August 1/400 words
The write-a-thon is over, and it's time for a backwards critical look at what I accomplished. This past week, the word count slowed--partially because it was easy to tell I'd meet my second goal (24K!) without much effort, and the other partial was life and sewing. (Flower girl dress #2 done! Fitting this morning, after which there will be drinking if it fits or screaming if I must alter it.)
I wrote almost 25.5K words in these six weeks, nearly a third more than my total word count at Clarion. In this period, writing has become easier: I've learned to trust myself to just write, even if what I'm writing doesn't seem to be leading anywhere. I've learned to decide what has to happen in the newest scene before I begin since that also makes it easier. Which I knew. But I hadn't applied consistently before.
I learned that slow and steady wins the race. Twenty minutes a day (or two sessions of twenty minutes) adds up over time. Again, nothing I hadn't already known, but something I'd failed to put into practice. Needless to say, I'm going to continue my twenty-thirty minute bout of writing at 7P. I think I've got that habit set, and it'll be simple enough to continue.
I've learned to let go. Let go of the suspicion of my writing and whether it's the right bit here or there. Let it go. Don't overanalyze. Don't sit and stare.
There is only do.
So I've done, and it didn't break me. The story progresses. I'm learning more about each of these characters and their fears as it goes on.
Overall, a happy ending, and it's not too late to sponsor me! Just click here and sign your life away.
Chaos ensues today. The wedding couple are in town for fittings and cake discussions. Their condo finished escrow, but there will be no keys until Monday. I am sad, for I have yet to see this place.
They arrived at 2A this morning; they leave at 6:30A tomorrow and they take the eldest with them for he is working camp the last week.
My goal, once I return, is to finish the hem on this flower girl dress, add the lace trim at the waist (woo! We're using the extra trim from the wedding veil I made) and work on the Slug's dress. With any luck, I will be done with the basics of hers by tomorrow night.
Minor details--hems, frex, will have to wait.
But yay! It looks like I can turn my focus to school as of Monday, and that means clearing all the bags out of my office and dumping them in my classroom.
Yeah, that just means the mess is migrating, but it's progress of a sort.
August 2/375 words
The wedding horrors continue. Yesterday, after the kids' discussion with the wedding planner at the church, I discovered the organist had retired two weeks ago, and that they were free to find their own.
Oh, did I say they?
Silly me. I mean, me. They left this morning for camp. I have two pianists in mind and a few cantors, should my sister-in-law with the gorgeous voice choose not to cantor herself. She's the middle child's godmother and first choice. The bride wants organ music as she heads down the aisle; only one of the pianists I know also plays the organ, and I am uncertain as to his availability. So right now, it's going to be whoever I drag out of the bushes to play. Srsly.
One dress is now altered and before I can hem it the right way, I will have to remove the skirt side seams and resew them individually. This means taking apart the waistline. Again. After I sewed the lace trim to the waist.
I swear I would have done better with this things if I'd just waited until people arrived in town for the wedding and I stayed up all night to sew them all.
Anyway, yeah. More sewing. Same damn dress. The good news is that I will redo the side seams on the other flower girl dress before she gets into town. And then it will be all about getting those hems finished ASAP and by machine. I will not make the same mistake of stitching the lace to the dress on this one. It's not a time-sink in terms of redoing the lace--just frustrating.
Writing happened, but only twenty minutes worth and early. We had an impromptu dinner with the kids and the mother-in-law and brother-in-law to be.
I wasn't thrilled. Too many place holders in this little segment and I will have to fill those in. Sooner, I imagine, rather than later.
But if the dresses and wedding angst aren't enough to keep me happy, Harley's not feeling well, and barely ate his breakfast. This never happens. He is currently crashed beside me, so I'm more than a little worried. It's like having a sick 18-month year old who can't tell you what's wrong and just goes limp.
Bleh. Well, if nothing else, I will be able to nail my choir director this morning and ask about his availability for wedding accompaniments. He may have some other names of people, too, which would be helpful.
Yeah, and what passes for life around here goes on.
August 4/500 words
I don't know where the time goes.
Oh, yes I do. It's spent ripping out serged seams very carefully--because once you've serged something, it clings to that measly ¼" worth of ravelling fabric for all it's worth. Two and a half freaking hours worth of ripping so as not to leave any marks. Ten minutes of resewing what I ripped.
Then I realized I was going to have to rethread the serger for the chiffon's rolled hem. I went into avoidance mode, promised myself I'd go back after I wrote, wrote for twenty minutes, and was too sleepy to do anything remotely taxing--so I cleaned the kitchen and went to bed.
I'm threading the damn machine next. And sewing all the hems. And trimming the netting ruffle like I most likely will have to do. Then I'd declaring the dress done and moving on to the Slug's for finishing. Yeah, the other flower girl's dress needs the same seam ripped out, but since the girl in question doesn't arrive in town until the 17th, it'll wait. I can rip during SYTYCD.
This is officially my last day of vacation. Tomorrow I head back into school to begin setting up and my attention becomes officially divided.
Not to say it hasn't been split all along this summer, but now I get to throw something new into the mix. It's funny. When I was little, I had no desire to be a juggler, but just look at me now.
I'm irritated by the politics of my novel again. For the record, I hate politics. And here I have two political settings--not that I'm calling them politicians at all, but everyone's moving around like they are in terms of plotting and tricksyness.
For god's sake, move on and just kill the bastards! I swear all my characters have their fingers in their ears and are singing lalalalala when I sit down to write.
Tonight someone dies.
Maybe the sacrificial goat. And Kalim can recognize the damn thing by its brandings, and it'll be a foreshadowing of someone else getting theirs.
Mwa-ha-ha-ha!
Okay, or not. But someone has to bite the dust, and I just realized that one of my mysterious characters just vanished once Kalim gets caught, and what the hell. I'll have to close that arc better on the next go around.
Now, off to rethread the serger of DOOM! and if something explodes and you hear it, it's not me. All I have to do is figure out how to explain the serger's demise to the friend I've borrowed it from.
August 5/400 words
One flower girl dress finished, and despite its best attempts, it did not kill me. Not even when I discovered I had to rip out the zipper seam and the accompanying serged edges to sew the hems. There is a picture of the dress, but the photos I took of the hems are blurred--demonlike in their own way--so I didn't bother putting them up.
Take a look at that dress.
Doesn't appear demonlike, now does it? Sweet, really. Sleeveless, no real ornamentation, nothing that looks too difficult to recreate.
On the other hand, every seam (okay, so not the shoulder seams or neckline or armholes, just roll with the hyperbole) in this dress has been sewn at least three times. So there you go: sweet on the outside, hell to pay on the inside.
On the other other hand (*counts* Okay, I still have two.) serged rolled hems are the bomb. Yes, there's the pain and agony of threading the damn serger, and then the tinkering-test-tinkering-test pattern you must undergo for an hour before you can actually get a rolled hem, but wowza. Sewing five feet of skirt hems thrice is a snap. You can only see two hems in that photo, but there is a third. With yards of netting attached. Trust me.
The Slug's dress is ready to seam bodice to newly recreated midriff, and since this one I've planned to sew skirts separately, there should be nothing to rip and resew once I get there.
I am never sewing chiffon again. I knew this twenty-five years ago, and this whole pin the dress on the wedding party has only reinforced it.
Also, I have cantor. No organist/pianist, but cantor, yes. And a vow from my choir director that he will get someone for me.
I just have to keep reminding him. That's all.
Writing? Yes. Love it? No, I do believe we hates it again. And I hit the classroom today, so there will be even more hate going round.
If you need something detested, just let me know. I'm willing to help and put my excess to some good use.
August 7/800 words
I can almost, almost cross one thing off my ever-groaning list of stuff to do.
The music. I have an organist/pianist, I have a selection of music that the kids have to confirm, and all I have to do is communicate with everyone. And remind my choir director to send me the guy's phone number.
Well, and find the music on YouTube so the kids know what they are. I have this funny feeling they're not going to be able to pull Canon in D or Handel's Hornpipe from the Water Music Suite out of their heads in a flash.
So as soon as that's done, and as soon as I've printed out the welcome to kindergarten postcards and put them in the mail and sewn and exercised and practiced for the recital rehearsal at 5P (for which I am supremely unready... well, yeah. Then everything will be fine.
(Yeah, I'm lying to myself. Go figure.)
One classroom wall is done as of yesterday. My calendar wall, to be exact, and which I use the most. I tend to move around the classroom clockwise as I'm setting the room up, counter-clockwise if I'm taking stuff down for the summer. With a good dusting each time, because heaven only knows twice a year is about as much as I can manage. With maybe a token dusting at Christmas if I'm lucky.
I cannot tell you how much dust accumulates in a week or two in this classroom. And that's with the doors usually closed.
Writing happened last night again, and I am beginning to enjoy the little snarky comments he gets to make in the confines of Bashak's head. It's the same kind of little snarky voice that tells you, "Well, that was a smart move, birdbrain." in your own head.
Okay, so that was the voice in my head. Shush.
I got a good talking to by people in my choir about how teaching is performance art (which it is! Although I had never thought of it that way, it's true. I'm just not aware of it unless I am being observed by parents or admin) and that I can sing for this recital and move past the anxiety and fear in performing. So at the rehearsal tonight, I am turning everyone into trees. Every single one, (Okay, not Paul. He has to play the piano, and he will be behind me. Everyone I can see.) and sing this aria to the trees. I also have to nail down the character who is doing the singing and her back story, since it's a song of lost love and pain and agony with the forest the only place she can let down and talk about that very pain and agony.
Much to do, and so very little time. If I could have any super power, I would want the ability to stretch time--just enough to accomplish everything I had to do and to appreciate those moments when I am grateful to be alive and to have the ones I love about me.
So yeah. I wouldn't abuse it.
Much. :P
August 8/400 words
I survived the recital rehearsal--mainly by pretending the few other victims soloists were trees. It worked. I got through by thinking about breath control and pain and sorrow.
A few things to work on before next Sunday's performance--like trilling the correct note at the end. And keeping the pacing up on the final section.
A lot like writing, in other words.
Well, except for the fact that you have an audience watching your every move, and some of that audience are quite superior in technique than you are and know exactly where you hit a false note or--the bane of my existence--that you have no breath support at all and you are going to die before you even hit the last note in that phrase.
Yeah, good times.
But I do have to say that turning the audience into trees worked well for my nerves. I hope I can do it again.
More writing last night, and annoying. It's time to figure out where this scene is going and write to a damn end point, because there's a lot of nattering going on between characters. Stupid characters.
Welcome postcards to incoming kinders are in the mail, and four are younger siblings of kids I've had before. I'm relaxing a trifle, although there are thirteen other children to consider. Our numbers are down. There are only three classrooms of kinders this year, which is a first for us in my memory, and this is my twenty-fourth year at the site.
*sewing break ensues*
*followed by craft break where I suggest ways of attaching a grommet to a metal u-shape with twine to make a face*
Funny how she didn't like the idea of tying individual pieces of twine at the top of each loop to make hair. She's got four hours in the car--what else is she going to do?
Well, at least the bodice and midriff got sewn and measured during the unexpected overnight appearance of the Slug. I can now attach midriff to skirt and put in another zipper by hand. The last zipper by hand.
I have no more excuses now. Excuse me while I sew.
August 9/400 words
Dress progress yesterday. The Slug's dress has achieved zipperdom. The remaining checklist items are hems--only two!, a hook and eye for the top of the zipper, and scattering a few of the same floral elements about the midriff to hold that soft chiffon with the tendency to sag.
My worst fear? That the midriff will be too loose, and the only ways I can think of to take it in is to remove the zipper and try again, or to open the lining at the midriff, take the seam apart between midriff and skirt, take the midriff in, gather the skirt to match, and resew.
Guess which technique I'm going to use.
Right. No way in hell am I resewing that zipper by hand.
Some writing last night, enough to end the scene. By then I was prepared to stab characters in the eyes (with my trusty Ginghers) in order to get them to just shut up.
In my copious free time today (ha!) I will be planning the next scene, because I don't know what the heck happens next.
Once a tale veers from where you thought it was going and throws in new subplots all over the place, it's all downhill at 75 mph and building up speed. But Kelly gave me sand magic, so I am tossing this into the mix, although I am saving the bulk of it for the sequel. A sequel. Any sequel.
WTH.
*smacks brain for even considering sequels at this point*
Obviously I need more coffee and a shower to drown my brain.
August 10/200 words
I reached the 'Holy crap, how am I ever going to get this all done' stage.
There was no sign of this yesterday morning, but the kids arrived with dogs, a dinner ensued, and voilá! I smacked right into that wall. Right now, even the loads of laundry I have planned for this morning before I take off are weighing heavily, and it's an internal jumble of houseweddingschool rinse and repeat.
The kids are doing bridal gown fitting and rug cleaning individually. I'll leave it to you which child is responsible for which task. The Spousling runs off with the middle child, supposedly to help, but since the most he could do with his back yesterday was sit, I hopehopehope he will be helping from the sidelines.
After the laundry, I run off to school and then to Lakeshore for laminating. Then back to school to drop off the load, and home to cook dinner for the hordes, because another child and friend arrive with truck. And did I mention the rocks? Twelve, supposedly, for backyard landscaping.
Then it will be offloading rocks and loading furniture. Unhooking our old washer and drier and hooking up the new, while the old go on the truck. There's a refrigerator in that mix from the other mom.
Tuesday is moving day, and I've been invited both days to come see the condo which I would love to do--but school prep, you know? I'm freaking over that and the two new reading programs I'm going to be testing on my little guinea pigs before the district selects one and buys it--supposedly with the money we would have from the state. Um... yeah. Don't see that happening in the next year.
So lots and lots of gibbering going on, plus I've got to get a music decision from the kids and fax music to the cantoring aunt....
Are you tired yet? I haven't even touched the housework. Everywhere I look, something desperately needs cleaning or the spiders need whacking into submission. Yesterday I found a web running from the kitchen counter fern to the nearest wall. I know the flies are good this time of year, I have a few in the pop-out kitchen window I try to slaughter whenever I walk by, but still.
Plus, I have had only one and a half normal-sized cups of coffee this morning, but it feels as though I've had four or five vats.
It's not even 8A yet. I guess this is a good prelude to kindergarten mornings. I only hope I can keep up the pace.
August 12/0 words
No time to write these past two days--we've had dinner for people and moved children and made alterations--which I might add, have not taken, so there will additional reconstruction.
Bottom line is that the dress pattern I thought was quite similar to a small online photo bears some similarity in the top, a teeny bit in the narrow waist band, and none whatsoever in the skirt drape. Turns out the skirt was cut on the bias, which this is not.
So now it's all about redoing the waist, which is almost empire, to be somewhat more flattering. This involves removing fast quantities of gathering at the sides. Oh, and taking out the zipper top to give the bodice a snugger fit. It's not good if she raises her arms above her head to dance and the bodice slides down. Which it does. My telling her not to raise her arms got a big-eyed look, like how can you dance if you don't put your arms in the air.
Yeah, I'm disappointed, but ohWELL. Move on, get the damn thing done. Since I keep thinking it's Thursday but it's not, it's almost as if I get an extra twenty-four hours to do it in.
School stuff, though, is well on its way.
Some days that's all you can hope for.
August 13/0 words
The countdown continues--day 9.
Still to be resolved:
-what shoes I will wear
-the music that will play
-whether the solo is pre-wedding or after the vows
-whether the Spousling will be parading down the aisle on a gurney since he decided to put the kids' refrigerator door back on the frig solo and killed his back. Again.
-which of my alter personalities will clean this house and do any of them have the time
-will the dresses reach a state of actual finishedness
-will the Spousling find a damn restaurant for the rehearsal dinner? (His sole responsibility, I might add.)
-will I survive? (Jury's still out on this one, btw.)
Sewing was supposed to happen last night, as was writing. But then I dropped a Corningwear lid, shattering it impressively. Cleanup took a good ten or fifteen minutes, mostly because Harley wanted to investigate every glass shard and I had to kick him out repeatedly.
At that point, I realized my judgment was impaired and I would not rip things out, because I would make mistakes. And it was 7:30 or so and too late to catch Kelly, so I ended up on the sofa watching Property Virgins on the HGTV network.
Have I ever mentioned I rarely watch television?
There's a reason for that. The vast majority of programs I catch sporadically are boring and predictable as hell.
Unlike the Dress Disasters of 2009. (Which somehow suggests I prefer the dress disasters, but that would be a lie. I just use my brain to resolve them.)
The only front that looks semi-manageable right now is school. There's organizing, of course, and soaking the glue bottle caps to get them functioning, but on the list of difficulty, not bad at all.
My sole comfort--this too shall pass.
Rather like the small quantity of Head and Shoulders shampoo that Baxter devoured a few months ago. Yeah, his poop was blue for a while....
August 25/0 words
The wedding itself went off without a hitch. People appeared in a timely fashion. No one forgot their lines. No one lost the rings, and the one that rolled off the ring-bearer's pillow was handily caught mid-air by the best man.
It was lovely, all told.
The trip to the reception--down that narrow windy road, sometimes paved, sometimes dirt, was successful. We lost no one over an edge.
The reception place, the camp lodge, was beautifully decorated and looked lovely. The cake, fully tiered (surprise to us!) was carried successfully on the Slug's lap on a metal tray, 40+ miles, and even down that windy bumpy road.
Nary a scratch.
Too bad it was the wrong cake.
And although we took it in stride, as did the bride, I worry still about the other couple who may very well have gotten ours. Or maybe the bakery is just very poor at keeping correct notes in that notebook.
The only really awful surprise was to arrive and discover that the kitchen was not fully staffed, that the catering company (run by the camps, mind you) had dropped off the food, but not stuck around long enough to prepare it all. Save for the two volunteer helpers my son had found. So, yeah. Not much had gotten prepared or cooked.
But we aren't surrounded by boy scouts for nothing. No sirree. The Spousling and eldest child hit the kitchen running, whipped out the snacks and then dinner. My best friend jumped in to help, as well as a few other guests, and it was quickly rescued.
Well, by whipped, I mean dinner was served an hour later than planned, and the snacks proceeded out a tray or two at a time up until that point, but it worked.
Potential disaster saved, and most of the guests never knew there was an issue.
We have (still!) buckets of food left, and we sent bags of food home with the impromptu guests for dinner on Sunday night.
I may become extremely tired of chicken alfredo, but at the moment, I'm surviving. And it was a successful wedding--no one died.
What I'm not taking with such grace are the pack of little dogs racing around my house and their attempts to unstuff my living room loveseat.
Any fluff I find on the floor gets poked back in, but I'm about ready to wire their jaws shut.
Finally, school has started with a vengeance. I find myself thoroughly exhausted now that I have no nerves to run on.
But I'm returning to writing tonight. Cross my heart. (Kelly, you there? Sorry about the disappearance last week.)
Now, off to go see who peed on what rug while I was updating my state of mind. (It's a gentler, kinder state of mind, with minor bouts of crazed.)
Oh, and there will be a few photos. Soonish.
August 29/500 words
New dog rules: a list
Wear shoes. Stepping unawares on pinecones and their respective parts are akin to walking through a darkened room booby-trapped with Legos. I speak from experience.
Small dogs are heavier than you think and all their weight is in their paws. Don't lie down. And for god's sake, don't fall asleep if they are loose.
Don't give them toys. After all, you already gave them that nice sofa to unstuff, and they've only succeeded with one cushion.
When the baby realizes just how you got that tissue of the box, do not set the box down. Do. Not.
Feed one, feed them all. Try to do this with only two hands and the babies licking your ankles hoping to trip you so you will spill. It worked that first time.
Do not continue sitting at the computer when the dogs play. Three out of four will be under your chair, and the 50-pound Siberian Husky will want to be there, too.
If it is difficult to tell the difference between a squeaky toy and the baby's yips of fear or pain, take the squeaky toy away. You will get tired of rescuing that squeaky toy sooner than you think.
When you need some personal time, vacuum.
Two small determined dogs can fling themselves quite hard against a closed door if you do not listen to the quiet yips and open it. (Or the husky was launching them because she couldn't tolerate the racket. Hard to tell--the door was closed.)
I'm sure I will learn more since I am not escaping to school home this weekend. Less than forty-eight hours to go, but no, I'm not counting.
(However, I am almost ready to tell the newlyweds that twins would be easier--if I wasn't afraid I'd jinx myself.)
