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As anyone who might have read my second memoir, Into the Tangle of Friendship, knows, I don't have the best relationship with my mouth.  Just about anything that could be wrong with it is (I'm talking about structure and soft tissue now, and not verbal emanations; there's much wrong with that as well).  And so, through the years, I've had small surgeries and big ones, I've had jaw bones bolted to jaw bones, I've had the mouth wired shut for weeks on end, I've had a root canal gone desperately wrong (a shattered tooth, a pain killer to which I had a nightmarish reaction), I've had gum grafts that have made me feel and look like a flying UFO. 

It's just my mouth.  It is not life-threatening.  People face far far worse things every single day—many people.  But still.  I woke up this morning and didn't feel like going to the periodontist who is perfectly nice and tres talented (his nephew is also high up on Obama's team, so he tells good stories).  I didn't feel like it.

Here's what happened to make the day sweet anyway.  My son woke up and said the kindest thing.  My husband offered to make me a late-night brown cow (something to savor while watching So You Think You Can Dance).  Matthew Quick sent along these generous words about The Heart is not a Size.  I heard from friends (I love my friends).  And.... the yellow finch that banged on my office window for months following the passing of my mother, the finch that launched Nothing but Ghosts (or its near cousin), started banging again the very instant I arrived following this morning of surgery and stitches.  It had not banged for months and months and months.  But here it was again—another message, I suspect, from my mother.

Life is good.

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For the third Readergirlz contest, writers were asked to choose a photograph of themselves at a turning point in time. They were then to write of that moment in present tense. They were next to take that moment and recast it in past tense. Finally, they were to reflect on what each tense made room for in terms of storytelling.

Our winner is Kiera Ingalls, 17, of Wayne, PA, who did a masterful job of twice telling a wild turkey story and reflecting on what the exercise yielded. We had two runners up: Carly Husick and Lucia Anderson. Kiera wins a signed copy of Nothing but Ghosts, and I replay her entry in full here. Look for the fourth and final readergirlz writing contest tomorrow; the winner of that contest will receive an advanced reading copy of The Heart is Not a Size.

Present Tense:

I follow my brother’s quick steps in the dewy grass to the roaring creek. The slime of salamanders lingers on my small fingers as I rub the bumpy skin of a toad. My brother Roscoe starts to meander towards the woods. Quickly following him I make sure not to drop the fidgety toad that I cusp in my hands. Under the tree cover there is a myriad of vibrant green “monkey brains”. I pick one up and the citrus scent wafts right up to my nose. From the corner of my eye sudden movement catches my attention. I drop the monkey brain as Roscoe dashes after a wild turkey. He lunges at it once only brushing the tail fathers. He sprints up again making another attempt this time acquiring a feather. With another grab the agitated turkey turns around and bites Roscoe. My brother stops, allowing the wild turkey to fade into the distance. I approach my brother and after seeing that he still has all of his fingers we take our time back home. Looking down my brother faintly knocks on the heavy mahogany door. My mother slowly opens the door appearing disgruntled. I gaze up extending my arms in front of me to expose my bumpy finding to mommy. In return she extends her accepting arms to Roscoe and I for a hug, and in relief we leap into them.

Past Tense:

We jumped in the creek looking for slimy squishy creatures and we walked through underpasses beneath major roads. Wandering through the woods my brother, Roscoe, and I discover fox skulls and fragrant Osage Oranges. As we started back to the house Roscoe spotted a wild turkey and decided he would try to catch it. I’m not sure if he intended to have it for dinner, considering he was a very picky eater and would only eat turkey and lettuce sandwiches for some time, or if he w

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Two winners have been selected for the October readergirlz writing challenge, and their work will be posted shortly. In the meantime, I'm happy to unveil the third challenge of four, a contest I've called "Then and Now." Here we go:

In this readergirlz challenge, the premise is simple (and does not involve a video). Find a photograph of yourself as a young child on the verge of some new knowledge or turning point. Write a paragraph about that photograph/that moment in present tense, as if you are experiencing that moment for the first time. Then write about that photograph/that moment in past tense, with the gift of retrospection. Ask yourself what you gain from working in the present tense, and what is gained by reflection; include your thoughts on this with your submission. Send your entry to me at kephartblogATcomcastDOTnet by November 25, 2009. The author of the winning entry will receive a signed copy of NOTHING BUT GHOSTS, a novel about a young girl who, in learning to live past her mother’s unexpected passing, involves herself in decoding the mystery that envelops the recluse down the road. The past and the present collide in GHOSTS.

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I have been in the kitchen for much of this summer—planning and cooking lunches and dinners, planning again, cooking again, starting again. Somewhere along the way, food lost its luster. Meals had become the thing to figure out, to be on the ready for. I wasn't, frankly, much in the mood, and the truth is: I miss my mother's cooking. No one ever did or will again cook like she did. I miss her simple chicken, her sandwich cookies, her inventions. My mother taught herself to cook. I never learned enough from her.

But last night, at a Philadelphia restaurant called Amada, I was blessed with the most exquisite meal I believe I have ever had. Spanish tapas of the authentic sort. Delicate prawns. Asparagus like candy. The sweetest serrano ham I've ever seen. Flatbread to die for. Ice cream like no other. And at the end, of it all a cookie thin as paper on a white rectangular dish.

Something was reborn in me, eating at Amada last evening. Something like hope. So this is what food can be, I thought. And this is pleasure. And this is the reward that life offers.

Becca is another reward that life offers — a brilliant reader and writer and teacher and liver of life. Today, in a beautiful gesture, she is offering a review of Nothing but Ghosts, as well as a giveaway. Visit her site, if you can.

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