December 2/2225 words
Another 2000 words and no resolution. Well, I'm making progress of a sort. One half of the story is on the right path and I have a sense of what it's going to take to get it to the end. However, that means the remaining 50% is stuck in worthless detail splendor as I thrash through it searching for the right spot. I'm getting there. I have to have a third party show up, so hell can break loose. I just hope he's that anal a character and pissed off enough to break through walls in order to do it.
Time will tell. Lalalalalalala.
The half that is going well has decided to throw up a new decision in my pathway, which was never a glimmer in my brain before. Is Kalim willing to take shared leadership in his body?
My brain insists on poking at that piece of information it threw up on the page, while I just want to run screaming far, far away. WTH. I'm deliberating (as much as I do) on what that would do to the overall arc of the two novels in which he figures, and if it's even a possibility. It's won't be a problem for this novel--there's really no reason to let Rakeen have his way. He'd flail more than Kalim at the resolution. But going forward? Hmmmm.
Meanwhile, everyone else at the monastery would roll over in their graves. Okay, only the ones not buried under masonry. (Shh. I did not say that.)
However, most of today, I will be locked in Christmas Hell in Kinder.
Monday, chains. Tuesday, letters to Santa. (One child absent. Damn.) Wednesday, Christmas stockings with names in glitter. Thursday and Friday, we touch on Hanukkah as part of our multicultural studies. I'm reading books associated with either the holiday or the Jewish culture (Something from Nothingis a truly delightful tale if you're looking for one that's a little unusual for a special child.) We are practicing the songs for the Christmas program, which will be next Wednesday.
Throw in two extra meetings between now and next Tuesday, a concert for me on Saturday night, and a party for my choir members afterwards. At my house.
And nothing has happened on the cleaning front yet.
Or, for that matter, the cooking front. I'm doing desserts and coffee, so there's got to be homemade somethings.
My life.
Okay, so it's not my life, but a tortured existence in which I provide my own self-torture for the edification and instruction of all.
This is What Not To Do, boys and girls. Hohoho.
(Yeah, that sounds hollow. Go with it.)
December 5/1325 words
Color me accomplished this morning--four dozen snowball cookies done and a pumpkin cobbler in the oven. Last night I whipped out a batch of peanut brittle (I have another batch to make at some point) and the night before was the night of peanut butter-nutella brownies, which are my personal crack for the season. Still to come, gingerbread biscotti, shortbread with a nut and honey topping, and the truffles.
Now I just have to make sure I have enough people to feed them all to, because I'm not eating all this alone. No sirree.
Although I could. Cross my heart.
Writing is progressing--but I may have to do another jump and figure out the gap in action later. Depends on how agile my brain is this afternoon after all the house cleaning and decorating for tonight. Because yes, concert tonight, with people over afterwards.
And the baking is not quite done for that. I have an olive tapenade pie crust pinwheel recipe to roll and bake, and the chicken enchilada dip to start in the slow cooker.
All I'm saying is that people better bring an appetite.
And a hollow leg. And maybe a neighbor or two.
Heck, if you're in the neighborhood, just knock on the door at 8:30 or so.
Now, to throw on some clothes and run to the store for the rest of the fixings. (I bake in jammies, doesn't everyone?) And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to think my way out of this conundrum I've set up in this section of the novel.
Well, if I load up on coffee, and if I toss sugar into myself. Of course, then I won't be able to trust whatever idea I get, because sugar-fueled ideas? Usually fall apart under the cold hard light of self-induced blood sugar crashes.
December 6/0 words
No writing yesterday--it was all taken up with party and concert readiness. Our run-through at church (after two funerals) turned into setup, and then we had to stop for the baptism in the middle of it all. Still we managed to get all the mics run, all the cords laying neatly, and then practiced in a mostly empty church. Two and a half hours later we were done.
Then I ran back home, threw things all around in a frenzy of last-minute ohmygod, no one can come into this house when it still looks like this and...
Lost my music. Well, not quite all of it. I had the first page of one song, page eleven of another, but nothing of the third. The universe threw me a bone, essentially.
So I totally freaked. It had been on the chair where I usually dump my purse, which had been moved for vacuuming, and had fallen, but the Eldest Child had picked it up and set it back on the chair...
Never found it.
Luckily, we dug up an extra copy of the one I didn't have completely memorized there, and I survived. One of my little group members asked me if I had brought water and I had to tell her no, I was too busy using every bad word I knew to have even thought about it.
My solo went well--apparently. I followed Paul's advice and focused on performance. I have no idea if I flattened a little or if my focus was spot on. Ah, well. It's over, and I had a positive experience, and I was not terrified. Confidence is all about knowing that you can get through it without major errors like a break between registers.
(No, I still don't have moving smoothly between head voice and chest voice quite down, but it's all about a laser-like focus gluing it together, so I have high hopes. Because I can focus on demand.)
Then it was back to the house and feeding people. We didn't have a large crowd, which was just fine by me, and people stayed only two hours because we all have to sing this morning. But the food went, and I have two recipes to share. One of which is crack, judging from the number of people who hovered over the dip and kept coming back for more.
Chicken Enchilada Dip
Prep Time: 10 minutes
Cook Time: 10 hours (less, if you cook on high)
Ingredients:
2 lbs. boneless, skinless chicken thighs
10 oz. can enchilada sauce
2 (8 oz.) pkgs. cream cheese, softened
4 cups shredded Pepper Jack cheese
Preparation:
Combine chicken and enchilada sauce in a 3-4 quart crockpot. Cover and cook on low for 8-10 hours or chicken is thoroughly cooked. Using two forks, shred chicken in the sauce.
Cut cream cheese into cubes and stir into the crockpot along with the jack cheese and mix well. Cover and cook on low for 30 minutes, stirring twice, until mixture is blended and cheese is melted. Serve with tortilla chips. 30 servings
And for those who requested it....
Peanut Butter-Nutella Brownies
1 cup butter
2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
4 large eggs at room temperature
1 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup good quality cocoa
1/8 tsp salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 cup Nutella
1/2 cup peanut butter
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Prepare a glass 9 by 13-inch baking dish with cooking spray.
Melt the butter over very low heat; when melted remove from heat and gently pour into a large bowl. With a wooden spoon stir in the sugar and vanilla. Add the eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Add flour, cocoa, baking powder and salt in a medium bowl and whisk together. Combine the flour mixture slowly to the butter, sugar, and egg mixture - mix well.
Mix the peanut butter and Nutella in a small microwave safe bowl, and heat until it reaches a runny consistency. Stir the mixture into the batter; then pour it into the baking dish.
Bake for 30 minutes. Allow to cool completely before cutting.
I also made a simple powdered sugar and milk runny icing, drizzled it over the top of the brownies, and then sprinkled miniature chocolate chips over that. It takes about two hours for the icing to set before you can cut them (or, you could always cut first, I suppose, and then ice.)
And now, thankfully, I have most of the day to recover. Yay!
(Oh, and the music? I had scooped up a music book (with the missing pages) and moved it to my desk at some point in the last hour of cleaning. There is was--right under the book. And the number of times my Spousling asked if I had checked that book shall remain unspoken.)
December 12/2500 words
Having been smacked in the face with the border-crossing trials of Dr. Peter Watt, I'm sitting here horrified. We, as a nation, have finally sunk to the bottom. Not that we hadn't visited there regularly in the past, but it seems as though this is our new level of incompetence mingled with our own peculiar brand of terrorism.
But it's all of a piece--border guards (one hundred miles inland of the actual border, srsly?), Blackwater thugs as our hired mercenaries, a fear of the other so great that we've extended it to foreign accents and those that carry evidence of a different nationality via passport--although they look and sound just like us.
And the thing that horrifies me the most is that this is just one example--and it happened to an individual who is white, educated, and able to spread the word. What about others--darker-skinned, accented, unfamiliar with our customs--who have had similar altercations that have never hit the media or blogosphere to this extent?
You can't tell me they don't exist or that this is just a single incident--I'm far too cynical. Humans with power over other individuals are involved. It doesn't have to be all border guards; it just has to be a few who are backed by those in charge.
The fact that some of my friends refuse to enter this country because of harassment (even potential harassment) says it all.
As much as I'd like to believe this is still the nation of my childhood, minus the atomic bomb drills, it's not.
And yes, we've progressed on some fronts, but the fact remains that we're not anywhere close to being a nation of all people, by all people, and for all people.
The writing moved slowly this weekend. I was derailed by a Christmas program and an unscheduled choir practice on Wednesday, exhaustion on Thursday, and a Christmas party on Friday. Net word count for the week? 2500. Not even close to that 666/day goal. Half is not good enough. So there will be writing scheduled for today, after the cleaning and baking (gingerbread biscotti, truffles, and nut cookies, yay!)
It's 11A, and all I have to show for the morning is a phone call to my mother. (The Spousling popped his head in my office a bit ago to say, "Oh. Your mom called on Monday." I suppose delayed communication is better than none. Right?)
So now, it's off to the kitchen mines. If I'm not out by 7P, intervene. Please.
December 13/0 words
For the record, baking sheets do not mix well with glass windows. Just in case you were wondering. Also, the baking sheet won.
(Don't tell, but I'm holding out for a replacement pop-out window rather than just a single pane.)
I baked yesterday--as if you couldn't tell. I whipped out Oreo balls, gingerbread biscotti, and the honey-nut topped shortbread. Yum. There's more today, but I am avoiding the kitchen for a while longer to bring you the last recipe.
You will not regret this. Trust me.
Honey-Nut Shortbread Bars
Preheat oven to 350°.
1 c. butter
½ c. sugar
1 egg
1 tsp. vanilla
2 c. flour
Mix butter with sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in egg and vanilla. Stir in flour until well mixed.
Pat into greased 13x9 pan. Bake 15 minutes or until edges brown and center is dry. Cool in pan on rack.
Mix ½ c. butter and ¼ c. honey in heavy saucepan. Warm. Stir in ¾ c. brown sugar. Boil for 2 minutes without stirring. Remove from heat.
Stir in ¼ c. heavy cream and 2 cups of mixed lightly salted whole nuts (no peanuts). Pour mixture over crust.
Return pan to 350° oven for about 10 minutes or until topping bubbles.
Cool completely, cut, and store in covered containers. Makes 5 dozen small bars.
Note: I buy the deluxe mixed nuts, and one can is enough for a batch.
Happy munching! (Also I am not to be held responsible for the weight you gain with this one. Plan on giving some away and force yourself to do just that.)
December 19/675 words
Universal Christmas truths only known to kindergartners.
"Santa has slaves, Mrs. Sisolak--I've seen 'em." (That word--it doesn't mean what you think. Try sleigh. Or elves. Pick one.)
"If Name Redacted doesn't believe in Santa Claus, then Santa Claus won't believe in him." (Any moment now that poor child is going to rapidly shrink to the size of a dot and go POOF!!)
"Up on the housetop, reindeer paws...." (I asked what 'pause' meant. That'll teach me.)
"Our classroom doesn't have a chimney. Santa got in through the windows.
*points to clerestory windows above* and lo! One is ajar. Now
that's a miracle.
I can't wait for the leprechaun invasion.
Next year, though, Santa is writing a regular letter to the class and mentioning names of the kids he's watching closely. (Yes, I'm mean. Kindergarten teachers may not start that way, but in the battle for survival, we adapt.)
Writing? Not so much. After the Christmas shopping is wrapped up, and the tamales are made, and the trips to the post office, and the rehearsals are over and done with, then yes.
There's after Christmas, of course. But for the moment, I am overwhelmed and understaffed. And I hate the novel again.
I'm so frickin' going to write The End and call it done.
At least shopping went successfully last night--walked out of Kohl's with two gifts under $50, having saved over $70 on them. (Well, saved. Not really--I just didn't have to buy at the original price. Not like I'm going to take that $70 and buy something for me with it. Sadly.)
December 21/0 words
So, in the chaos of the holly jolly season, I managed to have my own mini-emergency which involved me screaming for help.
Literally.
And due solely to a rabid can of hair spray. I had managed to close the lid, entrapping a significant segment of the fleshy pad of my ring finger.
Now what you must know about this particularly vicious cap and can is that the two are not easily parted. I fight them regularly. So my mental state as I pinched that fingertip pad was--mostly!--pain!pain!Pain!OMGDOSOMETHING!
And then the realization kicked in, albeit somewhat delayed, that I would never be able to get the damn cap off without help.
Let the screaming begin.
Imagine you are a film maker. The camera is pointed at the landing of a curved staircase, and a well-dressed, but demented woman bursts onto that landing, screaming. She is waving a 12-inch can of hair spray.
From one finger.
You pan out.
Now a well-dressed Spousling appears. He is demanding what? What's wrong?! at the top of his lungs. (The yelling in response actually started far earlier, but a bad back caused his physical delay.)
The two meet at the bottom of the stairs, while the woman gets herself under control (PANIC!PAIN!HAIR SPRAY!OFF!OFF!) long enough to shake the can of hair spray at him, and screams, "The lid! The lid! Off!"
POP! (Inspection of finger--geeze, a white pinch of skin the depth of a fifty-cent piece and 3/8" long caused all that agony? We are not talking child birth here, peoples. WTH?)
Instant relief, although the pain fades slowly. And somewhat shamefacedly, she takes the lid and reapplies it to the can of spray.
Whereupon the Spousling stares at her in amazement, and says, "You're really going to put that lid back on, so you can repeat this experience?"
Oh. Why... no. I'm not.
*camera fades into black*
For the record, pain sucks brain cells and any reasoning power you once possessed into its maw, and is reluctant to Cough. Them. Back. Up.
Moral: Hair spray has joined the cohorts of appliances determined to take you out. Do not be swayed by the allure of perfectly coiffed hair.
December 28/525 words
Another year, another June, another sunny honeymoon, another season, another reason for making....
Riiiiiiiiiiiight. Replace whoopie with novel.
After a week away, during which--amazingly!--nothing broke, nothing broke anything else, nothing attempted to eat my body parts, and--not so amazingly!--no words wrote themselves, I am back on the wagon.
I plotted (for random values of plotting, which may or may not equal zero) out the remaining scenes to get this book to the end. Currently there are six. And it's an end of sorts, although there is nothing emotional as they sail off into the distance to search for the one person they lack for the sequel.
And I will make no mention of the guy's best friend who suddenly appears on board to confront Kalim with the fact that he is not Rakeen. D'oh. Last place we saw him was the cave during a sand storm. Apparently there's a worm hole in that cave that rips characters I need loose and flings them to the exact spot in the narrative where they are needed.
I've got at least one hundred more in that cave. Maybe I'll just call it "off-stage" instead. Nice to know I have a steady supply of walk-ons.
Also, the love interest for Kalim in the sequel. But shh! That would be telling. I'm also not going to tell about Rakeen's attraction to Mareet, and Kalim's horror regarding that.
Oh, I just did.
Oh well. Suffer. :P
So yeah, six scenes to finish in four days, which is doable. Except for the part where we leave for Fresno today and return on Wednesday. It's damn difficult to write at Mom's. But I will try, even though there will be baby! distractions! and family to avoid contend with.
So yes, I'm packing the laptop. And yes, I'm writing this morning. Right after I post this.
I'm even--gulp--showing up in chat for the guilting.
Six scenes of approximately 2K each (that would be bare bones, right?) still equals 12K. Dammit.
Wake me up when it's over! *dives into the abyss*
