Head to Toe

Pregnancy has changed me from head to toe.

Chin: Or should I say chins? I think my chin had her own little pregnancy and gave birth to a clone of herself.

Back: I miss being on my back. Maybe that makes me sound like an ex-prostitute, but seriously, the best way to sleep is on your back. If you lie on your stomach, your face is smooshed against the mattress and you can’t breathe. On your side, there’s always the struggle to comfortably arrange your arms. Ironically, babies should be put to sleep on their backs, and the campaign for that is called “Back to sleep,” but it’s carrying a baby that makes the mommy unable to go “back to sleep” herself. (As to why a pregnant woman should avoid sleeping on her back, it’s because all that pregnancy weight ends up resting on her intestines, circulatory system, and spine. This leads to all sorts of badness, including hemorrhoids, reduced circulation, pain, and snoring.)

Breasts: At last, I have cleavage! The downside, and I mean downside, is that what is cleavage in a push-up bra is sag without the bra.

Belly button: Back when there were mysterious, dark, unexplored parts to my belly button, I secretly believed it was a tunnel that led someplace strange—an alternate reality, an abstraction, or perhaps just my stomach. Now that it’s turned completely inside-out, I know it goes nowhere. Nowhere!

Thighs: My thighs have always been close, but now they’re downright intimate. Will it ruin their friendship? Will they begin to chafe against one another?

Feet: I have gained a size and a half in shoes since my pre-Marshall days. I now have to avoid walking in the woods lest I be mistaken for a Sasquatch and shot.

I did not mention the most obvious change to my body—the belly. It’s huge! But it’s also cute, as will be the baby when she arrives in January. Seeing her will make all of these changes worthwhile.

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Idiots!

TV executives must be some of the biggest idiots on earth. How could they have canceled these shows?

Firefly: It had a great cast, an interesting premise, and well-written episodes, but the execs canceled it early. There are only 14 episodes.

Crusade: It had some extremely good acting, some extremely poor acting, some very silly episodes, and some episodes of amazing profundity. The series was never given the chance to find its footing, and so we have only 13 episodes. I also have to point out that its parent series, Babylon 5, lasted several seasons, but it was nearly ruined by the constant threat of cancellation.

Dead Like Me: It was cute, quirky, and full of potential, but they canceled it after only 2 seasons.

Arrested Development: One of the funniest shows I have ever seen. They canceled it long before I ever heard of it, but at least we get 3 seasons to watch on DVD.

Wonderfalls: The acting, dialogue, and stories were top-notch. It was funny and touching and a tad surreal. I haven’t even finished watching all 13 episodes yet, but I already love this show and I want to smack the person who canceled it.

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One Journey’s End

I dedicate this Weekly Poirot post to my coworker who died last week. For as long as I knew her, she wisely avoided the headaches of highway traffic by taking the commuter train to work. Poirot had many things to say about trains, but this excerpt seems the most fitting for the occasion.

Life is like a train . . . . It goes on. And it is a good thing that that is so. . . . Because the train gets to its journey’s end at last, and . . . it is le bon Dieu who drives it.

from The Mystery of the Blue Train

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The Second Irony

Another irony of reading those three writing books is that it made me even more self-conscious about writing. I used to worry most about setting up my words so that my story was clear. I fretted over transitions and pace, but I didn’t worry too much about specific word usage. If I kept repeating a word, so be it. I didn’t think about nebulous concepts like tone, style, voice, etc. I just said it the way it came to my brain, and if it didn’t make sense to me later, I polished the text until the meaning shone through. After reading the books, I feel like I need to be doing more (a lot more) to make my writing good.

I have my own pet peeves about the way I write, and I struggle to remove certain weak words, phrases, and idioms from my repertoire. I question my punctuation. I look up the meanings of words to make sure I’ve used them accurately. That’s trouble enough. If I have to obsess over the “prettiness” of my prose, how will I ever get anything written? And does that very concern mean that I don’t have it in me to write good fiction? Should I stick to writing documentation as part of my job, something for which I have always been highly praised, and leave it at that?

The last few months have been transformational for me. Everything is changing. I’m pregnant again and soon I’m going to have to sacrifice even more of my time and energy to childcare. I’m not thrilled about all of these impending changes, but they have forced me to reevaluate the way I look at my life’s accomplishments.

Before, I felt bad because I had accomplished “so little” with my life and because I had “expected more from life and from myself.” I was depressed because my dreams were dying from lack of love and my goals were disappearing along with them. I wanted to hold on to them.

Now, I realize that I have done something with my life. I have accomplished more than some people do ever do. I got myself educated and employed, and I have supported myself financially since. I have a wonderful husband, an amazing son, and another beautiful child on the way. We have a great house that we are slowly turning into a showplace. We lack neither necessities nor luxuries. We are comfortable and happy, and we have put everything in place to ensure that our lives continue that way, maybe even to get better. I’ve learned a lot of lessons from my new family, and I’m a better person now than I was before, when I had all the time in the world and did nothing with it.

So do I still feel like I need to be a writer or a composer or to find some other way to make myself famous in some field? No. Right now, I feel pretty darned accomplished.

That said, writing helps to keep me happy. It helps to keep me sane. And it also gives me a way to record the events of our lives, something for which we will be grateful later. So I don’t necessarily know what direction I want my writing to take, but I know I want to keep doing it.

Perhaps the best thing I can do for my writing is to stop reading those writing books!

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The First Irony

Recently, I read three books on how to write. There’s an irony in that, of course. Reading is not writing, and the more time you spend reading, the less time you have for writing. I know that. I get it. Joke’s on me. But the books were lying around and they needed to be read. Now I’m going to write…about the books ๐Ÿ˜‰

The Forest for the Trees: An Editor’s Advice to Writers by Betsy Lerner
Grade: A

In this book, an editor shares her perspective on writing, writers, and the writer’s life.ย  While I learned very little about the mechanics of writing, I learned much about what one can expect if pursuing writing as a career. Using examples from both her life and the lives of other famous editors and authors, she describes the many varied outcomes of the editor-writer relationship. Well worth the time.

The Courage to Write: How Writers Transcend Fear by Ralph Keyes
Grade: C

If you have a hard time believing that the biggest impediment to writing is fear, and you’d like to read a ton of quotes by famous authors about their personal struggles with fear, then you’ll like this book. But if you know from experience that writing is terrifying, and you suspect other authors have felt that terror, too, then you’re more likely to view this book as a waste of both time and paper. I persevered and read it all the way through, but I had a hard time staying focused. The book’s biggest weakness, I think, is the number of quotations. Interestingly, the author writes,

Ten readers reviewed a manuscript of this book….Some reactions were common to most readers, but others were singular or even contradictory. Although many thought I quoted other writers too often, one colleague said, “I particularly enjoyed all the quotes.”

He claims to have listened to so many of the other critiques and to have changed the manuscript accordingly, and yet he ignored this one. He reminds me of my father-in-law in that way. As my husband often complains, his father will get opinions from many people and then listen to the one person who tells him what he wants to hear. I’m sure we’ve all done that from time to time, but when you’re publishing a book, the stakes are high. You can’t afford to listen to just that one person who echoes your own belief, unless that’s the only person that you want to like your book. Knowing that the author ignored an opportunity to improve the book makes me feel slightly better about giving it a bad grade.

Anybody Can Write: A Playful Approach by Roberta Jean Bryant
Grade: A

This book has a corny-sounding title. And it’s hard to have any faith in a how-to book by an author you’ve never heard of who is described on the jacket flap as merely a “seminar leader who has taught thousands of aspiring writers and the author of Stop Improving Yourself and Start Living.”ย  So she led some seminars. For all we know, they were just adult education classes sponsored by the local Parks & Recreation Department (I’ve tried some of those kinds of classes and they have all been bad). And a self-help book? Call me a snob, but I can’t give her much credit for that. Indeed, anybody can write one of those.

But I remember when I bought the book. It was on the bargain rack, of course. Most of the stuff on the bargain rack is bad, but I can’t stop myself from looking. I picked it up thinking it would be awful, but I scanned a bit here and a bit there, and it actually sounded good. Surprisingly, having now read the entire thing, I think it is good. The author stays on topic. She’s upbeat, positive, supportive. She tells us that we don’t need talent, we just need staying power. And most importantly, she’s convincing. The only thing I didn’t like about the book was that her writing exercises were too similar to one another. They all seemed to be about anthropomorphizing something and then creating a dialogue with that object.

“Hello, pencil.” “Hello, paper.” “Paper, have you met Pencil before?”

How many such exercises does one need to do?

Personally, I’d be doing well to manage even one, and that’s one of my goals for this weekend. Anybody can write, after all. I am anybody. Hey, and so are you. Maybe you should do some writing, too. And maybe this book could help! ๐Ÿ™‚

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Speech!

Dear Marshall,

You’re understanding more and more language each day. You know “milk,” “lunch,” “dinner,” and “upstairs,” among other things. We know you understand them because of the way you act.

You still don’t say much, though. You started with the typical “mama,” “dada,” “hi,” and “bye-bye,” but your favorite word is now, by far, “cookie.” And those five words are about all you say. Every once in a while you’ll repeat a word that someone else has spoken, but then never say it again. Tease!

It will be a shock to your father and me, no matter how much we prepare for it, when you really start speaking for yourself. You see, we’ve gotten in the habit of speaking for you. While we were on vacation with your grandparents, they enjoyed the dialogue so much that they started speaking for you, too. You say the most obnoxious things sometimes, like “Don’t leave, Dada. Mama beats me while you’re gone!” (that’s me trying to get your Dada to stay home and help me amuse you).

Once we get over the shock, it will be wonderful to hear what you really think and learn more about the person you’re going to be, though some part of me will always miss the “ayayayayas,” the “gung gungs,” and the “ghing ghings” of your earliest speech. But no matter what you say or how you say it, we’ll always listen to you.

Love,

Mom

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Obstinate People

I know some obstinate people. And the problem with obstinate people is that they can really impede your progress. So I’m trying to learn from the wisdom of Poirot. He says,

I do not argue with obstinate men. I act in spite of them.

from The Mystery of the Blue Train

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Happy Halloween!

In honor of the recent holiday, a Poirot quote from Hallowe’en Party

Old sins have long shadows. . . . As we advance through life, we learn the truth of that saying.

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Hoarder-in-Training

“You’ve got to see this TV show,” my husband said. “It made me want to go into my office and throw everything away.”

That’s how he introduced me to Hoarders, a show about people who have journeyed way past collecting and moved into a strange universe of piled rubbish, rotting food, dead cats, and worse. Each episode features two hoarders with an immediate need to get rid of their stuff, usually because they’re about to be evicted. The scary thing for both me and my husband is that we see ourselves in these people. We hear our own thoughts and emotions echoed in theirs as we watch them attempt to deal (or not) with their disease.

Once upon a time, I would have described myself as a pack rat. Now, after watching the entire first season of the show, I worry that I’m really a hoarder-in-training. When I was younger, I remember looking at my (then) small collection of books and being so pleased just to own them. Their mere presence gave me comfort. The colors on the spines were so pretty that they lit up the room somehow. But twenty years down the road, having hauled the books with me for three moves and over hundreds of miles, and having increased the collection to fill all available space (and then some), the books have become a burden. They don’t light up the room anymore. They just fill it.

If the books were my only problem, I think I might deal with them easily over the course of time. That’s what the Great Library Purge is about, after all. But the books are just the tip of the iceberg. What about my collections of stuffed animals, unplayed video games, and decorative tchotchkes? And who needs more than ten decks of cards? There’s junk in every drawer, stacks in the closet, piles on the floor. It’s gotten out of control and I’ve known it for a while, but this show really forced me to turn the spotlight on my own problem.

I can see how it happened. It’s my dislike of waste and a “green” conscience, coupled with uncertainty over how to properly dispose of certain things. It’s the difference between who I am (an everyday person with limited time for the pursuit of hobbies) and who I want to be (someone with the time to read and learn about anything of interest). It’s having moved several times and still not having the house completely done. It’s a desire to give gifts to people, and a fear that the presents won’t be appreciated. It’s sadness at the idea of throwing away something received from a loved one, particularly if they spent a lot of money on it. And simplest of all, it’s a habit, something I’ve been doing for so long that I hardly know how to stop.

So we watched and we watched and the horror built up inside, and soon the need to purge the house became so strong that I spent every night for a week “dehoarding.” My husband eventually joined the fray. Boxes and boxes of books were hoisted from the house, never to return. Bags of trash and Goodwill donations followed. I cleaned the bedroom thoroughly for the first time in I-don’t-want-to-think-how-long.

My office is, alas, still something of a mess, and my hands are tied by the situation in the rest of the house. Until the great room, mud room, garage, and my husband’s office are properly set up, there will be things stored in my office that do not belong there, everything from Christmas decorations to snorkeling gear. My office is the dumping ground for those items because it’s big and because I only need the part where my desk is.

But in spite of that, I think I can still dehoard some more, or at least declutter. That is my plan for today. I will try to get just a few more stacks off the floor. That’s not too much to ask. Off I go now to do that.

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