What Makes a Good Novel?

photo by a trying youth

Back in November, I lost my mind and decided to participate in NaBloPoMo and NaNoWriMo. Now, NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month, wasn't too bad. I went a little batty trying to come up with a new blog post every day, but I did it.

NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, was a different story. The goal was to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days, with quantity trumping quality. I made it to 4,626 words. Which is exactly 4,626 more than I'd written before NaNoWriMo, so I'm considering it a success.

Some interesting characters sprouted up in those nine pages, and I may go back and see what they're up to. There's Anna, an American living in London. And Ian, a Scottish guy who sells puppets in Covent Garden. I know, the puppet thing is weird. I have no idea where it came from.

To gear up for NaNoWriMo, I bought No Plot? No Problem!, written by the event's founder, Chris Baty. He suggests creating two lists to help figure out a vague plot direction. The first list is what makes a good novel, and the second is what makes a boring or depressing novel. Of course, these are completely personal and need not be based on anything more than an inkling, a whim, or a fancy.

Like the puppets, I was surprised at what appeared on my lists.

What Makes a Good Novel

• Strong plot (a page turner)
• Interesting characters
• Relationships
• Satisfying, happy endings
• The feeling that I could live in the novel’s world (and do live there while I’m reading it)
• English setting
• Good (but not extensive) descriptions
• The passage of seasons
• Believable dialogue
• Intellectual pursuits
• Intersections of multiple story lines
• A sense of mystery and intrigue
• Romance and true love
• Unexpected connections
• Drama
• Comedy

What Makes a Boring or Depressing Novel

• Long-winded passages of description of scenery and setting, especially if it involves directional attributes like north, south, east, or west
  
• Too much death
• Industrial topics
• Obviousness
• Adventure stories of man vs. nature
• Anything set in a jungle
• Plots with such a wide scope and so many characters that I need a legend to keep it all straight
• Heavy historical perspective
• Most detective mysteries
• Ghosts, demons, and monsters
• Violence
• Bad character names
• Ugliness

Reading over these lists again, I can see there are no hard and fast rules for my preferences. I've enjoyed a few historical and adventure stories in my time. And sometimes a happy, satisfying ending feels too cliché.

What would be on your lists? Where would you put the puppets?

The Payoff: NaBloPoMo Prizes!

cupcakes diptych, caroline moore, sixhours photography

Remember when I told you that there were PRIZES! for completing NaBloPoMo? Well, I am victorious! I am the big wiener! (um, that's "winner" for those of you not savvy to hot dog or dachshund humor.)

I don't know how many people actually posted every day in November to be eligible for the prizes, but I do know that there are currently 6,312 members listed. And there were roughly 74 prizes to be had. (Quick! Someone who's good with statistics or gambling do the math.) Even if only a quarter of the listed members were eligible to win, I beat the odds, baby! (In cases like this, I might say, "What are the odds?" And my dad would be bound to answer: "In this case, 100%." He makes a valid point.)

See those cute cupcake kids above? They're from Caroline Moore (website and blog). Check out her Etsy shop, Sixhours Photography. She explains her work this way:

My work focuses on the transformation of personal spaces into surreal landscapes of life. The majority of my ideas are born out of a desire to capture common themes, experiences and stories from everyday life, but with an ironic twist. I see everything I do as a picture of the human mind, magnified tenfold, so that we see all the darkest corners.

Caroline gave me my choice of prints, and I almost chose her story will never be written because I like the subject matter, plus I'm a sucker for gingham and old typewriters.

I also liked this romantic image, called vintage flora.


And this one, called straight (which seems to describe my taste).


But much of Caroline's work is more subversive. The forgotten bride series expresses a strong sense of despair in a place that always makes me sad, even when I wasn't left on my wedding day.


This photo, called the best kept secrets, manages to be lovely and slightly disquieting all at once. I think my favortie detail is the tendril of hair on the woman's neck.


Laundry day is delightfully cheeky and deliciously dark.


And I find sprouts to be simultaneously creepy and hilarious.


I almost feel guilty for choosing prints that represent such a different side of Caroline's work. But what can I say? I have this thing for cupcakes. If you like the illustrations, she has a few more that are just as sweet. She also has some flower photography if botanicals are more your speed.

So thank you, Caroline, for your generosity and for affirming my belief that someone has to win contests, and it might as well be me!

NaBloPoMo: All (Good) Things Must Come to an End

Oh the pressure.

This is the last day of the National Blog Posting Marathon Madness. (Would that be NaBloPoMaMa instead of NaBloPoMo?) I feel compelled to do something fabulous with this post, like dress it up in high heels, a little black dress, and maybe sweep its hair up into a Breakfast-at-Tiffany's-esque 'do.

Because really, aren't you all tired of hearing about my struggle to post every single day in November? I certainly am. As a reward, I'd like to write a post that astounds you, or makes you chuckle, or leaves you with a nice warm feeling in your tummy, like a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies and a nice glass of milk.

But it's Friday night and I have to get ready to go to this Rave in the warehouse down the street and I still have to find my glowstick. Okay, I'm really just waiting for my husband to come home so we can make popcorn on the stove and watch a movie. I'll leave you guessing as to what kind of movie it will be. Perhaps a quiet British film like "A Room with a View." Or maybe something more American, like "Live Free or Die Hard." Whichever it is will determine how I eat my popcorn, according to Eddie Izzard. Don't know him? Check him out:

[warning: strong language in this video]



And as Eddie once said at the end of a show, he likes to leave people feeling "ehhh." And so I leave you.

Not with a bang but a whimper.

(C'mon! It's not like I won't be back. Will you be back?)

Haiku Cop-out

Up early today.
Email makes my eyes so tired.
Turn off computer!

For more haikus, head on over to Mommy Needs a Cocktail's NaBloPoMo page where it's been all haiku all month. Today's poem sums things up nicely:

Put me out of my misery Haiku

It's almost over.
NaBloPoMo killing me.
What was I thinking?

The Practice of Choosing Well

If National Blog Posting Month has taught me anything, it's something I already knew: Being intentional can be very hard work.

I've recently made changes in my life so that I can live more fully, be more aware of who I am and what I want and pursue those things diligently. The weird thing is that sometimes it's hard to do the things we want to do, not because other commitments get in the way, but because we get in our own way.

How much time can I waste mindlessly surfing the Internet or watching bad TV instead of reading quality online content or watching a really good movie? How much crappy convenience food can I eat because I didn't take the time to go shopping or plan my meals, even though I love the grocery store and like to cook? How many books can I not read because I'm too busy looking through catalogues for stuff I don't need and won't buy? A lot, that's how much.

It's easy to forget what we like to do and how we want to spend our time. And when we remember, sometimes it's still easier to do the lame, lazy thing than to be intentional and focused. It should be easy to choose the things we love, but even that takes practice.

Goodly Eats

I love food. I think it's one of God's greatest gifts to us. Unfortunately, it's also a source of constant frustration for me. I won't lament my weight issues here, but suffice it to say that I have more than one Thanksgiving turkey worth of extra meat to lose, accumulated over a lifetime of relative inactivity and some poor food choices along the way. (I'm working on that.)

But the great thing about food is that you HAVE to eat. I guess that can also be a source of frustration, since it's easy to make bad choices when you're faced with eating at least three times a day. But I choose to look at it as a joy. I like food and I get to eat! Every day! How great is that?

Fortunately, I also like to cook, which is a big part of creating a healthy lifestyle and making good food choices. I'm all about eating real food whenever possible. So today I share with you a few food blogs that I intend to check out in more detail, including one that is dedicated to cupcakes. (A girl's gotta have a few sweets, right? And homemade cupcakes are way better than store bought logs of trans fat!) I'd like to list a few more food blogs here, but Bloglines is currently down for maintenance, so I can't see my list of feeds. (Get it? Food feeds!)

• Simply Recipes: Vast archive of recipes, tons of categories, and lovely food photography ~ a feast in itself!
• Smitten Kitchen: More tempting photography, interesting recipes, and some fun commentary
• Cupcake Bakeshope by Chokylit: Where else are you going to find a recipe for Adzuki Bean Paste Filled Chocolate Cupcakes with Matcha Green Tea Frosting? Seriously.

What are some of your fave food sites?

Yoga: A blind date

Dear Yoga,

I'd heard about you for years. The way women – and even some men – go crazy for you, falling head over heels in love. They swear by your ability to make them feel young and sexy. I have to say, I was certainly intrigued. I even tried to get to know you through a few video tapes from a friend. Those tapes feel cheap now. Because just like sign language, knitting, and the Kama Sutra, you are definitely an enigma that one must experience in person.

Oh, the promises you make. They sound so delightful. "Follow me, and you will become bendy and strong," you say. "I will give you good posture, a lean body, and a peaceful mind."

I fell for your sweet-talk, you rascal, you! Oh, yes, Yoga, I'm calling you a rascal. On the surface you're all patchouli oil and soothing music with wooden flutes and chirping birds. But I've seen your real face tonight: a cold, cruel face, like that of a Drill Sergeant. This evening, on our very first date, you humiliated me, demanding that I hold poses I couldn't even attain. "Now look back at your thighs," cooed the instructor (your little slut). And I thought, "Look back at my thighs? I can't even find my thighs!"

I didn't expect you to be easy. I'd heard you make people work for it. But still, I didn't expect to sweat so damn much. I have Mr. Treadmill for that.

But you are a sly downward dog, Yoga. After 40 minutes of torture, you spoke to me in honeyed tones. You asked me to lie on my mat in the darkened room, just breathing. "Doesn't your body feel stretched and relaxed?" you asked. "Feel how the tension has left you. Let it all go, and invite in calm and peace. There, now. How do you feel?"

How do I feel, Yoga? How do I feel?!

I'll tell you after next week's class.

Until then, namaste.

Thanksgiving Table Talk

Husband: I heard that Monday is National Toupee Forgiveness Day.

Me: How do you forgive a toupee?

__________________________________________

Mom: So your brother finally told me that he got another tattoo. Did you know about this?

Me: Wow this stuffing is good! Can I have some more?

____________________________________________

9-year-old to adult, while asking the adult quiz-game questions:

These quiz questions are for 10- and 11-year-olds. How old are you

Oh my gosh! What is with Europe? [after a question about geography]

True Blue: My First Talent Show (6th 1st)

Way back in May, before anyone was thinking about the holidays, before farmer's markets sprouted up and gave us the joyful fruits of summer, even before I went on and on about that conference I went to in Chicago, a few of you participated in the First Official Readers' Poll and voted for the final installment in my mini-series of Firsts. As you may recall, there was a tie between my first night as a sorority girl and my first talent show. So now, without any further ado, (although I love ado, don't you?), I bring you: My First Talent Show!

I think the elementary school talent show started out as an idea in our classroom's suggestion box. Our teacher, who was in her early 20s, was pretty much the coolest adult I'd ever met. We were her first teaching job and she treated us like real people. For our school play, in which I played the role of the Forget-Me-Not Lady, she gave me one of her old prom gowns to wear. (I later wore it to a Halloween party and ruined it during the egg toss.) She once invited our whole class to her house for a cook-out. She lived just a few blocks from me, and didn't seem to mind if my best friend and I stopped by on the weekends or during the summer, even after we'd graduated from elementary school.

For the talent show, my best friend and I decided that we'd do a dance routine, set to Madonna's song, True Blue. We went to Claire's Accessories and bought one pair of electric-blue lace gloves, one glove for each of us. I can't picture the rest of our outfits, but I'm sure they matched and suspect they involved leggings.

I'd been tap dancing since the age of 4, but we decided to do a jazz/contemporary routine because it seemed more appropriate to our stature as cool fifth graders who ruled the school. We choreographed the whole song, pantomiming lines like "Your heart fits me like a glove," and "No-whoa more sadness, I kiss it goodbye!" and stealing bits of a routine that I saw in a jazz class at my dance studio. There may also have been some lip-syncing involved.

What happened next is foggy (as these things often are). I seem to recall that each student could only be in one act. And some adult in my life, not understanding the current popularity of lip-syncing, dance routines, may have mentioned that perhaps I'd have more success in the talent show by playing a song with my band friends. (More success? How do you define success in a school talent show? Were their prizes? Maybe a free book or a pack of pencils?) This is where it gets cloudy, because my best friend was also in the band. But I think I abandoned her. And somehow or other, a group of us budding band geeks formed our own mini-band for the talent show.

We held rehearsals at each other's houses, which I'm sure our parents just loved. When it was my turn to host practice, we moved the dining room table off to the side to create a studio space. I had my flute, Brian was there with his saxophone, and Tawnya had her trumpet. When our drummer showed up for practice, he forgot to bring his snare drum with him. I think my dad gave him a bucket and some spoons to use instead. Despite this, we were a well-oiled band machine.

Looking back, I can't remember what song we played, if we won a prize, or even what my best friend said when I backed out on our act. But I remember wishing I was up there with her as she twirled around to the hottest Pop music of our time. I even remember some of those sweet dance moves. Most of all, I remember this when I weigh two options or consider two paths: It's better to be true blue to your heart than to seek out the approval of others, even when they mean well or sound sensible.

Pride Cometh Before the Shopping

I'm not overly keen on shopping. I'm even less keen on crowds. So I was more than happy to stay home today, doing a little bit of freelance work and a lot of housework. It was a nice day for nesting. Then I realized that today is Buy Nothing Day, a 24-hour moratorium on consumer spending. I thought, "Hey, no problem! I'm not even going to leave the house today!" I have to admit that I felt a little smug at my enlightened ways. I would not be a victim or proponent of over-consumption.

And then I found myself on Etsy, just looking at some of my favorite artists. The next thing I knew, my virtual shopping cart held a small Christmas gift I'd been meaning to buy, along with a few little things for myself. I didn't realize the irony until after I'd paid.

Oh well. At least I bought handmade stuff. That's worth something, right?

Not as good as the original, but still fun

Are you stuffed to the gills with mashed potatoes, turkey/tofurkey/turducken, and pie? Sit back and enjoy some mindless fun at Qbesq. It's like this, but online. Now all I need is a virtual Lite Brite. Oh wait: there's one of those, too.

(link to Qbesq via Anna Pieka Valentine)

The Ghost of Thanksgivings Past

Thanksgiving was the one holiday that my parents hosted and celebrated at our house every year. In its heyday, we'd borrow long folding tables and extra chairs from the church to accommodate up to 18 people.

Many of the guests were my great aunts and uncles. Sadly, most of them are gone now. This year, I'll celebrate with my parents and my husband, in the same dining room as those childhood feasts. But we'll fit around the small dining room table, with no need for extra chairs or handmade place cards. It's still a lovely holiday, but sometimes I miss the way it used to be.

Here's a tiny tribute to those relatives, and all their wonderfully eccentric ways...

Aunt Martha sometimes brought presents for us kids. She meant well, but didn't seem to have a clue about what kids liked. The one that stands out the most was the coloring book -- of botanical drawings. I can't remember what Aunt Martha used to wear, but I always think of her when I see gingham or green and white checked cloth.

Aunt Martha was married to Uncle Walt, who had one wooden leg, a crew cut, and glasses a bit like Drew Carey's. He didn't say much, and I can't remember ever having a conversation with him. He seemed so shy, which may be why he married Martha, who was anything but shy.

By the time I was in fifth grade, I was taller than my Aunt Mid. She reminded me of a sweet, plump country mouse. One year at Thanksgiving she didn't bring her signature apple cake and there was a big outcry. She said that no one ever seemed to eat much of it, so she thought we didn't like it. We explained that we all eat it the day after Thanksgiving, which was completely true. We all expected to have it with our leftovers. Her cake showed up every year after that.

Uncle Harry, brother to Walt and husband to Mid, was another quiet one. He always seemed like he was in on some sort of joke, making him quietly jolly. In his later years, he had a condition that made his head shake, like Parkinson's disease.

Grandpap looked a lot like his brother Walt, but definitely wasn't quiet like him. If he had an opinion on something, or just thought he might have an opinion on it, he'd let you know. At the Thanksgiving table, long after everyone else was winding down, Grandpap could be seen spooning a dab of this and a dollop more of that onto his plate. And then he'd say, "I don't know what's wrong with me. I just can't eat like I used to."

Uncle Ken, who married into the family, taught me that getting old didn't mean you had to be out of touch with modern society. He was a smart guy and something of a tinkerer, always making clocks or painting birdhouses or asking us kids something about computers. He also taught me #8 on this list.

Uncle Ken’s wife, Aunt Ann, is the only one of the bunch who is still living. She's always been a fashionable lady, with her hair done up just so and her clothes carefully chosen. She is soft and kind, and as bright as her husband was. Even into her 80s (90s?), she has a better social calendar than I do. I haven’t seen her in awhile. I think it’s time I gave her a call.

Will Write for Prizes

If this is your first visit here, I suggest reading this and this. And maybe this. Because this post? Let's just be honest: It's not my best work.

Man, NaBloPoMo is really killing my street cred. You know, my street cred as a crazy-good writer-blogger. 'Coz I knows all-y'all come here for my mad writin' skillz! And here I am, about to post a cat video because it's late and I don't have time to write a good post. In any other month, I'd just not post on a day like this. But there are prizes involved in this National Blog Posting Month. Prizes, people! And to win, I have to post every stinkin' day. Besides, it's looking like I won't "win" NaNoWriMo by finishing my novel in the next 10 days. So I'm trying to save face by posting every day and sticking to NaBloPoMo.

...Actually, it's not about saving face at this point. It's about the prizes. If it were about saving face, I wouldn't be about to post not one, but two cat videos.

Wait! Don't go. The cats -- they are funny. They are worth it. Watch these videos in order to get the full effect. (They aren't duplicates.)

We're Gonna Have Roast Rabbit!

Day 19. I'm stuck here on this NaBloPoMo island, surrounded by a sea of language. Words, words everywhere and not a drop to write. Sometimes I think I can see other blogs and even commenters from here, but then realize it's all just a mirage. I've started to dream of writing beautiful, long paragraphs, full of nuance and meaning. It's a sad shock when I wake up and find out that it wasn't real.

Our rations are running dangerously low. Words and punctuation are in such short supply that I think we're starting to hallucinate. Earlier today I looked at James and thought he was a big fat apostrophe. I told him this, trying to make light of our dire situation. But he's cranky and became indignant, saying, "If I was going to be anything, I'd be a semicolon!"

Yesterday we went into the forest to forage for verbs, but all we found were a few measly pronouns, hardly worth building a story around. Still, in our desperation, we tried. But it was all "he" and "she" and then "he" again, not making a bit of sense. I threw in a few verbs and adjectives from our dwindling supply, but that didn't make it much better: "pretty she coughed." We soon gave up in frustration. What I wouldn't give for a juicy noun-verb combo with a nice slice of descriptive commentary on the side.

James tells me to keep the faith, to just hold on, to keep hope alive. I tell him that if we needed cliches, those would be just fine. But we need interesting stories if we're going to last another 11 days in this God-forsaken wilderness. And to do that we're going to need more words. He promised me he'll try fishing again tomorrow, but I'm not holding my breath. The last time he went out, all he brought back were a few italics and hyperlinks. The links were good, but they're not substantial enough to keep us going. He swears he saw an essay swim by, but I told him: "Good luck hooking one of those!"


(Thank you to James for this idea!)

The Persistence of Memory

Good photography was one of the priorities for our wedding, and I think we spent about double for the photographer than we did for my dress. We met with several people who claimed to understand what we were looking for, but none of them truly did. Then we met Melinda. She understood that we wanted a photo-journalistic approach, something more artsy than staged. As a result, we have two huge albums filled with honest and poignant shots of the day.

But one of my very favorite photos was taken by a guest with an average camera. It's blurred, overexposed, out-of-focus, and off-kilter. And I love it so much. It captures something that I have been trying to put into words for the last six years. I think it's what memories look like. It reminds me of a photo you'd find in an old attic, and then marvel at how these people -- alive years ago -- look so young. It looks like a photograph taken through glass, and reminds me of "Nightswimming" by R.E.M. It's somehow melancholy and comforting all at once.

I love photographs in general and want to know more about taking them. I want to learn how to take better photos, and I know that a minimum level of technical knowledge goes with that. (Even if, like this lovely lady, I just want to play.) I tend to have a general impatience for learning technical things, even though I'm proficient at them once I've pushed through my desire for instant gratification. I should probably learn how to use the settings on my digital camera, or even figure out what different types of film are and why they're used.

What I really want is to create photo-art that evokes emotion and meaning. So I'm thinking about buying a Diana or Holga camera. Are you familiar with either of these? From what I understand, the Holga is a newer version of the Diana, but they're made by different manufacturers. They're both cheap, poorly made, middle format (what is that?) cameras that let in light and distort pictures. They create some beautiful art effects like vignetting and blur.

The playfulness and surprise results of such a camera excite me. Part of the reason I love the image above is that it was a fluke. I guess I'm looking to create intentional flukes, as ironic as that seems.

Can anyone recommend which to get: the Diana or Holga? What else should I know about them? Homemade modifications to the cameras seem to be a big part of the sub-culture. Are they necessary to get interesting photos? Please share in the comments.

The Littlest Birds Sing the Prettiest Songs

I saw a flock of little brown birds today. There were hundreds them: flying, gliding, flapping, swirling, chirping, landing. The rose up in a choreographed flight from the bank in front of me, and then landed in two small fields separated by a road. I heard hundreds of birds peeping at once; hundreds and hundreds of wings beating the air as I walked a little closer and they took off, again in unison, swooping through an intricate pattern. When they flew, it was a graceful dance, each bird flapping in rhythm and then all at once skimming on unseen air currents, all at the same time. Flap-flap-flap-flap-gliiiiiiiiiiiiiide.

The group of birds in the field nearest me joined the group across the road, and then little batches of birds came flying in, trailing the larger mass that had arrived a minute or two earlier. Here were another ten; a dozen; three; solo birds in between these little groupings. All flying to catch up with the others.

And then from behind them all, a lone, larger bird, probably a hawk. I wondered if it was preying on the smaller birds (do hawks eat birds?); if this was the reason they seemed so unified and slightly agitated. (Or is that just the way of birds?) I heard the hawk let out a solitary squawk (although I think I imagined it), and then it banked right, flying high above and away from me and the birds.

I watched the hawk sail into the distance, strong, confident, fearless. The flock of small birds on the ground flapped and hopped, talking to each other, crowded close together.

And I could not decide which I'd rather be.

New and Improved Stereotypes

As one-half of an interracial marriage, and as someone with an innate sense of justice and equality, I'm interested in how and why we develop and perpetuate stereotypes. Well, here's a website full of "new and improved stereotypes to teach your kids." And might I just say, they got these so right...

• Black People Can Extinguish A Fire Just by Dissing It (During the great Chicago fire of 1871, it took nearly 100 men implying the inferno's mother was promiscuous to smother the blaze.)
• White People Secretly Know How to Breathe Underwater (But they won't teach anyone else.)

There's a new and improved stereotype for everyone: the Irish, Germans, Belgians, Jews, Asian men, New Yorkers, and left-handed people, just to name a few. Go have a laugh.

Paranoia Cha-Cha-Cha

While some people pretended to be the aliens from V, I feared them. And I feared that everyone around me, including my parents, would simultaneously reveal themselves to be lizard-like creatures masquerading as humans. And that I would be the only human left in the world, or at least in my neighborhood.

I lie in bed at night, imagining this bone-chilling scenario. I planned my escape, visualizing my emergency evacuation route. I'd slip out of bed and creep to the door of my bedroom. If it was late enough and my reptilian parents were asleep in the room across the hall, I would stealthily sneak past the door and flee toward the front of our ranch house. But if it was still early, which was when I usually had this frightening fantasy, I'd have to be more careful. In order to get out of the house, I'd have to be either very fast or very quiet.

The living room, where my parents were watching TV and pretending to be normal human beings, was adjacent to both the kitchen and dining room -- the only two rooms with doors leading directly to the outside world. Could I run fast enough to evade their flicking lizard tongues and quick lizard legs? I doubted my speed.

The alternative was to sneak out of bed and open the cellar door, which was just outside of my bedroom. But the door was creaky. They would be sure to hear and catch me before I made it down the steep steps and out into the backyard! Besides, the door had a lock at the top, and I was too short to reach it.

So out the kitchen door it would have to be! I ran - nay! I flew! - down the hall, into the kitchen, out the door! Into the dark night! I crossed the alley next to our house and raced up the street! But where would I go? What would I do? In this scenario all adults were potential flesh-eating lizard aliens. I could trust no one. And being in just the third grade, my knowledge of the neighborhood was as limited as my resources. How would I survive in this hostile world?

Better to stay quietly in bed and pretend I didn't know the truth about their identities. Maybe then they'd let me live to go to middle school.

In the meantime, I made sure to sleep under the covers, no matter how hot it was. Even if it was just a thin bedsheet, I felt safer. Because otherwise, a monkey would lower himself down from the ceiling by his tail and stick a hypodermic needle in my bum cheek. (This one had nothing to do with lizard aliens. It was just one of my quirks.)


I don't think I'll be reading this book when it comes out in a few months.

NaBloPoMo: Day 14

Oh my gosh. The writing. The writing. The writing. Every day with the writing. That's what I get for signing up for National Blog Posting Month and publicly declaring my intention to write a blog post every day. It's only Day 14 and I'm stumped, folks. I asked The Husband what I should write about today, and the conversation went something like this:

Me: What should I write about? What are some of the stories I always tell?

Hubs: Hm... How about the time you dressed your brother up like Baby New Year?

Me: That's a good one.* Maybe I'll save it for New Year's.

Hubs: Or how you used to put makeup on him.

Me: I didn't do that. He just says I did. ...at least, I don't think I did.... I think he wanted to try some on.

Hubs: That goes a long way in explaining a lot of things.

Me: Didn't you ever want to try on makeup as a kid?

Hubs: No. Although, my mom did have this face cream that formed a mask and you could peel it off in one piece. I used to put it on my face so I could pretend I was one of those aliens on that TV show "V" and then peel my face off.

I didn't say it to him, but that goes a long way in explaining a lot of things, too.

*There's even a picture!

Out of the Mouths of Babes (and Moms)

It's said that kids say the darndest things. Apparently, so do their parents. Check these out for a good laugh .

• Rachelle at Magpie Girl reports on some good parent one-liners. There's a good one in the comments, too: “Nobody leaves this house without pants!”

• Even funnier is what a very tired preschooler says over at Dooce. I can't say much more because it would ruin it, but trust me. It is funny. You will laugh.

• Also in the running for funniest parent/child one-liners are these two from Kristen from Mommy Needs a Cocktail on her Twitter updates:

• The Boy is screaming "Darn it in the ass." I'm not exactly sure about that combination. Clearly whatever it was, he learned from his dad. (3:35pm November 01, 2007)

• You never realize before you have kids that the words "stop putting stuff in the ukulele" could possibly come out of your mouth. (4:46pm October 29, 2007)
  

I know I've caught myself saying odd things to my cats, but none of them are coming to mind right now. Got any parent/kid/pet sayings that you want to share?