Well, I didn’t quite make my goal of 300, words. I pared it from 450 to 350 and I think if I deleted any more it would be a different story. Maybe it already is. What do you think? Is it better or worse for the editing? The original is back on the 1/31/07 post. If nothing else, it was a good exercise. Truly amazing what uselessness you find when you’re word counting. Here’s the revised version…
Change of Heart
The air outside smelled of daffodils and dandelions pushing up through the dirt, so strong with spring you could get drunk from one deep breath. I came outside to shake the scent of dust and bat shit out of my hair. I took deep breath and started laughing—I was crying, cheeks cramped, before I could get control of myself again.
Jaime pulled up in his driveway. Behind the stack of Thai take-out he still wore a scowl from the fight we’d been having. He walked around the hedge that separated his driveway from where I stood: back porch of the dead neighbor with no living relatives. One offer to mow the lawn, turned friendship, turned certified letter bequeathing the entire contents of his house to Jaime. It had taken us three days to sift through the rambler and conclude that the Salvation Army was going to score. All we had left was the attic, but of all the crammed-full-of-crap corners it was by far the worst: tax returns from the sixties and twenty boxes of Christmas decorations—not the porcelain nativity type, but the tinsel variety. I was beginning to reconsider my resolution to give Jaime and me one more chance.
What a difference a bag of cash can make.
I didn’t feel great about the fact that it took finding the old man’s stash of money to make me realize I should admire Jaime’s effort in memory of a man he’d barely known. He was going to come out of it on top by about 30-grand—proof enough for me that the universe approved of his efforts.
From the back porch I heard Jaime call my name then clomp up the pull-down ladder. The duffel bag was back where I’d found it, on top of the last stack of boxes, so he could experience the rush of finding it himself.
I waited a few minutes and made my way back to the attic. Jaime was in the corner. The duffel bag was lying, deflated on top of the “toss’ mound.
“Looks like we’re just about finished,” he said.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Happy Birthday to Greta! I can't believe my baby is one today. Last year has to be the fastest moving year on record. We had Jeremy's parents in town last week and it was a wonderful visit. Jeremy and David put a playset/fort up in the backyard and we had a small cook out with a few friend to celebrate Greta's birthday. Today Alex and I are going to take her to the play area at the mall and maybe let her pick out a toy from the store. Not that she needs anymore. We have toys and baby clothes coming out our ears. Anyone need a baby girl wardrobe?
As far as the writing bug goes, I think I've finally been infected again. I dusted off my notebook which has been oft neglected this last year and I've recommitted to crack it open once a day. I knew that this first year of Greta's life would take me away from writing - it did when Alex was born. Honestly, I was pretty content to get consumed by that Mom/Baby bond, but it's time to begin the separation process and let the writer piece of the pie get a bigger share of my time than the sliver it's had lately.
In addition to the notebook I've spent some time researching markets. I have two stories I think are ready and I'm going to send one out to all six and as I hear back I'll send the other out. I also found a market for my short short that I posted a while ago. I need to make it shorter (by quite a bit - at leas 100 words) and clear up a few muddy spots that were brought up in workshop. I'll post it tomorrow when I've finished.
As far as the writing bug goes, I think I've finally been infected again. I dusted off my notebook which has been oft neglected this last year and I've recommitted to crack it open once a day. I knew that this first year of Greta's life would take me away from writing - it did when Alex was born. Honestly, I was pretty content to get consumed by that Mom/Baby bond, but it's time to begin the separation process and let the writer piece of the pie get a bigger share of my time than the sliver it's had lately.
In addition to the notebook I've spent some time researching markets. I have two stories I think are ready and I'm going to send one out to all six and as I hear back I'll send the other out. I also found a market for my short short that I posted a while ago. I need to make it shorter (by quite a bit - at leas 100 words) and clear up a few muddy spots that were brought up in workshop. I'll post it tomorrow when I've finished.
Friday, May 18, 2007
What? A new entry on this dusty, abandoned blog? ‘Tis true. Sorry for the absence. No excuse save finals. I’m happy to report that my hiatus paid off - another three A’s to add to the 4.0 and I brag only because it was a very close call this semester. I think my Italian grade came from the graces of my professoressa who I’d had for four semesters because it definitely wasn’t thanks to my test scores. So, thank you Professoressa Wallace, not just for the grade, but for two years of excellent foreign language classes. I’ve been at this school thing for a while and can attest to the rarity of truly inspiring teachers. Teachers, who not only impart knowledge, but excite their students as well. After a couple of years teaching yoga I decided to return to college to eventually become a teacher of literature and writing – my true passions. I only hope that I can live up to examples set by some of the great teachers I’ve had over the years like Mrs. Patterson, my third grade teacher who infected me with the writing bug years ago. Every week we wrote a poem in class and each week she’d pick one student’s poem and design a bulletin board around it. I will never forget that soaring feeling when I came into the room and saw my name next to my words on such a grand scale.
As is my usual semester break tradition, I’ve been book binging. I finished the newest Adrianna Trigiani novel and can’t say I’d recommend it. I only finished it because I was familiar with the characters from the previous novels. It seemed like a bunch of explication to me – no tension. Now I’m reading a novel called “Lost Hearts in Italy.” I love being able to understand the Italian phrases and it’s very well written – author is Andrea Lee. I’ll withhold a full endorsement until I’ve finished it. I haven’t been writing much because….because it’s hard, that’s why. And also because I’ve been pretty contented and busy. I spend my days playing with my kids. Greta is absolutely the most adorable, sweet-natured baby girl on the planet and that makes for one whopper of a distraction. I stuck a picture in so you'll see what I mean. I’ll get back into a rhythm. The same thing happened the year after I had Alex. It’s easy, especially for mothers, to get lost in a relationship with an infant. I’ll come out the other side, but in the meantime I’m going to enjoy being consumed because as I’ve found out with my 5-year-old, they become independent pretty fast. I do have a couple of stories to show for the last few months thanks to my writing class. One brand new and one reworked. They both need a little more attention. I do have a handful of stories that I am considering putting out there. I need to pick up a new copy of some market book and start sending. Rejection sucks, but so does sitting on work.
Va bene, basta!
(okay, enough!)
Thursday, February 22, 2007
I haven't had a chance to post a revised version of the one-pager, but I will soon. I didn't get too much critical feedback from workshop - mostly positive. I do think I need to work on describing the setting and character placement a little better, so I'll see what I can do with the rewrite.
The next story was due a few days ago, but I won't fall into the workshop line-up for another few weeks. I decided to hand in an older story that I wrote and abandoned years ago. The piece has been haunting me and I'm glad to have finally given it some more attention. The protagonist has amnesia from a brain injury and I was intimidated by the technical subject matter. Amazing what a little research can do. I've also taken a psychology class in the time since I wrote the first draft and one of the sections focused on brain injuries and amnesia, together with the research I feel pretty confident about the details. We'll see if the workshop agrees. What was amazing to me was that once I went back to the story armed with facts I had to change very little of the original draft, which basically came out of thin air. Seems the character knew what he was taking about. Guess that's why they call it the "Spooky Art."
The next story I'd like to start from scratch. Not that there aren't thirty other stories I've already written and would like feedback on, but because I haven't started a new story in a while and I miss it. The creation of a new character and a new world is by far my favorite part of the writing process. I'm going back to fertile short story territory for me: three words and blank notebook pages. The three-word trick started years ago with my writing buddy Leaf - we'd pick three words and each use them in a story. Leaf writes horror and I write more commercial/literary type fiction, so you can imagine that the use of words varied greatly. I love starting out with three little building blocks - words - a story broken down into it's most basic element, and watching what develops from there.
So for this next story I'm going with: draft, tick, and arch.
The next story was due a few days ago, but I won't fall into the workshop line-up for another few weeks. I decided to hand in an older story that I wrote and abandoned years ago. The piece has been haunting me and I'm glad to have finally given it some more attention. The protagonist has amnesia from a brain injury and I was intimidated by the technical subject matter. Amazing what a little research can do. I've also taken a psychology class in the time since I wrote the first draft and one of the sections focused on brain injuries and amnesia, together with the research I feel pretty confident about the details. We'll see if the workshop agrees. What was amazing to me was that once I went back to the story armed with facts I had to change very little of the original draft, which basically came out of thin air. Seems the character knew what he was taking about. Guess that's why they call it the "Spooky Art."
The next story I'd like to start from scratch. Not that there aren't thirty other stories I've already written and would like feedback on, but because I haven't started a new story in a while and I miss it. The creation of a new character and a new world is by far my favorite part of the writing process. I'm going back to fertile short story territory for me: three words and blank notebook pages. The three-word trick started years ago with my writing buddy Leaf - we'd pick three words and each use them in a story. Leaf writes horror and I write more commercial/literary type fiction, so you can imagine that the use of words varied greatly. I love starting out with three little building blocks - words - a story broken down into it's most basic element, and watching what develops from there.
So for this next story I'm going with: draft, tick, and arch.
I haven't had a chance to post a revised version of the one-pager, but I will soon. I didn't get too much critical feedback from workshop - mostly positive. I do think I need to work on describing the setting and character placement a little better, so I'll see what I can do with the rewrite.
The next story was due a few days ago, but I won't fall into the workshop line-up for another few weeks. I decided to hand in an older story that I wrote and abandoned years ago. The piece has been haunting me and I'm glad to have finally given it some more attention. The protagonist has amnesia from a brain injury and I was intimidated by the technical subject matter. Amazing what a little research can do. I've also taken a psychology class in the time since I wrote the first draft and one of the sections focused on brain injuries and amnesia, together with the research I feel pretty confident about the details. We'll see if the workshop agrees. What was amazing to me was that once I went back to the story armed with facts I had to change very little of the original draft, which basically came out of thin air. Seems the character knew what he was taking about. Guess that's why they call it the "Spooky Art."
The next story I'd like to start from scratch. Not that there aren't thirty other stories I've already written and would like feedback on, but because I haven't started a new story in a while and I miss it. The creation of a new character and a new world is by far my favorite part of the writing process. I'm going back to fertile short story territory for me: three words and blank notebook pages. The three-word trick started years ago with my writing buddy Leaf - we'd pick three words and each use them in a story. Leaf writes horror and I write more commercial/literary type fiction, so you can imagine that the use of words varied greatly. I love starting out with three little building blocks - words - a story broken down into it's most basic element, and watching what develops from there.
So for this next story I'm going with: draft, tick, and arch.
The next story was due a few days ago, but I won't fall into the workshop line-up for another few weeks. I decided to hand in an older story that I wrote and abandoned years ago. The piece has been haunting me and I'm glad to have finally given it some more attention. The protagonist has amnesia from a brain injury and I was intimidated by the technical subject matter. Amazing what a little research can do. I've also taken a psychology class in the time since I wrote the first draft and one of the sections focused on brain injuries and amnesia, together with the research I feel pretty confident about the details. We'll see if the workshop agrees. What was amazing to me was that once I went back to the story armed with facts I had to change very little of the original draft, which basically came out of thin air. Seems the character knew what he was taking about. Guess that's why they call it the "Spooky Art."
The next story I'd like to start from scratch. Not that there aren't thirty other stories I've already written and would like feedback on, but because I haven't started a new story in a while and I miss it. The creation of a new character and a new world is by far my favorite part of the writing process. I'm going back to fertile short story territory for me: three words and blank notebook pages. The three-word trick started years ago with my writing buddy Leaf - we'd pick three words and each use them in a story. Leaf writes horror and I write more commercial/literary type fiction, so you can imagine that the use of words varied greatly. I love starting out with three little building blocks - words - a story broken down into it's most basic element, and watching what develops from there.
So for this next story I'm going with: draft, tick, and arch.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Back to school. Spring semester is underway and so far all is under control. I ended up getting the writing class I wanted. Having fiction writing and reading for homework will make the 9-credit class load a little easier. My other two classes are Italian and Astronomy. I consider physics just as much of a foreign language as Italian and both are going to be a challenge. That 4.0 gets harder to maintain every semester. I'm positing my first writing assignment - a one-page story, set in an attic, and my assigned emotional core was Disillusionment. Because it's such a short piece, I thought I'd post a before workshop copy and another one after I've had a chance to get some feedback and edit.
Change of Heart
The air outside was so strong with spring you could get drunk from one deep breath. The sunshine smelled of daffodils and dandelions pushing up through the dirt. I came outside to catch a whiff of the perfume and shake the scent of mold and dust and bat shit out of my hair. My hands were shaking. I took another deep breath and started laughing. I was crying, cheeks cramped before I could get myself under control again. Jaime pulled up in his driveway next door. Behind the stack of Thai take-out he still wore a scowl from the fight we’d been having before he left to pick up lunch. He walked around the hedge separating his driveway from that of his current charity project: the neighbor with no living relatives. Last summer Jaime had offered to mow his lawn; the arrangement developed into a friendship and after the old man died, a certified letter arrived bequeathing the entire contents of his house to Jaime.
It had taken us three days to sift through the two-bedroom rambler and conclude that the Salvation Army was going to score. We left the attic for last and of all the crammed-full-of-crap corners in the house it was by far the worst. After a morning spent sifting through tax returns dating back to the sixties and no less than twenty boxes of Christmas decorations—not the porcelain nativity type, but the tinsel variety suggesting devout agnostic beliefs—I was seriously reconsidering my resolution to give Jaime and me one more chance. And I think my inability to hold back the sarcasm had Jaime thinking the same thing.
What a difference a bag full of cash can make.
I’d been such a jerk about this whole neighbor thing and I didn’t feel too great about the fact that it took finding the old man’s stash of money to make me realize I should admire Jaime, not harangue him. He was going to all this effort in memory of a man he’d known less than a year. That he was going to come out of it on top by about 30-grand was proof enough for me that the universe approved of his efforts.
From the back porch I heard Jaime call my name then clomp up the pull-down ladder. I had put the duffel bag back where I’d found it, on top of the last stack of boxes, so he could experience the rush of finding it himself.
After five minutes I couldn’t take it anymore and made my way back to the attic. Jaime was in the corner. The duffel bag was lying, deflated, on top of the “toss” mound.
“Looks like we’re just about finished,” he said.
Change of Heart
The air outside was so strong with spring you could get drunk from one deep breath. The sunshine smelled of daffodils and dandelions pushing up through the dirt. I came outside to catch a whiff of the perfume and shake the scent of mold and dust and bat shit out of my hair. My hands were shaking. I took another deep breath and started laughing. I was crying, cheeks cramped before I could get myself under control again. Jaime pulled up in his driveway next door. Behind the stack of Thai take-out he still wore a scowl from the fight we’d been having before he left to pick up lunch. He walked around the hedge separating his driveway from that of his current charity project: the neighbor with no living relatives. Last summer Jaime had offered to mow his lawn; the arrangement developed into a friendship and after the old man died, a certified letter arrived bequeathing the entire contents of his house to Jaime.
It had taken us three days to sift through the two-bedroom rambler and conclude that the Salvation Army was going to score. We left the attic for last and of all the crammed-full-of-crap corners in the house it was by far the worst. After a morning spent sifting through tax returns dating back to the sixties and no less than twenty boxes of Christmas decorations—not the porcelain nativity type, but the tinsel variety suggesting devout agnostic beliefs—I was seriously reconsidering my resolution to give Jaime and me one more chance. And I think my inability to hold back the sarcasm had Jaime thinking the same thing.
What a difference a bag full of cash can make.
I’d been such a jerk about this whole neighbor thing and I didn’t feel too great about the fact that it took finding the old man’s stash of money to make me realize I should admire Jaime, not harangue him. He was going to all this effort in memory of a man he’d known less than a year. That he was going to come out of it on top by about 30-grand was proof enough for me that the universe approved of his efforts.
From the back porch I heard Jaime call my name then clomp up the pull-down ladder. I had put the duffel bag back where I’d found it, on top of the last stack of boxes, so he could experience the rush of finding it himself.
After five minutes I couldn’t take it anymore and made my way back to the attic. Jaime was in the corner. The duffel bag was lying, deflated, on top of the “toss” mound.
“Looks like we’re just about finished,” he said.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Well, I left of last time awaiting the outcome of elections, and I’m happy to say that the GOP was shown the way OUT. Being from the west and much more liberal than many of my fellow Virginians, I don’t often feel very connected with the majority around here, but I am very proud to be known as a Virginian these days. Hopefully we can start to undo some of the damage caused in the last six years.
On to lighter topics…the visit with my family was amazing. We had such a great time. There were four generations of Rasmussen women in the same room and it was very cool. My grandma, world traveler at the tender age of 89, is my hero. I’m so lucky that she came all the way from Washington. I loved watching my mom, dad, brothers, and Grandma hold my baby girl. It was also very cool to see Alex continue building his relationship with my family.
My in-laws are next. They arrive tomorrow and will spend Thanksgiving with us and be here for Alex’s fifth birthday. Man oh man, does having a five year old make ME sound old or what? I just had a birthday also, so that probably has something to do with it. I don’t have the energy to go all morose right now, though. A good friend of mine is in the hospital tonight with her baby girl, a week older than Greta, she will be fine, just getting over a bad respiratory infection, but it reminded me to be thankful for heath. It’s very easy to take that one for granted.
I haven’t had a chance to figure out how to link Acrobat files, thus no fiction to share as of yet, but once I’m done with the semester in a couple of weeks I’ll try to play around a bit more.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Greta has her first cold. A baby with a stuffy nose is the saddest thing in the world. There's not a thing she or I can do, but suffer through the congestion. Yesterday was a little grumpy, but she's still a the happiest baby I've ever been around, even on her bad days.
I just got back from voting. Crossing my fingers that today the citizens of the Unites States will attempt to make up for the disgrace of re-electing Bush and vote some democrats into the House and Senate to temper the damage he can do before his time is up. A democracy is an extention of it's citizens and after Bush was re-elected I worried that the majority of the U.S. was too stupid, scared, brain-washed, lazy, whatever, to be awarded the priviledge of having a vote. One thing the Bush administration has taught us is that our government has the ability to do great harm (to the environment, humanity, world peace, the national budget, take your pick.) Perhaps we will see some sense come through at last. If not, I may have to move out of the country. Too bad Canada is so cold!
My mom, dad, grandma, and two of my younger (no longer little) brothers are coming for a visit in two days. Instead of writing here I should be cleaning my house. It's only fair to the poor structure to dust it off every other month. (Wish I was kidding.) I manage to stay on top of Swiftering the floors, because if I didn't the dog hair would literally bury us in less than two weeks. I keep the dishes moving in a nice, orderly fashion from the dishwasher to the cubboard and back. And I can plow through four or five loads of laundry a week. But, heaven help the bathrooms in this house. I feel like I need to shower after I get out of the shower. So, I'm going to fold up the laptop, ignore the Book section from Sunday's paper for one more day and start to scrub!
I just got back from voting. Crossing my fingers that today the citizens of the Unites States will attempt to make up for the disgrace of re-electing Bush and vote some democrats into the House and Senate to temper the damage he can do before his time is up. A democracy is an extention of it's citizens and after Bush was re-elected I worried that the majority of the U.S. was too stupid, scared, brain-washed, lazy, whatever, to be awarded the priviledge of having a vote. One thing the Bush administration has taught us is that our government has the ability to do great harm (to the environment, humanity, world peace, the national budget, take your pick.) Perhaps we will see some sense come through at last. If not, I may have to move out of the country. Too bad Canada is so cold!
My mom, dad, grandma, and two of my younger (no longer little) brothers are coming for a visit in two days. Instead of writing here I should be cleaning my house. It's only fair to the poor structure to dust it off every other month. (Wish I was kidding.) I manage to stay on top of Swiftering the floors, because if I didn't the dog hair would literally bury us in less than two weeks. I keep the dishes moving in a nice, orderly fashion from the dishwasher to the cubboard and back. And I can plow through four or five loads of laundry a week. But, heaven help the bathrooms in this house. I feel like I need to shower after I get out of the shower. So, I'm going to fold up the laptop, ignore the Book section from Sunday's paper for one more day and start to scrub!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
A few days ago I found out that Wendy, one of my oldest and best friends, passed away suddenly from an accidental overdose. I've been staying away from my notebook because writing it down seems too real. I thought typing would be easier than setting it down in ink. I've spent the past few days feeling heart-broken, angry, confused, lucky (then nervous) and that's all within the course of any given hour. Mostly I feel like not wasting anymore time saying "someday I want to..."
As a writer, I've felt that starting a blog would be a natural extension of what I attempt on paper and a way to share my work, but as a mom of two, college student, yoga teacher, wife...it's hard to find time to do anything more than tread water. Sounds like a pretty lame excuse all of the sudden. Wendy was one of the biggest champions of my writing. She always wanted to read my stories, novel, screenplay, whatever I'd hand over. She encouraged me and asked for more, but mostly she wanted to know when she was going to be able to buy my book. I can't promise that I'll publish a book for her because those decisions are up to too many other people, but I can commit to doing more with the minutes of my day.
I'm not sure what I have in mind for this page. I'll probably post stories, mini essays, and complain a lot about the challenges of raising a four-month-old and four-year-old. Give me a few days to play around...
As a writer, I've felt that starting a blog would be a natural extension of what I attempt on paper and a way to share my work, but as a mom of two, college student, yoga teacher, wife...it's hard to find time to do anything more than tread water. Sounds like a pretty lame excuse all of the sudden. Wendy was one of the biggest champions of my writing. She always wanted to read my stories, novel, screenplay, whatever I'd hand over. She encouraged me and asked for more, but mostly she wanted to know when she was going to be able to buy my book. I can't promise that I'll publish a book for her because those decisions are up to too many other people, but I can commit to doing more with the minutes of my day.
I'm not sure what I have in mind for this page. I'll probably post stories, mini essays, and complain a lot about the challenges of raising a four-month-old and four-year-old. Give me a few days to play around...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
