Monday, July 26, 2010

Shades of Blue

A piece I wrote about Summer Lake is on the Travel Oregon blog.
Click here to see more of my Travel Oregon posts...

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

For the Bird(er)s

A new story of mine, The Way of the Wing Watchers, is in the current issue of Oregon Lakes and Rivers Magazine.

Monday, July 19, 2010

It Was Fun While It Lasted

Chicken Noodle’s obsession with death continues. Here are some of the latest utterances from my five-year-old Mistress of Doom.

On the couch, cuddling
Chicken Noodle: Mom, I don’t want to grow up.
Me: I know, baby. But you know what’s the best part?
CN: I am going to get old and die?
Me: Umm, no, baby.

At the park
CN: When people are alive, it’s way more cozier to be outside than to be underground, like later when you’re dead.

On the deck, eating dinner
CN: What if a tree fell on our house right now?
Captain Daddy: It’s not going to happen.
Me: You are totally safe.
CN: But what if it fell right here on my chair and then hit my dinner plate? What if it smashed my macaroni?

At Grandpa’s house
Grandpa, to Chicken Little: You’re getting so tall!
Chicken Noodle: I’m taller!
Grandpa: Yes, but you’ll probably always be taller, until you’re grown.
CN: Yeah, but I’ll die first.

In the backyard
CN to my mother: What if a meteor hit our yard while we were outside playing?
(My mother shoots me an alarmed look.)
Me: What can I say? She’s got a little Armageddon in her.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Happy New You Part IV

Long overdue for an update to my blog profile. I've been confusing people with the whole book burning thing.

So here's me, modestly refreshed:

Me: mother, wife and writer watching 40 climb the front steps like a peddler pushing time and me with nowhere to hide. The writer part used to come first, the 40 used to be a 30, and marriage and motherhood were abstract activities I thought I’d try someday. Ah, growing up. If only it was the thrill promised when we were six.

I started this blog to chronicle my quest to publish a book. I’ve published all sorts of other things—articles, essays, even poetry. I wrote a first book. Then I set it on fire. I am now neck-deep in edits on a second book, and have a publisher interested. But as my mother says, “It ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings.”

So the question remains—will I bloom, eventually? Or will I ditch the whole writing thing, adopt a xanax habit, abandon my own identity and live the rest of my life vicariously through my children? Hmm, let’s find out.