On writing a book: Part 3

This is what I look like when I write.

Remember how I'm writing a book? (I know, it's so cliché.) Well, I feel like I learn volumes every time I sit down and write, so here are a few more brief lessons and things I'm noticing, just in case you're wondering.

• Sometimes I'm excited to write. I'm just feeling it and things are happening and life is good. Other times, it seems like everything is coming out sounding like a ten year old wrote it. Or I'm just tired of thinking about it and tired of making myself think about it. It's nights like these where you just have to surrender and, say, watch Ghost Dad in the name of research. (There's a little teaser for you—you'll have to guess how it's related to the book. Cryptic?) That way, you're still making some kind of "progress" on your book and you don't feel so guilty, even if no words were written.
• It's been interesting, learning the way that I write a book. It's almost like I have to learn over and over again that the book is not simply going to flow out of my brain with perfect ease and perfect prose and a pulitzer prize stamped on it. I hate learning that. But I'm realizing that I have to just get something down on the page—sometimes it's good and sometimes it needs work—and then I have let it sit for a while and then go back and make adjustments and additions and subtractions. I should have learned this from how I blog: I usually post something at night and then my brain goes to work while I'm unconscious, and I almost invariably make changes or additions the next morning. Have you noticed?
• Speaking of brains, brains are amazing. Mine even gives me ideas before I consciously try to think of them. It does so much work on overtime and totally doesn't get enough credit. Here's your shout out, brain. Thanks for all the good ideas. (But you're also to blame if this book bombs.)
• Once upon a time, Anna left a purple-glitter-filled bouncy ball on my desk, and it's been there for a couple months now. Almost unintentionally, it has become my thinking ball. When I am at a stopping point and need to think and find some direction before I move on, I grab the ball and give it a twirl (it's just so shiny and pretty) and maybe try out some cool David Bowie moves à la Labrynth. It totally works. And I'm not giving it back. 
• I feel like I've made pretty good progress, considering I started this whole thing not knowing what in the world I was doing. And I feel like my momentum is definitely increasing, as I now know what I'm actually writing about and what needs to happen. That's a nice feeling.
• But I'm starting to get just a tiny bit nervous that I only have three months left. I'm probably one-third or halfway finished. I can still do it, but wow.

So here's my progress report thus far, since my blog is apparently my accountability partner.

My book so far.
Pages: 73
Words: 20,780
Chapters: 8
References to a Tom Jones song * : 1 . . . so far
Times I use the phrase "sugarbum" * : 2, and maybe more to come

* the mark of a good book

Plenty of pancakes

I've posted about pancakes before, the sinfully delicious buttermilk ones that should be are only for special occasions around here, but here is another great recipe I tweaked that is a bit more healthful—and almost as delicious. This recipe uses mostly whole wheat flour and, of course, the magical ingredient that makes the world a better place: buttermilk.

Whole Wheat Buttermilk Pancakes

1 C whole wheat flour
1/2 C all-purpose flour
2 Tbs sugar (totally optional)
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 C buttermilk
2 eggs
1 Tbs butter
1 tsp vanilla extract

Combine flours, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a mixing bowl and whisk together. In a separate bowl, combine buttermilk, eggs, butter, and vanilla and whisk well. (A note about the butter: Some recipes say to melt the butter before you add it to the wet ingredients, but I find that it just solidifies when it hits the cold buttermilk anyway. So I just mix in some softened butter and it seems to work out just fine, even if there are little chunks.) Add the wet ingredients into the dry and mix just until moistened. Heat pan to medium heat. Coat pan with cooking spray or a little butter and then pour pancake batter.

Makes 12 large or 24 small pancakes.

Handyman Ash

I've been a little bit crafty and a little bit handy lately, if I do say so myself, doing a little woodwork and sanding and blinging. I don't do it often, but when the idea strikes, you just have to go with it. I love how the two projects turned out, but I'm pretty sure I've hit my quota for the year.

So without further ado, some good before and after shots.

Project 1: Bulletin Board Remix

I've wanted a bulletin board for a while now, but they're really pretty ugly by themselves. So I thought I could do something to make one a little bit cooler. A little bit more fun. And I love it. It makes me happy just to look at it.

Step 1. Buy one of these.

Then resize six sheets of fun and happy scrapbook paper and glue on.

And be sure to cover up your measuring mistakes with a fancy ribbon. Done.

Project 2: Mirror Revamp

My parents have had this mirror for an eternity, and over the years it has gotten quite beaten and battered. A lot of the decorative trim was broken off and it was kind of a sad eyesore, so I decided I could give it a new life. This is the picture I took before I totally destroyed all of the trim. (I'll admit it was a little bit fun, being so destructive.)

Trim gone.

Sliver-generating edges sanded down.

Wood painted and bling added. (I thought I had a picture of the whole thing, but I guess it's a blogger fail. You get the idea.) I initially thought I would just leave it plain white, but in the end it was just not doing it for me. It needed something else. And the sparkles were just the thing. I should take a lesson from Anna. She's known this for years: when in doubt, add more glitz.

A conversation with Anna

Anna: Mom, I have more than two arms.

me: Oh really? How many do you have?

Anna: 48.

me: 48?! What do you do with 48 arms?

Anna: Help people.

me: Oh, I see. I guess 48 arms would be useful, then.

Anna: Yeah, sometimes it's good and sometimes it's bad.

me: What happens when it's bad?

Anna: I could knock over people's gardens . . .

me: Yes, that would be bad.

Anna: . . . of pigs. Ha ha! I said 'gardens of pigs'!

Lions and tigers and raccoons

Raise your hand if you've read Yann Martel's Life of Pi.

Raise your hand if you liked it.

Raise your hand if you got at least partway through it, thinking that it was a true story.

(I feel so sheepish. Yes, the premise is a little fantastical, but I was just so caught up in the story that I didn't really pause to consider that it might not be at all realistic.)

So, yes, a while ago I cracked open Life of Pi—and subsequently devoured the whole thing in a short amount of time. A really good book, by the way. I saw it at the library and knew that a couple of friends had read it and liked it, so I thought I would give it a whirl. I had kind of missed the boat on this one up until now, since it was published 10 years ago, or something. (Oh man. So many unintentional puns already.)

Also, in an interesting bit of news, I just read that they are making a movie about it and it will be directed by Ang Lee, to be released next year. Very interesting.

So it was a good book, but the point today is something else. The story is basically about a boy who is on a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean—with a tiger. There is a lot of discussion in the book about wild animals and their wildness, but I just kept thinking that, with the tiger knowing where his meals were coming from and having no one else around but the boy, he would eventually calm down a bit and get used to him. I'm probably just totally naive about such things, but these were the thoughts crossing my mind. So I was a little dubious that the tiger would remain so untamed and so ferocious the whole time. But then I learned my lesson a couple nights after I finished the book.

It was nighttime and I was busy working on my book when I heard some scratching and hubbub outside my window. The blinds were closed so I couldn't see anything. Our cat sometimes hangs out by my window, but she never scratches or makes a ruckus. And this was definitely a ruckus. I didn't want to raise the blinds and scare the creature away, so I went outside to see what it was. When I got out there, I saw that it was a raccoon. Probably a young one, judging by its size. (But, like I said, I'm no wild animal expert.)

I watched as it came away from my window, navigated around the porch railing. and moved toward me until it was about six feet away—when we made eye contact. At this point, I was honestly trying to think back to the book, wondering if I should make eye contact with it and stare it down or avoid any eye contact at all. What would Pi have done? I couldn't remember! Nonetheless, eye contact was made and I watched it for a good, long 20 seconds. It didn't budge. It didn't blink. It just kept its wide eyes locked on mine, and I'll admit that it made me a bit nervous. I could sense the wildness in it, the capability to pounce at any minute and claw me into oblivion. I don't know. It's silly, to be scared of animal that was maybe a foot tall, but I'll admit that I was a little. It was the uncertainty that did it, I think. I didn't know what to expect from it. I didn't know how to read it. I didn't know what it would do next. I could tell it felt a little threatened, and its fear transferred to me.

After our stare down, it looked away and walked off into the night. But I learned that evening that if a wild raccoon can scare me like that, I believe a tiger on a lifeboat could be, maybe, a hundred times worse. The fear of the wildness is real. So I guess I'll believe that part of it, but not the whole story. (Dang gullibility...) And how's that for a real-world connection to literature?

e-madness

I think we could all safely say that blogs or Facebook or whatever social media du jour can take over our lives if we're not careful. We've probably all experienced the hours lost after getting sucked into seeing pictures of old friends, old flames, distant cousins, people you used to go to school with—and then pictures of their old flames, and on and on and on. Even posting stuff takes a lot of time, let alone reading what everyone else has posted. (I have a longer post about this that I've been working on and will post someday. Is this ironic, given today's topic? Maybe.) And don't even get me started on the senselessness of Farmville or Mafia Wars or who knows what else. There's a lot of stuff out there that will suck your life away.

But I feel like blogs and Facebook have redeeming qualities too. They can be fun. I, obviously, like to write and exploit my blog for such a purpose. And I like using it as a kind of record of part of my life. I also like being able to keep up with friends and family this way. If used wisely, I think they can be worthwhile.

The thing I'm not sold on, however, is Twitter. To be honest, I've never used it. But I feel like it's based on what I do hate about social media: feeling a need and actually following through on filling people's lives with small bits of useless, unsolicited information about your own life and attempting to be clever to get attention (read: comments [feel free to tell me what you think about Twitter!]). Blogs and Facebook also have a propensity for such things, but they also make worthwhile contributions possible.

But is there something I'm not seeing? Am I being hypocritical? Is there a difference between blogs/Facebook and Twitter? Are there Twitter fans out there that can turn me around? I hate the idea of it, but I'm willing to admit that I may not know all there is to know about it.

Annacdotes 17

1. I was reading the newspaper one morning and Anna asked me to read her what I was reading. After checking to make sure she really did want me to read to her from the Faith section of the newspaper, I started reading her an article about the mainstream media's efforts to cover religion. I read:

On the first day of Ari Goldman's "Covering Religion" class at the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, he likes to begin with a question.
"How many of you have ever been to a mosque?"
About two of the 16 students typically raise their hands.

I wondered if she even understood half of these words. I continued.

"How many of you have been to a synagogue?"
About half raise their hands.
"To a church?"
Almost all hands go up.
"In the last 10 years?"
Hands go down again.

I thought, does she have any idea what's going on? But she didn't say anything, so I kept going.

Goldman's first goal is to bring his students up to a level of religious literacy.

I stopped here to see if she understood any of it. She looked deep in thought and then asked, "Did you just say 'glitteracy'?

That answered all of my questions.

2. The other day, we were at Costco and we passed a man whose beard was perhaps down to his knees. We were about five feet away from him when Anna pointed at him and said in a too-loud voice, "Whoa, Mom! Did you see that guy's beard?!" I quickly ushered her away, and told her that it's very impolite to point and talk about people and all that. She didn't seem to be paying much attention, however, to my motherly instruction because she giggled and said, "Yeah, but his beard was about as long as a baby giraffe's neck!" At least she was out of earshot by this time.

3. A recent conversation (and of course it was out of the blue):

Anna: [excitedly] Mom, let's pretend that I knitted both of us.
Me: 'Knitted'?
Anna: Yeah, like with yarn.
Me: [laughing]
Anna: No, I'm serious!
Me: [laughing]
Anna: For real lives!

More laughing from me. I couldn't even respond. I was so caught off guard.

4. During a recent discussion about space the other day, Anna asked what a galaxy was. I told her it was a huge place where the sun was and all the planets and stars. Then she said matter-of-factly, "And the aliens." I said, "Well, actually, no. Aliens aren't real." Then, all surprised, she said, "Then what's on Mars?"

5. While driving in the car the other day, Anna and I had a conversation about traffic lights. A minute later, as we sailed through a green light, Anna said, "That green light would NOT get pinched on St. Patrick's Day! But the rojo one will!"

I don't know what it was . . . the random St. Patty's reference, the impromptu Spanish addition . . . it could have been anything. But whatever it was, it delighted me.