Time The *$%^ OUT!

What Andy did to the donkeys, I had to do to the duck-lipped, flesh rail of VD. I can’t even say her name lest the vultures return. And I won’t even disgust you with the latest search engine terms that have been apparently bringing people here. Like, are you not embarrassed that – though I may not know who got here by searching for “p*ssing, sh*tting, sc*t, p**p” – you do?! Seriously. How do you live with yourselves?

 

Time Keeps On Slipping…

Dude, remembering to blog is not coming easy right now, mes amis. The Santa Cruz exodus is finished, the Sacramento interim is quickly slipping away. July is upon us?! My son is supposed to turn five? Methinks not, calendar. I’ll have none of this. – See, like for one thing? The aforestated was written whilst it was still June. And here we are, three hours into the first day of the Official Month of Morrow.

I did this in the meantime!

You may have noticed that I’ve done no brushing up on the French thus far. No worries. I saw this in a movie once. All works out. Magically – or fictionally? – upon arriving in Montreal, everything learned between 1996 and 1999 comes rushing back. So. Really. Worry not.

You may also be alarmed to f ind that I do not have The Sims 3 game yet. And that my sister (WHO DIDN’T EVEN APPRECIATE SIMS 2 AND SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS!) does. And that I’ve been playing that SimSocial thing, which routinely deletes your most recent achievements to ensure you do not think it fun enough to forgo expeditiously getting the game. LAME. Aside from which, someone has already made Nathan Explosion and how pissed off am I even though it hadn’t ever occurred to me to make a Nathan sim. What. Ever.

Other than that, I’m lulu-ing “the first book” for my greatest fan (determined by her obsessive need to buy all of the books for which I send her a direct access link, regardless of whether I tell her it takes me posting them in book form to figure out that there are seberal typos that need fixing and the font needs to be larger… so I basically have to replace every single thing she’s bought) and lord almighty did I love this whimsical world but cringe at the drama that is melo. For trizzle. Man. And yet I still love the story. The funny thing is I’m pretty sure it’s more melo than the YA book I finished senior year of high school. (So by “first” up there, I clearly meant the one I’m posting soon is the first thing I at one time thought might actually be sold at some point. Which, if you’ve missed it, no. No, it shan’t. For verily…I cringe.)

On second thought. It's too hot for all that.

It’s 3:15am and I’m totally writing what I’m sure is an obnoxious post here, what with the semi-nonsensicalness spattered throughout. Let us end with this.

This, my friends, is called a leap of super faith.

 

Back To Life, Back To Reality…

Which will have to reveal itself. One of us has been in school for six of our seven years (next month) of marriage. (Reflecting.)

So, graduation weekend was … a lot. I doubt I’ll even attempt to capture it all herein, but at least let me give a shout-out to Daddy. Because. He really went above and beyond that weekend. So, Auntie-God-Mom was in-house the day before we were all scheduled to head back to Santa Cruz for Joshie’s graduation – Ez and I having been up here for hair-did-ed-ness. So, the plan was to be ready to leave by 7am when she’d be leaving the hospital. Now, granted, though we were all on schedule, the leaving of the house and dropping the doggies off at their weekend getaway took until about 8am. I was already thinking to myself, “Man, I told Dad to be ready by 7:30 and now I’m half an hour late and he’s gonna be like, why’d I have to be ready so early!” And lo, when we reached his house, the front door was in fact open and he and Thanos were playing on the computer, waiting and ready.

That is, until I asked where their bag was. And Dad went, “Bag? For what?” (Me with eyes half-mast, staring at him.) “Aren’t we coming back tonight?” (Me, blinking.) “I’m not prepared to spend the night! I was going to the family grad today and then coming home for choir practice and then driving back tomorrow for the official ceremony.” (Me, exploding.) So, he decides he’ll just drive separately so he can come home that night. Which is cool with me and Auntie because we were raring to go. Get on the road. Let’s do this. There’s packing and stacking to be done before graduation! Well. A few minutes in, Daddy decides he’s not going to drive separately. Auntie and I spring into action getting the carseat resituated and Daddy goes inside to pack an overnight bag for he and Thanos.

Half an hour passes.

I go inside to find him daintily packing delicate sandwiches into aluminum foil and then into a baggy. I try not to roll my eyes out of my head, asking if I can get his bag and put in the car while he  finishes gingerly packing five or so snap peas (from his garden) into a snack baggy. He answers that he has not had time to pack it yet. He has been too busy packing snacks for the road. (Me, stabbing the air.)

So, I go outside and tell Auntie we’re going to get breakfast at McDonald’s so I don’t kill anyone. This will give Daddy time to pick out (!) an outfit for graduation. We go, we come back, we eat. Finally, a bag is ready to be packed. We’re all getting situated. Every time Daddy comes out of the house, he has a new snack prepared. Query. Why…is the door still open. Wait. Wait for it. He doesn’t know where his keys are. Auntie and I – in turn – check his luggage and all else he’s brought out of the house. He goes into the house. I check his car. You get the idea.

We did leave. One day. Which is to say, if we’d left when he told us he wanted to drive himself, we in the punctual car would have been to Santa Cruz by the time we finally left his house. O_O You heard me.

We love you, Daddy.

Listening to the Family Graduation Speaker

Josh and Ezra Morrow graduate together!

Before the Family Ceremony

Official UCSC Graduation

What is NOT pictured: Homicide-inducing fatigue after 48 hours of packing and transporting! Njoy!

 

Too Smart For Strangers

Until day before yesterday, my son was absolutely not. Do understand that, though my son is only four, this came as a huge and alarming shock to both his father and I. For you see, our son is logic/rule-driven and is quite intelligent. I know this is where I’m meant to concede, “though I am his mother”, but I offer no such disclaimer. His brilliance is his own.

I can’t even remember how we got on the subject – other than the fact that my son “works” at Natural Bridges on many-a Saturday and has introduced plenty of strangers to the taxidermied animals as well as the live ones in the tank.  He therefore is quick with the introductions and generally walking around a room with strangers. So. Somehow we get into a convo about it and I ask him a series of questions after telling him he’s gotta dial back the intros, particularly when Mommy and Daddy are further than an arm’s distance away. He thought all “bad guys” were obvious and apparently slow-witted. Deception just had not occured to him and he was entirely unapologetic about this. O_O

Me: So…would you go with a stranger to their house?

Ezra: Um…(tapping chin) No?

Daddy: What if we were at the park and a stranger said he had a puppy in his truck?

Ezra: Well. I do like puppies.

I KID YOU NOT. THAT IS LITERALLY HIS RESPONSE.

Me: (expletive) Okay, what if the stranger offered you candy?

Ezra: I love candy! (Daddy and I stare wide-eyed at him. Seriously.)

Me: But Ezra, the stranger is trying to trick you.

Ezra: Well. I’ll eat all the candy and not leave any for him since he tricked me.

Me: THERE’S NO CANDY! IT’S A TRICK!

Ezra: (taps chin)

Yeah, at that point, I jumped on YouTube because, you see, there used to be an inexpensively made video that warned children of stranger danger. It worked so well I still know the songs. It worked so well…I trusted no one. And that’s as it should be, people. And the glory of this digital age is that all I had to do was log onto YouTube and type in the title to get the whole video.

We didn’t watch it until today but after that disturbing conversation, Josh and I basically scared the life out of Ezra by telling him what some bad strangers have done to kids. And if you think that’s harsh, you’ve never felt the fear of God come over you as your child basically tells you he’s going to run away with the first person who claims to have a pet. By the end of the night, he was wide-eyed and swearing he would never leave our sides. Well played, Morrows. Well played. After watching it, he  told me how he’d “fight with all his might” if a stranger got to close. Word. Elders beware. My son will likely do you bodily harm. And I’m proud. Proud, I say.

In short. Scare the life out of your kids to save their lives. ‘Cause the more you know.

 

The Matrix, How I Love Thee.

So, despite the fact that I never used to write about this, here is yet another entry about my actual writing/career progress. (As soon as Wonder Pets stops stealing my attention.) Didja… didja see how my title was misleading, there? Catch that, didja?! *chucklesnort*

Well, Andy, no I did not buy Writer’s Marketplace or subscribe online. Neither did I try to figure out Toni Morrison’s  agent – though another author told me they share an editor.  And on both counts, I feel I should stay as far away from both individuals as possible. While my work may still have thematic or sociological relevance/purpose, I don’t see how her people work with anyone else’s literature! You’ve just read Toni Morrison’s genius, what’s gonna sound good after that? Is this idol worship? If you know me, you know I’m an unapologetically confident person who knows I am talented and where that falls on the general scale of other people. But you also know that I’m a realist. I have no problem with the fact that Toni Morrison is separate from every other literary artist of her time, to be generous to everyone born before her. O_o Seriously. Here’s the other thing, it’s of the utmost importance to know thyself, in my opinion – which is something that’s supposed to make things sound more gracious, I think? (If this Wonder Pets episode doesn’t stop centering around a parrot who keeps cry/singing, “Polly Misses Her Pirate” on a minor scale, I swear to the heavens above, children will weep for what I’ve done to her.)

Anyway, I know this is about writing but social observation is on the same page: as I was saying how important it is to know one’s self, to know where you are special and what is not your forte or gift, I got to thinking about those people who have no basis or interest in reality for making that determination. These are the people who feign introspection but give themselves away with such phrases as, “[Describe a ridiculous situation into which they've gotten themselves or some ridiculous desire they have for which they are unqualified or done nothing],…but I know it’ll work out.” See that word there? “Know”? Just sprinkling it throughout any conversation makes the subject real and plausible, apparently. It’s what makes real people with genuine self-confidence (backed up by preparation and consistent effort) – you know, the kind that doesn’t dissipate when the sun goes down – too irritated by “surface  similarities” to talk about their lives and aspirations in mixed company. Especially since a big part of my preparation and learning about myself is prayer, and not the kind that requires beads or “openmindedness”. I am a strong individual but I know the necessity of submission when it comes to a relationship with the God who made me and that’s where I go to inspect myself. I highly recommend it. I find my faith encourages me to tell it like it is, hard to believe as that may seem to people used to glass-eyed believers who think the sun is always shining. No use living in Fictitia (a magical land wherein everything is as you say it is) if I know God won’t buy it. What good will it ultimately do me?

And that, my friends, is how you take a detour. So, Andy, to actually answer your question. I started out on Poets & Writers (the same place I went to begin researching literary journals) and then, sort of as a double check, I used Agent Query – pretty much to see if I’d missed anyone in whom I’d be interested. So, after that – on both counts (journals/agents) – I made a matrix.

And I am made happy by this. I cannot helpt it. Anywho: after finding the agents I think would be interested in my work, I visit their blogs or websites and find out information particular to them that interests me, which I also add to the matrix so that I can personalize my query letter to them. One of the agents, for example, is an alumna not only of my Alma Mater but also of my particular college – which makes sense if you know how UC Santa Cruz is set up. (Porter, whatwhat!) Others were interested in work with social relevance, character-driven work, etc. There were plenty of people who might be right as far as the type of book I’m querying but who didn’t jump out at me, so I didn’t add them in the first pass. Aaand I could write about this all day since… I write all day. Oh and query. But instead I will get back to Margaret who has been sitting in that bathtub for several days now. Pruney goodness. That or get back to widdling away the wordiness elsewhere. Or just go over to Andy’s blog. Whatever.

 

The Magic That Is Morrison

The following is Toni Morrison in Milan, answering God knows what since I don’t speak Italian. I maintain that the specific question matters not. If anyone else can articulate so complex a response with the ease of reciting a grocery list but  a charisma that makes every listener feel of the utmost importance, I’ve never heard it.

Basically, I want to transcribe the last segment of this and use it as my query letter. Le sigh. She explains the purpose of this book in a way that I have not. (By the by, if this is the first time you’re hearing her talk, I strongly encourage command you to look up her Charlie Rose appearances and also her Nobel Lecture!!)

I refuse to include anything else in this post. If one can’t find the right words, it’s better to just graciously bow out.

 

Never Say Never

What the hell, people? Can’t keep yourselves amused for three freaking days? No, but thanks for the abyssal valley on my blog stats. Good looking.

Anyway, I’ve been writing a lot and haven’t heard any super salty entertainment/news stories that inspired any rants, which is why I’ve not been blogging as much as I’d like. Plus, we all know the last month of a stint is pretty mentally chaotic as we prepare for Josh to graduate – after finishing several sorta big projects, which always makes it more fun, no? – and move out of Santa Cruz, simultaneously getting things packed away for summer storage and also trying to scale everything down. The one good thing about moving as frequently as we have in the past seven years is that it forces you to shed rather regularly. So, Ezra’s plastic containers will be gone through and books and toys that aren’t staples of his will be given away before we seal the rest away to stack in a parent’s garage for two or so months.

As far as my work, I’ve been working on a short, which is also an alternate take on a story I was beginning with the idea that it would be a full-length. What I’ve really enjoyed about making it a short – at first for submission to literary journals although now that it’s going to be for something else – has been redefining the main character. For the full-length, her characterization was a lot less complex because her counterpart – the other main character who also happens to be her brother, in title only – was present. In taking her out of that story and wanting to keep the paramount historical experience that shaped her, her motivations and personality have changed making her a really interesting person to me. She and her brother originally surfaced for me when I started thinking about the paralysis that can result from irrational privilege, the emptiness that creates unsavory personalities. Of course, since my overarching themes in the recent past have included the Black American predicament (and Lord do I hate that oversimplification – or rather how that will be oversimplified by the reader) and my intended audience is not Black Americans per se (many of us already know, right), the natural follow-up theme to me would be the predicament that is so obvious in American culture having to do with White Americans. Aside from it being youth-oriented, which is awesomely indicated in the new show about The Cougar. When did we become so proud of that again?!

ANYWAY, so the brother and sister and their …well unsavory lives were especially intriguing to me at the onset because, well, they are capable of anything. And if you know me at all (as far as my writing), you know why I like that. I’d love to write stories about oiled up muscular men naked to the waist and straddling the seemingly limp body of an overwhelmed damsel whose heaving bosom are threatening to abandon her thin bodice. I really would. not. That’s just not what interests me and it certainly doesn’t seem to serve any purpose aside from a few moments of frenzied… self-motivation. So, instead, I like to portray people who are barely human or people who are as pissed off as I sometimes am that everyone else seems to be ignorant of the air they’re breathing or people who can’t reconcile themselves to the truth. Fun, light-hearted stuff like that. Anywho, I’m in love with my little sociopath. And I don’t have to say that she’s White, right? Everybody’ll just assume that anyway unless I say otherwise.

Other than that, I’m maintaining my matrix of literary agents to query for the once-named “Anagnorises” (whose new title finally jumped out at me like all the others did immediately…only took five years) , the date sent, the date and nature of the response. I have a similar one for literary journals, date sent, name of submission, info such as response time, payment (if any), etc. If you remember my obsession with packets, you are not surprised by this news. I like-a the organizational tools and visual aids. *snort* Oh and then, randomly, I started thinking about serialization for “Anagnorises”, for several reasons. I think I could really like that. Anyway, taking excerpts for revisit for journals and very much enjoying that, as well.

So, I blogged about my work in semi-specific terms. Never say never, I guess.

 

And Here’s Your Host: Ezra!

So the rest of Friday that I never got around to talking about because I was too shaken by my brush with death. Let’s leave the ugliness behind us and return to the beginning of the day. So, last quarter Josh was a teacher’s assistant at a Live Oak elementary school in a second grade class. He ended up completing double the hours and – quel surprise – having a host of little fans. So, despite not having time to assist this quarter as he prepares to graduate, he asked the teacher if he could come back for a day and bring his family to meet the kids. So, after dropping him off before nine and then running errands, Ezzie and I returned to the elementary school.

Okay, by this point, we should all know that Ezra loves to chat and also loves to perform. For a crowd of like three. He also has had very limited experience with large groups of children, having been to “preschool” (read: playschool) for a few months. So FOR SERIOUS I was a little surprised when we got into the classroom. The kids were sitting in the reading area on the carpet and the teacher set out three chairs for us. As soon as we sat down, everyone was most interested in Ezra. Josh introduced us and Ezra. Reintroduced himself. Told his age. Told how he goes to homeschool and his mom is his teacher. I mentioned that these kids are in second grade and older than him? Okay, because it turned into a presentation. O_O. No. Joke.

The teacher figured out what was obviously going to happen and told the kids to raise their hands and Ezra would answer them in turn. O_O. Favorite color? Green and Red. Next question. Favorite tv show? Playhouse Disney and Nick Jr and Mommy really likes “Charlie and Lola”. Next question, please. Yes, you in the back. Favorite song? Rock out music! What’s rock out music? Why, let me show you. My son…dove into a rendition of “Whatcha Got!”, his famous off-the-cuff what-ever-comes-to-mind jam. The kids? Go crazy. O_O. He counts to ten in French, listens to them count to ten in Spanish. Teaches them his Rock Out Dance, watches one of their cultural dances. Is asked to encore all of the above, which he happily does. The teacher can’t contain herself from repeatedly saying things like, “He should be on Sesame Street”. It was pretty shocking. I had no idea he could work a crowd of older kids like that. For serial. Everybody thinks articulate kids can perform until you find out they have stage fright. Not this kid. He even held an afterclass session with a pair of twin girls and a little boy who had to literally be shoved out the door at the end. (Did I mention that first he wrote his name for them on the whiteboard, which they’ll get to keep up until Monday?)

Well, he did such a good job that we took him to his favorite park. Oh, scratch that – there was a huge party going on there. We took him to our back-up park.

That’s him still wearing his visitor sticker. He opened a corndog/smoothie shop, I forgot to mention! Here’s pics from the grand opening!

Yeah, I ordered two corn dogs and a strawberry smoothie. Pretty tasty. And those pictures just. happened. Now, let me leave you with this.

Yeah.

 

Crazy Time Daily News

Firstly, why does wearing contacts make me drowsy around 4pm?! Weird.

Secondly, I. Pretty much almost died today. Coming home from an eventful day I’ll talk to you about in a moment, I’m walking along and talking to Josh. Ezra is walking ahead of us as usual and the first time I hear a hissing, I think he’s playing with me. I hear it again and look down to realize that it’s a f$%^in snake. Yeah. Not a little garden snake. Well, lemme just show you.

Hmm…if that were all there was, huh?

Can ya see the multiple curvations on that one?

Right, well you’ll remember that I looked down and saw this thing trying to change lanes, as it were when I was following the path to our place. I covered my mouth and then screamed. Into my hands? Right, no idea. Jumped backward and then looked up to find that my son – in the two seconds during which this transpired – had jumped. Up. Onto. The. Ledge. Which he has never climbed onto by himself. Instant hilarity. Anyway, if you’re still wondering how freaked out I was, no worries. I haz video. (Before you complain, there’s four seconds of shaking. I just narrowly escaped death, you understand.)

So, then we basically followed the thing around until it rushed off into the field. Yeah. Get thee behind me, Satan. Out of my housing complex, thanks.

I’ll edit this later and add what else happened today. I’m shreepy now. Resting my head on Ezra’s shoulder while he strokes my chin with his other arm around my shoulder. His button-down shirt is rolled up to the elbows, too. He is the other love of my life.

Back later. Promise.

*For legal reasons, “later” may occur anytime before 2010.

 

Retro Review Le Deux

So, here’s the other worst movie ever review. As you recall, I was quite taken with Catwoman. Which TCM is continuously playing because they hate Jesus?! I dunno but her little head-cock thing she does or squaring her shoulders and thrusting her head forward in a sideways frame while squatting like Encino Man and pretending she actually just did physical damage to someone…it makes me pretty sure that hell is real. WTF, PEOPLE?! Anyway, let me never forget to include THIS rancidity. Keira Knightly. Who was … nominated…for an Oscar…for a role that dozens of women have well-played before, followed up that “powerhouse performance” with Domino. Domino. …. Domino.

Subject: Worst. I mean it this time. WORST. Movie. Ever.
Posted Date: Tuesday, December 26, 2006 – 5:37 PM

For those of you who doubt the existence of Satan and his minions, I ask you: how else came the movie Domino to be? If ever I have expressed the sentiment: WORST. MOVIE. EVER. Tis now, my friends. Tis now. The director and editor are the first to be blamed, of course. The cinematography that is just the height of just-too-muchery is so over the top and so film-school-graduate meets gritty-means-cursing-jarring-movement-and-nudity that it actually made me and Ana gasp and laugh with bewilderment. The imagery involving the goldfish was so excruciating that my description as merely “heavy-handed” doesn’t suffice. I’ll instead explain that it became the monstrous fist of a radioactive ape, pounding away at our sensibilities. Treating us as though the depth of the recurring dead/dying goldfish was just too much for us, too complex, too existential.

I almost refuse to discuss the attempt at “fragmentation” that translated to “disjointed and irrelevant”. It was alllll over the place and largely unnecessary. Finally, I doubt even a semi-retarded ape would have needed all of the icons and visual aids.

It wasn’t that kind of deep.

It wasn’t any kind of deep that isn’t associated with a wading pool.

She was too badass, too badgirl, too…who-does-she-think-she-is and who are we suspected to be that such a stereotype would arouse us? Is this a serious attempt?? Are we supposed to buy that eyes eternally at half-mast as seductive or confident? And let’s not begin to talk about how putting one’s life on the line usually doesn’t end up translating to everyone’s life BUT one’s own.

The Venezualan bounty hunter who is entirely underdeveloped, not withstanding the liberal use of his silken curls and their liberation from a ponytail as a sign of aggression and preparation for some heinous act. He was also entirely sexy and I believe – aside from shooting people’s arms off simply because someone tells him to over the phone – we would make beautiful music together. As soon as he washes the Keira off of himself.

And in the end, she loves her mother. Because for someone who is bent on being so typically anti-Hollywood. (and being completely oblivious to just how trendy that really is, especially when it’s liberally applied….I mean, no grace in the illustration whatsoever)…it IS all about her. The sentiment… is worth everyone’s pain and suffering.

The moral of the movie: She’s a spoiled brat who didn’t get enough of Daddy’s attention. And she’s white. So several people had to die to right that wrong. HAH!