Ode to a Toddler

My pre-two year old can not come play,

she has not got her way.

There are not enough cookies

what happened to all the nookies?

A hurricane in my house

she is never quiet as a mouse.

Publicly humiliating mama

who needs TV drama?

If I say no more Nemo

she gets all sad and emo.

Shirley Jean will see you at kindergarten

and not a moment before then.

Something to think about:

As a writer--or, more aptly--as someone who knows how to correctly spell some common phrases, watching my child learn to speak is incredibly interesting. Enthralling. Terrifying.
Over the past couple of months, Shirley has begun to mimic our speech patterns and intonations perfectly, until recently, when I discovered that she is actually saying words.
The catch is that they aren't real words. They are words as she perceives them.
When heard from across the room, "nope," is "nope." But upon closer inspection, Shirley is not actually saying the English-spelled-out-word "nope." She's saying "ope," or sometimes, "mope." This is interesting to me because the phonetic "puh" sound involves both lips coming together (there's a real name for it), which she has not done at ALL until now. This is the same reason she has yet to say "Mama" (besides the fact that God thinks it's funny to watch me keep trying to teach her to use BOTH of her lips when phrasing sounds to make words). "What's this?" is actually "HUTSiss," "Yep" is actually, "Gep," and "the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain," is ... just kidding.

2/8/04: Amsterdam

In the spring of 2004, I spent a semester in Dalkeith, Scotland. It was a time of searching, exploring and maturing for me. I planned the trip for over a year and made the commitment to keep two journals. One in a calendar to keep track of daily activities, and one in a journal, journal. I poured my heart out to my beloved blue journal, endlessly. Occasionally, I like to look back and see what I was doing "today" in 2004.
Here is a snippet of my journal entry from February 8, 2004:

[Editor's note: this was written while visiting Amsterdam, Netherlands.]
Today is McClain's birthday. I hope he is doing well.

[...]

On Friday, we got up early and went to the Anne Frank Museum, which is one of the most depressing thing ever. They've set up the old house that they hid in to be just like it was when they were hiding, and it was so well done that you couldn't help but feel like you were trespassing in someone's private life. I was very moved at the end of the tour when I realized that Anne's father outlived her. I don't know what I thought, but not that. He was the one who published her diary, which made me so sad, because I imagined my own father reading my journal for some reason. I don't know...it was just very touching to me that he was able to finally know his daughter so intimately--after hear death--and decide that her thoughts and feelings were print-worthy.

[...]

People come to Amsterdam from all over the world, which I find strange. [Many of them are] coming to participate in a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah. I'm happy to say that we leave tomorrow, and I've managed to maintain my purity: I have not seen the red-light district, and I have not smoked anything--nor will I!
I'll never forget how many people ride bikes in Amsterdam, or how much anxiety crossing the street causes me, because neither bicycle nor automobile are quick to stop if you are in their way. Also, every country I visit, only Americans and old women wait for the light to change at the crosswalk. Go figure.
I think I should describe where we are staying. We're at #43C Plantage Straat, Amsterdam, Netherlands. It's basically a flat with two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen/dining area, AND a patio [Editors note: I remember very, very little of any of this.] There are three beds, two couches, two easy chairs, a tv, and a dining area in the one main room. Then in the other bedroom there are three beds, and my room has a double bed. We have two bathrooms that make up one. Toilet and sink in one--no mirror. Tub, sink and mirror in the other. [Editors note: I do not remember bathing at all while visiting Amsterdam.] We are on the top floor. The woman below us is old and crippled, with a little tiny dog and she yells at us to not make noise coming up the stairs because her baby is sleeping. Weird. There are very strange people in this city.


I'm not sure why I felt like sharing this. It's something that captured my heart tonight.

A Good Day

So far, today has been a very good day--and it's only half over!

At the Mall of America, the Christian Fiction Writers Association had a book signing. There were 120 Christian Fiction Writers there, among whom was one of my favorite authors, Tosca Lee.

Tosca is a friend of my Aunt Kris, and she and I have exchanged email on several occasions, but I had not yet had the chance to meet her. She wrote a book last year called Demon: a Memoir, that stands alone in the relatively sucky world of Christian Fiction. It was really fun to get to meet her because, like I said, she stands out. If I were to write a book, I would want it to be on the edge and make people think the way Tosca's does. Too many Christian books are sugary sweet and don't deal with real issues and spiritual battle. Tosca is not afraid to go there, which I greatly appreciate.

I have not yet written a review on Demon, but I think I will in the near future. It is up for the AFCW 2008 Book of the Year. Good luck, Tosca!

I also got to meet John B. Olson who was one of the writers for Ben Stein's Expelled that came out earlier this year in theaters. Verrrry cool.

Made Me Smile

U.S. President George W. Bush (L) awards the Presidential Medal of Freedom to American novelist Harper Lee (R) in the East Room of the White House, November 5, 2007. REUTERS/Larry Downing (UNITED STATES)

This brought a smile to my face.

Today's trivia question:
Who is Harper Lee?

Don't let me down, guys.

Great American Novel

Here's something that will appear in my G.A.N. some day. I'm sure it will end up a lot more polished than this and may not even make its way into the movie, but it was a pretty touching moment for me.
This version has been shortened for blogging purposes.
**Please note, my senior creative writing professor made me swear that I would never write about my grandmothers again.
Oops.
Sorry, Allyson. I love 'em. ; )

- - -

Shortly after Richard and I got married, my great-uncle Charles died.
My dad, another Charles, and I escorted my blind grandmother, Shirley, to Minot, North Dakota by train to attend the funeral.
The ride there was uneventful and we slept the entire way. (Nothing compared to the ride home. Another blog, another time.)
Once we reached Minot, we went to the cousin's house to change clothes and get ready for the funeral which was only an hour or so later.
When we arrived at the church, I held Grandma Shirley's hand and escorted her through the premises. We located all the important rooms: ladies' room, sanctuary, family waiting / mourning room, library, etc.
Then she asked me to take her to see her brother.
Uncle Charles was laid out in his casket looking better than I had seen him in years. I described to her that his hair was very gray, that he was wearing a blue sportcoat with a maroon tie and his hands--those McClain hands--were folded on top of his abdomen.
"Where?" She said. "Where are his hands?"
"On his stomach."
"No, show me."
I took her hands and put them on her brothers.
It was that moment that she began to cry. Gasping, deep, silent sobs.
And then she stopped.
"That was the only time I've cried over him. My brother."

759

I just devoured 759 pages in 5 days.
I admit, it took me a lot longer to get through this Harry Potter than the last one, which was more like 800 pages and only took two days (and that's only because I had to work), but I didn't want to miss a single word. I wanted to solve every mystery.
I did ok on the mysteries--I guessed almost accurately who would die and who wouldn't--and I am satisfied with the ending and feel it was a good end to the series.

That being said, I have Harry Potter on the brain.

Now that I'm finished with the book, she wrote, I am narrating my own story in my mind. And I can't stop, she emphasized.
I keep imagining ways to jinx troublesome co-workers, suspecting the worst of my enemies (that they, for instance, are out to destroy me), and imagining what my patronus would look like (a sleepy, fat cat).
I think I'm sick, she wrote quickly--as if she didn't get it out fast enough she may not be brave enough to try again later.


This narration thing usually wears off in a couple of days, she finished hopefully, looking over her shoulder.

It's Official. I'm Delirious.

Remember a couple weeks ago when I alluded to a secret project?
The secret is out!
I received an email this morning informing me that one of my articles has been selected to go in a new publication in the twin cities. FOR MONEY. The magazine is called, Shattered Glam, and it's a magazine geared toward young women in this area, living all different kinds of lives.
The original release date was June 22, but it sounds like it will be pushed back to August.
The editor wrote this: "By the way, I really liked your hairdresser piece and I thought Blue Cavalier was hilarious. We are trying to figure out how and when we can fit them in. Same with the marriage piece . We’ll let you know."
I'm not making this up!
Editors rarely, if ever, take the time to compliment an author's work. To be honest, I'm more excited about his compliment than actually getting published!
Titles considered for this blog post:
-"Vindication and Validation"
-"Almost Famous"
-"Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous"
-"I'm in the Money!"
-"They like me! They really like me!"
-"Fin.al.ly"
-"Take THAT, Engl410!"
-"Should I use my maiden name?"
-"What's the best way to alert old boyfriends (in a nonchalant manner, of course)?"
-"You didn't have to like me, but you did! You did!"
-"Some day I'll tell my students (or fans, or minions) about the first time I got published. I'll laugh to myself about how excited I was and tell them how Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Margaret Atwood randomly saw my first article ever published and personally tracked me down to ask if they could work with me, thus jump-starting my career as a writer." (This one was rejected by blogger due to its length.)