Raven's fan and when my team is knocked out (I like the Raiders, so that usually means I don't need to worry about watching games this late in the season...grin) I always go for the Ravens if they are still in it...
Can we still be friends? grin...
p.s. I nominated you for the Kreativ Blogger award on my blog...Hugs...
However, I like the Steelers. They have many fine Wolverines, like LaMarr Woodley, who sack the quarterback. I will root for the Steelers in the Super Bowl.
Besides, if Arizona wins the apocalypse will be nigh.
Sharon Blankenship said, on 1/19/2009 9:16:00 PM
Big Ben is from nearby in Ohio. But I root for the Patriots and the Lions. Talk about picking winners?\ Teams pay me not to start cheering for them. Sharon
In which I don't sweat the small stuff. 1. Squirrels. Yup, the terrifying attic monsters turned out to be really fat squirrels whose doom now awaits them in the form of a peanut butter trail to a big silver trap. They'd built a huge nest right on the attic door, so when Animal Control Man* opened the door to the attic, he got showered with half-chewed walnut bits. I have to be honest: I had gotten myself so worked up about the monster that when I heard the attic open, a very small part of me was disappointed not to hear "HOLY COW! RUN!!!!" followed by a velociraptor shriek. But squirrels it is. And here is a fact: squirrels are pigeons that can't even fly and I hate them now.
2. I went shopping at lunch time with my sister** and we stopped to play at the make-up counter and to pretend we know what to do with foundation and other mysterious things. They had an eye product called "Well Rested" and the saleslady stopped snorking at us long enough to recommend it.
"What does it do?" I asked.
To which my sister replied, "You take it home and it blows up your children."
3. Look at the cuteness. Tabitha awarded me this lovely butterfly and it made my day. I'm waiting to pass it on until I find something great I think you all haven't seen yet, but, well, really, I just wanted that pretty picture here.
* Who was totally dreamy and would have had every chance in the world to replace Steve as my new boyfriend, if only he had shown up within the two hour window promised. ** It is a bloggy crime that I haven't quoted my sister more to you as she is the funniest person I know. -- squirrel photo (from Wikipedia Commons) by Aaron Logan --
Squirrels are little devils who love to make noise and crawl about in your attic and drive your cats insane so they attempt to jump at the ceiling at midnight and keep you awake and omigod cat I'm going to kill you if you wake me up again and dammit dear, can't you close up the gap in the roof flashing?
[takes long breath]
Sorry, I've had my own issues with squirrels. But definitely check for gaps in the eaves.
Our city just adopted the suirrel as it's sort of mascot or something. I must have missed that town meeting. But now there is a statue by town hall....a stump with squirrels running up and down it! And at the December Saturday fests .... all of the rolls had little squirrels on top. Grrrr.... I need more mirrors at intersections... not new mascots.
Anyway, if that wasn't enough to keep you away my oldest was certain she saw "cute little otters" in the river near our house. It was dark. I didn't see them. But when I asked around. I got a nodd and an answer. "Yeah, those. They're sewer rats."
LOL @ the animal control guy being totally dreamy. Even covered in walnut bits? Nothing like a dreamy man covered in nuts. Sounds kind of like a candy bar ...
Amber, as far as I can tell from my sample, all it does is make you seem less sleepy by getting powder in your eyes and making it hurt to close them...
Shh. Something is in my attic. No joke. I was sitting here, surfing famous authors' blogs working doggedly on my new picture book, when I heard a clatter. "Darn cats," I thought, only to look up and see both of my cats staring up the stairs, ears back and tails straight in the air.
"Mailman," I said aloud. Because saying "mailman" aloud has the power both to calm the cats and to turn whatever it is into the mailman.
But there was no mail. And then I heard the scratching, and the clicking.
I sneaked up the stairs. Halfway up, I had a vision of a gigantic rabid raccoon dropping through the ceiling and onto my head, so I cast about for a weapon. Choices included a sock of Tink's, a ball of cat fur, and the gift bag my sister gave me with three mini lip glosses in it. I went with the lip gloss.
The scratching and clanking was clearly coming from the attic stairs, which drop down into my upstairs hall. I saw the door jiggle, and then I heard a high-pitched decidedly unfriendly squeak. There I was, five inches and a quarter inch thick wooden board away from something seriously big and angry and probably clawed. And I had a paper bag, three 4-inch tubes of PassionFruit Mama, and two seven-pound domesticated Persians to protect me.
I did the only thing I could. I stomped as hard as I could on the floor as I yelled, "AAAAAH! BLAH BLAH BLAH! GO AWAY!" And then I ran as fast as I could down the stairs to call animal control. I'm waiting for them now, hoping they get here before whatever it is figures out the door latch.
I keep thinking, "This is how horror movies start." And, sadly, I am clearly not the heroine, but the expendable character who gets mauled in scene one and then forgotten.
And even given all that, all I can do is wonder: what will the title be?
4 Comments on Where the Wild Thing Is, last added: 1/9/2009
You really shouldn't go into scary places empty-handed. I usually take the broom.
I had to move some boxes in our storage area (i.e. the unfinished part of the basement) and something fell on my foot. I screamed bloody murder, but it was only a couple misc. bows from the Xmas crap.
I heard clawing and clanking in the closed up fireplace in my bedroom in college once while I was painting a few feet away. The creature began tearing out the separator. I quickly screamed to my roommates (I'm so glad I wasn't alone in the house!). As the creature began to emerge, we saw it was just a bird, so we opened the window for it to fly out. We stood close to the door ready to run if it attacked our heads. When it escaped the fireplace, instead of going through the bottom open part of the window, it slammed into the top glass. Ouch. It lay there stunned for a little while. Eventually, it got out. Crazy bird. Hope yours is only a bird.
Picture yourself, flanked by smiling flour-sprinkled children, rolling dough for holiday cookies. Minutes later, warm, sweet stars come from the oven to be decorated by red and blue sprinkles that sparkle like your children's eyes on Christmas. Need a recipe? Feel free to use mine, as follows, adapted ever so slightly from The All New All Purpose Joy of Cooking, by Irma S. Rombauer, Marion Rombauer Becker, and Ethan Becker.
HOLIDAY COOKIES A LA JACQUI'S ROOM
1. Agree to bake 60 cookies for various affairs at your children’s schools. Decide you are going to make the Best. Cookies. Ever. Decide the cookies will be so good that you will “accidentally” use serving plates with your name on them, to get appropriate credit.
2. Forget to have all ingredients at room temperature. Get two year old all excited about baking cookies. Put toddler in tall chair to help. Get out all ingredients. Read the part about room temperature. Announce that you will bake cookies later. Be forced to read Curious George Gets a Medal twice as punishment.
3. Thirty minutes later. Put toddler back in tall chair. In a large bowl, wait -- you forgot the sugar was supposed to be food-processed. Debate whether this is necessary. Get out the food processor. Pour in sugar. Plug in food processor. Nothing happens. Rearrange bowl and blade and lid. Try again. Nothing happens. Grumble. Realize you have been plugging in the hand mixer. Unplug hand mixer. Give it to toddler to play with. Process sugar for 30 seconds.
4. Add salt, butter, and sugar to large bowl. Plug in hand mixer. Nearly lose three fingers: toddler has been pushing buttons so whisks begin on high as you are holding them. Put spinning mixer in butter, salt, and sugar bowl. Butter, salt, and sugar fly everywhere. Mix until blended. Say, “Apple juice? Okay. Just a second.”
5. Add eggs and vanilla and mix until blended. Use left hand to keep toddler hands out of bowl. Reduce speed to low. Forget to add flour in gradually. Wipe flour from face, toddler, ceiling. Say, “We’ll get some apple juice in a minute, honey.” Allow toddler to fingerpaint with flour dust.
6. Beat dough until sort of blended. Unplug hand mixer; toss whisks in sink with eggshells. Try to remove dough from bowl. Find big pile of unincorporated flour at bottom of bowl. Retrieve whisks from sink; reattach to mixer. Go to fridge to get toddler some apple juice. Be unable to find sippy cup valve. Finish mixing dough.
7. Wipe spilled apple juice off counter, toddler, floor. Divide dough in two. Put each half in a Ziploc bag. Refrigerate for at least one hour.
8. An hour later. Nap time. Be too busy blogging to make cookies.
At this point, you can follow the rest of the recipe. Or, you can forget about the dough entirely until 11:00pm tonight and skip to #21.
9. Attempt to interest both children in helping roll cookie dough. Be unable to coax them from their “fort.” Pull out a Ziploc of dough. Cut in half.
10. Lightly flour counter. Decide you should disinfect counter first. Locate disinfectant. Spray on counter, etc. Re-lightly flour counter. Smash dough into reasonable rolling shape. Roll dough, turning ¼ turn after every roll to prevent sticking. Wonder if this is enough dough.
11. Remember to preheat oven to 375. Ignore shouts of “MY HAVE IT!” coming from fort.
12. Roll dough some more. Be positive there is not enough dough there. Trade large star of David cookie cutter in for smaller one. Cut out cookies and arrange on parchment lined baking sheets. Become obsessed with maximizing number of cookie shapes you can squeeze in before re-rolling. Yell “CAN'T YOU JUST SHARE THE STUFFED PUPPY?!”
13. Bake cookies in batches. Put each batch in oven for 3 minutes. Rotate baking sheets and cook for three more minutes. Writhe as children yell, “BEEP BEEP BEEP!” along with oven timer every time.
14. Retrieve cooling racks from fort where they are being used as seats. Rinse briefly. Yell “IF YOU DON'T STOP SCREAMING I AM TAKING DOWN THE FORT.”
15. Take first batch of cookies from oven. Remove immediately to cooling racks. Put second batch in oven.
16. Take down the fort.
17. Children now fighting over the tall chair. Wish you had not taken down the fort; at least they were contained. Allow them to decorate parchment paper with crayons. Wonder briefly how toxic crayon wax is.
18. Continue rolling and baking cookies. Tell toddler to stop eating crayons. Tell your daughter, no, you are not going to call all the classmates on her list and ask them if they want to join her alternate bunny scout troop, and come over tomorrow so she can teach them stuff.
19. Forget to remove last batch of cookies from the oven. Grab it quickly. Realize you have run out of space on cooling racks. Move some cookies around. Continue holding hot sheet of cookies so kids, who are now crawling on top of the counter, won’t be burned. Realize you have inadvertently used your son’s pretend kitchen cotton oven mitt. Smell flesh burning.
20. Taste cookies. Decide they stink.
21. Drive to store. Buy holiday cookies. Run car over them so they will look homemade.
22. Do not clean kitchen. Do not make dinner. Do not respond when your husband asks, “What happened here?” After bedtime, eat cookies until you barf.
9 Comments on Chez Jacqui's Room, last added: 12/14/2008
You forgot a step. The one where the child accidentally knocks an entire container of sprinkles onto the floor, the round kind that roll amazing distances.
LOL! And I thought that kind of stuff only happened to me...and I'm alone at the time! grin...
I wish I knew you were suppose to run over the store bought cookies to make them look more like homemade...note to self to remember to look for tire tracks before packaging...grin...
Wow. I did this once with the kids on Christmas Eve, finally baked the cookies after they went to bed, and they came out enormously puffy. Pointed it out to my eight year old the next day. Five year old says, "she poured lots of flour in when you were in the bathroom."
Her response? "If two cups are good aren't three cups better?"
Next time you pick out a new recipe, make sure to find one that begins:
Step 1: Pour self glass of wine.
It really smoothes out those steps that don't go so well...
On second thought, I love your frazzled hilarity, so maybe not-ha! But next time, take pictures too. Then I can just SHOW my kids why we buy our cookies at the store ;)
I got an email from Katherine Paterson last week. Yup. Look in my inbox. There it is: “Sender: Katherine Paterson.” Sure, she sent it to about 100,000 other people, but I was feeling special. It’s worth signing up for NaNo for the emails alone; Katherine Paterson’s is sitting in my inbox on top of Phillip Pullman’s.
In any case, in the email Ms. Paterson (why can’t I call her Katherine?! I called my buddy SalmanSalman. Strange.) said her first drafts stink. That means at some point, the genius who wrote Bridge to Terabithia (on my top five books of all time for kids or grown-ups list, possibly at number one) stopped writing, looked at a description of Terabithia, and said, “Man, this is poo.” Except she probably said it a lot more eloquently than that; even her email was exquisitely written to the point of bringing me to tears (no joke).
All of this is to make me feel better about my drivel, and to introduce the following short quiz, for your Tuesday morning mocking me pleasure.
Just How Much Does Jacqui’s NaNo Novel Stink? A Jacqui’s Room Quiz
Which of the following statements can NOT be used to truthfully finish the following sentence? (find the answer in the footnotes)
“Jacqui’s NaNo novel stinks so bad that…”
a. … last night Jacqui herself fell asleep while in the process of writing it. b. … Jacqui’s laptop tried to kill itself Sunday morning, somehow wiggling out of her zippered backpack and throwing itself onto the snowy sidewalk as she walked. c. … Jacqui's own narrator has described the book as “unbelievable” and “of questionable realism.” d. … Jacqui's main character threw himself, fully-clothed, into the Middletown Middle School swimming pool in what she can only assume is an effort to end the misery of having to be her main character. e. … of the 27,783 words Jacqui has written so far, 19 are comprised of three “this stinks,” two “Man, this STINKS!” and one “OMIGOD I SUCK I SUCK I SUCK.”
Sigh. My new mantra is “Katherine Paterson.”
* The answer is e, which is not truthful. I actually wrote out “Oh my God” so I could count it as three separate words.
9 Comments on Katherine Paterson is my new mantra, a quiz, last added: 11/19/2008
I've considered NaNo-ing, but the thought of so much drivel showing up in between the good bits (hopefully you mine some good bits) is daunting. I hear some writers talk about it being a "freeing" experience. hah.
Good luck with yours...let me know if you feel liberated when you're done.
At least your novel doesn't stink so bad that your neighborhood skunk paid you to degland him, because he figured, "What's the point?" This may have happened to me, but I'm not telling...
At first daft? It's a first draft! Keep the faith.
I'd be a afraid to fall asleep around a manuscript with that serious a mean streak. Why do you put up with that kind of abuse? I'd just go find me a new one . . .
(yes, I do happen to have three simultaneous NaNo manuscripts going on, what of it?)
Laughed my head off at (a). Did you really fall asleep?!
Well, I didn't think it was boring -- what I've seen of it, anyway, in your excerpt on the Nano site. It sounds great. I sent you Nano mail to that effect a while back, but I see you haven't read my message yet. Did you realise you have Nanomail?
Michele, it IS freeing. It just frees me to write, as Cindy pointed out (thank you , Cindy!), utter poo. But in a weird way, that is half the fun; if it's poo, I can just have a good time, take risks, try new things...
Candace, I would hate to see the fight between my last 5,000 words and a skunk.
Elise, did you get Meg Cabot's letter? No cheating!
Marina, um, yes. And not only that, I wrote some nonsense. Like my main character said, "We have to get to Greentown!" but there's no Greentown in the book and I didn't remember writing it. It was late!
I have a pile of ten boxes in my living room. My senior picture is buried in one of them. So, here I am, at age 5-6, when I might have been enjoying picture books like the ones I write now. I'm on the right, in the fashionable short-sleeved cable knit sweater and green turtleneck. The dazed-looking toddler is my sister, whom you'll meet in a later post. Check out our sweet color block shag rug!
So, now I want to see all of you, when you were the age of your readers. Who's brave enough?
23 Comments on Flashback: 1977, last added: 10/28/2008
Seriously though I don't know if I have an old picture of me. Oh wait I do. Ok now I have to scan them. oh why must everything be so complicated for such a lazy person as mysefl!!
I'll do it, I promise! Once I can find my pic's in the boxes from my move (almost a year ago).
Oh, and BTW, my grandparents had the same carpet. My parents had blue sculptured carpet with black leatherette furniture and red drapes. Did I forget to mention the dark wood-like paneling? Uggghhh! Oh, and we had the space table in the dining room. The one that looked like it was from Star Trek with the swoopy-doo chairs and resin table-top.
Erm...no bravery here. :) Besides, I don't have a scanner, and...I think my mom has all my old pictures, and...she lives out of town, and...we're both too busy to dig all that stuff up and find and scanner and scan it in and all that. Yeah. See? Just can't do it. :)
Amber, see now, I would post a million pix of me as a youth before I'd dig up one of me pregnant. Besides, Blogger only allows photos of a certain size...
Alas, Jacqui, when I was a child, there were only tintypes. And those don't scan so well. Besides, you would probably envy my wasp waist and my bustle (which I kept). Sharon
Hmm, I ain't got no wasp waist, but I did post my preggo pic on my blog today, in lieu of my high school pic and because you sorta (just a little bit) dared me.
I did have to shrink the photo, to make it fit. ;)
Neesha, thanks! You can see why I have hair height envy...
Anonymous said, on 10/23/2008 8:38:00 PM
Wow. Your sister is beautiful. I mean REALLY beautiful. You should blog about what it was like to grow up around such beauty. At least you were smart . . .
Jacqui, I tried looking for a picture of myself as a child, but I could only find black and white photos from yearbooks. My mom keeps all the pictures of my youthful cuteness (as in, "You were such a cute child. Whatever happened?")to herself.
However, I am going to do you one better. While searching for photos, I found my HIGH SCHOOL DIARY. So I am going to post an excerpt for all the blogosphere to mock.
Nothing. I got nothing else. And this list is not going to stand a chance against a list that includes the likes of:
1. Have no idea where winter clothes, gloves, boots, scarves, etc. are; locating them will require major overhaul of basement "organization" system 2. Kids already complaining about winter wear, throwing tantrums over coats, losing mittens... 3. Skin on hands flaking off. Also, throat sore with beginning of what will surely be cold that lasts until May 4. Baseball season ending. Baseball play-offs on too late at night for me to stay awake. No teams I like left anyway. 5. Forgot to demolish kids' dancing plastic ghost that sings chorus of "I Want Candy" all October long
As Toad* says when Frog tries to wake him up to enjoy winter, "Blah."
What's on your list?
* Toad is my idol when it comes to handling the seasons. In fact the Frog and Toad books are some of my favorites. Hilarious, even on the 100th reading.
13 Comments on A List For Fall, last added: 10/8/2008
My reasons not to sink into a deep depression now that summer is over... 1. Pumpkin pie 2. Playing with my dog in a pile of leaves 3. 55 is wonderful after a summer with temps into the 100s 4. Toe socks 5. Hot chocolate 6. Flying a kite 7. Watching the trees change color 8. Fewer bugs like mosquitoes, fleas and flies 9. It's snuggle weather 10. PUMPKIN PIE AND HOT CHOCOLATE
1. Hallowe'en (and the requisite weird pumpkin carving) 2. My kitty sleeps on my bed now that it's cold 3. FOOTBALL! (Okay, maybe not for my teams this year, but I still love watching it) 4. Now that it's cooler, it's not nasty to wear the same shirt or pants for two days (less laundry!) 5. I second and third the fewer bugs thing! 6. Hot chocolate 7. SPIKED hot chocolate 8. Kids in school! 9. New shows on TV rather than all-reality, all-reruns 10. Leather boots weather! 11. The sun doesn't come up at an unreasonable hour.
1. An excuse to drink coffee in the afternoon. 2. Getting out my Danskos 3. Being able to cover my flabby arms with sweaters. 4. Stuffed Cabbage 5. Twelve kinds of soup 6. Apple picking 7. Hay rides at the pumpkin patch 8. Monster Mash dance 9. Wind Wind Wind 10. Everything! Fall is my favorite season!
It's funny to read this. Where I am we are having another stinking heat wave - even my kids want to move somewhere where it turns cool! It doesn't feel like fall when it's 101 degrees and you're hoping not to have wildfires. I'm with you on the winter gear, though. It's impossible to keep track of that stuff!
Wow. Those are good lists. Thanks, everyone. I'll take these: pumpkin pie, toe socks, the Monster Mash, and re-wearing clothes for my list and postpone holing up in my bed weeping for the fiftieth snow...
Diane, I can't believe you, as a Lions fan, look forward to football season.
Kelly, exactly! It's only going to get worse!
Stephanie, I do love me chocolate that's hot.
Adrienne, send us your kids and several degrees and we'll call it even.
Okay, another confession. This is probably even bigger than the fact that I didn't read MD. Are you ready for it? I've never read Toad and Frog (oh, wait - it's Frog and Toad, isn't it?)
AND my reasons for not falling into deep depression during this season is simple:
Fall is my absolutely favorite season of all! I love the falling leaves, the gray skies and the "will it rain or won't it?" feel. I love the smell of Hot Russian Tea, sweet potato pies and Turkey in the oven. I love family reunions and soccer season.
I'm all a flutter. My heart skipped a beat when I realized it was no longer summer.
I might be weird - but have to love me anyway. Right? (RIGHT??) :) :)
Truthfully, it's none of those. I have been inspired on my one little scene and have vowed to have it to my agent by the end of the week. So I am writing writing writing.
But I am in love with the news story this week, so please check back later today or tomorrow, okay?
1 Comments on Coming soon..., last added: 10/2/2008
I was never going to blog about my kids. Oh well. Then I was never going to blog about my pets. But you know how I feel about the "I will never" vow. As usual, I promise I get to writing eventually.
My cat is depressed. I have two cats, a brother and sister from the same litter, nearly identical except that the female has always been insane a little skittish, and the male is an attention hound. Lately, though, he's been hiding, limping, generally acting sick.
So Thursday, instead of finishing my novel, I took the cat to the vet. The nurse assured me the appointment would be over in 40 minutes, in plenty of time to drop them back off and etc. I was overcaffeinated and stressed out.
Remember in Zoolander when Will Ferrell's character wonders if he's taking crazy pills?
The vet was very sweet. My cat is physically fine, she told me, but the move has upset him. She thinks his behavior is a form of acting out. Had I considered the possibility that my cat was having emotional troubles?
I had not. I have two human children, boxes to unpack, a novel to finish, a house to sell, and a husband who's been to the hospital twice this week for heart issues,* to say nothing of troubling world events, voters to register, and, yes, I realize others have much more about which to worry, but the cats are low on my stress list. Also, they are cats. She went on.
Perhaps I could take 30 minutes or so a day to focus on my cat, to show him some affection and let him know things are safe in the new house? He needs babied right now, made to feel loved. Sometimes older cats develop social anxiety disorders; there are medications, of course, that can help with stress, antidepressants and the such, and kitty counseling, play therapy...
I looked around for the candid camera.
While she went on, it occurred to me to use this in a book. Not the cat specifically, but the idea that these little stresses always seem to come when you're dealing with other things that are the "real" story. Right when you think you're starting to make headway on the actual problem, the vet wants you to spend more time with the cat, and even though it's silly, it adds to the tension. So now I want a scene where my character, right in the thick of dealing with all the stuff I've thrown at her, has a "crazy pill" moment, where the person to whom she's talking is wanting her to be worried about something that is absolutely not the real problem. I'm thinking of the way the Dursleys interrupt the real work Harry Potter is trying to do with their pettinesses and even though their issue is negligible, it adds to the mix of troubles and you want to shake them. Can you help me think of other examples? Do you have a good one in your own book?
As for the poor kitty, I'm trying. I didn't tell the vet that the cats standoffishness may also have something to do with Captain Destructo's new "KITTY RUN AWAY!" shriek, which is now followed by Tink yelling, "MOMMMMM! HE'S CHASING THE CAT!" louder than bombs. To make it up to him, I fed him twice this morning, and Tink let him sleep with her favorite stuffed friend.
* The Mighty Thor is fine, by the way, but I was freaking, of course.
6 Comments on Could Your Writing Use a Crazy Pill?, last added: 9/29/2008
I need an equally cool nickname for my "hubby," which is so passe.
We are still moving and unpacking as well, and it's getting in the way of the things I want to do. Important things. Like nap. Yesterday I spent 4 hours straight cleaning up the old house (much of which was scrubbing toddler drawings off the walls).
I don't know how I'm going to fit in revising soon, while being mommy, wife, maid, cook, and human incubator.
This makes me think of the flip-side of these moments -- in which a character's worries about some little thing that totally isn't the primary problem at hand lends perspective and poignancy. (Explain to me how that's pronounced "POYN-nyansee" -- then explain it to my kids, please.)
For example, the moment in the Lord of the Rings when Sam drops a box of herbs and salt and shouts to Frodo to catch it! -- nevermind they are lost in the wastes, trying to find Mordor and stalked by Gollum and who knows what else. Sam is thinking they might have an opportunity to enjoy dinner some evening and would hate to miss out for lack of proper spices.
There are simple pleasures and love in that scene -- as well as, yes, incredulity.
By the way: you conjure The Smith's "Louder Than Bombs" -- but perhaps Soundgarden's "Louder Than Love" is a better comparison to the children we love so dearly ...
Amber, The Mighty Thor would be happy to help "hubby" come up with something suitably ridiculous and difficult to type. But sadly, I fear there will be no extra time when your human incubator days are over and the chicken is here!
Thorp, yes! I know which scene you mean. Love those too. Makes me think of Anne Frank's diary when she crushes on the boy in the contrast to the horror going on around her.
My favorite "crazy pill" moment is in Lois McMaster Bujold's "Barrayar," when the main character has just spent over a week in the wilderness, sheltering a 5-year-old Emperor from the forces of his political rival, escaping them via horseback--and all this four weeks after having a C-section during which she almost bleeds to death. She visits the doctor, complains of "fatigue," and he suggests "a post-partum exercise program." Priceless! (PS: This is the sci fi you must read to convert you! I bring it Wednesday.)
Cats are crazy little creatures, aren't they? My vet recently suggested that anti-depressants might help my one cat's litterbox problem. Perhaps so, if he could discover a way to get them down her throat.
I've been tagged again, this time by Tabitha, and Christy, and Elise. All of whom had interesting and charming answers, and who seem to be interesting and kind people.
Me, I feel neither interesting nor charming on this one. Rather, I am uninspired and dull. I tried and trust me, you'd rather read congressional transcripts.
Is it terribly unbloggy of me to blow off a tag?! Will I be kicked out of the blogosphere? What if I promise to be utterly hilarious on the next one?
I need your advice, Miss B.M.. Please leave it in the comments.
Yours Truly, Awkward in Ann Arbor
9 Comments on Dear Miss Bloggy Manners,, last added: 9/26/2008
Dear Jacqui, Whoever told you that you have to be charming and witty all the time? They were wrong, wrong, wrong. Without the sober and even, on occasion, unhappy times those charming, witty moments would scarcely be noticeable in the fabric of your life. Besides, a little texture makes anyone more interesting. Miss Bloggy
LOL! you crack me up Jacqui! It is OK to blow off a meme, but actually, posting this may actually nullify the blow-off, because if you acknowledge it, then you're not really blowing it off, are you? Gosh. Who knew blogging could be so complicated.
If this interests you, I have a couple of friends who decided to answer their meme's based on how one of their characters would respond instead.
Here's my dity little secret...I throw out snail mail chain letters and I ignore on-line ones. Oh, and in person I tend not to answer most personal questions that I'm asked. But I am good at changing the subject. Shhhh, don't tell anyone :)
Ha-ha, I answered the questions without knowing what a meme is and still don't. I mean, is meme different from quiz? Is it a blogging word only, not applicable to those rate-your-make-out-life things we filled out when I was a teen?
It's perfectly fine to blow off a meme. No boycotts, sanctions,or party-pooper-blogger awards. :)
... but I certainly didn't stay up until 1:30am to finish Eclipse all in one night and Breaking Dawn* the next. No sirree, not me. I was busy reading Faust. What kind of dunderhead would stay up all night to find out if Bella picks the vampire or the werewolf when she has a book to revise, children to raise, a ... blog ... to ... wri ... zzzzzzzzzzz.
I hate myself.
I was so tired that I didn't realize what Tinkerbell was doing during the following conversation until it was too late:
TINK (to new friend's dad): You are very tall like her. DAD: Yes. TINK: And you have black hair, with like, some silver in it. DAD: (laughs indulgently) TINK: And you have that thing, that bump. DAD (and JACQUI): ???? TINK: You know, that thing. You have that bump like her. DAD (laughing less): What bump? TINK: There. JACQUI: (looks, notices small raised mole on new friend's dad's nose; reacting in slow motion due to Twilight-related exhaustion, thinks: Does she mean that mole? Who is "her?") TINK: So you look just like her! DAD: Who? JACQUI: (catching on)(slow mo) Tiiiiiink! Noooooooo! TINK: The wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz! You look just like her!
Coming soon to Jacqui's Room: How to End Your Novel, The Least You Need to Know: Agents, and Faust: the Jacqui's Room production...
*the third and fourth books in Stephenie Meyer's Twilightquad-rilogy? four-logy? series ** Oh, and for any fans out there. The answer to your next question is "Jacob. Definitely." Sigh.
14 Comments on I don't know what you heard..., last added: 8/27/2008
Ever see the "making of ..." Wizard of Oz mini-documentary hosted by Angela Lansbury? We discovered it at the end of our VHS copy of the movie. The actress who plays the Wicked Witch talks about the moment in which she got the call from her agent that she's been cast in the movie. She asked, "What part?" He said, "The Wicked Witch -- who else?"
A) the word is "tetralogy." Although I don't know if I'd apply such a fancy literary term to a romantic vampire series.
B) Tink has nothing on Boy. When he was four he called Darth Vader "the Black Man." We were driving down South and happened to stop at a gas station, and the man in front of us was dressed in black shirt, black pants, black boots, and (can you guess it?) black skin. So Boy points to him and loudly says, "Mommy, is that the Black Man?"
I can tell this story here because he won't read it. If I put it on my blog, he would kill me. But then, I figure he's earned all the embarrassment I now give him.
My parents are over for dinner. Brendan is 2 or so. He has seen Darth Vader on the packaging for my Star Wars video tapes. He could tell Vader was bad right off the bat.
So halfway through dinner, he says, "Mommy, when can I watch you and Daddy's bad movies?"
Oh, my, that's a lot of vampires and werewolves in one night! I'm, um, not really for Jacob or Edward. They both seem a little pushy to me. I think Bella would be better off with Alice, frankly.
One of my favorite kidisms was when my eldest was about three, instead of saying, "you're hurting my feelings," she'd yell, "you're hurting me." Typically in parking lots or small stores.
Just recently my six year old asked her uncle why he had hair growing out of his ears and nose. But the truth is . . . I'm curious, too. They've got clippers for that, ya know?
Elise, you are right. But not Alice. I'm pretty opposed to any high school relationship that requires giving up the rest of your life to consummate. Did you read all four? Would love to discuss.
Am I the only one who hasn't read any Stephanie Meyer books? I think I'm afraid to delve into them b/c I don't have enough time to read them all at once, as I know I'd want to do if I started.
Your kid is a hoot. Can't wait to see what mine will do.
I feel so smug: I haven't read any of Stephanie Meyer's books either. On the other hand, I'm supposed to be packing for our move and I'm wasting precious time visiting blogs and writing nonsense in my journal. Time enough for withdrawal when I'm torn away from my computer. And what better blog to be visiting than one of a woman who has stayed up all night reading Breaking Dawn?
Diane's comment made me laugh. I knew of an African-American family in Tokyo whose kid referred to Midori Ito as 'the black woman' when they were watching the skaters in the winter Olympics. They figured he'd finally cracked the color thing when they realized he wasn't referring to the French-of-African- descent skater, but Ito, who was wearing a black costume.
My little sister once called a lady at our church 'you wicked old witch' -- she was a dead ringer for Snow White's evil stepmother. Mercifully, the poor woman was completely deaf.
Amber, he/she (do you know?) will embarrass you. I once heard someone (maybe Reese Witherspoon???) say, "If your kids don't humiliate you at least once a day, you're not spending enough time with them."
Mary, you can't fool me. I've been to your blog; I know ho much you have going on!
As I write this, I am sitting on my sofa, pretending to converse with the Mighty Thor, dreading both revising and Proust, and wondering why my house smells like banana.
But, by the time you read this, I will be sitting on a beach in Cape Cod, trying to keep Captain Destructo from eating sand soaking up the sun and reading Us Weekly Inferno.
I is loving the "schedule post" feature on Blogger.
Ooh! A mystery idea. No, not The Wrath of Mama Bear again. A blog mystery* a la Ellen Raskin's The Westing Game.**
In which I disappear. I leave clues as to the whereabouts of my treasure, or my body, releasing them one at a time in pre-scheduled posts to my blog.*** Every day, police must check back for the next clue, and I am so clever that I can post things like:
So, my little police friends. Did you enjoy your wild goose chase to the bakery yesterday? Obviously, that was not the kind of bread to which my last clue referred. By now, you've probably deduced that I was using the colloquial "bread" meaning "money." I am sure you have already checked every local bank vault, to no avail. Sit down, Johnson, I'm getting to the clue soon...
And then I make a very clever "dough" pun which I will think of as soon as I find where Captain Destructo left the banana. Or, can you help me and leave it in the comments?
Have a good weekend, all.
* A "blogstery," if you will. ** Which is absolutely with no doubt on my top ten list of favorite kids' books ever. If you haven't read it, you are missing out. Go read it now. Seriously. *** Which is, of course, password protected and unhackable.
0 Comments on Tek-no-low-gee and a mystery as of 7/18/2008 6:53:00 AM
In which I lament that my life is a series of narrowly avoided snafus.
I took this quiz, inspired by Tabitha to discover what superhero I am.
Now, these quizzes have the failings of all standardized tests: they can’t possibly account for my genius and complexity. I had the vague sense that I might be “SuperWriter” or “Captain Always Reshelves Her Own Books Correctly” or even “The Grammarian.” Apparently I am Wonder Woman.
I do not feel like Wonder Woman. I used to, actually. These days, I am more like Doesn’t Quite Have It Together Woman,
Maybe that is the book I need to write.
The Adventures of Doesn’t Quite Have It Together Woman
Faster than, um, dial-up? More powerful than the water pressure in her shower, Able to leap over piles of discarded toys in a single bound, Armed only with a laptop, a penchant for words and the cell phones numbers of better mothers who remember when picture day is, Haunted by the memory of when she used to consider herself competent and by her agent’s suggestion that she get to those revisions as soon as possible, Doesn’t Quite Have It Together Woman roams the wilds of Ann Arbor in her trusty, smelly Prius, Trying to drive the five miles to camp before it closes in two minutes while jotting notes for her young adult novel and averaging 50 mpg, Leaving happy children, Cheerios and bits of paper with important numbers written on them in her wake.
Her mission? Keep Ann Arbortropolis and children everywhere safe from bad writing, Keep the cats safe from Captain Destructo’s mighty grasp, Amuse the online masses with her thoughts on police beavers, picture books, and Moby Dick. Keep herself from going from DQHIT Woman to Straight-Up Batty Girl, And, um, there was something else, but she forgot it.
Look! Jogging along Main Street in the rain with no umbrella! It’s a strange bird! It’s barely sane! It’s Doesn’t Quite Have It Together Woman!
Sigh. Back to revising…
6 Comments on The Adventures of DQHIT Woman, last added: 7/12/2008
I thought I might be Procrastination Girl, or the Lone Apostrophe Crusader, but evidently I'm Spiderman: "You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility."
Wow, a Spiderman majority. On my blog, everyone was Superman. Well, everyone except me and Jacqui... Funny how different blogs are bring different trends. :)
2. Captain Destructo and I's fingertips and mouths are stained pink with strawberries and beets straight from the farm.
3. Remember those characters who wouldn't leave me alone? They're back. They infiltrated my dreams last night. I was playing the role of Devra, the girl. We were running for the bus and, trust me, it was hilarious. Later, in the lunch room, we were stunned to find ourself crushing on the boy across the table. Now, usually when I dream a story, I either forget it or when I awaken, I realize it makes no sense (much like when I dream I am fluent in French). But this was a whole plot, handed to me by the dream muse.
"Go away," I told the characters, even in my dream. "I have to work on my other novel."
"Get a pen, moron," Devra shot back.
So I did. In the dream I wrote and wrote and wrote. And then I woke up and wrote some more. And then, well, it's time for the multiple choice question.
One Multiple Choice Question
Some of you expressed skepticism that I was being honest about neglecting other obligations for the Remedial Lit Summer Project. To that end, please answer this:
Which of the following did Jacqui find between 8:00 and 8:30 am this morning?
a. black mold in the diaper bag b. the estimated tax check that was due June 15 c. a check that we waited so long to deposit that it's now expired d. a sliver of glass in my big toe that has been there at least a week e. a piece of cardboard stuck between my toddler's teeth f. whatever was making the car smell like rotting goat carcass g. all of the above except one, which I found last night, and, wait, why does the car still smell?
2 Comments on Three Things to Celebrate, and One Multiple Choice Question, last added: 7/10/2008
In which I reveal myself to be a seriously sub-par wife, mother, and triathlete.
"You have a blog?! But when do you find the time?"
This is a question I get a lot lately. Usually, it's in response to the Remedial Lit Summer Project, or to having a blog at all.
"I could never do it," they say. "I just don't have the time."
I like to answer, "Well, I am smarter and more efficient than you." But that is a lie. In truth, I find the time by neglecting things that other, more responsible people do.
Rather than confess outright, I thought I'd give you a little game to play. I present:
Just How Lame Is Jacqui? A Matching Game
Can you match the items on the "to do" list (1-10) below with the "when was the last time Jacqui did it" list (a-j)? All of the "to do" items are ones someone I know did this week; all of the time frames are, sadly, 100% accurate.
1. ironed 2. cleaned the shower 3. exercised (not counting wrestling toddler into car seat) 4. bought/made presents for kids' teachers for end of school year 5. wrote a single word on non-fiction project that's now two years old 6. trimmed either child's finger or toenails 7. read a newspaper (not counting Yahoo headlines) 8. bought/made gift or even called my father for Father's Day* 9. weeded my garden 10. paid bills/balanced the checkbook
a. never b. summer of '06, and only then because I was quilting c. frankly, I honestly can't remember d. two weeks ago, before I hurt my back e. cannot locate garden under thickets of weeds f. fall of '06 g. Sunday, May 18, 2008 h. I don't know but yesterday Tinkerbell's friend suggested that if they got any longer, they'd curl under i. It is possible these brown-outs are not due to thunderstorms j. oh crap! Is that today? I have to go.
* I did procure my husband a present -- a signed copy of my friend Salman's latest book. "Where did you get it signed?" husband asked. During the interview, of course.**
** Or at the bookstore.
4 Comments on But When Do You Find The Time?!, last added: 7/10/2008
congratulations, ruth, both for avoiding poop and for truly making the most cringe worthy funny line.
I'm very happy for Ruth for so many reasons. I've read and enjoyed her Ellie McDoodle books, she once spoke at my local library, she visited my blog, I've been to her Web site and it's awesome, I believe she lives in the great state of Michigan, and she deserves it because her entry is hilarious.
Yep, that's brilliant. I stand in awe.
Congratulations to Ruth on a truly diabolical entry.