Nathan Bransford’s Surprisingly Essential First Page Challenge

Oh, Bente… Have I told you lately that I love you? Hmm?

So, yeah. Yesterday I got an email from an Aussie/Canadian friend o’ mine, Bente, regarding a literary agent dude by the name of Bransford. Nathan Bransford. Apparently, said literary agent dude opened a contest looking for up-to-500-word submissions of a person’s manuscript’s first page. Right?! RIGHT?! Dude, I’m SAYING. I mean, limiting myself to 500 words? HARD.

However, hundreds and hundreds of aspiring writers had already bombarded the blog by the time I heard about this contest, so it is fortunate that said literary agent dude had the prescience to solicit the assistance of a co-judge– a non-publishing-industry type by the name of Holly Burns (author of the Nothing But Bonfires blog)– who, incidentally, has a British accent, but not like Gwyneth’s or Madonna’s or Britney’s, but a REAL British accent, having been born English and whatnot.

Wait. What?

Oh! Contest! Shut up. I’m totally focused.

So, without much more than a cursory glimpse at Bransford’s– Nathan Bransford’s– website, I proclaimed him legit, threw caution to the wind, took my chances, threw myself in headfirst, pinned my hopes on a cloud, took the leap, jumped in with both feet, grabbed the bull by the horns and freaking wrassled that sucker to the GROUND… er, okay, I’m out.

I submitted an entry.

Yay! *sarcastic jazz hands*

What can I tell you? I’m a crazy person. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you. CRAZY. PERSON.

And now? NOW? Well, I’m all aquiver with anxiety and self-doubt.

So thanks for that, Bente. No, really.

(No, really.)

Take a peek at my 498-word-entry (and feel free to critique) after the cut:
[Read more]

Driving in Cars With Drama Queens

We now join a conversation “between” Alli and Momma in the DWM car, already in progress…

“…and it wasn’t even a big deal, it was just one little mistake– are you listening, Momma?– but they wouldn’t let me help and we were getting graded on cooperation and stuff, so I told the teacher I wanted to help but they wouldn’t let me– and that’s not cooperating, is it, Momma?– I mean, it’s not my fault they lost points because we were supposed to cooperate, and it was just, like, one point or something, but then she was all like, ‘What’s that all about?! You ruined our grade!’ and she got all worked over and stuff and she told the other girls not to play with me at recess– which is so rude, huh, Momma?– and then guess what? She started to cry.”

“Wow,” I replied as I flicked my turn signal blinker and glanced over my shoulder at my blind spot. “Lots of drama in the third grade, huh?”

“I know! I mean, she got so worked over, Momma! For one teensy little mistake! And it was pretty much their own fault, anyway, if you ask me, so, you know…”

I merged into the right lane. “Well, hopefully by next week your project partner will have forgotten all about this.”

“Yeah.” Alli sighed heavily. “Man… what a drama queen.”

Didn’t See It Coming

MEMO TO FAMOUS DUDES: Drugs totally suck. No, really. And listen, I don’t care how badly life seems to blow at the moment… Cut. That. Shizz. Out. No, REALLY.

You’re breaking my heart.

That being said, R.I.P., Heath Ledger. I certainly didn’t see that one coming.

Honestly. I feel as if I’ve been shaken from a self-absorbed stupor as I deal with the sudden and forcible realization that we should never let the people we care about believe they are alone or unloved. It strikes me that often we (and by we, I mean I) are so tightly enfolded in our own loneliness or disappointment– in our pain– that we overlook– or refuse to hear– the low, distant roll of dark clouds that hover over the heads of those closest to us. Look, we think, she jokes, she laughs. She’s fine, just fine.

But that is just it! That is the thing, right there! I should know better, I should see, because I know only too well that cries for help are more often than not silent… and masked with a smile.

Hidden behind a laugh.

Buried deep within a joke.

People we care about should never feel alone or lost in the darkness rumbling overhead. We (and by we, I mean I) need to crawl out of the smothering folds of our own sorrows or misfortunes and look around us. Visit or call those who are alone or suffering. Extend encouragement and a listening ear to those who are weathering personal tempests. Offer assurance that people do care, and that they do matter, and that brighter days do indeed lie ahead. Do it. All it takes is a moment– a heartbeat, really– in the big scheme of things. Just look beyond ourselves and do it.

It might just save a life.

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”
–Norman Cousins

Just Thinkin’

I love hot chocolate, but detest chocolate milk. [cue Robert Palmer’s Some Like It Hot]

Too this end, I’ve noticed that my enjoyment of the beverage decreases exponentially as I work my way to the bottom of the cup. (I blame the inevitable cooling factor.)

Whatever. I just think that’s weird.

Feeling Saucy

Look how tall my gals are getting to be! Shazam!

Hannah (birthday girl! woot!) and Alli are feeling quite saucy today, bee tee dub, due to some seriously sassy straightened hair! Now some of you may know of the curly-haired gal’s secret pining for stick straight hair, with blunt cut bangs and no fear of frizz, and by golly, today these two little girls were living the dream!

Well, except their hair isn’t quite STICK straight, there is nary a bang in sight, and a little humidity would poof those hairdos right the hell out, but whatever! STRAIGHT HAIR! On Hannah and Alli! It’s like, a miracle or something. A birthday miracle!

No, I’m not tearing up… there’s just a speck of dirt in my eye…

Ponderings and Musings

1. Should I put all the old baggage– the disappointment, the acrimony– behind me and reconcile with American Idol? As much as I hate to admit it, I miss our times together– the laughter, the tears, the recaps– and there’s just so much HISTORY there, you know? It is a tough call… should I throw caution to the wind and jump back in?

2. In this fierce political environment, what is the proper response in casual conversation when a person suddenly makes a vulgar or disparaging remark about a political party as a whole– such as “Democrats are so [choose an expletive]!” or “All Republicans are complete [insert vulgarity here]!”– presented as a statement of fact, with the assumption that everyone else in the group totally agrees? Pushing aside the obvious inadvisability of gross generalizations, not everyone is interested in turning a watercooler discussion about the latest episode of Gossip Girl into a political debate. Hrm… how to diffuse? Must think of witty, all-purpose comeback…

3. When did pom pons get so small? When did that happen? Cheerleaders at televised sporting events look as if they are clutching candy wrappers and waving them at the crowd with their twiggy little arms, all, “See? I eat! See?! I’m not starving myself to fit into my size 0 cheer ’skirt’! Take THAT, biznitches! Wooooooo! Number OOOONE! YEAH!” Right? Weird.

Pet Store Shenanigans

Pet stores. Exciting for the kiddos, smelly to the momma, and oh-so educational. For EVERYBODY.

The other night we were in the vicinity of the pet store, so we threw caution to the wind and went to torture ourselves by looking at the most adorable kittens and puppies and other allergen-riddled mammals (and some way creepy non-mammals) that we can never ever buy, not even in a million years, as my kids will tell you, “Thanks to Mom and her stupid allergies that could totally kill her, GOSH!” But they’re not bitter. They love me.

So, we browsed the store, marveling at the gecko’s eyes, giggling over the mice-in-the-wheel shenanigans, and freaking out over the ssslithering ssslinkiness of the snakes. As we approached the cockatiel cage, a favorite stop of my kiddos, we inadvertently stumbled upon an intimate moment between the two cockatiel residents.

Now, listen… I don’t care what anyone says, NOBODY wants to watch these pet store animals get their freak on. They’re shameless exhibitionists, openly exulting in braggy displays of unrestrained lust– all, “Oooh! Look at me! Look at me!” (and often in positions that put the Kama Sutra to shame)– displays which everyone knows are not appropriate for public and/or mixed company, and it’s exposed and embarrassing and gross, like karaoke.

But I digress.

“Oh, my,” said Hannah, pausing for one infinitesimal moment before hurrying past the cage, an embarrassed grin slowly spreading across her face.

“What?” Alli asked before looking into the cage. “Ooooh! Look! That one’s giving the other one a piggyback ride!”

Tanner and Hannah snorted.

“She doesn’t know,” Tanner said, turning away from the cage.

“Yeah, she doesn’t,” Hannah agreed.

But Alli was having none of it. She stood there, a thoughtful expression on her face as she shifted her attention between her grinning and increasingly red-faced siblings and the busy little caged birdies.

Thankful for at least one child with a shred of farmyard innocence, I began to shoo my kids toward the exit. Before we made it two steps, however, TGIM wandered over from the aquarium section of the store.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Okay. FINE. I giggled (because… dirty!) but only in my head. Duh. I have filters! Most of the time!

“Look, Daddy!” Hannah said, pointing at the cage.

So TGIM looked. Then looked again. It was one of those amusing little television moments where you could practically hear the double-take sound effect.

Then TGIM looked at me, and his eyes did that yelling thing, you know, where they are all, “Um, hello? Cat? WHAT the…?!” Like somehow I encouraged the birds to go for a quickie during store hours! Whatever. My eyes told his eyes to just STEP OFF.

Suddenly, Alli turned away from the cage, and in an ah-HA! tone of voice exclaimed, “Oh, I know! They’re mating!”

“Giddyup, little horsey!” Hannah blurted out, pitching Tanner into a fit of the giggles.

You know how you do that thing when you are trying not to laugh at something your child says because you aren’t quite sure whether or not it would be appropriate to encourage said child in questionable expressions of humor? You know, that thing? With the trying not to laugh? TGIM and I were doing that thing. Well, attempting to do that thing, anyway.

Hey, don’t judge. You weren’t there. You don’t know.

We turned to leave. Hannah grabbed her red-faced daddy’s hand and skipped alongside him as we headed out the doors and into the parking lot. “Hey, did you see the smiles on the birdies’ faces, Daddy?” she asked.

Tanner– trailing behind the two– scoffed at her ignorance. “Birds don’t smile.”

“Those ones were. Did you see, Daddy?! Those were happy birdies!”

“Okay, now you’re just embarrassing me,” TGIM said and determinedly changed the subject. To dessert ideas, I think, which… brilliant?!

But at my side, I felt a gentle tug on my arm. I looked down at Alli, who grabbed my hand with her little one and said in an innocent, confiding little voice, “Well, that sure looked like an awkward way to mate, didn’t it Momma?!”

In an instant, sure knowledge of impending adolescence (times three!) struck me and wrestled the air from my lungs more quickly than that time my big sister slammed her end of the see-saw down so violently it launched me up and off… and down. THUNK.

Can’t…! breathe…! I remember thinking back then. I thought the same now.

I choked back the breathlessness. I powered through. There was time yet. Still time.

“Oh, absolutely,” was all I replied, as I squeezed her hand. “Absolutely.”

Validation! Concurrence!

Guess which new TV drama won the People’s Choice Awards?! Just GUESS! Gossip Girl? NO! Private Practice? UH-UH! Journeyman? NEIN! Could it have been… oh, MOONLIGHT, perhaps?! Hell, YES!

Be truthful. How sexy is that Australian accent? DEAD sexy, that’s how sexy! Not that I care. Just thought I’d point it out, is all. Ahem.

Man. I love validation. What can I say? I’m needy like that.

Why I Love My Job, Reason #258

Oh. Em. GEE. Guys? GUYS?! Guess WHAT?! I arrived at work, and there they were! I kid you not! Just right there! In my cubicle! There I was, moseying into work, just minding my own grumpy Monday morning business, then BLAMMO! TASTY BEVERAGE! So beautiful, like a towering pyramid of caffeinated goodness, all geometrical and Dr. Peppery and whatnot…

*sigh*

Ha! Take THAT, 3rd Floor Lounge Diet Dr. Pepper Thief.

For William

Aaaw, man, William. I am so sorry for your loss. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family, big guy. I know it’s not the same thing, not really, but I wanted to share some thoughts I had when my grandfather passed on. I posted this back in 2005, but I still look back at it sometimes… just to remember, I guess.

I hope no one minds the repeat.

To Shuffle Off This Mortal Coil

My life is a tapestry characterized by elaborate pictorial designs. My childhood, though only comprising a small portion of my life so far, makes up a large, colorful corner section. Occasionally, I have been known to bask in the memories of a few of its more colorful parts. Lately, I find myself more and more often taking the tapestry out of its storage place in the attic of my mind, and airing it out.

The images are all there. I grew up in Phoenix, Arizona, where the sweltering summer sun baked the days so fiery hot that the tarry goo in the asphalt literally bubbled in the streets; where sunburned, barefooted children in tank tops and Dove short-shorts rode their banana-seat bikes to the crispy, brownish-green lawn at the Digital; where hot air balloons occasionally and thrillingly made emergency landings on sprawling industrial park lawns; where dirty, stinky, disheveled kids played Keep Away or a loose game of kickball until dusk when Dad pulled the old aqua-blue Chevy into the cul-de-sac, threw one of them on his lap, and let the chosen one drive the car all the way into the driveway; and where Grandma and Grandpa Heedum’s backyard swimming pool, complete with diving board, water filter “snakes,” and pool sprinklers, was the oasis playground for me, my five siblings, and all the Heedum cousins.

You know, a large portion of the tapestry of my childhood revolves around that pool scene.

Childhood Scene 1:
I see Grandma and Grandpa Heedum’s house, air-popped buttery popcorn in enormous Tupperware bowls; the boisterous laughter of women playing cards; a crowded pool complete with inflatable rafts, orange floaties, and rousing games of Shark and Marco Polo; water filter snakes slithering and snaking across the bottom of the pool, stirring up the settled desert dust instead of cleaning it; peeling, sun-burned noses and green-tinted chlorine-hair; and too many wet kids in bathing suits slipping and sliding through Grandma’s kitchen.

I see my 7-year-old, wet, bathing suited self dancing around at the arcadia door, pounding on the glass, leaving behind oozing wet scrinchy marks as I cupped my hands to look in at the ladies sitting at the dining room table playing cards, trying to get my mommy’s attention. Shoot. Anyone’s attention, really.

“Mommy! Lookit! Mommy! Grandma! LOOKIT! Lookit me!”

When I could finally get someone to watch I would race to the diving board and execute some elaborate cherry bomb, or back flip, or twisty dive through an inner tube. When I would emerge from the depths of the pool, proud and spluttering, I would race back to the arcadia door and smash my face up against it, water dripping in my eyes, until I could see my mommy turn away from her cards for a moment to shout from inside, “Uh-huh! Good one, Cathy!” Then she would turn back to her game, laughing and joking, and I would return to the pool, satisfied.

I remember the feeling of walking into the cool, air-conditioned house from the sweltering Arizona desert heat outside, and how it would immediately chill the pool water in my hair and the damp swimsuit against my skin. I would literally freeze in the doorway before the grown-up chorus of “SHUT THE DOOR!” would spur me into action.

Honestly. I still love swimming, but somehow, the Olympic-sized indoor pool at our Rec Center doesn’t bring me the sublime satisfaction of hot-footing it across the foot-searing cooldecking surrounding Grandma and Grandpa’s pool and jumping into the cool, sun-heated water.

Childhood Scene 2:
Another large chunk of the childhood tapestry is in the section devoted to the awe the Heedum grandkids felt toward Grandpa Heedum. Seriously. He scared the bejeebies out of us.

When I think of my grandparents’ house I always see a stifling tobacco-smoke haze hanging in the air, as Grandpa, apart from his card-playing wife and daughters, would sit guarding the back door to the pool, watching television and smoking cigarette after cigarette. Now, in my mind I know that Grandpa quit smoking years ago, when I was in my late teens, but I still see him like that, smoking a cigarette, watching television, snacking on and presiding over the elaborate spread my food-loving mom, aunts, and grandmother laid out for their weekly card-playing get-togethers. To our dismay, his probing eyes, although seemingly riveted to Hee Haw or Lawrence Welk, never missed small hands trying to sneak more popcorn or another powdered-sugary lemon square or a Cuckoo Cookie, maybe even some M & M’s if we were… just… super-duper… sneaky…

He observed everything, Grandpa: the card game, the food-sneaking, the swimming, the joking, but he rarely joined in. He listened to his family’s laughter, his daughters’ silly stories, and their hilariously obvious cheating tactics. Occasionally he barked out a comment (often sarcastic), or laughed at a joke, or told us “Go ask your mother!” when we tried to grab food, but he sat apart, and that is just the way it was. We didn’t question it. Still don’t. He loved us, and we loved him. But he was apart.

I remember once when I was very young, on a Memorial Day, Grandpa went out and fired up the BBQ grill. He joked around with my Uncle Lyle while they drank beer and he cooked the hot dogs and hamburgers, and we were all so surprised because it seemed like Mommy and Grandma and the Aunts always cooked. But Grandpa apparently felt that grilling was a man’s job, so there you go. Then, after dinner, he got in a bathing suit, pulled the special, extra-large, Do Not Touch inner tube out of the heretofore unplumbed depths of the hall swimming closet, and HE GOT IN THE POOL. He floated around, a wet, floating Jonathan Winters (he is the spitting image, I kid you not), beer in hand, cigarette held carefully aloft, and you can bet none of us dared to splash or yell or pick up the water snakes or make waves of any kind. Because, dear lord, the world had gone insane and Grandpa was IN THE POOL.

Sometimes, when the tapestry gets cloudy, I think maybe it’s just the cigarette smoke.

Childhood Scene 3:
The last picture that captures my attention is the pinochle game. My mom and her sisters and her mother love to play cards. As far back as I can remember, when the Heedum women got together, they gathered around the dining room table, where cards were played and food was eaten. And, it goes without saying, there was the laughter. The Heedum women? Are Laughers. Loud Laughers. And Loud Talkers, as a matter of fact. Oh, ho, ho, yes they are. You know the type. So if you know me personally, you must understand: it is genetic! I had absolutely no say in the matter! Because, yes, you see, I have inherited the Loud Laugher/Loud Talker gene, which makes for good times in cubicle-land, let me tell you. Especially when I get phone calls. Or an especially funny email. I get shushed, y’all!

But the pinochle game and the laughter of the women in my family- the Aunts, Grandma, Mom- it is IN me, and a part of me, woven into my tapestry like black thread, bringing it all together. And though it can (and has) cause people to misunderstand what I am feeling, to doubt my sincerity, to think I am stronger or more resilient than I really am, I am thankful it is in me.

Because when I break my stupid ankle doing a simple cartwheel, I laugh. When I get viral gastroenteritis and hurl so hard I get blood-red bruising around my eyes, I laugh. When my husband hits me in the head with a racquetball going mach 7, after I cry like a baby and cuss him to bits, I laugh. When we get a lousy louse in the house, after I clean and clean and nitpick and scratch and clean and clean and CLEAN, I laugh. When I joke about someone hurting my feelings or breaking my heart, I laugh. When somebody close to me dies, I dig desperately into my mind and dredge up the funny memories about that person, and I laugh. I do. I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s a part of my tapestry.

Newest Scene:
Now, as a grown woman, I have yet another scene to add to my tapestry. Amongst the wedding day, and the births of my children, and the deaths of loved ones, there is this:

It is the image of the Heedum sisters and their mother sitting in a hospital room in the ICU of a Phoenix hospital, waiting for Grandpa to return from dialysis. Exhausted from the worry of feeding tubes and ventilators and Do Not Resuscitate orders and Medical Power of Attorney decisions to be made, yet there they sit, the Heedum women, crossword puzzles, novels, and TV remote thrown aside, brand-new gift shop cards dealt across an unused bed-table, and a high-spirited game of pinochle in progress.

Loud laughter. Silly stories. Blatant cheating. More than once a curious face peeks into the room, the face of another person sitting vigil in the ICU, fearing the worst and hoping for the best.

“Hey! You ladies are having way too much fun in here!… Can I play?”

They smile and scratch their heads at the women who can laugh when there are hard times ahead. Because Grandpa will not be doing dialysis anymore. And Mom and Grandma and my aunts? They know it. And they are dealing with it the only way they know how.

My life. This tapestry. As new sections of pictorial designs are created, I am thankful for the scenes that have come before, adding to the whole, bringing it all into perspective. Because even when someone leaves me behind, maybe shuffling off this mortal coil (if you will allow me to wax Shakespearean for a moment), they are always there, woven into my tapestry. In my mind and heart.

Forever.

Just Wondering

I’m just wondering if it is kosher to sneak walk into a lounge super early in the morning and buy several cans of soda from the vending machine. You know, at one time. Like, “Do de do de do, I’m just dropping quarter after quarter after quarter into this machine and buying up all the soda– clink, clink, clink, THUNK… clink, clink, clink, THUNK– even though this isn’t even my floor and why on earth do I even need six cans of soda at 6:00 a.m. anyway, do de do de do…”

Oh, I’m not judging. I’m just throwing it out there. Because what if lunch time rolls around and someone is craving, say, I don’t know, a Diet Dr. Pepper, for instance, and some person who doesn’t even work on the 3rd floor has already snuck gone into the 3rd floor lounge super early in the morning– you know, before any sane normal person has even thought of indulging in a tasty soda beverage– and bought all the cans? Can you imagine the disappointment? Especially when it is discovered that all that remains in the vending machine is grape soda? GRAPE SODA?!

I mean, that kind of sneaky behavior just seems like it might be selfish. And bad manners. To me, anyway. But I don’t know. I could be totally wrong. I’m just saying that other people may want some Diet Dr. Pepper, too, but they have been taught from an early age that it isn’t polite to hoard the soda that is purportedly intended to be shared in an equitable manner by everyone on the 3rd floor– a floor on which some people who are stealing purchasing all the good soda may not even work, I might add. I’m just asking. I realize I could be completely wrong here.

In any event, all of this is not to even mention the fiscal ramifications of such greediness behavior. I mean, why do we have access to wholesale warehouses like Costco or BJ’s, if not to supply selfish people consumers with cases and cases of any type of soda they desire? All at a reasonable price designed to fit any budget? Hey, I just think a membership at a wholesale warehouse seems like a more fiscally responsible choice if a person is looking to buy in bulk. All those quarters add up, you know. That’s all I’m saying. But who am I to say? I’m not the soda police.

I was just wondering, is all.

TechnoGeekery Quickies and Other Random Stuff

So, another TG Quickie coming at’cha:

TechnGeekery Quickie #5: Chores and Allowance… Taking it Techno

In this quick episode I discover that tiny mints and newly-applied lip gloss do not mix. Among other things, naturally.

In other news, TGIM came across this very familiar-looking verification code as he was surfing Ticketmaster for tickets to some– oh, I don’t know, sporting event of some sort, I guess?– so he got all excited (a little too excited if you ask me, come to think of it) and took a screenshot and shot it on over to me via email, all “Look! Look! Look what I came across! Kelly would like it because she’s awesome and I love her and did you read her blog today because she is so SO funny and hilarious and man IwishyouweremorelikeKellybecauseshe’ssoawesome, so check it out!” But maybe I might have hyperbole-ed up that last part, but he may as well have said it because it is what he MEANT. Don’t think I don’t know it. Because I know.

What? Oh! The verification code! Right. Focused now.

(click to enlarge)

Gosh, Kelly, even Ticketmaster has a thing for you.

Oh, and speaking of hyperbole, I NEED this t-shirt. Like… NOW, please:

New Year’s Resolutions for 2008

As many of you know, it is a time-honored American tradition to thoughtfully contemplate how best to challenge and better oneself in the coming year, after which one lists several well-meaning resolutions that one has no intention of ever keeping, not even in a million billion years. In this spirit, I offer my humble resolve to become a valuable, more productive member of my family and society by adhering to the following guidelines:

#1: Stop procrastinating. No, but this time I mean it.

#2: Perfect Stairway to Heaven on my guitar. Because it is TRADITION. Duh. Oh, and Give a Little Bit. Um, because Supertramp is way cool, that’s why!

#3: Loosen up, be more flexible. Life is too short, right? So… I should probably stretch out every day. Oh, and take up yoga, perhaps. Yes, yoga. That should limber me up. I mean, you don’t see too many stiff yogis or yoginis wandering around, now do you?

#4: Write and publish a lengthy, involved dissertation proving once and for all that cheerleading is a sport. It is SO. Shut up.

#5: Find creative ways to integrate Buffy the Vampire Slayer and monkeys into everyday conversations. I just think it would be neat to make somebody’s day a little more surreal.

#6: Buy more boots. Self-explanatory.

There. I feel more valuable to society already.

The One Where We Eat Fancy

As we– I, TGIM, and the kiddos– are settling into the booth at a quaint, little-known treasure of a cafe for an impromptu wedding anniversary breakfast celebration (15 years! what the…?!):

Tanner: [gesturing grandly ’round the dining room] Momma, this place is really nice… [as we all begin to nod and murmur in agreement] I mean GLASS ketchup bottles?!

Cat: [over TGIM’s explosive snort/coughing fit] I know, right?