I'm currently editing a novel, and it happens to be my own! Yes, for the first time since high school (and bless my friends for reading anything I wrote back then) I have written a full length novel. I was inspired by my many friends who have tackled National Novel Writing Month in past years, so I decided this year would be mine. I had some ideas kicking around from my short story class, and in the end I picked one I thought would be the most fun to write and just started writing, no plan, just a vague idea of what the ending would be.
More than 50,000 later, and I have the first draft of a novel I am now in the throes of editing, but they are great throes. It's not going to win me that Pulitzer (but you will be mine one day, my little friend), but it's certainly better than nothing. I'm a finisher, so getting something like this done is a treat for me all on its own.
For those interested (and if you are reading this far, I hope you are interested, you weirdo), here is an excerpt:
“Does it really have to be a newt?” Cheryl was digging around on her hands and knees in the briars at the back of the cemetery, mud starting to cake under her fingernails.
“Yes, newts are the only animals that have the right neurotoxin to destabilize the molecules in the potion.” Kimberley kept watch over her shoulder as she stood next to Cheryl and held up her torch.
The blaze from the lighted stick threw deep shadows down both their faces, making them look like sinister old hags, instead of pleasant twenty-something women in jogging clothes.
Kimberley had studied biochemistry as an undergraduate at Yale, along with her minor in seventeenth and eighteenth century American folklore. She had never known why she was drawn to these subjects, but after she had gone home with a man in a bar a couple months ago, a man who turned out to be not only married but a member of a storied family with a complicated magical past, it made more sense.
And now she was cursed.
The torch sputtered in the midnight breeze. Both women shivered.
“Hold the torch a little lower, I can't tell if that's a newt or a candy bar wrapper.” Cheryl wiped her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “And why did it have to be a torch? Don't you think people will notice?”
“Like I said in the car, anything like a flashlight will emit EM radiation that could taint our specimens. It throws off the magic.” Kimberley lowered the torch closer to Cheryl's back, careful not to singe her hoodie.
“Well, it will definitely throw off the magic if I bring back a Snickers instead of a newt.” Cheryl sat back on her heels and held up a small, squirming animal for Kimberley to inspect.
“You're just hungry. This is the one. Put it in the leather satchel and let's go.”
“Finally.”
They both turned towards the cemetery gates to go.
And if you're interested in some sparkling wine, what with it being a new year and all, might we recommend the J Brut Rosé ($38). This is from one of our favorite vineyards and is a lovely wine that has just the right amount of sweet and tart. We recommend drinking it while typing the next great American novel.
Score: She gives is a 4, he gives it a 4.5
Recommend: But of course.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Pug Ranch
After extensive conversation, we have decided my dream job would be to own a pug ranch where pugs run wild across the open plain. This would be someone in Sonoma, so we could still have ready access to delicious sparkling wine, of course.
I've been spending a lot of time doing two kinds of writing: writing code and writing short stories. The code has taught me a lot about the logic behind the interwebs, which is a deep a frightening place, but cool. And the writing of short stories is to keep me in practice because I have decided to do NaNoWriMo this year and I need to train up. It's the writer's equivalent of running a marathon.
I would show you some things I've coded, but they mostly look like things someone in junior high did for a final exam. But I will share here an excerpt from my latest short. I was going to share my previous one that I wrote during my writing class this summer, but Josh hates the subject matter so much I couldn't bring myself to put it up here. Ask me if you want to read, I'll email it to you on the sly.
I followed closely behind my brother. We were still within earshot of the children playing on the swing set and merry-go-round in the middle of the park. But our footsteps trailed away from them as we approached the tall, dark cottonwoods and willows that bordered the creek.
“I don't think that's what you heard.”
“How do you know?”
I paused briefly as we reached the edge of the thicket. There was a small, broken path that led down through the trees towards the creek down below. Old candy bar wrappers, plastic bags, bottle caps, and bits of paper were ground into the dirt along the trail. The warm southern California sun embraced our shoulders as we stood on the grass in the park, but a chilly breath of wind rose up from the creek, caressing our cheeks and making my fingers tingle.
My brother plowed forward and I followed. We were swallowed up by dark and I squinted to prevent stumbling on tree roots. The path led down to the edge of the creek and then turned east, following the water until it reached its destination – a huge culvert that opened like a cavern into the side of the hill at the edge of the park.
“It was them, I know it.”
“No, it couldn't be. Those were just stories we made up when we were little.”
We had come here every summer as children. This park bordered the edge of a large housing development in one of the many, many cities that sprawl across the Los Angeles basin, skirting the foothills, covering ground that used to belong to the trees and the animals and anyone who came before, before the cars and houses. My aunt and uncle bought one of the houses in the development, and we had spent hours out here while the adults discussed more adult things in the kitchen. I loved running around the huge field, flying kites, playing on the jungle gym like it was a fort, and making up stories with my brother and cousins.
But the creek had always held a sense of foreboding. The creek itself was normal, with crawfish and little frogs. But the light was never right, and the closer the creek came to the culvert, the quieter the rest of the world became around it. The creek entered, and disappeared. There was no light at the other side, and no hint as to where it led on its journey into the foothills. At first, our older cousins would taunt my brother and me into putting a hand or a foot into the utter blackness of the culvert, telling us stories about ogres or goblins that lived inside. We would oblige, but only with one foot firmly planted on shore, ready to bolt the instant our hands touched the darkness.
I've been spending a lot of time doing two kinds of writing: writing code and writing short stories. The code has taught me a lot about the logic behind the interwebs, which is a deep a frightening place, but cool. And the writing of short stories is to keep me in practice because I have decided to do NaNoWriMo this year and I need to train up. It's the writer's equivalent of running a marathon.
I would show you some things I've coded, but they mostly look like things someone in junior high did for a final exam. But I will share here an excerpt from my latest short. I was going to share my previous one that I wrote during my writing class this summer, but Josh hates the subject matter so much I couldn't bring myself to put it up here. Ask me if you want to read, I'll email it to you on the sly.
Culverts
The
trees were whispering secrets. The shadows looked like wolves peeking
from behind boulders, and leaves leaked down from the sky like tears.
I followed closely behind my brother. We were still within earshot of the children playing on the swing set and merry-go-round in the middle of the park. But our footsteps trailed away from them as we approached the tall, dark cottonwoods and willows that bordered the creek.
“I don't think that's what you heard.”
“How do you know?”
He
wouldn't turn his head to face me, and I knew pulling on his arm
would only cause me injury, so I let him keep his breakneck pace and
tried my hardest to keep up. We were close in height growing up, but
by now, in our early twenties, he stood six inches taller than me and
could easily outrun me.
I paused briefly as we reached the edge of the thicket. There was a small, broken path that led down through the trees towards the creek down below. Old candy bar wrappers, plastic bags, bottle caps, and bits of paper were ground into the dirt along the trail. The warm southern California sun embraced our shoulders as we stood on the grass in the park, but a chilly breath of wind rose up from the creek, caressing our cheeks and making my fingers tingle.
My brother plowed forward and I followed. We were swallowed up by dark and I squinted to prevent stumbling on tree roots. The path led down to the edge of the creek and then turned east, following the water until it reached its destination – a huge culvert that opened like a cavern into the side of the hill at the edge of the park.
“It was them, I know it.”
“No, it couldn't be. Those were just stories we made up when we were little.”
We had come here every summer as children. This park bordered the edge of a large housing development in one of the many, many cities that sprawl across the Los Angeles basin, skirting the foothills, covering ground that used to belong to the trees and the animals and anyone who came before, before the cars and houses. My aunt and uncle bought one of the houses in the development, and we had spent hours out here while the adults discussed more adult things in the kitchen. I loved running around the huge field, flying kites, playing on the jungle gym like it was a fort, and making up stories with my brother and cousins.
But the creek had always held a sense of foreboding. The creek itself was normal, with crawfish and little frogs. But the light was never right, and the closer the creek came to the culvert, the quieter the rest of the world became around it. The creek entered, and disappeared. There was no light at the other side, and no hint as to where it led on its journey into the foothills. At first, our older cousins would taunt my brother and me into putting a hand or a foot into the utter blackness of the culvert, telling us stories about ogres or goblins that lived inside. We would oblige, but only with one foot firmly planted on shore, ready to bolt the instant our hands touched the darkness.
One
day, tired of being bullied and sure he was old enough to show off,
my brother stepped into the creek and walked his entire body into the
culvert. I nearly screamed, but a second later he came splashing out
and scrambled up the banks of the creek and through the trees. That's
when he said he heard them. The voices from inside.
And
now, ten years later, he said he heard them again.
And if you want some wine to go with your stories, might we suggest the Roederer Estate Brut Rose ($35). It is a very nice, bready wine that happens to go great with reunions with old friends (thanks, Bernice and Corey).
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Braver and Braver
I've in the middle of an online writing class about the craft of writing short stories. Since it's an online class, there are students in it from all over the world, who may or may not have a firm grasp of the English language, which makes story interpretation interesting. There are also nine lawyers in the class, nine! I'm not sure what that's about, except maybe everyone thinks they are the next John Grisham. Shudder.
It's a well-run class, though, and I'm already liking the assignments (here's your cue to make fun of me for liking homework). This week, we had to write a short "how-to" monologue. At first I was going to write about to make toast, but that seemed too cheeky, and I haven't met these people face to face yet, they might not understand my cheeks. So I settled on this:
It's a well-run class, though, and I'm already liking the assignments (here's your cue to make fun of me for liking homework). This week, we had to write a short "how-to" monologue. At first I was going to write about to make toast, but that seemed too cheeky, and I haven't met these people face to face yet, they might not understand my cheeks. So I settled on this:
Brave
We all come into this world screaming,
honey, it isn't just you. But stop thinking that's the only note you
can hit. Find your voice by singing in the car. People will look, but
that's ok, there's glass in the way. Then start talking to the
cashier at the grocery store. He'll ask you if it's a daikon or a
parsnip, and very loudly proclaim IT'S A DAIKON. He will get it.
Then sign up for an improv class with eleven other strangers.
It's ok at this point because they never put beginners on stage.
Chortle really loudly whenever anyone makes a joke about bodily
functions. It will happen, often. And eventually, that will be your
laugh, and you will be the girl at the party with the deep chortle,
and they will envy you. Then
you can really get things going. Show up to work in a spaghetti strap
dress and flip flops, even if it's not Friday. And change the jug on
the water cooler by yourself. Then ask for a raise (you will get it).
Then get beers for everyone and when the clock strikes five prance
around the office like a little beer fairy, leaving a bottle on every
desk. You will be loved.
Fly across the country by yourself and make eyes at any cute
man you see, but only eyes. Then throw on your sunglasses and pretend
you are a celebrity flying coach because you are incognito studying
for a role about a midwestern housewife who escapes to New York and
is discovered for a Broadway play because her chortle is overheard by
a producer on the subway. This could happen to you.
And then, instead of flying back, rent a car and drive across the
country. Plot a good route that takes you past the biggest landmarks,
but stand far away from them when you take your picture so they look
small compared to you. Don't talk to strangers, unless you are in
Denver (they have the nicest strangers). You will drive through a
thunderstorm no matter what time of year, so grip that steering wheel
and roll up the windows and make sure your brights are on as you tail
behind a semi-truck that is plowing a path for you in the deluge.
This will be another opportunity to sing in the car. And in the end,
when you get home, go ahead and parallel park the car in the rental
car parking lot as they come to get your keys. This will
impress everyone. If you follow
these steps, you should be able to say what is on your mind without
screaming or crying, and that's the bravest thing of all.
***
If you would like to be brave today, you might try the Marques de Gelida Cava, Brut Reserva 2009 ($20). This wine had a bright, almost grassy aroma, with a bitter-smooth taste. It left an unpleasant aftertaste, but it's made with organic grapes, so at least we know it's not from the pesticides.
Score: An all-around 2.5
Recommended: It's a limited edition, and that's probably a good thing.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Ode to Kauai
We went to Kauai a couple weeks ago.
The beaches were lovely. We ate fancy hot dogs.
Kauai is now our favorite island.
The end.
Something you do not need to go to an island for is the Viano Vineyards Sparkling Wine ($15). It has a fruity aroma with a taste of apples and pears. It was pleasantly soft, with an after taste like sour apple cider, but that isn't a bad thing. The most surprising thing about this wine is it's origin - not an island, but the town of Martinez. Crazy!
Score: 3s all around.
Recommended: If you're in Martinez, this may be the best thing that will ever happen to you.
The beaches were lovely. We ate fancy hot dogs.
Kauai is now our favorite island.
The end.
Something you do not need to go to an island for is the Viano Vineyards Sparkling Wine ($15). It has a fruity aroma with a taste of apples and pears. It was pleasantly soft, with an after taste like sour apple cider, but that isn't a bad thing. The most surprising thing about this wine is it's origin - not an island, but the town of Martinez. Crazy!
Score: 3s all around.
Recommended: If you're in Martinez, this may be the best thing that will ever happen to you.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
The Better Decade
I've always loved April and Easter and the middle of spring. No small reason is that April is my birthday month, and I happen to think it's the perfect month to have a birthday. After more than three decades of such birthdays, I think I'm more than qualified to make that statement.
Ever since college, as my birthday draws near, I have this momentary pause where my stomach squeezes and I wonder if I'm going to panic about growing older. One more year closer to whatever end is in store. One more year to get more wrinkles and rounder in the middle, for my body to ache in new inventive ways. But that moment passes like a siren on a highway, and it's gone.
And I'm left feeling great. No doubt I am a little older, and I can't drink like I used-to-could. But things are so much better than my 20s! I am a better writer, better wife (oh goodness, marriage before 27 should be banned), better friend (by not trying to be friends with everyone). I am in better health, have more money (finally), and have more fun (by learning to say no).
These days, when I meet people right out of college, I do not envy their youth. I shake my head and pat their shoulders and tell them, don't worry, it takes at least another decade before you figure it out.
And of course champagne only gets better by the decade (it is wine, after all). One such champagne that spanned three decades and tasted all the better for it was the Billecart-Salmon Cuveé Elisabeth Salmon Brut Rosé 1999 ($180). It had far more carbonation than should have been possible after so many years, as if the grapes were excited to finally greet the world again in their new, intoxicating form. It smelled like a bouquet of roses and tasted absolutely delicious. Ah, yes, this is life.
Score: She gives it a 5, he gives it a 4.
Recommended: Yes, yes, oh yes!
Ever since college, as my birthday draws near, I have this momentary pause where my stomach squeezes and I wonder if I'm going to panic about growing older. One more year closer to whatever end is in store. One more year to get more wrinkles and rounder in the middle, for my body to ache in new inventive ways. But that moment passes like a siren on a highway, and it's gone.
And I'm left feeling great. No doubt I am a little older, and I can't drink like I used-to-could. But things are so much better than my 20s! I am a better writer, better wife (oh goodness, marriage before 27 should be banned), better friend (by not trying to be friends with everyone). I am in better health, have more money (finally), and have more fun (by learning to say no).
These days, when I meet people right out of college, I do not envy their youth. I shake my head and pat their shoulders and tell them, don't worry, it takes at least another decade before you figure it out.
And of course champagne only gets better by the decade (it is wine, after all). One such champagne that spanned three decades and tasted all the better for it was the Billecart-Salmon Cuveé Elisabeth Salmon Brut Rosé 1999 ($180). It had far more carbonation than should have been possible after so many years, as if the grapes were excited to finally greet the world again in their new, intoxicating form. It smelled like a bouquet of roses and tasted absolutely delicious. Ah, yes, this is life.
Score: She gives it a 5, he gives it a 4.
Recommended: Yes, yes, oh yes!
Sunday, March 16, 2014
The Cold War of Words
I heard a story a few days ago on the news that indicated the SATs will be changing, yet again. I have to admit, the math changes disturb me little; there was always too much abstract geometry in there, and trust me, you never need abstract geometry. We have computers for that!
But I was saddened, disheartened, nay, dispirited to learn that the College Board will be making the essay section optional and eliminating many of the dreaded "SAT words" from the test. Oh, my dear readers, this is a travesty! Without a need to study rare words, most students will never encounter them at all. Call me a logophile (after you look it up), but I distinctly remember the day I joyously discovered "saturnine" and used it in a sentence. It was ninth grade. I think it was a Tuesday.
And while computers are wonderful at solving equations, they simply cannot mask bad writing. Language is far too complex to capture in an algorithm. This is something that must be practiced, continually, and with relish.
I am forced to read the writing of others almost every day, and come to tears nearly as often by the grating nature of the trite prose I encounter. Give me some variety, people! Buy a thesaurus! Or if you are too cheap for Roget, use the free version online. At the very least, learn to end a thought. (Or is it that your thoughts never end?)
One of my favorite writers in English is Vladimir Nabokov. Yes, he was from freakin' Russia. English was his third language, and he used it better than virtually anyone else I've ever read or known. It's time to step it up, America.
It isn't that I'm opposed to change. And I'm sure the new tests will more accurately reflect what students learn in the classroom. But that is precisely the point. Students are not learning the full breadth and depth of the English language. They are not learning that there are actual words to describe specific feelings, objects, and events. And I believe people who cannot fully describe life, cannot fully experience it either.
If you would like to test your writing acumen, try describing your next glass of sparkling wine, like the Gocce di Luna Moondrops Prosecco ($14). It's inexpensive, so you can waste a few bad adjectives on it as you practice. We found it to be furiously bubbly, with torrents of gas like a hot tub in winter, and dulcet apple tones that made our mouths pucker.
And now it's your turn. Long live words!
Score: A unanimous 3.
Recommended: Easy to drink for those who like sweeter wines.
But I was saddened, disheartened, nay, dispirited to learn that the College Board will be making the essay section optional and eliminating many of the dreaded "SAT words" from the test. Oh, my dear readers, this is a travesty! Without a need to study rare words, most students will never encounter them at all. Call me a logophile (after you look it up), but I distinctly remember the day I joyously discovered "saturnine" and used it in a sentence. It was ninth grade. I think it was a Tuesday.
And while computers are wonderful at solving equations, they simply cannot mask bad writing. Language is far too complex to capture in an algorithm. This is something that must be practiced, continually, and with relish.
I am forced to read the writing of others almost every day, and come to tears nearly as often by the grating nature of the trite prose I encounter. Give me some variety, people! Buy a thesaurus! Or if you are too cheap for Roget, use the free version online. At the very least, learn to end a thought. (Or is it that your thoughts never end?)
One of my favorite writers in English is Vladimir Nabokov. Yes, he was from freakin' Russia. English was his third language, and he used it better than virtually anyone else I've ever read or known. It's time to step it up, America.
It isn't that I'm opposed to change. And I'm sure the new tests will more accurately reflect what students learn in the classroom. But that is precisely the point. Students are not learning the full breadth and depth of the English language. They are not learning that there are actual words to describe specific feelings, objects, and events. And I believe people who cannot fully describe life, cannot fully experience it either.
If you would like to test your writing acumen, try describing your next glass of sparkling wine, like the Gocce di Luna Moondrops Prosecco ($14). It's inexpensive, so you can waste a few bad adjectives on it as you practice. We found it to be furiously bubbly, with torrents of gas like a hot tub in winter, and dulcet apple tones that made our mouths pucker.
And now it's your turn. Long live words!
Score: A unanimous 3.
Recommended: Easy to drink for those who like sweeter wines.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Brought to You By
This is a sponsored post. I'm making three dollars on the word.
I wish! Then I would give David Copperfield a run for its money.
But I am here to promote something. The husband and the cousin-in-law (is that a thing? can it be for now?) have started their own podcast. It's about the usual semi-nerdy guy stuff: video games, movies, more video games, comic books, and then some more video games. They are pretty entertaining, though, so ladies, check it out. They're both taken, though, so don't check it out that way. Just in a purely educational way. Their podcast is guaranteed 100% factual and high in fiber.
You can find it on iTunes here.
And if you're looking for something to drink while you're listening, you could try Moët + Chandon Nectar Imperial Rosé ($70). This champagne is as bubbly as a valley blonde with a frothy head and a very pretty rosé color. It is exactly as pink as it should be, and fairly sweet with a hint of raspberries. It has a smooth, sugary finish that tastes of caramel. Very juicy.
Score: She gives it a 3, he gives it a 3.5.
Recommended: Versus other rosés, it would be worth it if you could get it at a good price.
I wish! Then I would give David Copperfield a run for its money.
But I am here to promote something. The husband and the cousin-in-law (is that a thing? can it be for now?) have started their own podcast. It's about the usual semi-nerdy guy stuff: video games, movies, more video games, comic books, and then some more video games. They are pretty entertaining, though, so ladies, check it out. They're both taken, though, so don't check it out that way. Just in a purely educational way. Their podcast is guaranteed 100% factual and high in fiber.
You can find it on iTunes here.
And if you're looking for something to drink while you're listening, you could try Moët + Chandon Nectar Imperial Rosé ($70). This champagne is as bubbly as a valley blonde with a frothy head and a very pretty rosé color. It is exactly as pink as it should be, and fairly sweet with a hint of raspberries. It has a smooth, sugary finish that tastes of caramel. Very juicy.
Score: She gives it a 3, he gives it a 3.5.
Recommended: Versus other rosés, it would be worth it if you could get it at a good price.
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