The Storybook Girl

In my dreams . . .

2011-01-13T11:36:00.002-06:00

I meet with my friends in an enormous loft whose main purpose seems to be costume and fabric storage to watch a reading of their TV pilot in which my friend (and Girlpocalyptic co-conspirator) Laura plays a male British soldier with some serious PTSD. I might get to write an episode for the series if the show gets picked up, but I'm worried that I don't know enough about British culture or world politics to pull off this kind of humor.

The funder is an old but stylin' lady, kind of like the talent agent I assisted in LA, and she tells me her secret is that she never eats chicken or dairy or grains. She lives off of legumes. She invites me to pick up a script in a grown-up trapper keeper, but the trapper keeper is full, not of script, but of 200 dollar bills!!! I give them back because I'm honest like that.

I'm enjoying the buffet, munching on some bulbous frozen fruit that is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted (did I mention it is now Deep Winter where I live?) when we get a phone call warning us that renegades are coming to raid the fabric loft!

We run! But as soon as we get outside, it's clear there's something in the air that turns everyone into renegades . . . some are after blood vengeance, some have delusions of persecution, some are forming really cool street gangs.

From this point on, the dream's a dystopian melange of guillotines, apartheid, forgotten children, suicide clothed in martyrdom, Escher-like stairways that fold in on themselves . . .

The survivors gather -- where else? -- in a shopping mall, where we loot for more rugged clothing. As is so often the case in dystopia, the strongest leader is not always the best or the brightest. In this case, he's a charismatic figurehead who looks like Justin Bieber, and he's backed by a ruthless general who's more interested in sadism than survival.

Macaulay Culkin dresses up like a marionette and does a dance in support of the new President.

I try to avoid getting chosen for brainwashing and employment in the killing squads.

Good morning.

Things I Loved about 2010:

2011-01-04T22:53:00.008-06:00

Joining a gym -- best choice of the year!

Seeing Barrel of Monkeys pick up some new funding in a rough economy.

Seeing myself pick up some new funding in a rough economy -- mostly in the form of . . .

GIGS! My very favorite new gig is one where I pretend to be an emergency room patient. Usually there's a mannequin, and I'm either the mom of the sick mannequin or the roommate of the sick mannequin, or the voice of the sick mannequin, and real, live doctors have to go along with it and pretend I'm real! Amazing.

The Olympics! I wish they could be every year.

Girlfriends.

My meditation kick.

Teaching with Monkeys at Loyola Park, Columbia Explorers, Avondale, Lorca, Dixon, Kohn, Paderewski, and Chalmers.

Battlestar Gallactica. I watched the whole series this year, and I'm sorry it's behind me.

The Wire. Finished this year. Ditto.

Making a dystopian action flick with 7-9 year-olds.

Visiting the VCFA family for the Alumni Mini-Residency.

Playing Bibi in The Apple at the Neo Film Fest.

Playing Magic Star, the urine-colored My Little Pony at the Neo Film Fest.

Doing enough goofy performances in one summer to warrant a PRODUCE TRIPTYCH!

(Performance pics by Evan Hanover)

Studying Spanish at Digame.

Sharing Girlpocalypse with Laura.

Finishing a new draft of my novel -- one that is feeling like a real, live book!

Going to my reunion and feeling like things have moved in a net positive direction this decade.

RED HAIR!!! I still love it. I don't care if the children give me funny looks! It makes me happy.

Meeting a handsome stranger on my birthday and making him less of a stranger.

My sweet, funny dog Parker. She died in November. I haven't brought myself to blog about it -- just this much is making me cry. But 2010 was her last, great year.

Spending Christmas in a beautiful place with my rockstar family.

(Pic by my rockstar Dad)

Beautiful glooms

2010-12-24T10:39:00.009-06:00

I'm spending Christmas in a beautiful (and warm) place, and maybe that's what it takes to get me to blog these days.

Thanks to the generosity of mine uncle, my family is staying at the Cloister at Sea Island, which is both a "five star resort" and an "ultimate spa escape."

Karl Rove is reported to have slept in the master bedroom where my parents are now staying. So far, they're not acting any differently, so I guess it's okay.

We crossed the bridge named for my ancestor, Sidney Lanier, who wrote:

Of the dim sweet woods, of the dear dark woods,
Of the heavenly woods and glades,
That run to the radiant marginal sand-beach within
The wide sea-marshes of Glynn

He looks quite a bit like my dad.

We went horseback riding on the beach first thing yesterday morning.

My horse's name was Talladega, and he wanted to eat the marshes of Glynn.

Hopefully the tide washed away Talladega's poo (nitrogenous waste, Dad reminded us), because my sis and I are going for a walk on the beach. And then we're going to check out the spa.

I'm only mildly afraid that they won't let us in . . .

Grind

2010-10-20T23:36:00.003-05:00

I grind my teeth. That's not a total revelation, just lately confirmed by my dentist. "A lot of people in this country grind," said the hygienist.

They offered to make me a guard. But what I really want is to stop grinding my teeth.

The prescription for that is leaving the country.

Dancing

2010-10-08T23:10:00.006-05:00

Remember that annoying plea I made to get you to join Chase Community Giving on Facebook and vote for Barrel of Monkeys? Well, it worked. It and lots of other pleas. So thanks!

We've known for a while that we were one of the 200 companies that got enough votes to win a $20,000 grant.

What we just found out is that of all the nonprofits to receive at least one vote in that competition, we were one of 17 chosen by an advisory board to receive an additional $30,000.

17. Nationwide. Chosen not by popularity or hustling ability but by worthiness.

That means more money for our work with CPS, more men in wigs, and more silly dances.

Pic from Celebration of Authors by Dean Ponce.

How I Spent My Summer, Part the Second

2010-10-01T15:22:00.003-05:00

I got distracted from this blog by another blog.

Laura Grey is to blame. Laura Grey of The Laura on Laura Comeback Tour:

Those Lauras, they're funny, y'all.

Anyway, the new blog is called Girlpocalypse, and it's about "The trials and tribulations of a Lincoln Park Trixie surviving the Apocalypse."

It allows me to combine my love of dystopian futures and horrifying disaster scenarios with funny.

Girlpocalypse may be inappropriate for younger or more sensitive readers. I can't quite bring myself to type that with total seriousness because I doubt that a lot of this blog's readers are super-sensitive eight-year-olds, but you know, there's like, cursing and pictures of skeletons having sex. Fair warning.

For Mom on her something-somethingth birthday

2010-09-21T23:01:00.007-05:00

As I approach my Jesus year, I thought
I'd dye my hair Deep Copper
On Facebook I called it My So-Called Life Moment
Which you, Mom, didn't get.
Well, here's the moment:

Angela's color is Crimson Glow
Mine's supposed to be Deep Copper,
And Mom, because I know you'll ask
That's Claire Danes at fifteen or so

So why did it take me so long?

There was no point in rebelling against you
You wouldn't have cried, like her mother did
You would have said, "Express yourself,
If that's what makes you happy,"
and not in a snotty way.

You were better than that Mom in the Target commercial
with the improbably cute triplets
You never would have made me color code

And now my hair goes with my dinner
Rainbow chard, toasted millet pilaf, and pan-seared
summer squash
You taught me to cook like this
Even if you never really taught me how

So what am I rebelling against?
Maybe I'm having a third-life crisis or maybe I'm
catching myself creeping boring
Probably I'm attention-seeking
Definitely I'm experimenting
But mostly I think I just felt like it

Maybe there's power in doing that thing you just feel like doing
I mean, maybe my hair really has been holding me back

Because you asked for a picture
And because it's your birthday,
I will post these here
Even though they don't quite catch
the iridescent-ness of my new head

It's hard to get the color right in the kitchen at night by myself when I just got back from the gym and don't want to show too much of my sweaty face

The color's redder than it looks here
More ~~radioactive~~ "fashion forward"

How I Spent My Summer, Part the First

2010-09-17T18:42:00.005-05:00

This has become the saddest blog. I know.

Instead of a big update, I'm going to do several little ones to catch myself up, and maybe I'll leave some things out entirely, because the present is what it's all about.

But because it was a packed and positive summer, I'll try to hit some of the highlights . . .

I worked at a summer program in Wilmette during July, helping 3rd-5th graders create both a short film and a short play. They had two weeks total to create the film, and they shot it in two days. The result was a dystopian action flick in which a child becomes governor of California, and I'm so proud of them!

And here's more about the program, with some shots of me teaching. In one shot I believe I may or may not be crawling on the floor like a jungle cat. Yes!

Gigging

2010-08-17T22:47:00.005-05:00

So, I've been having a nice conversation in the comments on the last post. And I keep meaning to write something more about ladies in movies, but maybe I won't get around to it. Maybe I'll just post this awesome vid about the Bechdel Test and leave it at that . . .

I also keep meaning to do a giant catchup post with links about my weird new blog and my summer program and pictures of me wearing silly costumes and acting with two different types of produce -- as Evan says, one more makes a triptych! That will come, soon.

For now, though, I'll just say that I've been making a conscious effort to pursue a more sustainable way of earning a living while pushing myself to get my novel in shape to send out, and the coolest things keep happening.

They are little things . . . unexpected gigs, fortuitous conversations, but they add up to make me feel like I'm being supported in my efforts, like the universe is saying, "Oh, you're trying? Well, let me help you out." That doesn't always happen when we try, I know, so I feel lucky, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the support continues.

Some of that support has come from family and friends, so thank you! And let it be known that I am "gigging" as the rockstars say and looking for flexible work that pays well by the hour. Dirty jokes need not apply.

Thank you for calling me out

2010-08-07T13:02:00.004-05:00

Last night, I went to see Salt, a super fun action movie about Angelina Jolie kicking butt. And my friend pointed out that one of the coolest things about it is that she doesn't show any skin -- less than a male action hero would usually show. For a lot of the movie, she looks completely androgynous, and not in a sexy way. (Can't find any screen shots of her dressed that way to support my point -- no big surprise.)

The only time she shows her body is when she's covered in blood and being tortured, which is shot mostly at a distance and in low light -- it makes her vulnerable, and it's disturbing as it should be. There's no sense of the camera fetishizing her body -- contrast that with Daniel Craig's naked torture scene in his first Bond movie.

Then there's all this talk about how the role was originally written for a man, and kudos to Jolie for scooping up a script she liked. But when the guy next to me in the theater turned to his girlfriend and told her that fact, there was this glee in his voice, a kind of marvel . . . he was excited to be at an action movie starring a hot woman AND he got the added bonus of knowing that the story was fit for a man.

Hmmm.

And then, upon leaving the theater, my friend and I are joking about how empowered we feel and how we're going to use all our new spy moves to beat up guys, and we see this giant ad for Eat, Pray, Love, and I've never read the book, but my immediate reaction is contempt. My friend called me out. She'd had the same knee-jerk contemptuous reaction, and someone showed her Melissa Silverstein's post on Women and Hollywood with the same title as Entertainment Weekly's interview with Elizabeth Gilbert: If Women Like It, It Must Be Stupid.

And I felt mad with myself -- not for failing to be excited about that movie. That movie's not made for me and my friend. Neither one of us is going to get super excited about a rich lady's spiritual holiday starring Julia Roberts -- although I've got friends who love that book, and I should maybe read it and see why.

I felt mad with myself because I had that built-in reaction that because this movie's popular with women, it deserves my contempt -- that it deserves it more than a similarly pop-hit movie starring oh-how-bout Hugh Grant? About a Boy is the story of a rich man on a journey of self-discovery. That book is loved by both men and women and is not hyper-literary, but there's not really a male equivalent to "chick lit," is there? And so it's popular fiction.

So where does this contempt come from? There's the widespread contempt for stories that fall into the "chick" category. But part of my contempt comes from something else that Silverstein's blog post touches on . . . for a movie about a woman to get made, it needs the built-in audience of an Eat, Pray, Love and a Julia Roberts. And so, part of my contempt comes from the fact that I don't see myself in the story of this woman, and yet, this is one of the few stories about women offered. I'm mad at it because it has to represent all women, and that's not a fair burden to place on any movie.

Two of my favorite movies are Garden State and Rushmore. I'd like to see more small, quirky movies starring women, and I don't doubt the stories are out there, but it's even harder for them to get made, and when they do get made they're almost always deemed "chick flicks." The lady characters in the man-movies aren't enough. I do like Olivia Williams' character in Rushmore -- she has some complexity and a larger share in the story than a lot of love objects get, but I don't love her or get her point of view the way I do with the guys. The teen girl in Rushmore has it all figured out, and Natalie Portman's just a manic pixie dream girl.

I have friends who fell all over themselves for 500 Days of Summer, and that one just makes me so angry. Zooey Deschanel's character is a mess. She works as an assistant in this retro-styled company in a much crappier job than what's-his-face's and yet, she gets to be the guiding light who tells him to follow his purpose? Her purpose is apparently getting married to someone hotter than him, making origami, and wearing lots of Anthropologie.

I'm not sure what the answer is -- it's not rushing out to see Eat, Pray, Love. And it's not forcing boyfriends to sit through it as the end of Silverstein's post seems to suggest -- yes, as one of my male friends pointed out, she gets a little ranty.

Recognizing and fighting the bias though, I think that is part of the answer. So, thank you, my friend, for calling me out on mine. I will try to pass it along.

It's been too long

2010-08-03T00:28:00.002-05:00

I know.

There are things to share. I'll share them when it's not so late.

But the only thing on my mind tonight is that I just gave my apartment a deep cleaning. The hands are raw, the back is tired, and I feel pretty great about it. It's good to take care of my space, and myself, and all those good things. I should do more of that.

End of Time

2010-07-11T21:54:00.005-05:00

I keep hearing the words "END OF TIME." Not "endtimes." "End of time" itself.

I saw an article about time disappearing from the universe. Listened to a podcast about Mayans and 2012, and another about Haiti being the harbinger of decline.

And the oil spill. I have trouble even thinking about the oil spill.

Tomorrow I start a summer job helping a group of 3rd-5th graders make a movie and a play about, what? You guessed it. The end of the world -- or to be a bit more positive, about starting a new world after the old one is gone.

2012 hasn't been in my consciousness, and it's not something I worry about, but I'm curious about the cultural impact it may or may not have over the next year and a half. Y2K was interesting, and it's kind of cool that we have these two big dates so close to each other. The fact that they matter to a good number of people makes them mean something, whether we think they "mean" something or not.

And I'm full of energy, not because I think the world is coming to an end, but maybe because it isn't. I mean, it is all the time, but right this minute, I'm here, and doing interesting and energetic things. It's a good time to be in the world.

Tonight was a good night to put together the Ikea bookcase that's been sitting in pieces in my bedroom for a number of months now. This morning it was lumber. Tonight it's furniture. Why did I wait so long to put it together?

Kids Don't Vote

2010-07-05T12:30:00.002-05:00

That's my favorite line in the series The Wire, suggesting basically that education gets shafted because "kids don't vote."

So we have to vote for them. My theater company Barrel of Monkeys teaches writing workshops in Chicago Public Schools and performs student writing, building self-esteem and enthusiasm for language arts. And we have a chance to win a grant from Chase Community Giving.

Yes, this is an extended ad for Chase, and yes, it's a lot of jumping through hoops, but the money would make a real difference to BOM's budget, especially in the coming year when so many schools are being forced to cut outside programming.

So search for Chase Community Giving on Facebook and give us a vote. Or use this link: http://apps.facebook.com/chasecommunitygiving/charities/364283300-barrel-of-monkeys-production

I wouldn't be posting this at all, but we're slipping on the leaderboard, and to win money we need to stay in the top 200. Thank you, thank you!

My personal Blair Witch Project

2010-06-30T16:46:00.010-05:00

I promised photo evidence of my trek with Laura into the woods on the block where we grew up. It's a nice woodsy neighborhood, lots of hills, and a garden club so people take pride in their lawns.

And in the middle of the block, it's all thick, humid, poison-ivy-tangled, mosquito-breeding, honey-suckle-sucking, Deep South woods.

We tromped around for a long time without finding my graveyard. Dad had some memory of where it was, but it was deeper back than he thought, and we were pouring with sweat and about to give up when I noticed something catching light.

See, when Katie and I found the graveyard, we found a trash heap first. What I'd seen was a section of forest littered with broken glass and other treasures.

Who knows what "Trend" is. Searching for a product named "Trend" on the internet is a losing battle.

But here's where things get creepy. A few yards away from the junkyard, we started to see markers. There are maybe thirty scattered in the underbrush.

Most of them are just rough stones, but a few have simple markings.

Okay, so maybe it's a pet graveyard . . . for someone with a lot of pets? But no, because there are a few real headstones.

Lucinda Ambrose, Born Nov. 22, 1881, Died May 18, 1923, Ambrose Chamber-4849, Stiratt, W. VA.

Louis Ambrose, Died Dec. 29, 1920, Ambrose Chamber-48??, Stirrat, W. VA

And a baby . . . DMCA Dory, June 15, 1956-June 19, 1956

There's another carved stone so buried it can hardly be seen, and the ones that really get to me . . . in the sunken grave. Here's Laura standing beside it.

There are two stones, one granite (a large slab with a thinner slab for the marker) and one pinkish marble (upper right corner), both tilted downward so they can't be read and covered over with fallen branches.

Not creepy enough yet? Am I disappointing you? Well, how about this rusted shovel sticking up out of the ground beside the sunken grave, because to me that is simply creeptastic.

How many unmarked graves can you find in this picture?

Ghosts ghosts ghosts

2010-06-20T23:49:00.006-05:00

I have graveyard pictures. I'll post them.

But this weekend was all about ghosts. And weddings. They do go together. If I have to explain that, you're either very young or very lucky.

Some of the ghosts aren't mine -- they're loved ones who aren't here. That part makes me cry.

Some of the ghosts never lived, so they're jealous. They tease.

Some of them aren't sad. They lived, but a long time ago, and they stand by their new selves and trade jokes. They laugh, and it's fun to laugh with them.

Some hold up mirrors that cover their faces. They say, "Uh oh! You're a ghost too."

My memories and the things I remember are not the same thing.

Not all ghosts have names or faces or fingers. They're tricky like that. Some of these ghosts are shared. They come back to life in a circle of friends around a cooler and a candle. We make them dance.

Ghosts in the graveyard

2010-06-17T02:11:00.004-05:00

I've been in Birmingham with my family for a week. Before I leave tomorrow I want to visit the "Indian graveyard" that's deep in the woods in the middle of the block. My childhood friend Katie and I found the abandoned graves while hunting for a better "hideout" -- one safe from her brother and the other sometimes attractive but always irritating boys on our block. When we were nice we played "Ghosts in the Graveyard" and "Kill the Man with the Ball" with those boys. When we were not nice, we set up booby traps for them with yard tools and sinkholes.

When Katie and I found the graveyard, we figured it was a secret or haunted or both, an eighties horror movie starring us. We made rubbings of the graves and took treasures (vintage soda bottles) from the decades-old junkheap nearby. We couldn't resist telling the boys, and Alan Picknose had the gall to lay down in a sunken grave so he could pop up and scare everyone.

My sister Laura calls it an "Indian graveyard" because that's how she remembers it. In my memory, the graves belonged to Victorians, or cowboys, somebody from the late 19th century . . .

Probably the graves aren't as old as all that, but I plan to find out tomorrow.

Nice and Mean!

2010-06-08T12:42:00.005-05:00

At VCFA, I had the pleasure of rooming with the amazing Jessica Leader. We stayed up late rehashing busy residency days; we co-conspirited about Super Secret Society shenanigans and party decor. When the inevitable winter plague hit our dorm room, we got giddy and co-wrote a picture book about dying of consumption.

And sometimes, I left Jess in peace so she could work on revisions of her debut novel Nice and Mean.

It releases today, and I'm so excited for her . . . and excited to read the whole thing. Jess is an expert at capturing middle-grade girls in all their quirky, between-things interpersonal drama. It's my favorite age group to work with, and Jess gets what makes middle-grade so fun and fascinating.

Happy Release Day, Jess!

The News

2010-05-25T15:16:00.004-05:00

1) My theater company got reviewed by a five-year-old!

I think all ages would like this play. You could just cover the little kids’ eyes at “Destroyer.” Grownups would like the play because grownups like funny. I think people would like it because it is very good and the acting is good and everything about it is thrilling. I think Barrel of Monkeys want to make everybody happy who comes to see the show. I think they think the kids who write the stories are smart and cool.

And she liked it (except for audience fave "Kool Yum") but Ada, that one's been in for like a year, and girl, I am over it too!

2) I was seeing this guy about once, maybe twice a week. I started to think maybe he was my boyfriend. This went on for a couple of months. But it turns out, he wasn't my boyfriend. He was my very patient and determined optometrist. And I've got contacts that allow me to see well without crossing my eyes for the first time in maybe ever!

3) I'm working with some Monkey friends to bring this hot mess to the stage in July, one night only:

4) Last night I walked Parker two miles to the Edgewater to sit on the patio for an hour, and then back, and that's because summer is magic!

5) Five or six years ago in an optimistic moment I bought some pants that didn't quite fit, but they almost fit, and it was summer, and I'd be losing weight, so I bought them, and they never fit. They got farther and farther away from fitting, and I don't know why I even kept them, except that they were so nice and I felt so stupid and guilty for buying them. But I wore them yesterday. And they fit. And I love them! . . . I'm annoyed at my lack of writing progress this week, at my constant messiness, at a number of wasted moments and social gaffes, but none of that can squish down my giddiness that I'm the healthiest I've been in YEARS.

Impermanence

2010-05-15T21:15:00.006-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about impermanence. Part of it is from reading Pema Chodron. And part of it is being human. Chodron says to recognize it in everything, to acknowledge it when we see it, get used to it, make friends with it. I'm paraphrasing, but you can read it here.

So I finish eating that really nummy meal, one last bite -- impermanence. A jerkface runs into my car and takes the side mirror off (that was last week) -- impermanence. I say goodbye to a child I taught with no clue whether I'll see her again -- impermanence. I meet someone new -- impermanence. I'm rocking my adoptive niece to sleep and noticing how long she's grown -- impermanence. My dog, my best friend Parker, is going to die one day. I think about that one a lot.

I sobbed when I first met her thinking about that. I was depressed at the time. I don't think it was wrong to feel the sadness of anticipating her loss just when I'd gained her, but it was overwhelming sadness, sadness that kept me from being in the moment and appreciating the feel of her tiny, tiny body in my lap. There are always two sides, and I could only see the sad side then.

And I think about how much of my life I spent terrified of change. Well, things change, and I'm trying to let them.

I didn't know Guy Adkins personally, but he was in a couple of productions that affected me greatly, including one of my top ten theater experiences of all time, The Time of Your Life at Steppenwolf.

That's him dancing.

That play changed my life. I sat next to my best friend, my creative partner I'd been missing, who was only in town for a night or two, and Jeff Perry looked me in the eye and said something that pierced me to my core, and something broke apart in me, and things came back together a little bit sweeter, bittersweet maybe, like Pema says, but better.

Recently I had that dream of cancer, in which I had all the terrible conversations, said goodbye over and over. A good friend of mine had a really similar dream just a couple of weeks ago. Maybe we're the right age for dreaming of cancer, but all that scary stuff really happened to Guy. I spent a lot of time yesterday reading his blog Notes from a Candyman about his time with cancer. It's gut-wrenching, but also hopeful and so, so generous. I'm sending love to all my friends who knew him well and to his loved ones who must be missing him but so proud of him too.

"So I forgot my troubles and just got happy. Try it. I mean really try ... I still think this life we have is a gift and we have to try to be happy. I don't know if it's a right or a privilege, an accident or a figment of our imaginations. It's something everyone wants so much. It's everything, Happiness. And I really have it. At least it seems like I do. If I'm deluded, don't tell me." -- Guy Adkins

“In the time of your life, live - so that in that wondrous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite variety and mystery of it.” -- William Saroyan

"Our fundamental situation is joyful." -- Pema Chodron

Last night I woke up kicking

2010-05-10T22:28:00.003-05:00

. . . and terrified, dreaming about some new monsters, something like vampire demons. The younger one was a friend, turned. I knew I could take her. The other one had some ancient, evil mojo that I couldn't fight. I kept locking the door, but she had a key.

The nightmare itself was cool. The gasping, violent kicking at my mattress, not so much.

But when I woke in the morning, I wrote like crazy. I felt like something hard got pushed out of the way -- not from the dream so much as from the work I did last week. I hope it stays like this all through the draft, that I finish it quick.

Brontesaurus!

2010-05-08T14:25:00.000-05:00

Oh, how I love . . .

Thank you, Tai.

Sleepwriting

2010-05-07T09:21:00.002-05:00

I am proud of myself this morning. It was hard, so hard, to wake up and write when my alarm went off. People are always saying, "you have to want it more than sleep," and that worries me because often there is nothing I want more than sleep.

Allergies, the crazy-shifting temperatures, the rain, mid-week shows that I promised to see, sore muscles from cardio dance class, the children with their intermittent rage and their spring fever . . . all conspire against me.

But I passed up a video game party last night to get rest. I set my alarm, and I planned to write, and if I don't finish this draft soon, I might lose it.

The biggest thing working against me this morning was that I really, really didn't want to even look at the scene I've been stuck on . . . it's important -- it keeps coming back in different versions, refusing to die -- but I've been having trouble wrapping my head around why it's there and how to end it.

And this morning I wrote the end of the scene. I figured something out while I was writing, something that makes me happy at least for today, and I wrote the stupid scene, and I'm excited to work on the next one.

Tango, Swing, Ghost Tap Dance

2010-04-29T00:04:00.005-05:00

I'm ashamed at my blogging delinquency.

All is well.

Well, except for my apartment. It's a mess.

But today is a good example of how my days are going (this week anyway):

8am -- writing
10am -- rehearsal
1pm -- teacher meeting
3pm -- nap, assorted chores
7:30pm -- cardio dance class!
9:30pm -- leftover Heartland macro plate and Season 3 of Weeds

Sometime in there I wiggled like I had a chair stuck to my booty, sang with a zombie, learned some West Coast Swing, heard a Radio Lab podcast on numbers, read about Edwardian love triangles, talked with my dad about the deplorable behavior of a certain ladies' clothing website*, and walked my dog beside the lake under the moon.

* So, Boden has this nifty "style guide" for dressing in your 20's, 30's, 40's and so on. I dare you to click on the 30's section and not be annoyed that it's ALL about pregnant ladies. Because apparently ladies in their 30's do nothing but breed. I mean, make a style guide for the pregnant ladies, delightful, but don't let the babies hijack an entire decade!

More weird things I do

2010-04-18T13:22:00.002-05:00

Remember when I was Mary Poppins? I took pictures!

It was an exhausting day but really fun. We got kids up to dance and sing into the microphone throughout the movie -- kind of like The Rocky Horror Picture Show for kiddies. Afterwards, kids swarmed us for pictures like we were at Disney, and I'm pretty sure the four-year-olds thought we walked out of the screen. They stared at me in that awed way kids do when they're not sure you're real.

I'm never sure I'm real, so we have that in common.

I'm almost fashionable!

2010-04-18T12:34:00.003-05:00

"How is your book?" you ask.

"How's the writing going?" you ask.

Wouldn't you rather know the things I do when I'm not writing, like enter contests on fashion blogs?

I'd rather talk about those things.

I made it to the top five in Delightfully Tacky's contest to use Polyvore to style a Dynamite Dress with items from Modcloth. I'm new to Polvore and Modcloth and fashion blogs, and I love them all!

My entry is on the top left.

Rites of Spring by fallgirl on Polyvore.com

I call it "Rites of Spring" because it's layered for crazy Chicago weather, and the antler necklace makes me think of rutting.

Among my friends, I am not known as "fashion forward," or even "fashion-able." Geoff regularly berates me for the time I wore my mom's discarded super-white uber-practical Wilson tennis shoes to the Monkey retreat. I still say: Retreat! Messy activities! Free shoes!

So, I'm elated to have this teensy bit of affirmation, even if it does come from a blog called "Delightfully TACKY!"