Tag: committed or something like it



Why is it that four-day weeks are so much more exhausting than the regular five-day ones?

Could it be something to do with the actual holiday?

I do not know. But I am grateful that I have another three-day weekend this weekend to recover from last week. How I’ll recover the following weekend when it’s all normal again, I don’t know.

But I slept in (at least in terms of hours spent prone) until 8:30A this morning. So the weekend goals are off to a good start.

The goals:

*wrap up writing unit 5, all 6 weeks, and send it out to my other insane compatriots in the endeavor, by tomorrow morning. Eesh. (five-six hours)
*practice all three verses for tomorrow’s duets at both places, and try to nail hitting head and low simultaneously. (That’s good for another two-three hours.)
*wrap up the dang rewrite and send it out to Posse. (Could be hours and hours.)
*verify that the bubble sheets are correctly bubbled for the trimester assessments. (Yeah, math is definitely wrong in a few places.)
*Figure out why my shift keys aren’t cooperating with capitalization rules. (How long does it take to clean a keyboard?)

There’s housework, of course. Walking, at least, although I tweaked my lower back again yesterday/last night, so it’s annoying and a bit painful. Pain pills are in my future.

But I’m starting with the ugly–the next unit, and get it to my principal before Wednesday. I’m getting paid extra for doing this, but it’s not my favorite task, by any means.

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Less than 24 hours


and the youngest was home again to pick up a few more things and do a load of laundry.

Just sayin’.

(Plus, she commented on the fact that I had taken up her spot in the driveway when I parked the car last night. I told her that I hadn’t planned on her being home again until tomorrow, after work. Maybe she’ll learn to give warning.


No writing the past three days, so I’ve already got 31 sentences for the day. That’s not to say that’s all I’ll have, but every sentence at this point impacts what happens after. Nothing like messing with a character’s known reaction, changing it, and then having to tiptoe through the minefield of characterization to make certain you’ve nailed it.


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It’s official


We are now empty nesters.

Exhausted empty nesters, since it took most of the day to load the cars and truck, and then unload them. I spent a couple of hours hand-washing dishes and pots (new and packed away for a while) and then putting them in cupboards.

They turned down a dinner out tonight, and we’ll catch them later.

It’s not like we’re never going to see her again. I’m expecting her to show up regularly to take one thing home and run a load of laundry. Like for the next six months or so.

Needless to say, there was no writing the past three days. Too much going on, between the shower and dinners with other people, and then all the moving stuff today.

Tomorrow is another day, though. And hallelujah, I have a three-day weekend. I’ll need it just to recover.

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Up and already


writing is in process. Eleven new sentences. Go me.

Last night, I got just two, and some rewriting. But there was critting and commenting on others’ work that took me time, and I was overwhelmed with comments on my own short. I needed a night to sleep on the thoughts swirling in my head, and apparently that worked.

I don’t know how the weekend is going to go–company arrives on Thursday, so my office will be off-limits, family dinner on Friday, wedding shower and dinner with friends on Saturday, and Sunday we help move the daughter. Good times and exciting, but crazy.

And now to face school. I’m taking a vat of coffee in the car with me today.

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If you wait long enough…


More rewriting tonight. I’ve had a few more crits pointing out things I really must fix, so I am.

I’m tempted to give completely up on the tightening. One critter caught the variance in language by the end, and I’m not sure I want to lose that voice.

Oh, well, there will be time for another go around. But I’ve got to stop now, because my head is filled with snatches of words, and not able to be coherent.

But the biggest news of the day is that we will be empty-nesters after this weekend. The daughter and son-in-law-to-be have found an apartment.

An entire extra bedroom. I’m calling it the guest room already.

Comments Off on If you wait long enough… | writing

Write your fingers to the bone


So between putting my short up on the OWW, which I haven’t done in forever, and getting a couple of crits there, and receiving John Truby’s book The Anatomy of Story in the mail today, I had to rewrite.

Charlie(!) walked me through a mini lesson on imagery there, specifically with my ending, but I’m applying it elsewhere. (Just when you think you’ve got a pretty good handle on writing and you’re at a pro level, more or less, lo and behold, your eyes are opened.) That crit was a very special treat, and I haven’t had one of his analytical, instructive demonstrations in years. I so appreciated it.

Sarah (Prineas) had mentioned Truby’s book on FB, and I ordered it.

This book may actually work for me. Too many books have been outline-oriented, which I am not. This seems to be more intuitive, although he has have seven steps: weakness and need, desire, opponent, plan, battle, self-revelation, and new equilibrium. I can definitely say focusing on the self-revelation has concretized my character’s growth.

It’s not right yet, but it’s closer. And I’ve spent hours in the last two days thinking and writing. Hours. Forget the two sentences minimum, although I did get those and others. (Oh, and three crits. Don’t ask about housework, though, or schoolwork, for that matter.)

I’ve got it pared down 250 words. I need another 50 or so, which may be doable. I won’t know until I try.

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Another pass


through my bird story last night, trying to condense it.

I managed to shrink it nearly a page. But it’s still novella length, and I’d love to get this down to short story word count. I have three hundred words to go.

It’s very difficult because I have a voice that invokes a certain era, and I can’t chop it too much without losing some of those tags and markers.

However, every little bit counts.

Things I said to kindergartners yesterday:

“Give me those doughnuts!”

“You are not allowed to use that hand gesture in my class or anywhere else. EVER. Pull your yellow card.”

“You called the yard duty a LIAR?!”

To the usually well-behaved, sweet child who was supposed to stamp only her stamp in blue ink and onto the paper, who had blue ink up to her first knuckle on all ten fingers at the very end of the day: “Why do you have blue FINGERS?!”

“I was painting.”

I finally look at the tabletop. Yes. Yes, she was. No one else has blue fingers, though. I make them show her their hands.

“Go wash.” (Through gritted teeth.)

It was all I could do to not bang my head on my desk.

By far, however, the best thing I heard all week (and it’s not often, I can say ever after all these years in kindergarten, but ever applies here)… but no, let me set the scene.

I have a small group at my table. Everyone has a privacy shield, their names on their spelling tests, and those are numbered from one to six. I open my mouth for the first word.

Unidentified child: Mrs. Sisolak? What’s sex?

Me: We are taking our spelling test. Write map. Map.

It has not come back again. But I’ve got a kindergarten answer for the next time: Sex is whether you are a boy or a girl.

Comments Off on Another pass | the stories I could tell, writing

Absolutely glorious harmonies


and what a blend. Amazing.

Tonight’s work–no actual sentences, but progress was made on character motivations in another story. It’s opened another can of research–on self-winding clock mechanisms.

My brain, and welcome to it.

Comments Off on Absolutely glorious harmonies | music, writing



One freaking word.

And that took twenty minutes of research and much debate over whether to use the verb I wanted, because of when it came into use (1825, in relation to boxing) and would it have made it to household usage in the 1880’s. I swear. Writers.

(Meaning me. YMMV.)

And then it was off to choir for two hours, and brain dead after that. This week has been exhausting for some reason, and even though it’s only the 100th day of school tomorrow, another eighty-plus days seem overwhelming.

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Another day closer and deeper in words


It helps to be caught in the throes of my own prose.

Another three sentences, but there was rewriting that last page+ I wrote. I’m still hemming and hawing over the last sentence and if it truly is the last sentence. Or if there’s one beyond, unspoken that needs a voice. I’m waffling.

I’ve managed to close the circle from beginning to end, however, and work in the title, so there’s that.

The next step is to find an original reader of my bird story and ask if they’d read the new ending. I’m already certain I’m too close.

And now school. I put together an IKEA shelf yesterday for the room, and I’m surprised that my hands are not dead from all the torquing of those eight screws. I had to break down and ask the custodian to bring his drill and drill bits to zap them in at the end, instead of cranking them down myself. The directions have a great big X through the image of a single person doing the project, and since I came home and died of exhaustion afterwards, I know now why. The box alone was sixty-six pounds. (I checked that out right away and got help for the dragging–both at IKEA and at school. I’m crazy, but not that crazy.)

On the other hand, I have another long shelf with lots of storage space, and I’ve convinced another teacher to get one. Slowly, I will convince everyone that $70 is not a bad deal for these things. And they’re rock-sturdy.

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