Another mini-section edited.

As I promised- because I know my readers are waiting to read each post...on the edge of their seats...all...two of you.

Anyway, I choose a section of dialogue where Nina is talking to Frank at the police station.

Here's the before:

Around noon, Frank came in to relieve Rich for lunch. “You mind me eating in here? You need as much observation as possible.” He said. “I’m supervisor, so, I can afford to sit inside for a while.”

“That’s fine.” She said, opening her drawer and pulling out a bag of pretzels and some cheese.

He sat down in the chair. Nina would have liked to stretch her legs, but stayed in her chair peeling the string cheese. She watched him flip through screens on the computer, then roll back and look at the prints out. “These are pretty slow today, huh?”

“I guess.” She said- she hadn’t really noticed them printing.

“How you feeling about everything?” He leaned back in the chair and tapped a pen on the desk chair. His eyes were really big, she hadn’t noticed before.

“Good. I mean, I’m not feeling ready to be on my own at all- I’m not sure I’ll ever be.” She said.

He smiled, revealing deep dimples. “You will.” He looked down at her hand. “You’re engaged?”

Nina swallowed an oversized bite of cheese. “Huh?” She coughed, hoping she wasn’t being hurled into an embarassing unstoppable bought of coughs.

He pointed to her hand. “The ring? How long ‘till the big day?”

Nina looked down at the ring, and her lungs collapse. She took a drink and swallowed hard. “It’s not an engagement ring.” She said blankly.

“Oh, well, it’s on the right finger, or, rather, the correct finger. I just figured…”

“No, you’re right. Maybe I should wear it on the other hand.” She twisted it off and held it for a second, wishing Frank’s eyes weren’t on her.

I need to infuse more character detail throughout the entire story. There is a serious deficit of richness- but this is largely due to the the NaNoWriMo format of writing fast.

Here's the after:

Around noon, Frank came in to relieve Rich for lunch. Rich got up, stretched and slapped Nina on the back so hard it moved the chair she sat in. Frank sat down and set a Styrofoam container on the desk. “‘You mind me eating in here? You need as much observation as possible.” He said. “I’m supervisor, so, I can afford to sit inside for a while.”

“So, you do what you want.” She said, opening her drawer and pulling out a bag of pretzels and some cheese.

“Pretty much.” He said, blowing on steaming pasta to cool it down. He moved the mouse for the records computer and let out an obnoxious sigh.

Nina would have liked to stretch her legs, but stayed in her chair peeling the string cheese. She watched him flip through screens on the computer, then roll back and look at the fax machine. “Things are pretty slow today, huh?”

“I guess.” She said.

“How you feeling about everything?” He leaned back in the chair holding his pasta in one hand and poking at it with his fork. With his hat off, she could see how long his hair was. Most of the officers wore their heads shaved, but he had hair. Long enough that it had to be retained by some sort of hair product to kept it professional at work. His eyes were large and set in under his eyebrows . They were roundest next to the bridge of his nose, tapering out towards the sides of his face. His nose was the straightest, most perfect nose she’d ever seen.

Her observation nearly buried his question in the recesses of her brain. She cleared her throat.“Good. I mean, I’m not feeling ready to be on my own at all- I’m not sure I’ll ever be.” She said.

He smiled, revealing deep dimples. “You will.” He looked down at her hand. “You’re engaged?” He said, taking in a fork full of pasta.

Nina swallowed an oversized bite of cheese. “Huh?” She coughed, hoping she wasn’t being hurled into an embarassing unstoppable bought of coughs.

He pointed to her hand. “The ring? How long ‘till the big day?”

Nina looked down at the ring, and her lungs collapsed. She wasn’t engaged. She didn’t even know where John was. She took a drink and swallowed hard. “It’s not an engagement ring.” She managed.

“Oh, well, it’s on the right finger, or, rather, the correct finger. I just figured…”

“No, you’re right. Maybe I should wear it on the other hand.” She twisted it off and held it for a second, wishing Frank’s eyes weren’t on her.

So, it's better- not vastly changed.

I'll choose another section in another post so that my posts aren't like, 3 screens long. I need to just keep chopping away at this story. Plus, I'm re-thinking some serious plot issues...

Back to Brunette.

I'm crazy, I know. I should have listened to my husband who said "You'll dye it back in a day...you hate your hair red."

I thought he'd be wrong this time, but the bugger was right. I got home from class yesterday, showered, looked in the mirror and said "NO." It looked like the color you see on...ahem....much older women. Not good on me. And I felt like I had to have lots of makeup on to make my face fit it. Does that make sense? I can't have my hair a color where I'm not comfortable with my real face next to it.

I dyed it back last night. I am crazy. I dyed it my old fail-safe color- Nutmeg by Clairol Natural Instincts. It very dark brown. It ALMOST covered the red.


I LIKE this color, for sure. I look in the mirror and it feels right. Sorry for the alarm...never color your hair right before your period...

Better...better....

Today's acrylics class was a sizable improvement, ego-wise, over the last one. We started the day with more 5 minute paintings (really more like 10 minutes), then did a critique of a few she chose for discussion.
Then, we ended the class with a 20 minute painting. Very cool.

I think for me, just looking around at other students' paintings is extremely helpful. My professor walks around an gives advice, pushing and prodding. She's awesome.

Here are my two best from today (remember, these are fast paintings- 5-20 minutes):




The still lives are super simple forms in solid colors. Not what anyone would normally choose to paint, but excellent for learning. These are painted on drawing paper- so, they are pretty warped from paint.

I am so excited to keep improving, and I'd totally practice at home if I could without 3 people asking if they can paint too. I'll have to make a time to do more. I need to learn to handle the paint better and manage my palette more efficiently. I muddy up all the paint very quickly and lose the colors I successfully mixed. Not sure how to do that yet.

Live and learn.

I had the itch.

For change.



As I do often.


I got inspired by my new favorite show--I'm such a nerd-- Lost in Austen. Heard of it?? Too much fun for Pride and Prejudice fans. The main character gets stuck in the world of the Bennetts. Complete with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley and all the crazy Bennett girls- I'm mildly addicted. And no, embarrassingly- I have NOT read the book.
Anyway, the actress in the show has this lovely dark red hair.


This, as well as seeing Bryce Dallas Howard on Conan last week- a real redhead, who wore it dark and gorgeous, swayed me.

(could NOT find any shots of her actually ON Conan- she looked so pretty- I love her! Theres some real ACTUAL talent in that girl)


I like it. (I always like it...I love hair color)Red never lasts long, and I have an old stand-by color that is always there for me when I get sick of this. Or I'll go brighter. Who knows. I usually favor more dramatic results- I love the big GASP you get!! I am getting a bit old, though...maybe I'm losing my touch? Don't make me dye it blue again...that stung, buy boy was it ever fun.

I can't paint worth crap.

I know, I know...I just had to say it. I did this in my class today.

Look at this horribleness!!! We had about 10 minutes to paint the still life in the room. It was a table set up with white spheres and bottled mixed in with red bottles and boxes. Seems simple enough.

It was a mess. Turns out black and white make a horrible unrealistic grey. Red and black do not make up the darker parts of the red forms and I needed yellow to make the light more convincing.

And you'd think I'd never used any perspective at all.

Live and learn. I cannot wait to improve. I may even practice a bit at home, I was so horrified at how badly I did with this!!!

Dicussion of my commissioned works.

Wow. THAT sounds extremely pretentious.

I forgot about these- I thought they were stuck on our other computer, but I just snagged them off my Facebook account.

I was SO proud of them when I first did them and now I really see where I could have improved. These were done from photos that mamas I met on a mothering forum sent me. They range from terrible to decent. I think they looked better in person?






I did them all over a period of a couple months and charged $50 including shipping. I now know that, no matter how mediocre the paintings were, this was TERRIBLY low. I put several hours into each of these- 8-10 hours, I think I estimated.

Live and learn, I guess.

This one I did for a friends daughter. I kinda dig it- it's still not great, though. I love the pop-art look of it. I was inspired by the photo itself- taken by the little girl- on my webcam.There was a lot of blue from the reflection of the screen, so I ran with it. She's such a cutie:


I have SO far to go. I know how to draw people- but painting them is so different. I really have no understanding of how to bring them to life. I'll get there. I have the same problem with my writing.

The thrill of school supply shopping

I got to go out yesterday (which was a feat for me, since getting the van out in the snow is no easy task), and buy the supplies for my acrylics class.

I don't need any brushes, thankfully, or else this would have been a very expensive undertaking. It was still more money than I'd hoped it'd be.

I went down to Utrecht in Sacramento, a truly awesome store for REAL artists, not a framing store like Aaron Brothers has become. It's well over an hour away from my house, but worth it.

I had to get 10 canvas boards in 2 different sizes, a few different acrylic mediums, as well as a new palette and an assortment of primary colors.

The canvas boards were easy and surprisingly cheap. The mediums were uncomfortably expensive so I only got the bare minimum. I found a small butcher tray palette- the only kind I like to use anymore, as it always ALWAYS washes clean no matter how long the paint dries.

I was NOT able to find the primary colors she asked for. The only ones they had were sold out. I thought I knew what the primary colors were- I thought Ultramarine Blue, Cadmium Red, and Azo Yellow. I was only only 1/3 right. My professor asked that we get colors labeled Primary Red or Primary Magenta. Primary or Cyan blue. And Lemon or Azo yellow.

I was all confused, and then found this graphic that cleared it up for me.


She said she wanted us to have the purest tones to mix the truest secondary colors. My first lesson. In printing they use these colors- I never thought about it.

I only have tiny tubes of the colors, now. I'll have to order some online, I suppose.

It was fun getting all my stuff, though. I'm ready to paint!!! For real!!!

Magic happy pants and what to do about my face

I just thought I'd show you another picture of my yellow cord from the Gap. They are glorious. They are comfy. And they look good on me even on days when I'm feeling pretty squishy and decrepit.

I love, LOVE mixing yellow with navy. It could be my favorite color combo. The shirt is also from the Gap (same trip as when I got the pants). Still wearing the Born boots- I think thats something like 40 days in a row or something. Hows that for dedication? Hows that for an endorsement of Born?

One reason I stopped my fashion blog is out of sheer vanity. I cannot get a good photo that looks like me. I don't look like this!! Who is this saggy-faced, big-nosed person? Grandma?

I realize that the probability of me NOT looking like the images my camera collects is pretty slim. Its not the cameras fault, its my 32 years of gravity and genetics stealing my ideal image of myself.

It's fine- I get it. I'm cool with aging. I know better than to really get upset over it. I MAY be hormonal. I'm not telling you.

Maybe my hair is lame? Here's my bangs:


Heres me sans-fringe:


Should I cut my bangs shorter again? Let 'em grow a bit? Dye my hair red? Get a nose ring?

I'm going to go eat something now. I wouldn't want these pant to fit forever. (dangit, I AM hormonal)

Boredom post

I'm snowed in and doing just fine- power is on, for the moment. It wasn't this morning- it seems that PG&E can't keep the electricity flowing if there's any sort of precipitation whatsoever. They are dorks.

My last post was sort of boring. A post about a shirt. Bleh.

New blogs take a while to reach their stride- and this one in particular is struggling to find a place. I'm feeling quite hopeful, though.

I blog because I hope to succeed someday, creatively, and I think this is one place I can talk about it. Plus my need to hear myself talk supersedes any restraint I may have on NOT blogging.

I could totally fold clothes right now- but that feels like an absolute battle that throws me into mental illness. Instead, I've made soup, banana bread, and thrown snowballs at the block wall in front of our house. This is a fairly typical response of mine to an entire day of freedom. I do not look at it as an opportunity to catch up on housework. I don't want to get organized. All I really want to do is whatever I want to do without restriction.

I'm a whiny little girl, aren't I? Yes, I am. I should be drawing since I think I'm an artist. I could write- though, my brain is completely mush when it comes to my book right now. I wish the characters would just shut up.

I'm parenting- that's something. I've wiped bottoms, put snow clothes on and off more times than I can count, and generally interacted positively with my 3 year old. (which is not always easy)


I added photos of the grand snowiness that serves at my captor. It doesn't look like enough to make a shut in of anyone, but don't over-estimate my stupid car. Plus, they don't really plow up here, much less use any ice deterrents such as salt. I think they figure, if we're crazy enough to live up here, we surely can handle it. Truthfully, most people DO handle it. I would handle if only we could afford a car payment on, say, a nice Subaru of some sort. (I can only imagine what it'd be like to drive a vehicle over things like slush, mud or gravel!!!)

I love living up here, though. And I'm aloud to whine. This is America.

I'll shut up now.

The best shirt!!

Ok, thats a very subjective opinion. But I just have so much love for this shirt.

It was painful for me to buy- $55 at the Gap. No sale, totally full price, new clothing- weird. I just couldn't resist. It's freaking awesome.

It's chambray, I guess. It's double layered thin cotton goodness. The inside layer is cream-colors and looks awesome with the sleeves rolled up.

I wore it yesterday with gray leggings and my Born boots. Pretty simple outfit.

I've been totally UN-inspired about clothes. It's been a wet winter, and I really don't like bulk. I've had few occasions to dress up and when I have, the weathers been foul.

I need to step it up, though- and I will, I promise!

And the Thrift Store probably has totally fresh stock...

Beautiful sludge buckets of love

Whats that on the floor next to the stove, Carolyn?

Why, it's my buckets of sludge!!!

Yes, folks- I have bubbling bucket of goo in my living room, soaking up the warm air around my woodstove.

I have a stupid amount of interests in my life that I'd consider strong enough to pursue. One of them, is baking.

I love baking. I think I already bragged about some sort of bread making on this blog. I'm now trying the Soft Wheat Sandwich bread and the Olive Oil dough (for pizza dough, flat bread, etc). This is from both Healthy Bread in Five Minutes a Day and Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day- both of which I continue to recommend.

My sludge buckets look happy. It's snowing outside. I have no where to go tomorrow- I'm a happy girl.

I am missing my book I wasn't finished read. It's Stardust by Neil Gaiman, have you seen it?

I am stocked up on Audio books from the library for my weekend away with my old highschool buddies. I will have a nice 3 hour drive to the coast- perfect for morally questionable fiction that's not appropriate for children.

I am hoping to get out THIS weekend to buy some supplies for my Acrylics class. I was worried about the content of the class- I was afraid it would be strictly based on the medium itself- a sort of artistic science class. But, indeed, she will be teaching us basic painting and some color theory. We will be doing PLENTY of paintings, for sure. I am STOKED to learned how to use different effects, how to prepare surfaces and simply compose a GOOD painting.

I'll be writing a bit this weekend as well.

Thats all for now. Love me?

I hate my stupid Ford Windstar

I'm trapped. Car-less. Bad weather coming...and the worst part is...no way to run.

No ones chasing me or anything- I'm not being followed or threatened.

I just need some exercise, for Petes' sake. I mean, what the heck? I can't make a run happen if it killed me- and it might!!!

(I'm being a bit over dramatic, I suppose)

Yesterday it started snowing while I was at my Acrylics class (awesome class, btw!), and I found myself stranded at my parents house. My kids go to school even further into the mountains that where we live and they were in need of being picked up- something I can't do with my $#@%ing van. (I'm not bitter) My van can't drive in mud, gravel, slush, snow or ice. This is NOT a good thing considering that at least one of those elements are present at all times up here.

Matt drove an hour home to get the kids back here and then had to go back. Craziness- all because my STUPID van doesn't freaking drive!! AAAAAAGGGGHHH!!!

And my normal Tuesday/Thursday jogs are out, as well. I'm trying to figure out if I should try to get my car today (which involves favors from other people) or if I should just hunker down and keep the house warm. I'm worried that if I try to go out, I won't be able to get home again.

Stupid, stupid van. I hate you, van. You SUCK. And I'm not cleaning you- ever. I'm cranky. I'm probably atrophied. And I'm almost out of coffee. I'm going to kick you- stupid van.

Revisionland

I borrowed that term from the folks over at NaNoWrimo. I cannot take credit for the creation of such a place. A place of hope. A place of frustration and fear and...yeah...hope, ultimately.

Hope that I can actually make this story come alive. Hope that I have the knowledge to transform the parts that suck into actual literature. Hope that my characters leave a mark on the reader. Hope that I have readers.

So, remember last week when I posted a cheesy section of Blood Freckles and promised to revise it? Well, I just did and I think I'm happier with the result.

They opened the door to the outside was felt the rush of cold night air. Nina shuddered and squeezed his hand. He was looking at her again, she found it too hard to meet his eyes.
“Do you have to be somewhere?” She asked. She had hoped it wouldn’t be so cold so that there would be an excuse to wander around with him, preventing an end to the night. She was afraid he’d dissappear. Afraid he’d step into the dark and become nothing like her dreams of him. “I’ll go anywhere you want to go.” She whispered, wincing at how the words sounded once they hit the air.
His free hand touched her face and then smoothed over her hair. Ninas eyes closed and leaned back, hoping the wall next to the restaurant was as close behind her as she’d perceived. It was, and she leaned her back against it. She felt his hand slip out of hers and his hands clasped the sides of her face. All the cold was gone, and his lips brushed against hers. “Stay with me tonight. Please.” His voice was low and his eyes were closed.
“Ok.” She whispered, letting herself reach up and kiss him. Her hands reached up behind his head and into his hair. He pressed against her now, and moved one arm around her waist.
“Where? Where are you staying?” Nina mumbled.

I think I un-cheesed it a little- maybe infused a little more life into it. It's very similar to drawing or painting. I tend to avoid putting in the detail and the value change that brings things into 3 dimensions. I think I do the same with writing.

I will take on another section, I think...here's the before:

Around noon, Frank came in to relieve Rich for lunch. “You mind me eating in here? You need as much observation as possible.” He said. “I’m supervisor, so, I can afford to sit inside for a while.”
“That’s fine.” She said, opening her drawer and pulling out a bag of pretzels and some cheese.
He sat down in the chair. Nina would have liked to stretch her legs, but stayed in her chair peeling the string cheese. She watched him flip through screens on the computer, then roll back and look at the prints out. “These are pretty slow today, huh?”
“I guess.” She said- she hadn’t really noticed them printing.
“How you feeling about everything?” He leaned back in the chair and tapped a pen on the desk chair. His eyes were really big, she hadn’t noticed before.
“Good. I mean, I’m not feeling ready to be on my own at all- I’m not sure I’ll ever be.” She said.
He smiled, revealing deep dimples. “You will.” He looked down at her hand. “You’re engaged?”
Nina swallowed an oversized bite of cheese. “Huh?” She coughed, hoping she wasn’t being hurled into an embarassing unstoppable bought of coughs.
He pointed to her hand. “The ring? How long ‘till the big day?”
Nina looked down at the ring, and her lungs collapse. She took a drink and swallowed hard. “It’s not an engagement ring.” She said blankly.
“Oh, well, it’s on the right finger, or, rather, the correct finger. I just figured…”
“No, you’re right. Maybe I should wear it on the other hand.” She twisted it off and held it for a second, wishing Frank’s eyes weren’t on her.

So, in a couple day, I'll have embellished, de-lamed and hopefully made this little section pretty.

Back to relative normal

After a long stormy weekend, I'm back to blogging. I thought about blogging. I thought about it a lot. Doesn't that count?

Theres this massive storm coming through and we've lost power once so far, and it will probably happen again. We live in the back woods, and the power company seems to make us last priority. I suppose it's only fair-as we live up here by choice.

I like it when the power goes out at first- it sort of releases me from the normal guilt of having to get a whole bunch of stuff. I usually find myself reading or writing in these times.

I have one kid in school today, instead of the normal 2. One is sick, so he says. And of course I have the little one- who has preschool today (assuming a giant tree hasn't crushed the school house).

I am excited to start my Acrylic class tomorrow- though I'm panicked because I'm afraid I don't know enough about painting to master any one medium. It will be good experience, though- and good knowledge for me. I've got to stop rushing myself- hoping to become this amazing artist in record time. I really need to work my butt off- something I'm not known for.

I plan to run today- hopefully I'll survive the wind. And the rain.

Getting well-read

I want to read more this year. A LOT more. My friend out-read me 5 to 1, I'd say. And that's embarrassing. I could make a very slim list of books I HAVE read alongside their monstrous lists of actual reading conquests.

My problem in the past was sheer disinterest and lack of brain function that would allow me to absorb into a book.

Lately, though, it's been writing. How in the world can you expect me to let my mind slip into someone else's world when I'm still constructing one of my own?

I realize as I read my own writing that a lot of my problems stem from the kind of narrow mindedness that comes from a lack of reading. Similar to my amateur artwork being held back by my lack of exposure to the art world.

Every year I say I'm going to read 50 books. Every year, I read about 10. That's pretty sad. I noticed Matt said he's going to read 30 this year on his blog. I think that's a reasonable goal. I've read almost 2 so far. I'll need to amp that up a bit, I think.

I can read non-fiction pretty fast- I'm sure some books on writing would be in order. Some of the ones I own and want to actually read this year are:

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott.
The Plot Thickens by Noah Lukeman.
Hooked by Les Edgerton

I'm sure we have more around here they we bought, and forgot about. Sad but true. I need to just tear through them, mark them up and put the ideas to work.

Other books I want to read that I already own have to do with my love of history, particularly history of the West and the Gold Rush:

We Saw the Elephant: Women in the Gold Rush by Jo Ann Levy
Blood and Thunder: The Epic Story of Kit Carson and the Conquest of the American West

I have the very beginnings of an idea for historical fiction...someday...

I should probably read some parenting books or something. I guess...nah...

On the way to me via Amazon is a book I'm anticipating to be awesome. It's call Elfland by Freda Warrington. Usually when I get all excited like this, I get let down. Maybe this will be an exception?

I'll let you know how I do. This, like my goal of doing yoga every day and my goal of eating more leafy greens will probably fall to the wayside.

What do I WANT to draw?

To be an artist means you wish to express something. I suppose this includes doing portraits or commissioned pieces, but what is it that a person wants to produce?

I don't have an answer for myself- something that's holding me back considerably.

I'm not into landscapes. I don't have a knack for purely abstract work and I don't really like painting animals. I like portraits. But, not exactly portraits.

I am in the process of trying to figure out what it is that excites me about other peoples works in hopes of finding my own direction.

I gravitate towards faces, body forms- anything figurative, I suppose. (assuming I'm understanding that term correctly) I am fascinated by human form and human faces. I think that's what I like about Carol Aust. The simple human forms used to convey emotions, problems or maybe just whimsy. I love it.

Another style I tend to like is surrealism. Vladimir Kush, for one, completely enthralls me. I almost hate him for his brilliant ideas and execution. Absolutely brilliant.

I have an embarrassing lack of knowledge about artists and art terms. I really don't know whats out there, and so I can't make a list of inspirations other than the two artists I've mentioned. I want to do more in the way of reading, and by way of exposure to galleries to gain some perspective.

In the past my paintings have lacked the value range that my pencil drawing lack. This is something I learned from my Drawing and Composition class at Folsom Lake College. The subject matters are weak, as well. They are just weak in general.

Here's some examples:


This is a drawing in colored pencil I did for Oak Hills Church- a prototype for their Stations of the Cross. I now see how more value change would have added depth. Also some sort of figure-ground relationship would have been a huge help. I DID do the Stations of the Cross- all 18 by 24, just like this. Bland. I guess they like them, because they are still using them, 7 years later.




These are little 6 by 6 canvas' I did very quickly. I enjoyed doing them but again- TOO BLAND, too non-committal. Too fast. I wanted to do dozens of them, then arrange them on a wall against a bright color. I still may- that's the only way they'd be impactful- in a large quantity.




This painting I did after being inspired from a paitning I saw in a magazine. Its not a copy, just the same idea as of having very dark forms in the foreground, framing the rest of the picture. I get the most compliments on this- of course...it's not really my idea.


This was done in Prismacolor markers. I thought about a series of images like this, all with words in them representing the things women feel about themselves. I think I only did this one. I like the effect the marker gives- very bold. I dig the concept, but, again- too much laziness- no background? Really? It's unfinished in a bad way.



This is my most recent painting. It' huge, for me, at least. It's something like 2 1/2 by 4 feet. The colors show immature knowledge of color mixing- like most of my paintings. And again- more contrast would be good.


This is my wall of lame art in my laundry room- really just a way to brighten up the place where I wash clothes. You get the idea, though- I like bright colors, girls and painting lazily and quickly then criticizing myself into not painting anymore. That's pretty much my cycle.

I'm hoping the acrylics class I'm taking this semester kicks my butt like my drawing class did.

I wish I could borrow someone elses brain...

With someone elses brain, I'd re-write this scene. It's the scene in my book that the romantic in me spent many days day-dreaming about. I mean- what if someone you dreamed about, someone you longed for but didn't really know just showed up right in front of you? On purpose?

I guess since it has never happened to me, I can't describe it. I do, however have lots of realistic ways to describe how someone DIDN'T come back, and DIDN'T love me, after all...but that's another book.

A good writer could relay the tension, the sensation of seeing this person in the flesh right in front of you. They could describe the sound of his voice and how it was the most blissful thing in world. But not me. I do know how to take a pivotal point and let it fall flat.

Here's a short except of said scene:

They opened the door to the outside was felt the rush of cold night air. Nina shuddered and squeezed his hand. He was looking at her again, she found it hard to look back. It was too familiar, too close.
“Do you have to be somewhere?” She asked. She had hoped it wouldn’t be so cold so that there would be an excuse to wander around with him. She was afraid he’d disappear. “Because, I can stay out for a while if you want.”
He’d come closer to her while she looked away. His free hand touched her face and then smoothed over her hair. Nina's eyes closed and she leaned against the wall outside the restaurant. She released his hand from hers and let him hold her face. All the cold was gone, and his lips brushed against hers. “Stay with me tonight. Please.” He implored.
“Ok.” She whispered, letting herself reach up and kiss him. Her hands reached up behind his head and into his hair. He pressed against her now, and moved one arm around her waist. “Where? Where are you staying?”


Oh YUCK...I'm going to go vomit now. Nobody should implore anything in this book. These are the things that STOP me from writing. Stupid sections that I can't figure out how to portray. I need a writing instructor or a brain transplant- or at least some rum so I can re-read it without feeling like a total loser.

I'm going to re-write this one section a re-post it soon. Hopefully it will be less vomit-inducing.

Brown dress, new calendar, and the addition of an excercise ball

In my fashion odyssey of 2009, I pushed some favorites of mine to the back of the closet in favor of more creative and trendy ensembles. This left a few of my most beloved pieces of clothing to get dusty in the dark abyss of out closet.

This dress being one of them. It's from J Jill- its Tencel, so it's heavy, silky, floppy and wondrously easy to care for. I love the easy shape of it, and the color- Shale. It can be belted, worn over tights or leggings, paired with boots or sandals, or covered with a blazer. It's old fashioned cool-like something movie stars in the 40's wore on safari's or something.


I got a new calendar. Actually, I'm going to say Matt put it in the cart for me at the store- sort of as joke and to my surprise, it came home with me. Twelve months of Robert Pattinson. I'm sort of an overgrown 14 year old girl- this is my kitchen calendar, which keeps track of school lunches, doctors appointments and dates with my REAL husband. I think that's humorous.

I also bought an exercise ball. I think just owning it will tighten my core.

The glory of printed words.

There is something special about a physical book.

Matt got a Kindle this year and likes it. I have to say, I'm a tad jealous of it, though I think if I had one, I'd definitely lose it or bust it. That's just my style.

There's something sort of sad about it, though. Who doesn't love the smell and the heft of a brand new book. Or the feel of the worn pages in a classic you picked up at the library book sale. The sound of the pages turning, the glossy cover, the artwork...it's all part of the magic of reading.

I was reminded of this yesterday. I'm trying to move onto other projects, but I just keep going back to Blood Freckles, opening Scrivener. Flipping through it. Making sure its all still there. (I have this chronic fear of it all getting erased)

It occurred to me that seeing it on the screen wasn't good enough. I always print out my NaNo novels, I don't know why I hadn't done this one. Our printer is broken, so I called Matt and asked him if he could do it.

I thought he'd forgotten, but last night before bed, he handed me this half-ream of paper (not really half a ream, but, whatever).

Its always so amazing about seeing it all printed. Especially knowing this is the first draft I've ever written that I feel hopeful about. I don't hate this story. I'm obsessed with it.

I took this same picture last year with last years Blood Freckles Draft-the one that STINKS. This is the one I've got my money on...now to dig in with my red pen and an open mind and mark it all up.

Meanwhile, I'm conceptualizing my Screenplay for Script Frenzy in April- trying to form characters and a setting that sets off the feeling I'm looking for. Also, in the back of my head I'm constantly worldbuilding for my next NaNoWriMo book..(sigh). Matt wants to start writing songs for February Album Writing Month.

Yes, there IS a writing challenge for each month of the year..in case you wondered.

My girl.

This is my girl. My little Vi. She is a basket case. She is probably pretending she is somewhere else RIGHT now. She likes milk a lot. She doesn't like being teased. She draws 50 pictures a day.

She's a lot like me- except...blond - a strange twist of fate that's significant for me.

I think I was fairly young when I realized I was not in the same boat as Barbie, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, etc. It began a deep seated weirdness towards the fair-haired. A sort of self-justified bigot-ism that festered into bitter my adolescence. That's when it really took off, culminating in a bleached hair experiment when I was 17, where I proved I'd be treated differently if I were blond- it was the one and only time any man has ever stopped me to compliment on the street. I was SO mad.

I began to wonder why. What about hair color made any difference or should produce a preference? Why is it associated with femininity? Why is it associated with beauty in general?

I suppose light equals good, dark equals bad. I guess brown is dirty, gold is clean. Whatever. (obviously I'm still a bit acid-based on this subject)

I know better than to judge people by their appearances, this is more of an observation on culture as a whole, a portion of the greater myth of beauty in the world.

Imagine my dismay at producing a tiny little golden haired girl. What can I say? Where does my bias lay now, as this little girl grows up with her thick head of straw colored hair? She is fair and rosy-cheeked and yet nothing like Cinderella. Not the center of attention, not the teachers pet. She's the oddball- the one in the corner acting like a coyote. She likes to wear a werewolf costume.

She's like I was at that age. I see so much of myself in her, and it makes me realize how many issues I've had with my own appearance and the constant judging of it against other people. I love this little girl- my sweet baby. My fragile little crazy girl.

I have to keep my mouth shut about blonds and guide my misanthropy elsewhere. I can't rag on men since I met Matt...dang-it...maybe I've just have to stop complaining. (no chance)

Explanation for my lack of photos

I am no good at photography. Generally is something has to mix skill with some sort of equipment- I can't do it. On my old blog, Backwoods Fashionista- this was a huge problem. I can't take pictures worth crap, and that was a HUGE part of fashion blogging. YOu have to have good pictures.

Cameras hate me. I can't figure out why things are blurry or the color is weird. Matt, who knows about this stuff, tries to tell me how to do better which usually serves to confuse me further.

I realize part of a successful and compelling blog is the visual aspect- but I hate taking pictures, and refuse to us stock photos.

So, I use my webcam-thingy on my Mac. I hope thats satisfactory for you. I'll try to do better. I'm also just really lazy.

I found this on my computer- I took it right here, at my table. I think it's hilarious. Look at my psycho daughter and my weird face. See, if I took good pictures you wouldn't get to see gems like this.

Look, a microphone!!

This is my SECOND time this weekend using a microphone. You have no idea the joy this brings me.

On Friday night, I went to a gallery and got to sneak in a few songs with a few members of Hickory Wind (website coming soon, btw)- a band am honored to be doing song back up singing with. It was a blast- very relaxed, surrounded by art, wine and bluegrass.

Today I'm at Oak Hills Church, performing a sketch Matt re-wrote about a couple who's finances are out of control. Pretty fun. Acting is not my bag, per se, but it's on stage, which is something I love regardless.

I sort of wish I had a microphone on all the time. I could totally sing and spout my nonsense for all to hear- and everyone would be at my mercy. :)

Luckily I don't have a microphone- I have to give this little cordless lapel mic back after the service, dangit. You are all safe from my unabashed hamminess.


(I just made up the word "hamminess")

Did I tell the world I think "Rainbow in the Dark" by Ronny James Dio is on my list of most awesome songs? Is there no end to my endless list of nerd attributes?

"'Just a Rainbow in the DARK!!" Woo!!!

100 Hits!

Which means I've opened my blog at least almost 100 times and my mom has been here!! Woo-hoo! Blog Success!!

(sorry...coffee's kicking in and I'm really, really procrastinating today)

Editing, surprising non-suckage and an except from Blood Freckles.

Now, when I say "editing"- this is a lose term, meaning I went through my draft and fixed my spelling errors (words like "himslef", "teh" and the most common being "remeber"), and un-lamed some dialogue as best as I could. I found myself saving yet another draft of Blood Freckles. I guess it would be Blood Freckles 4.5 or something. Yikes.

I'm not seeing this book hitting bookstores, much less receiving any sort of reward, but it's a story I love. I've put so much time into conceiving it, re-writing it, and trying out new angles- I feel I have to do SOMETHING with it someday. But this means having someone else read it. This sort of goes into the category of singing solo.

I braced myself as I read through it last night- after having read a sizable chunk of Neil Gaimans "Stardust", it felt a bit thin- but, I'm no Neil Gaiman.

I did find myself smiling a bit. I was even gripped a bit by some parts that I hadn't remembered were in there. My only problem is- I'm so invested in this story and it's characters, that I know EVERYTHING, so it'd be easy for me to miss the places that need more info.

There are also a few minor subplots that come out in the beginning that never show up again. I'm not sure if I should take them out or beef them up later in the story.

The ending is lame. This I know. But, I'm not worried about that right now.

Overall, I think I'm ready to expose at least sections of it to other humans. A few people have asked to read it, but I'm pretty sure they were just being polite. I will say it's short- maybe 51,000 words- a novella, really.

I like the beginning...I think. I think I started in as good a spot as any- and beginnings are important, nowadays. Laborious backstory isn't tolerated anymore- so, you have to fill the reader in strategically in quick doses throughout the action parts. (not that this book boasts much action)

Here's my start. My strongest of the dozens of starts I've tried. Please critique. I'm fairly secure and fully understand that I'm no prodigy:


Nina had been dreaming again, and it took her a few minutes to realize it. The bed sheets were tangled around her feet and the blankets were falling off to one side. Her eyes crept open, taking in the popcorn ceiling of her bedroom and the grey light coming in through dingy vertical blinds.

She squeezed her eyes shut against reality. She tried to drop back into it- into the turbid images that were receding from her consciousness by the second. It was always the same dream, made up of images her brain retained. Grey eyes under furrowed brows, naked trees behind him, a sharp blast of sound and the smell of burning hair- it was all fading into the staleness of the present. Most people would want to forget something like this, but it was all she had of him. Of John, whom she had no claim on in any other way except for sharing this one tragedy.

The phone was ringing in the living room, and Nina new Doug would answer it. He was home today, as he was every Monday since the church cut his hours even further. She was thankful for her father’s generosity in letting her live with him rent free, especially since his pay was cut so much after losing his Pastorship. He was a shell of his previous self, and seemed to hang onto Nina as his last hold on normal life. Unfortunately, there was nothing normal about how Nina felt about him now.

His voice was muffled through the thin apartment walls. He still had the familiar cadence and boom he used to project over a sanctuary of anxious church goers. She heard him say goodbye and could here the heel-toe, heel-toe of his steps down the short hallway. “Nina?”

Nina’s eyes were still forced shut, but she managed a ragged, wordless response.

“Jerry wants me to go down and take his counseling appointment at 9:30.”

“Ok.” She spoke into her pillow. Ordinarily, Doug would have inched the door open and looked in on her to communicate, but Nina told him not to open her door anymore after the first couple times since she moved in. He took his hand off the door knob.

“I’m gonna take the car, then.” He paused for a response or an objection. “You’re not working today, right?”

Nina groaned into her pillow and fought an anxious wave of nausea. “No, I’m not working.”

“Alright, well, I should be back this afternoon.”

“Wait!” Nina sat up with sudden inspiration. She flung herself out of bed and towards the door, stopping to grab her robe that was thankfully nearby. Pulling it on over her t-shirt, she cracked the door a bit. “Can you drop me off at the BART station?”

“The BART station?”

“Yeah- I’m going into the city.” She said, tying the belt on her robe and opening the door fully with her foot.

“Today? You have to go to San Francisco today?” Doug leaned against the wall with the phone still in his hand, one eyebrow raised.

“I don’t HAVE to go, I just want to. And I’m not doing anything else, so, why not?” Nina pushed past him in the cramped hall towards the kitchen where she hoped there’d be coffee.

Doug followed and put the cordless phone back on it’s base. He scratched his head and picked up his keys from the kitchen counter. “It’s just- I have to get going, Neen. It’s 8:45, and I’d like to get in to the office a little bit before the appointment.”

“I’m just going to have coffee and throw on some clothes, and I’ll be ready. Five minutes, tops!!” She poured herself a cup of coffee and dumped a heaping spoon of sugar in it. The coffee was hot and made her cough after the first gulp.

Doug watched her impatiently as she drank. He glanced around the apartment, which was a mess and frowned. “I guess I hoped you’d stay home today. Maybe…pick up a little.”

Nina ignored the comment, thumbing through the pile of mail that was on the kitchen table. “Whats this?”

Doug eyed it and sighed. “A bill for the new sump pump I had to install on the old house. I guess the basement flooded after Mrs. Petrochko moved out.”

“She moved out?” Nina looked up at him, squinting.

Doug shifted his weight. “Well, she was dying so her family put her into a rest home. So now I have to find another renter or sell it.” He took the bill out of her hand and put it in a drawer. “Let’s go, Nina. I have to go. Please.”

Nina was lost in thought, but shook it off. “I know.” She put the mug on the table and went back to her room to get dressed. Doug picked up the mug, rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher. He sat down at the table and raked his hands through his graying hair.

He didn’t want to find another tenant for the house- he really wanted his ex-wife to do it, since was close by and could handle it. But Paula wanted to sell the place, as if she needed money now. Doug barely had the money to pay his rent, much less pay to have repair done on his aging rental property.

Nina stumbled out of her abyss of a room in an old sundress and denim jacket. She was wearing worn motorcycle boots, and was stuffing things into an antique handbag. “See? I’m ready.”

“Let’s go.” Doug mumbled as he got up from the table and went to the front door. When he wasn’t looking, Nina yanked the cord on the answering machine.

His car was parked in the spot closest to their door- a rare occurrence, as the spot was usually taken, and he had to park on the street or halfway across the apartment complex. Nina opened the passenger side door or the mint green Ford Taurus and couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity for her dad. This car was a piece of shit, but the only thing he could afford. He’d had to sell his truck after losing his position and the divorce. He loved that truck. It was totally impractical to own a huge pick up truck in the San Francisco Bay area, but it was a status symbol. Now he drove a dented 1989 Taurus the color of an easter egg, and fought to park it safely in front of his run down Castro Valley apartment.

Once they were on their way, waiting their way through traffic lights, Nina was fiddling with a lose piece of plastic on car door. “Hey.”

“What?” Doug asked, putting on the turn indicator.

“How much is the rent?” Nina kept her eyes out the window.

“Seven Fifty, still.” He answered, clearing his throat and looking at her from the corner of his eye.

“Not this place, dad- the house.” Nina rolled her eyes and turned to him. “The house. How much do you have to get?”

Doug sat up straight in the drivers seat and jutted out his jaw to pop his ears or something. “At least seven fifty. More if I want to cover the car payment on this.” He thumped the dashboard.

Nina kept her eyes averted from him as he pulled into the transit station. She bit at her fingernails, though, she wasn’t really biting them off or anything, just sort of clicked her nails against her teeth. As the car stopped she coughed a bit and tapped her foot.

Doug looked straight out the windshield and drew in a ragged breath. “I can’t buy you plane tickets.”

“I know.” She was still turned to him but looking away.

“I don’t like it. I don’t want you living there.”

“I know.” She forced herself to look as his lined face and round, brown eyes. “I know.”

“Can we talk about it later?” He said, weakly. “I really can’t be late, Neen, please.”

“Sure.”

“Call me when you get back.”

“I’ll just walk home, don’t worry about picking me up.” Her voice was sweetened. He couldn’t help but see her mother in her smile- the same pink lips, the same red hair, the same blanket of freckles.

“As long as it’s not after dark. Or, at least call CeCe or something.” He was pulling out his wallet.

“I know.” She was opening the door.

“Here…Nina.” He held out a twenty to her.

“No! No, no. I’ve got money.”

“Just take it.”

She bit her lip and took it, stuffing it in her little tapestry handbag.

“Don’t let it fall out, Neen.” He said as she shut the door. She held up one hand as a “goodbye” and smiled. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of the church. She turned on the sidewalk and headed to the ticketing machine to buy her pass on the train to Union Square. From there she could catch MUNI buses to anywhere in the city, if she could remember which ones went where. It didn’t matter though, since she really just wanted to be there today-anywhere in the city, with the cold salt air and the crooked sidewalks and the people. She loved all the faces she passed and had stuffed a small sketchbook into her bag in case she got inspired to stop and render something or someone.

She was glad to be getting out, away from the apartment, away from the phone which was surely ringing right now. Nina leaned against a post as she waited for a train to come. That anxious nausea came back. She could picture the cordless ringing, ringing, ringing- her boss on the line, asking where she is. She can’t go back. Once they realize she forgot to drop off the bank deposit, which they would, since she’s pretty sure she left the huge stack of checks and cash on of the counter, they’d surely fire her anyway. She told them she didn’t want to deal with the money-just like she didn’t want do the imputing for the insurance claims. She’d gummed that up, too. She couldn’t face another firing for being a dingbat.

The train zoomed in with a great rush of wind that made Nina smile. It wasn’t crowded, and she took a seat that would in a few minutes be facing the Bay. Holding her bag on her lap, she couldn’t help but feel tremendous anticipation for her day.

What a mess.

Oy. I'm a messy freak of a person. I clean my house for someone to come over and then let it work up to a total disaster.

This is a life-long battle that I'm not sure I care about anymore. This house is easy to take care of and I no longer feel helpless amongst the piles like I used to.

That being said- I should like, fold the clothes and pick up a bit. It just doesn't come naturally to me. I did the things I HAD to do- like get clean water for the chickens and feeding them. Doing the same for the rabbit. Change the sheets, do the dishes. Eh. Am I done yet?

There are so many other things I could be doing like...reading! I'm reading Stardust by Neil Gaiman at the moment. I could be doing the enormous pencil drawing I've been dreaming up...something I REALLY should do. I could take a chapter of Blood Freckles and edit it.

Or I could just bake something and go on Facebook for a while. This is highly likely.

I kind of dig the piles. What a mess.

Nars Indian Red=lippy goodness.

Totally shameless ode to my favorite lipstick. Nars Indian Red rules.

Technically it's a stain, applied with a wand like gloss, but without the sticky goop-fest of gloss, which I tend to abhor.

Its such a heavenly red balanced between earth tones and cool tones. I'm all lipped up and no where to go.


Scarlet got in the fun.

PS.

I should also recommend Sayonara, the perfect pink.

PSS.

Other reds that tops my list are:

Kat Von D's Misfit, Korres Guava lipstick in Wine Red, and DuWop Private Red.

Put Ovaltine in your Coffee with cream.

Seriously. DO IT. Everyone else is. It will make a man out you.

I've been alternately washing clothes and obsessing over Grok Music and iTunes looking for new music to inspire me. I need a new soundtrack.

Last year, music became a fixation of about 7 songs. Everyday these songs played- imprinted on my psyche, annoying the crap out of anyone within listening distance. This had much to do with Blood Freckles, my...ahem...Novel. (so weird to say that....very presumptuous) I was forever feeling out these songs, squeezing every possible emotion out of every measure for words, descriptions, etc. I pretty much fleshed out my characters to these songs.

The songs, as I think I'd mentioned on Fruit of my Daydreams were these:

The Giant of Illinois- from Dark was the Night by Andrew Bird
Track 1- from "()", Sigur Ros
Your Protector- Fleet Foxes
Mimizan- Beirut
So Real- Jeff Buckley
Flightless Bird, American Mouth- Iron and Wine (which was ruined by Twilight but, still completely THE song for this story)

My ears cringe at these now from over-use, though I still love them. They will be forever applied to the scenes in my book.

I'm looking for who-knows-what, now. Just songs to lead me into the screenplay I want to write in April for Script Frenzy- aptly named, The Brightest of Wallflowers. It will be a story in which I dump all my bitterness and angst towards being a girl. Just for fun (bitterness and angst=fun). I'm not expecting it to be anything profound. I'm just looking for a good time in writing. The title came to me in a few different versions- The Best Wallflower, the Prettiest Wallflower, whatever. Obviously pertaining to my lifelong fear of being ignored- a fear that eeks into most of my art and daily thoughts.

I've purchased one album today- He Poos Clouds by Final Fantasy. Eclectic, surprisingly substantial musically (as though I'm qualified to judge). I have a list here of other things I want to purchase- Rachel Yamagata, Camera Obscura, and perhaps the new Harry Potter score.

I listen to film scores whilst writing fantasy and they lend towards my visions of battle, giant birds and super powers. My current favorite tracks for fantastical inspiration? Here- I'll let you into my utter nerdery (since you are my captive audience):

Shooting Star- from Stardust by Andy Brown, Ilan Eshkeri and the London Metropolitan Orchestra

Buckbeaks Flight- (which always manages to actually choke me up)from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by John Williams

The White Tree- Lord of the Ring:Return of the King, by Howard Shore

The White Rider-Lord of the Rings:Two Towers by Howard Shore (Gandalf riding off on Shadowfax....such wondrous stuff...)

Harry in Winter, and The Story Begins- Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, by Patrick Doyle

And not a film score but fantastical, though a tad overplayed thanks to freaking Guitar Hero:

Knights of Cydonia by Muse. That sound freaks my brain out in such good ways.

Ah...Ovaltine in my Peets Coffee, nerdy music, fake lives, and laundry. What a day!!! Now if only I could draw something brilliant....

Running and writing

Whereas yesterday was about singing and the wonders of well-fitting garment, today my brain turns to fitness and world-building.

Do they go together? Not overtly, but I do aquire a good amount of ideas while I'm jogging along. Especially if my iPod is playing something inspiring. Today, I can't find my iPod (no shock to anyone who actually knows me), and yet my brain was just cranking out little plot points and details and character aspects. I'm building what will probably be this Novembers NaNoWrimo novel.

Those of you who may have read my writing blog know that last year I re-wrote the re-write of a story I've been working on for YEARS, now. And I'm not done. It needs much more re-doing. I pretty much have 3 stories in my head and have never really written anything but these three stories in various incarnations- either screenplay or novel.

This story I'm working on now is what I refer to as my fantasy story. I think one the last posts on my writing blog contained a random excerpt of my new idea. This is the story that has evolve from very juvenile daydreams, to totally lame Star Trek fan-fiction (I'm not joking...) to a sparsely supported short story and now hopefully it's blossoming into a real epic fantasy. Epic is a tough word for me to swallow- I am the last person who should be allowed to apply that to my writing. But it's the genre I dream of being placed in, and I dream BIG. So, bite me.

Sometimes its the strangest things that give you the material to flesh out a plot. In this case it was that Philippa Gregory book, The Other Boleyn Girl. I am just horrified and fascinated at the abuse of power in the Royal family. And thus, I've found an enviroment that creates enough conflict and dynamics to fill in the lame aspects of my story. It won't be England, possibly not even Earth- but there will be royalty, a court, and a festering problem of pride and ambition threatening all involved.

These are the things that occupy my brain. Not groceries or current events. I'm making up a planet. What are YOU doing?

Ha! That was arrogant. I couldn't resist. It makes me feel less guilty about my piling laundry and my utter lack of regard for current events.

Did I mention I ran today? It was the first time since Matt and I ran California International Marathon. (I was finisher #5612...5 hours, 39 minutes) I had to wait so long to run again because I killed my leg in the race and could barely walk afterward. It felt good to get out there again. And I was starting to wig out and get crazy when I'd see someone else jogging. Yeah, I'm one of THOSE people. In my case, the running madness is hereditary. So, I can't help it just like I can't help but be drawn to Macy's red tag sales or prevent myself from sitting with my hand on my cheek like Grandma used to.

Perma-clothes and other brilliant thoughts.

Whats Perma-clothes? Well, its the clothes you'd wear if you could only wear one outfit the rest of your life.

This Christmas I bought a few things that go on the list. I usually thrift 90% of my wardrobe- but you can't do that without a good base of wonderful things that could get you through the year. Christmas money rocks for this reason. I go straight to the best establishments and buy WELL. Try things on, don't settle for anything that even MIGHT be uncomfortable or wash crappily. Buy good things you can't live without. This is any easy task for me, though, as I inspected and window shop all year round. I also read every review of everything in the world before I buy. I hate wasting my money. HATE IT. And I don't worry about sales- I buy what I need with the amount I have. It pretty much burns a hole in my pocket- but I've never regretted these purchases. I have extraordinary shopping wisdom. Feel free to bow to my superior retail talent.

Ok, enough self-congratulatory bull-malarkey:

Number one is this Lucky hoodie:

Let me say one thing. I DON'T wear "hoodies". Thats never, ever been me. I don't really wear sweatshirts or athletic-style clothing unless it's my running tights and top. But, I couldn't deny my attraction to this. It was expensive, and fit perfect- snug all around and not the least bit dowdy. And the origami flower print? Wonderful!! There is not a color that this jacket doesn't have. I've worn it almost everyday since I got it.

Number two is my new BOC by Born boots:
(notice the mud? I live a real life with my feet in the earth...)

I wanted motorcycle boots again, but, I couldn't pass these up for comfort alone. These are as good as UGGs or slippers or even being barefoot. One night, I almost got into bed with them on. And I'm not a shoes-in-the-house person- I get those suckers off ASAP. But these are awesome.

Number three is my Yellow Gap corduroys:


I wanted corduroys- but I struggle to find ones that fit without muffin-topping me. Luckily, the Gap came through, as it often does for me. I'm sort of shaped like a 2 by 4. Wait...more like a tree or a telephone pole- sort of straight-sided and yet not flat bellied. No real discern-able bumps or gender-specific features. Kind of a squishy ten-year old? Ok...you get the picture. ANYWAY, I saw that the Gap had stretch cords, and was thrilled to put them on and see that they were stretch, yet, didn't walk off me when I walk. And I got yellow because I'm so shy and like to blend in. HA!

Thats all that qualifies right now. I'm also generally not too far from my thrifted Denim jacket or some sort of striped shirt.

So, anyway. Today I got to go sing with my friends who are in an Emmylou Harris tribute band. I have some parts in some of their songs, so I got to sit and croon for a few hours, which, as those of you that know me understand, usually leaves me walking on air.

I have such a weird relationship with singing. I think I've figured out I can only handle it as long as I'm not singing alone. Singing alone, however much I wish I could, causes a reaction in me akin to the apocalypse. Lot's of outrageous paranoia, tremendous crippling fear and a terrible massive exodus of my internal organs. I can' handle the pressure. Too much at stake to think I could fail (which I have, many, many times, by the way). And if I fail- it means I'm no good.

But I'm pretty excellent at harmonizing and backing people up, and it brings me an astounding amount of joy, so I'll stick with that until I mature enough to sing alone. (which could be never)

Book Review: The Other Boleyn Girl

This was a book I bought along time ago when I saw they were making a movie of it. I decided I wasn't going to watch ANY movie without reading the book first.

(of course, I've broken this rule many times...)

Anyway. If you like romance, fancy dresses, catty girls and royal Courtiers--this is the book for you. I didn't think I liked books about the Tudors, but apparently, I do.

This follows the story of the lesser known sister of the awful Anne Boleyn- who stole the throne from the good Queen Katherine and ended up in ruin herself. (oops? was that a spoiler- it IS historical fiction, and you might remember a certain be-heading...)

Mary is the sweeter of the two Boleyn sister, but ends up being played in a game for power by her despicable family. This story shows Marys rise to fame in the Court in the 1500's, under King Henry, and her eventual fall in favor of her sharp-witted, acid-tongued sister, Anne.

There is plenty of spice in this story- more than enough for a daytime soap-opera, actually. I like the characters, good or bad, my interest was held throughout the story without a single bout of boredom.

Now I must read more of Phillipa Gregory's books....

Poison Oak Expert.

Can you find the Poison Oak in this picture?

Because I couldn't.

We went backpacking last week at Point Reyes. It was a cold, rainy few days full of beach-combing, beef jerky, and unfortunately, poison oak exposure.

Many of ou family outings result in this calamity. We live at about 3500 ft. and we are thankfully above were poison oak is most rampant, but generally- the California foothills are completely infested with it.

As a kid in New Jersey, I got Poison Ivy a lot, as I tended to stray into the woods whenever I got a chance. Weeping red rashes are no new thing to me.

I tend to think I have the sense and the immune system to beat almost anything. So, I never really avoided poison oak as an adult. I'd get it from time to time, but once we started Geocaching, we started getting more and more of it. I've learned some important things about this awful plant and the condition it causes.

1. You cannot build a resistance to it. In fact, the more you are exposed, the worse your reaction get throughout your life. This is one of the cruelest facts I've ever learned. I mean, really? There's nothing you can do? The resounding factual response I've heard from doctors, forestry specialists and other quasi-experts is...no.

2. I like to think building my immune response against things will save me. In this case- it won't- in fact, avoid anything that might increase your immune response. I found this out the hard way. I got poison oak, and then developed a sore throat. I did my normal garlic-eating, vitamin c-chomping, and Echinacea tea ritual to ward off a cold. The next morning, I was COVERED in even MORE Poison Oak. I hadn't been re-exposed. The rash grows in these conditions- if your immune system goes nuts trying to fight something, it fights the poison oak in the form of a rash along with it. Curiously, I've found that I actually get a sore throat when I get even a little bit of poison oak. Coincidence?

3. Don't waste money on stupid things like Cortisone creams. In my opinion, its all crap. Nothing works except things that dry and sting. I like the sting- its the only that cuts through this nasty stuff. Vinegar, Alcohol, heck, even lemon juice, and gives that good burn- but I don't really recommend those. We use Peppermint oil or Tea Tree Oil. Both are natural and totally beneficial. We buy Bentonite Clay masks from a health food store, make it up with water and peppermint oil, slather it on the rash and let it dry. It cools, stings a bit and then dry up the nasty ooze that's inevitable with Poison Oak. Tea Tree oil comes in roller applicators, the cheapest of which can be bought at Trader Joes. This is EXCELLENT for this rash. Keep it handy and use at will.

4. You're not safe in the Winter. In fact, as far as the Maszczak family is concerned- Winter is the WORST. I don't know why.

I promise to post on more interesting things tomorrow. Poison Oak has pretty much dominated my weekend, with my husband and two of the kids completely covered in it. Nothing like poison oak on a child's eyelids to put your life in perspective.

Oh well- the view was beautiful and we had fun, like we always do.