That I did anyway:
- Learn how to export a Quicktime, 30 fps, 640x360, MP4 without sound from iMovie.
- Figure out how to generate jpeg stills from aforementioned video clip.
- Start writing a play set in ancient Japan.
- Break out my dreamy Townsend to cut five billion (seriously) wool wormies.
- Cook green and yellow wool.
- Color plan the foreground of my rug.
- Upload artistic nudes to iStockphoto.
- Draw a suicidal snowman with Adobe Illustrator.
I first started thinking about tension when I heard Donald Maass speak at a conference some years ago. He described how the simple scene of a man looking at his watch while waiting for a bus can go from bland to Bang in a matter of words. Since then I have often noticed the varying levels of tension, both in books I have enjoyed and in those I haven’t. Here I'll discuss the ten levels of tension, and what they mean to the writer.
In honor of the last week of our homeschool co-op, I'm going to give you an inside peek at what we do all day. Like the reason I don't answer the phone, respond to emails, keep my house clean (enough), and say "No" to (almost) every invitation. Because when I answer the phone, respond to emails, clean the house, or volunteer for whatever-the-h@ll-someone-thinks-I-ought-to-have-time-to-do-since-I'm-just-a-stay-at-home-mom...
Every year my parish holds a garage sale to raise funds for the VBS and Preschool programs. It has fast become one of my favorite events and helping at every stage, in my mind anyway, absolves me from taking part in the actual VBS. Anyhow, a sale of this size is a huge undertaking. Like crazy huge involving weeks and many, many, many hours from lots of people. But it's so worth it, and apart from the usual reasons about helping others and serving the community, here's why…
I began the painful process of going through seven+ years of digital images (everything since getting my first digital camera), and some are so bizarre they defy words.
I wrote a sonnet about my local library. Frustration does something interesting for me. I makes me creative...
Picture it: adorable baby girl in adorable little red-checked shirt and matching shorts. Adorable shirt on adorable baby has four equally adorable strawberry buttons:
Imagine it: put adorably dressed, four-button baby down for her nap.
After nap: adorable baby has only THREE buttons.
I searched the crib. The floor. The changing table...
At this very moment St. Nick is singing, "I'm a little butterfly." To annoy his sister. Which is working marvelously.
Moments ago, however, Oscar Wild (the dog) was sitting in the kitchen, staring at me. He does this sometimes and it can be unnerving. It usually means something. As in MEANS something. Like FEED ME or I WILL SOON BE PEEING ON THE FLOOR. This time I knew...
Little Fish is in a delightful phase I don't remember St. Nick going through at age 8ish. He asks questions.
Yes, of course Nick asked (and still asks) questions. But his questions are more, um, grounded. Take, for example the question he asked about a year ago. "Mom, when did you and Dad have sex to make the baby?" Hello math lesson.
Fish's questions are ...
The definition of Inelegant. Of tacky. Of rude. Of crass. Of immoral. Of just plain wrong. That would be: Credit Jumping. Which, for those who might not know, is leveraging an author (extorting? intimidating? coercing?) into hiring an "editor/writer" who then gains a credit for the work via shared byline or outright stolen byline - for very little work.
Keep back. The ginger is breathing fire today.
On a happy note...
This week ...
- One minivan breakdown which took three days to fix (its Brain died, and yes that's as expensive as it sounds).
- Two all-morning meetings with Baby.
- Three dozen diapers sold online.
- Arranged one...