Day #24 — Required Reading

Here's a poem for you. My initial reaction to this writing prompt ("Required Reading")  was to do a rant about the stupid Accelerated Reading program and why it makes children hate reading. But instead, here is my feeble attempt at a poem, inspired by the continuing news from Haiti.

Prompt: Required Reading

Required reading
Bodies bleeding
People pleading

Required reading

Children needing

Love and feeding

Required reading
Hope receding
Helpful heeding

Required reading

Some still breathing

Not conceding

Required reading
Plans proceeding
Time impeding

Required reading
New news leading
Superseding

Time: 14 minutes

As I say, I'm not a poet. I'm immature when it comes to using the tools of poetry, but this was an exciting exercise in that it reminded me again how just a few words can tell a story with great impact. It took much longer to write this way than when I follow my usual path. It certainly stretched me more than my typical response pattern would have done.

Day #23.5 — It finally happened

So if you've been paying attention — and not many people have — I broke my streak. After 22 straight days of SFDs, I missed yesterday. But, to quote my son, it's not my fault. Really. I spent the entire day at the hospital figuring things out for my mother in law who was having some issues after surgery. Now, don't you feel bad that you thought less of me? I woulda if I coulda. Really.

So, here's what I've decided. I'm granting myself a Mulligan, a do-over. I'm turning a blind eye and extended my "day" from yesterday to include this 10-minute free-write and I'm going to date it as if I had written it yesterday on 1/29 (aren't the publishing options offered by blogger great?). Then, I will do another 10 minute free write based on a different prompt and date it today, 1/30. Brilliant, right? I'll be all caught up and only you will be the wiser. If only all my problems were this easy to solve. So, here we go with one of the final prompts from Lisa Romeo.

Prompt: Report Card

My mom is going to kill me. She is flat out going to kill me. I'm doomed. A C- in math. Math. I've never gotten less than an A on anything, and now a C- in math. How is it going to look when the son of a professor of Applied Mathematics at MIT is practically failing math. She is going to kill me.

The thing is, I hate math. I always have. Ever since I got that plastic placemat with the times tables on it and my mom started quizzing me at breakfast every morning, I have hated math. I like words. I like books. I like to read, but I really, really hate math.

I guess I could be good at it if I tried. I mean, if genetics plays a part in the equation, then a math professor and an economist should have produced a son who could do math if he tries, right? But what if I can't do it? What if I tried everything, and did all the homework, and studied before the tests and quizzes and then I still flunked. Then my parents wouldn't just kill me. They'd hate me.

Maybe my mom will forget that it's report card day. Maybe I can say I forgot it, or lost it. Maybe I can say that they are mailing report cards home now and that it got lost in the mail. That sounds perfectly reasonable, since half of my bar mitzvah invitations never made it the the right mailboxes. I think I'll go with that one. At least it will buy me some times. If I could put my mom off track for four more days, then it's fall break, so that gives me another week, but then it's parent-teacher conferences that Wednesday. Hmm, four days, plus seven days, plus three more days — that gives me a full two weeks before I really have to worry.

Time:  11 minutes

I wonder why I always find it so much easier to write from the point of view of a boy than a girl when I write for children. That's so curious to me. Perhaps it's because I have three sons and only one daughter, or maybe because I'm so different from my daughter. Still, you would think I would be tapping into my own sensory memories from childhood.

Day #22: Money, Money, Money

Today I am writing on my laptop from the discomfort of my mother-in-laws hospital room (she'll be fine). It's been a long day and I'm tired. And hungry. But neither exhaustion nor starvation nor dry contacts shall keep this writer from her appointed writing prompt, once again courtesy of Lisa Romeo.

Prompt: Money, Money, Money

Ka-ching. That is the exact sound I heard when my 8-year-old bumped his face while going UP the playground slide and broke his front tooth exactly in half. You might have expected me to hear a thump or his cry, but all I heard was the sound of how much it's going to cost me to have that tooth fixed. He couldn't have done this last summer when he still had baby-teeth up front. No. He had to break off his brand new shiny white permanent tooth -- the one right in front.

I heard ka-ching again last Friday when his older brother accidentally threw away his retainer. We were eating at one of those disgusting all you can eat buffet places (his birthday choice). Apparently, he wrapped the damn retainer in a napkin and the waitress cleared it with the dishes on one of the 23 or so trips he took to the buffet. That boy can eat! 

We pawed through six bags of disgusting garbage before finally waving the white flag and giving up. Called the orthodontist the next day. Now he needs another impression taken and a new retainer. Do you hear that sound? It's the sound of my tiny little bank account leaking like a sieve.

Ka-ching went back tire of the mini-van as it blew running over our the remnants of the of the set design workshop my daughter and her theater groupies had erected behind the garage. I backed out over nails and whatnot left on the drive and that was that for my tire. It was only six months old and still had a lot of miles left in it.

This is the story of my life. Money bleeding from every pore. Money escaping through every door. I'd call in a specialist to stop the hemorrhaging, but I'm out of money.

Time: 10 minutes

Time to check out. Good night, folks.

Day #21 — Free

This prompt strikes me as more than just a little ironic, given that I have spent the last couple of hours trying to figure out financial aid information for my daughter who will be heading off to college in the fall. Right this minute, it doesn't feel like there is much in life that is free. We'll see where the prompt (once again from Lisa Romeo) takes me.

Prompt: Free

Ezra escaped today. Ever since he started walking, he has turned into a regular Houdini. Trying to change his diaper is like trying to do a Rubic's cube with your hands tied behind your back. He is just so wiggly! I won't even try to change him on the changing table or bed, for fear he'll land right on his head.

So this morning I spread the changing pad on the floor and managed to wrestle him flat. With my forearm pinning down his chest, I managed to remove his dirty diaper and clean him up reasonably well with one hand until he twisted away, jumped up and ran around the room laughing … at me! My beautiful baby boy was pointing and laughing at me.

I struggled to my feet, then slipped on the changing pad and landed flat on my butt, which set Ezra into a fit of giggles. He started running around in circles saying: "Boom … damn! Boom … damn!" For the first time since he was born, I was furious. Just furious. My tailbone was killing me, I let out a epithet when I fell and now this little traitor was going to rat me out. Unbelievable. I thought we were a team.

At this point, I turned into a crazy woman, chasing him around the room and barking orders like a drill sergeant:  "Ezra Michael Stern, you come here right this minute. I mean it now. Stop running and come here. If you don't come here right now …"

I have absolutely no idea how that threat would have ended, because before I could finish it, my socks slid on our newly buffed hardwood floor and I fell — again — this time doing the splits before rolling out of them in complete agony. 

I pulled myself to a sitting position, trying to determine whether anything was broken, besides my spirit. This little one-year-old alien monster had brought me to my knees in less than 8 minutes after waking from his morning nap. I burst into tears. If I couldn't handle him as a toddler, what on earth was I going to do when he was a teenager and bigger and stronger than me? I rolled back onto my side in the fetal position and wept.

I was in such a state of self pity that it didn't even occur to me that the baby might have gotten into real trouble. Suddenly, if felt his wet, sloppy lips on my forehead and opened my eyes to see his worried face pressed close to mine. "OK Mama? Awbetter Mama?" 

I sat up, wiped my eyes and gave him a wobbly smile. "All better, Ezzy-man."

"Good," he said with a grin. "Get up!" Then he giggled and started running in circles around me, still naked, his arms flapping and his little penis bobbing as he chanted:  "Get up, get up, get up!"

This time my smile was genuine. But I wonder, will I ever feel that free again?

Time: 12 minutes

I don't know a mom in the world who hasn't been brought to her knees by an infant or toddler. It's a completely overwhelming feeling. For me, the first time it dawned on my that my freedom was gone was when my twins were napping and I realized that I couldn't even walk the block and a half to White Hen. It's good to be able to tap into those feelings at such a primal, visceral level. Sort of like method acting. Using this scene in a kind of "method writing", I could help my character feel trapped, stuck, completely not free … a common obstacle to throw in the path of your hero.

Day #20 — Just a Little Something …

Today is my 20th straight day of free writing to a prompt. That's more discipline than I've shown … well, ever. I'll see how long I can keep up the streak. Maybe I should find some lucky socks or something and wear them every day until the streak is broken. Today's prompt is one of the few remaining in Lisa Romeo's month of writing prompts. Your job — see if you can guess which parts are true and which are pure fiction.

Prompt: Just a Little Something to Take the Edge Off

"Are you going to the pool today?" Allie asked me at 6:45 in the morning, in what would be one of at least 10 calls for the day. We don't even bother with salutations anymore.

"Not now," I said. "Remember, it's Wednesday. Swim team day. The pool doesn't open until 1:30."

"Shit, that means I have to entertain the little darlings all morning. Any ideas?"

"Sorry, we're going to the dentist."

"All of you?"

"Yep — he's blocked out the whole morning for us. Then Cassie has gymnastics, so we won't be ready for the pool until at least 1:30 anyway."

"Be there at 1:30. And us bring a little something."

"What do you want?"

"You know, just a little something to take the edge off. I'm going to need it."

Two hours, five cleanings and $700 dollars later, we were done with the dentist. I dropped Cassie off at the gym and told her I would pick her up on the way to the pool. 

"Bring my pink bikini — not the hot pink one, the other one with the butterflies," she ordered.

Generally speaking, I'm not the world's most organized mom, but after 10 years, I've got the whole pool thing down to a science. The mesh boating bag is packed with sunscreen, goggles, a few pool toys and Max's epi pen. Even at the pool somebody might have nuts. I keep the pool passes in a little zipper pocket on the outside of the bag. Woe to the child who fails to return his or her pass to the pocket.

We have a perfect size cooler that is unpacked immediately on returning home from the pool. The ice pack is returned to the freezer, the big zip lock bag is refilled with gold fish or pretzels, and the water bottles are rinsed. There's no glass allowed at the pool, but plastic bottles are fine. Sometimes I pack some grapes or cherries. I'm always astounded at how hungry everyone is after they cool off in the pool.

I was closing up the cooler when I remembered Allie's request. What on earth did she want? Chocolate? No, she's the only woman on earth who doesn't have a chocolate monkey on her back. Oooh, I know. I opened the cupboard with the water bottles and pulled out the only two left — red and blue teddie bears with flip tops. I forced a couple of ice cubes through the small openings and filled the sippy bottles with premade margarita mix. Smiling a guilty little smile, I stuck them into the cooler and headed for the pool.

Allie looked at me like I had lost my mind when I handed her the blue bear-shaped bottle. Then her eyes widened and she took a sip. 

"That's it," she said. "I'm dumping Tom and eloping with you to Vegas."

Time:  13 minutes

So, can you figure it out? I like this scene. It could be exaggerated to be really funny.

Day #19 — Late to the Party

Yesterday, IRL, I joined Twitter, which seems to fit in perfectly with today's prompt from Lisa Romeo:

Prompt: Late to the Party

Some days I think I'm pretty up on this whole technology thing. I have several blogs and there are those in my circle who even consider me a little bit of an expert. I strongly believe that that's because my circle is old (sorry, friends) and we are in danger of missing the new tide of technology completely.

Yesterday, I signed up for a Twitter account. I know I'm a little late to the party, but that's nothing new. I only started my blog two years ago and it took me quite a while to figure things out. I still don't really know how to drive traffic to my site, even though I've dabbled in StumbleUpon, de.li.ci.ous (or whatever that is), blog catalog, ping-o-matic and a few others. It's just that there's so much that it's overwhelming.

I'm not a complete Twitter virgin. My husband's pet store has a Twitter handle and I'm the only one who posts to it or his Facebook page (or his blog, for that matter). I seem stuck in this chair in front of my screen. I can't keep up with the blogs I follow, or my Facebook page and now Twitter. Whatever will I do?

Still, it's exhilarating to learn something new. I know it doesn't seem very risky to those under 30, but to those of use a little (ahem!) older, each new step into the Interwebs feels like a giant dare.

A few weeks ago I created and launched my own writing services Website. It was a thrill to see it go live and I'm terrified that they are typos and missing links. On the other hand, the site only gets a couple of hits a day, so I don't know what I'm so worried about. I have plenty of time to make corrections.

Since starting this free-writing project 19 days ago, I've struggled with the idea that it could be just a waste of time (or should I say "another" waste of time, now that I'm Twittering?) I also felt that way after three weeks of improvisation at my regular writer's workshop.

What does all this have to do with my writing? Is it making me better? Will it get me published? I never have writer's block, so I don't need help breaking through it. If anything, I want to write too many things (evidenced by too many blogs).

But wait! Today I had a breakthrough of sorts. I got a Tweet about a writing contest that I probably never would have heard about if not for Twitter. It struck a chord with me, and I remembered something that had come up during the improv session last Thursday. I started free writing and created a draft essay, then went back and molded it to fit the parameters of the contest. Now, it's out to my readers, and I will make revisions based on their comments and submit it. 

Even late to the party, I have things to learn. Even late to the party, I still might strike an important match and light my career on fire. I guess the moral is still better late than never.

Time:  12 minutes

I have no idea what this rambling mess is in terms of following the writing prompt. This is exactly what I don't do on my "real" blog — take a giant brain dump. But this is where the prompt led me today. Maybe it was a chance to see that all these disparate efforts and seeming distractions are what I'm supposed to be doing, to get me moving down the right path. Or, maybe it was just a brain dump. Time for bed.

Day #18 — I Know All About It

Today I joined Twitter, and Kim Moldofsky told me to "say goodbye to productivity." I'm lying to myself committed to using my Twitter account only for writing good, not procrastination evil. To prove it, I will now continue my uninterrupted streak (18 consecutive days) of 10 minutes of free writing per day. This writing prompt comes from Lisa Romeo:

Prompt: I Know All About It

I do not want to hear one more freaking word about Ellie and Nate's wedding. I know all about it. Gawd, it's all my mother can talk about. She tried to talk me into going to the shower. Like that was going to happen. All those happy, sparkly people talking about tulle and shit. I don't even know what tulle is.

I know, I'm Kate the Bitch, capital B, for not going. But I have good reasons — excellent reasons for avoiding that freak show. 

1. I hate that Ellie and the whole fam-damily still insist on calling me "Katie". I'm Kate, damn it. I've been Kate since the eighth grade. My business card says Kate. Just because Ellie is an "Ellie" and not grown-up enough to be Eleanor, that does not mean they can all revert to the diminutive when addressing me. I'm an adult for God's sake.
2. I. Can. Not. Stand. Nate. Just hate him. He was a pompous ass when we met at college. He's still a pompous ass. And the way my mother fawns over him. It's embarrassing. "Katie, sweetheart, I only hope you find such a nice boy some day." Ugh, it makes me want to rip out his eyeballs.
3. Showers are a pointless waste of time. Why can't people buy their own stuff? And don't even get me started on shower games.
4. It was a couples shower, which means that people brought dates. Can you imagine a worse date than going to someone else's wedding shower? Talk about pressure. Talk about scrutiny. Talk about the shortest relationship in history. I would never submit anyone I was dating to such torture.
5. My dad was probably there. I don't know that he was there, but since it was for couples, my mother probably forced him. 'Nuf said.

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy for Ellie. Really, I am. I mean, we've been best cousins since she was born 15 months after me. This is what she's always wanted, and I'm happy for her. But if I have to hear one more time: 

"You're next, Katie!" 
or
"Is there anyone special?" 
or
"I just know you'll find someone, dear. Maybe you should try losing a little weight. Or online dating. I hear it's the latest thing for single gals like you."

The Aunts are marching one by one — all over me. 

Time: 11 minutes

So, this is the other side of the relationship I first wrote about on day #4. I thought it would be fun to explore the same situation from a different character's point of view. You can see the relationships beginning to flesh out; how no matter who you are or what the situation, it's always all about you. That's a good thing to remember when writing; a good perspective when choosing a point of view.