Just how popular are crossword puzzles?

I suck at crossword puzzles. There. I've said it.

Fellow literature degree holders boast that they faithfully complete the Sunday NY Times Crossword puzzle. In pen. 

I can't even complete the crossword puzzles in the local paper let alone something of the stature of the NY Times crossword puzzle. 

This is clearly a failing on my part. (A point in my favor, though, I have read Herman Melville's Moby Dick. Twice. This might be a failing too, depending on your point of view.)

My grandmother, however, is an excellent crossword puzzler. She actually completes the ones in her local paper. That's diligence.  That's faithfulness. That's moxie. 

I like crossword puzzles. Or rather, I like the idea of crossword puzzles. I want to be able to brag that I can complete any crossword puzzle in pen, let alone pencil, but I lose patience. I'm not very good at following through and actually completing one.  

Instead, when I visit my grandmother, I glance through the ones that she's started and fill in any clues that immediately jump to mind.  You know, the easy ones. Sometimes, I'll flex my brain muscle and try to puzzle out the harder clues, jotting down words in the margin of the newspaper column that might be the correct answer, but won't know until I solve the next clue that word is connected to. It's a quagmire. I quickly lose patience and toss the puzzle aside, leaving it for the patience and diligence of my grandmother to complete. 

My grandmother is a far better person that I am. 

I'm embarrassed to admit to my inability to complete a crossword puzzle. Why? Because I was a literature major in college and completing a crossword puzzle seems like something I should be able to do. In pen. On a lazy Sunday afternoon after church. But no. 

What does this have to do with writing a manuscript and getting published? Not a thing. I've been awake since three o'clock this morning. I'm feeling a little loopy.  And this blog post idea crashed into my mind as I lay there, trying to force myself to sleep but unable to quiet my thoughts as one idea after another ping ponged around in my head. 

So. Dear gentle readers, do you do crossword puzzles? 

What's My Writing Routine

Because I have kids, my writing routine is hap-dash. I wrote my first manuscript with a spiral notebook and a pen. With no rhyme or reason, I jotted down bullet points of ideas--what the characters looked liked, dialogue, scenes--during stolen moments. Twenty minutes here while the boys watched a good night cartoon. (We allow them to watch 30 minutes of tv before bedtime on school nights. That's it.) Sometimes, I would jot down notes while I cooked risotto for dinner. Stir. Write. Stir. Write. Toss the veggies baking in the oven. Stir. Write. Surprisingly, I would have a scene fleshed out and I would be one scene closer to the end of my manuscript. It wasn't perfect, but it worked. 

After the boys went to bed, I would sag into the quiet of the house and type up my notes.  I tried to dedicate two hours a week to typing up my notes.   

But because I wrote my first manuscript with very little structure, it required a lot of revision. A lot. So much so that the final manuscript doesn't really match the first.  I actually got more writing done during the revision process that the actual writing process, if that makes sense.  It was like I wasn't a writer, but a reviser.   

Writing without much structure--no outlines, no plot map--just writing to see where the writing will take you--that's called writing by the seat of your pants.  Panster for short. And there are two writing style camps in this world: panster or a plotter.  

No matter. The panster writing style matched my busy mom lifestyle and it's how I completed my first manuscript. I'm rather proud of myself for completing a manuscript instead of just dreaming about it.  

Now, I'm trying something new.  I've been getting up at 5:30 to write before the boys get up because I've been too tired to write in the evenings once the boys go to bed.  During these bleary eyed morning sessions, sometimes I write a blog post (like now). Sometimes, I ramble in what Julia Cameron calls The Morning Pages, which are supposed to be three pages of stream of consciousness style writing.  Although I've practiced these morning pages, I haven't written unbidden for three pages.  So far, it has helped me create a list of blog post ideas (like this one.) 

I'm not a morning person by any means. I'm very grouchy and groggy first thing in the morning. I'm slow to wake up. Like I've been sitting at my desk for over an hour now, alternately writing my morning pages and this blog post, and I'm just now feeling awake. And it has nothing to do with the cup of tea at my elbow.  Seriously, I'm a slow waker upper.  

As the sky lightens up and the birds begin to sing, I hear the bus for the high schoolers rumble by.  I'm committed to finding a new writing routine.  One that isn't as inefficient as the panster style but one that isn't as structured as a plotter.  Somewhere in between.  

Come along with me on this adventure. 

Quilting has come a long way, baby.

Last Saturday, I spent the afternoon with my mother and grandmother learning to quilt. This started a year ago when my mom, grandmother and I took a little trip to Patches Quilt Shop in Mt. Airy, MD to purchase the fabric. (visit them here: Patches Quilt Shop)

I had a design in my head; my mom and grandmother had the know how to tease that design into a functional quilt. My mother is a self taught quilter, although she has been sewing clothes since she was a teenager. We settled on a Log Cabin design with my family's monograms embroidered in the center panel.  

Here's what I've pieced together so far.

This is Little E's monogram. As is traditional with embroidering monograms, the first letter of the last name(in this case the letter W) is in the center with the first letter of his first name (the letter E) on the left and the first letter of his middle name (the letter J) on the right. 

This is Big E's monogram.

I embroidered 12 monograms of different family members.  Some of the center panels have embroidered flowers instead of the monograms. (I tried taking a picture of some of those panels, but they kept coming out blurry. I'm not a photographer. You can tell, can't you?) Some will have lace stitched to the center panel, although I've have yet to do those.  

As I go along, I will show you how I add a strip of fabric to each side of the center block, creating a design called the Log Cabin. That way, you can come along with me on my quilting journey. 

I'm pretty pleased with myself right now. I especially like the fact that quilting has allowed me to spend time with my mom and grandmother, building memories.  

What projects are you working on?

My First Act of Teenage Rebellion (No, it's not what you're thinking.)

My first makeup purchase was a CoverGirl foundation.

My parents didn't want me to wear makeup, especially my father, but I had acne breakouts as a young teenager, and I was really self conscious about it as a result.  I wanted to conceal the blotchy skin by wearing foundation.  So I saved my money, and one afternoon when I accompanied by grandmother and Aunt Judy to the grocery store in Finksburg, I snuck off by myself to the makeup aisle. 

 This CoverGirl commercial was popular then, and it was the look I wanted to achieve.

 

Once alone in the makeup aisle, I quickly scoped out the foundation selections, snatching the first bottle of CoverGirl Clean Makeup foundation I saw. I rushed to the check out line by myself, my heart pounding with adrenaline and worry. What if I get caught by my grandmother? What is she going to say? ( I assumed she knew about my parents' no makeup rule.) 

I felt like I was doing something very bad-- like I was going to be busted at any moment as the cashier rang up  my single item, me glancing around, scanning for my grandmother every few moments. I dreaded the woman making a comment that I was too young to buy makeup or inform me that I had to be sixteen (or not thirteen, anyway) before I was allowed to purchase makeup.  Worse, I feared the cashier lady would say something to the effect of "Does your mom know you're buying this?"

I gave the cashier my money; she made change. After handing me my receipt and the small plastic bag with my contraband makeup purchase, a wave of relief flooded my body. I did it! I would be looking good in no time. It would be a magical, overnight transformation! Angels would rejoice in heaven; I was sure of it.  

 

As I tucked the foundation purchase into my purse, feeling smug in that young, flippant teenage way that I just got away with a crime of epic proportions, my Aunt Judy suddenly appears as if out of nowhere. I was so concerned about my grandmother finding out about my rogue ways that I had forgotten about my Aunt Judy.  She asked to see what I bought and I handed over the incriminating evidence that I defied my parents, purchasing makeup that I had no business whatsoever buying.  I feared that she was going to take the bottle of foundation and either 1) return it right then and there or 2) confiscate it to use as evidence of my teenage rebellion.  Visions of being grounded for the next 100 years flashed in my mind.

 

Instead, she remarked that I probably bought the wrong shade, slipping the bottle of foundation back inside the bag. She carried on with the grocery shopping as if this was no big deal. (I should have known because Aunt Judy was always the cool aunt.)

 

Aunt Judy was right. (Of course she was!) I bought the wrong shade.  A rose beige tone (as I remember it) that was too dark for my porcelain skin.

 

Stubbornly, ridiculously, I wore it anyway, taking the extra time to try to blend it in. (Not that it helped, but in my mind it did.) I felt obligated to continue my rebellion by wearing it despite the foundation not being the correct match.  Do you know how long I had to save my money?  How long it took me to conspire to get alone long enough to make such a contraband purchase in the first place!? 

 

I despised my oily, blotchy, pimply, teenage skin and slathering it with CoverGirl Clean Makeup was the only way to cope. (It worked in the commercial so it would work for me, right?) I just wanted to look pretty. 

 

Finally, after months of this, my mother took me to a makeup artist in Eldersburg. The session was a birthday present. She was tired of me looking like I had mud smeared over my face.  Ouch.

 

All along, I thought I was in the clear since my parents never questioned me about it. I loved the makeup session. (Just so you know, the makeup artist tested several foundation shades on me and I was the lightest shade she had available, which my mom purchased along with an eyeshadow duo. Can you imagine how silly I looked wearing a beige foundation when I'm the absolute lightest shade of foundation available? Double Ouch. No, that's cringe worthy.) 

Still, all these years later, having that makeup session was one of the best birthday presents ever. I'm still looking for the ultimate foundation by the way. Now my skin isn't as oily as it was when I was a teenager, but it is as sensitive as ever. 

 

How old were you when you first started wearing makeup? What was your first act of teenage rebellion?

Ten Things You Don't Know About Me (Or Maybe You Do)

1) Sell everything, I want a horsey. I joke about this with my husband of 16 years ever since I started horseback riding lessons, which is something I've always been curious about but never had the means to do until recently. It's empowering and fun. Since I'm confessing about owning a horse, I'd also like to raise a small flock of sheep for their wool.  Oh, and include some chickens in for good measure too. And if I'm gonna raise sheep, then we need a livestock guardian dog and a llama since they make good livestock guardians too. (And so do donkeys just in case you were wondering.)
 

2) I've always wrote stories, even as a child. It's like I have a projector playing a movie inside my head. 

3) I crochet blankets for the Linus Project.

4) I embroider, though not lately.

5) I'm learning to quilt. Another one of those things I've been curious about and thought I'd save for later--like when I'm a grandmother.  Both my mother and grandmother quilt, so I thought I should take advantage of their knowledge and learn now while I can still enjoy their company.

6) I drink tea. Never coffee. Ever.

7) I love to play with makeup. Once upon a time, I considered becoming a makeup artist. Instead I graduated from Frostburg State University, earning a Bachelors of Science in English with a minor in writing.

8) Aside from tea, my favorite drink is milk. I know I'm supposed to say something sophisticated like wine, which I enjoy from time to time. But milk is my fave. (Come on, it does a body good.)

9) I hate most green vegetables, especially peas, Brussel sprouts, and asparagus. Lima beans, spinach, and kale. Yuck. I can tolerate broccoli if it's smothered in cheese. Green beans are okay with lots and lots of butter.

10) I adore the song Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Sirus.  (The cheesey original version, not the latest incarnation between Billy Ray and Catch 22.)   

Under Construction

That's what I am: under construction. Or my blog is anyway.  I'm redesigning it so it truly reflects how I am as a person and a writer, trying to build a platform. Trying to be heard above the fray.  Trying to get published.

My new tagline is: Even the most distrustful heart can be redeemed by love.

Let me know what you think.

Thanks for your patience.

Sprout babies, part 2

Since my last posting, I've transplanted my lettuce and radish sprouts to larger paper cups.  I've also killed off two more lettuce sprouts.  At this rate, I'm not sure if I will have any lettuce to harvest.  I need to order railing "saddle planters," such as the two pictured below since I can't find them locally.

picture courtesy of Gardener's Supply Company

I just started my pepper and tomato seedlings today.  Exiting possibilities...

What's in your garden?