He's all muscle under that shaggy hair

It just occurred to me that I haven't updated the Exile with my feelings on Jellicoe Road. I did write a full review* for my class, but here I'll just say this: upon closing the book, I turned to Beth and said, "That was the best book of all time."

Now, yes. I do tend to speak in superlatives. But obviously I loved it, and am fully onboard with the hype, as I proceeded to Twitter, as well.

In other news:

1. Harry got his summer short do, and looks like a completely different dog. (Less like Eddie, and more like Wishbone, that is.)

2. To the right, you will see I've added a little glossary of acronyms I use on this blog frequently, at Roo's request. If any come up that I've forgotten, do let me know. I think it looks a bit skimpy as is.

*The ongoing assignment in this class is a Mock Printz Award Nomination thing, for which I will be reading 10+ YA titles and either nominating or rejecting each for the award. I'm a little concerned about this, since I don't want to make a habit of "rejecting" any of my fellow YA authors' works. Diplomacy will be of the utmost, I suppose. I'll probably make an effort to only read greats, so that even if they get a rejection (I can't nominate everyone, after all), I'll have lots of nice things to say.

A short break

I just noticed my last post was my 100th on this blog. Oh well. Pretend there was fanfare.

Sam is napping at the moment, so I should be scrambling to get some words down on a freelance job for the SAB. But the next scene I have to write will be of a dejected teen covering up his fear of failure in front of his parents, and it seems like it might be fairly trying, so I'm taking a short break while I decide if this should include just Dad, Mom and Dad, or just Mom.

I have a tendency to create characters with only one parent. In YA Novel the First, actually, all three MCs have two parents, but the constant threat is "Yes, but for how long?" I've heard the theory as to why this--that is, absent parents--is a frequent theme in children's lit: to do with ensuring that the protagonist is independent. Pragmatically, too, a story isn't bogged down by niceties like what is being made for supper, and who's making it, and what these people do for a living and what cars they drive, if they do, et cetera. Still, I feel the need to buck the trend to some degree. I'm a trend bucker.

No I'm not. But "trend bucker" sounds neat.

Actually, in YA MS the Second, we've got a missing parent, haven't we? Yes.

In other news, the longest semester has finally ended. My only class's last meeting was last night, and I think I even passed. The next class begins two weeks from tonight, and I can't wait for it: Adolescent Literatures. Can you stand it? I can't. Is it wrong, by the way, that I am sort of looking forward to the first class (on my birthday, p.s.), when during introductions I can say I'm a YA author? I predict a spit-take. I should remember to buy coffees* for everyone to be sure it happens.

Mom arrives tomorrow afternoon. I plan to make appointments to take Harry to the vet and my car to the shop while the live-in babysitter is in town.

*I tried for quite a while (too long) to find a photo of Julia Louis-Dreyfus doing the spit-take from that '80s SNL skit in which she was a talk-show host a little too fond of coffee and feigned surprise. Couldn't find one. So this photo had to do. No idea what it's from.

Free Tree

Today is Earth Day. To celebrate, if I go to the grocery store, I will bring my own bags. As usual. And if I finish a gallon of milk today, I'll recycle the empty bottle. As usual. Oh, and also in two days at McDonaldses in Minnesota, they'll give you a free tree for Arbor Day. I swear. It was in the Strib.

Sam won't take his nap and he's making me mental.

I finally finished this paper for class. One of two papers due. The other is not done, and yet is due tonight. I'm thinking I'll skip class. Truth is, I could use a write-night, as it's been ages since I got any writing done, besides an SAB job or two. (And speaking of, I'm still on the two-per-month schedule for them, which means if I don't get some YA MS the Second work done in the next few days, I'll have missed my window.)

And that's not to mention that this weekend will be almost exclusively dedicated to cleaning up this pig sty we call home. My mom, you see, is coming to visit on May the first. And the place has to be presentable. Even the guest room--which is also my office that I never use--is in complete disarray, mainly thanks to my intricate filing system known as "fling papers around the room while looking for old pay stubs."

Oh! One more exciting thing: I registered for one summer course. It's called Adolescent Literatures, and actually goes toward my teaching license! I hope it will be as fun and awesome as it sounds.

Ah, and one more thing. I've been brainstorming for a way to promote my fellow Tenners here at the Exile, so over the coming weeks, keep your eyes peeled for the occasional special Tenner of the Week thing, or something similar.

Destroy all cars.

On a perfect day like yesterday, you gotta pretty much expect something downright crappy is going to happen to keep everything in perspective. It did. On the way to band practice, in my car, I struck a dog as it ran across Glenwood Avenue in Minneapolis, just west of Lyndale. The dog's owner, having been chasing the dog when it managed to find the street, ran to its side right away, as did I, once I'd pulled over and gotten out of the car, in shock. The owner believed that the dog, too, was merely in shock; he saw the whole thing, and seemed to think the dog was essentially unhurt. I desperately wanted to exchange information, help out in some way, give this man everything I owned to make up for this accident, but he shooed me off, insisting the dog would be fine, and it wasn't my fault, and I shouldn't worry. I have no reason to believe the dog is not fine. Thinking back on the details of the accident, I suspect the dog was hit by a plastic part under the front bumper, which snapped off, and then the dog rolled under the car.

Still, afterward, I parked my car and cried for about ten minutes. So now you know I'm a big softy. Maybe especially for little dogs.

I hadn't meant for that narrative to be as long as it was.

Tonight is class. Specifically, we're taking a field trip down to Minnehaha Park, where an ancient sacred spring of the Dakota people, the Cold Water Spring, as it is known, is located. Then we'll go to a community center in Mendota for a talk on the subject. Stands to be interesting. Maybe somehow, someday, I'll incorporate some of the info into a future FTM for SAB.

In YA NOVEL the First news (see what I did there?), I'll be meeting with my editor on Tuesday to begin making what was an MS into a finely honed piece of literature. I seriously can't wait to get started.

Movies that move me

The Where the Wild Things Are trailer is up, and everyone's linking it, so I won't bother. But I will say I am the following things:

1) excited
2) apprehensive
3) intrigued by the fact that the vibe feels at once MG and YA, not at all PB, and that the script adds lots of drama that the original PB fans would never have "gotten" when they were enjoying the PB as children. If you follow me.

Anyway, I've been hurt before, by the Narnian films, and The Dark Is Rising, which LORD I wouldn't put myself through, but I've heard only horrible things. So I'm keeping myself from getting excited. But I am pleased with the team that put this one together; unlike those two trainwrecks I mentioned, WtWTA looks like it was made by real fans of the work and children at heart, not just studio big-time POP BANG LOOK AT ME filmmakers. So that's nice.

What else? IDK. Sam and I went to storytime at the Red Balloon Shop on Grand on Tuesday. Holy cow, this was some crowded storytime. Fifty babies, I kid you not. Plus their parent(s), obviously. But seriously, the group we went to at the library in Saint Anthony Park had, at most, 5 babies on any given day. And once it was 2 babies.

Not much else is new. I think I might have an offer for YA MS the First in the next few days, so that's exciting, but it isn't news as much as it is an updated schedule.

Class tonight, after two weeks off. I wrote three short papers in that two weeks, which I will hand in today. Hopefully that will satisfy him -- for now.

Until next time, America.

Answers!

I am taking this opportunity to answer some of the questions posed by me, myself, yesterday.

So.

1. Not much more, I don't think. Today he only put up with a few spoonfuls before growing tired of it and refusing to open his mouth again.
2. Yes! I just did. Pretty thrilled about it.
3. Some reading is due. The speaker canceled, too, which means we'll be working in small groups. Groan. Some people know how I feel about working in groups: not entirely good.
4. Holy crap, so far six slices of toast, and considering it's only Tuesday, I'm doing fairly well, I think. Almost through the first jar of jam, too. Or jelly. I can never remember which is which.
5. Since #2 has been answered, and since I mentioned YA MS the Second on the phone with the receptive agent in question, I suppose I better get on that in full. That will be my Thursday evening, I expect.
6. Today it has a little. So yay for that!

In other news, I am now in my third week of obsession with Squeeze's "Vicky Verky." If there is a better, more positive, more optimistic song about abortion, I haven't heard it yet. (I bit that line very slightly from a very old friend, and I don't think he'll mind.) Anyway, I have been thinking about writing a novel based on that one song. That's how rich Glenn Tilbrook's characters often are. I'm sure the urge will pass.

Or maybe "Separate Beds." That's such a YA too. Not quite the oomph, though, that "VV" has.

I'll Squeeze the words out!

I've started this last scene of YA MS the First about seven times now, I think. I've tried starting at the beginning of the scene, the middle, a random line here and there--I've even tried starting with the last line of the book and working sort of backwards. Nothing is helping.

I probably should put some music on. Argybargy, I'm thinking. "Vicky Verky" has been in my head for days on end anyway. "And though she's only fourteen, she really knows her courting."

Tomorrow will be a big one. I'll finish this scene, for sure, during the five hours of free-write time I should have in the afternoon. Which reminds me, prof has moved my Wednesday night class again, this time to the Ford plant. What?! Something feels fishy about that. But the good news is I can work at White Rock, on Cleveland, possibly eat at Highland Grill or Cecil's or Punch for dinner, and have a much shorter trip home.

Sam is okay

Today was Sam's first unscheduled "Holy crap, is he okay?!" appointment with the pediatrician!

Turns out, yes, he is okay! The problem, such as it is, is that his breath smells very slightly (to me) of vinegar, particularly right after he wakes up. The smell is stronger to Beth, but of course my sense of smell (not to mention hearing) is pretty weak.

ANYway. Long story short, brought Sam in, he got his ears and throat and schnoz checked, and some blood drawn from his middle finger (he's much better at that than I am; I nearly passed out watching him have his blood drawn, while he didn't even flinch), and is in perfect health. The good part is I got a sneak-peek at his current weight, since he's due for his well visit in a week, and Sam has broken the fifteen pound barrier! That means, among very little else, that it is time to lower the mattress in his portable crib, from bassinet level to pack-and-play level.

Thrilling.

In other news, I may be too late to change my current class's grading method to pass/fail from letter grade. This is a shame, and I am hoping to convince the registrar's office to make an exception. Why is there a deadline on something like that anyway, really?

No other news, really. The Richard Peck DVD I raved about last week is for sale at SCBWI's website, which is still heinous in most respects. And I have not gotten any responses to my plea for a crit group in the Twin Cities specializing in YA and middle grade. Perhaps I'll post a similar plea on craigslist. Hm.

And holy crap, if I haven't mentioned this already, it's been in or near the 40s here in Saint Paul for the last, I don't know, several days. It even rained! Most of the snow is GONE. I do realize, yes, that this merely a reprieve, but it's SUCH a welcome reprieve, I can hardly express my joy to you.

Aunt Ellen will be here to babysit in a couple of hours, then I'm off to downtown. Ooh, just remembered: the prof had our class moved. I have no idea where it is now! Better find out. . . .

(It's like scrambled eggs with wet matzoh mixed in)

Say what you will about Jewish cooking--nothing but white starch with salt and schmaltz--but we have some damn fine comfort foods. Matzoh ball soup, hot pastrami on rye, potato latkes, chicken in a pot--these are seriously comforting foods, owing in no small part, I suppose, to the fact that so many grandmothers serve them.

Anyway, my point is, I'm having matzoh brei for lunch right now. I am in need of comfort. Fact is, I'm feeling pretty stressed out of late, and though the first item on my list of things keeping me up at night (quite literally, I'm afraid) is now done (give it up for my first historical fiction--albeit very recent history), I still have, among some minor items, this very difficult Wednesday night class.

I honestly thought I'd have it easy, as far as schoolwork, this semester. I'm only taking the one freakin' class. But it's a job of work, let me tell you. I missed the first test, which was last Wednesday, when I was already in New York. Well, last night the professor returned those tests. The results, since he announced them before returning them, were positively dismal. I have to take this test in the next couple of weeks, once I can figure a way to get down to his office without hauling Sam along with me.

Now I live with a fear I haven't felt since my third year at SUNY Binghamton, when I foolishly registered for a class called Vietnam in Literature, or something to that effect. The professor then was an angry, shouting man, with far more to say about the United States' policy in southeast Asia than about literature itself, of any subject. It frankly wasn't what I'd signed up for, but I learned this too late and got my only grade lower than a B in my whole college career.

Well, I'm rambling. I'll just be patient. Someday this pain will be . . . yeah, yeah.