Can't See the Stars

I can't see the stars tonight -- way too many clouds along with wind and rain. But if I could, I think they'd be out of whack. Here's why:

Friends' house got broken into and ransacked today.

Rubin's friend Monty is feeling crummy and has the squirts.

The doctor finally put me on blood pressure medication...it makes me feel old.

Everyone unexpectedly converged here for dinner throwing off the night I needed to organize the last of my taxes (they're done I just need to tie up loose ends and WRITE THE CHECK TO THE IRS...who me, yelling?)...and go over the edits for my Caylx piece.

But there's always tomorrow.

Ann's at a school event, though I'm hoping she comes home soon. Rubin is under the desk grumpy with me because I cleaned his ears.

I need a bath.

I need something sweet.

Things feel a bit disorganized.

So I'm trying to remember the words of one of my students last week who, during her parent-teacher conference, said, "I think I'm doing well in class because I'm using my time affectionately."

I need some of that wisdom right now.

Wish I could at least see the stars.

The Book I'm Not Reading

I'm actually reading a book, but last night we saw Patty Larkin in concert with John Gorka. He was okay, she was fabulous. Amazing guitarist. I don't know why she's not better known. It's not really the lyrics that are amazing, but rather Patty's riffs. As our friend said last night, "It's like she has extra joints on her fingers!" Anyway, she sang one of my favorite songs -- The Book I'm Not Reading -- with the chorus that says, "I need someone to read me stories."

That's what I was supposed to do with the current book -- read it out loud with Ann, but she's still finishing up Kingsolver's latest (The Lacuna), which I finished a while back and then I read Erdrich's new one (Shadow Tag) and had nothing to read while Ann was still working her way through Lacuna. So, I picked up "The Girl Who Fell From the Sky" by Heidi Durrow and Ann asked if we could read it out loud. I said yes, but then started reading it and am now halfway through.

My excuse? It's not a good read aloud, but it is a good book. Quite good.

I've been on a reading binge of late. I suppose that's a good thing because it helps get more stories in my head. Next up is Ash by Malinda Lo, a young adult novel that is the retelling of the Cinderella story with a lesbian twist.

All this reading means I haven't been writing. Well, I've been "helping" Rubin write his daily dog blog, but I haven't really been focused on "serious" writing -- writing that involves no quotation marks. But today, the mail guy delivered the copy edited version of my story that has been selected by Caylx for publication in July. It's filled with all sorts of editing suggestions complete with an editing guide to help me figure out the chicken scratch in the margins.

I'm half tempted to send it back and say, "Looks great, go ahead," but I feel the need to look at it closer and find something that I disagree with if only to make myself look intelligent. HA! (All the while the editor may well be checking out this blog to see if they made a mistake deciding to publish one of my pieces! Such is the nature of internet publishing, I suppose. Note to Caylx editors: If you're reading this, I am a reasonably intelligent woman who, like most of my generation, have a wobbly sense of self esteem that, despite years of therapy, still asks, "Did they really like what I wrote?")

But the point is, I'm reading more than I'm writing these days and replaying the sage advice of one of my mentors (Diana Hume George) who told me that reading IS writing so never apologize. I'm not apologizing, Diana, just shouting out through this blog that I'm being productive.

Really.

Oh, and I've been cooking. Tonight's concoction was pasta with olive tomato sauce. Simple, easy, and mighty tasty. Now we have enough food for the week! Alas, I always make way too much, but it's a good thing since we both like to eat leftovers for lunch.

Still, in the back of my mind are the threads of a story. I'm not a fiction writer, but I keep trying to convince myself that if I write the story like it's true (the nebulous definition of creative nonfiction), I can pull it off. First, though, I must read to keep those creative juices flowing.

I must admit, it's not helping to watch season two of "Damages" on DVD. I can easily binge on Glenn Close and the show has so many twists and turns that dig me deeper and deeper into the story, I'm expecting to strike oil soon!

Terrible metaphor, but remember, I'm in my reading mind, NOT my writing one.