Open Letter to My Teachers

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote Is are was were am be been Has have had Do does did May might must can could Will would shall should In Flanders Fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. I before E except after C 8 x 6 = 48 8 x 7 = 56 8 x 8 = 64 8 x 9 = 72 A, E, I, O, U and sometimes Y Dear Teachers: Now that you've used up all the memory registers in my brain with this trivia, I have just one question: Where the hell are my car keys? Respectfully, Jeanne

That Time of Year

Yesterday, a notation on the grocery list reminded me that it's that time of year again: the Great American Blubberbutt Fest. GABF, for those of you unfamiliar with this holiday, begins in October with Halloween candy and doesn't finally wind down until the last New Year's Eve cocktails--and cocktail weenies--are tossed back. Think of it as a kind of reverse-Ramadan, only twice as long and twenty times as fattening. During this time, people will carry in to their place of work foods that they'd never make for their families, because they're just too unhealthy. And their co-workers will eat every bite and wash it all down with hot cocoa, or punch, or eggnog, which is whole milk to which has been added ten pounds of sugar, the yolks of a dozen eggs and some nutmeg. Because nutmeg is famed for its ability to reverse heart disease. At our house the pre-season warmup has already begun. The note on the grocery list was Old Dog's reminder to himself to stock up on Halloween candy. Beggar's Night, aka Trick or Treat, is still two weeks away, but we now have a supply of Reese's peanut butter cups, Fast Break bars and Butterfinger Miniatures on the kitchen counter. (At least, we did. We now have half a supply.) In case you're not festive enough on your own, GABF always runs in parallel to school fundraisers, where adorable little boys in Cub Scout uniforms show up on your porch with kegs of popcorn (buttered popcorn, cheese popcorn, caramel popcorn, chocolate popcorn...) and adorable little girls call on the phone to ask how many Mint Moneypits and Caramel Cashsuckers Grandma and Grandpa are willing to spring for. Because if she sells $20,000 worth, she'll receive a stuffed animal worth $4.99. (And don't bother to offer to simply buy her said toy--it has a paper tag hanging from its paw that makes it magical and special, and it can only be won by selling a gazillion Peppermint Pocket-Pickers) Hmm. I may need to work on my holiday spirit.

Another Rule

Leaving negative comments about people on Facebook is like picking your nose while you're driving.

It may feel private, but people can see you.

Worst Ad Copy EVER

My friend, Nicole, who, in addition to being one of the world's best critique partners, has a marketing and copywriting business called Keylocke Services (www.keylocke.com) sent me this ad copy (NOT her copy, mind you) she saw for a groupon:


Like a potato, if the human body is not properly mashed and moisturized, it will never be used for anything more than a science- project battery. Make sure your body is fluffed and buttered with today's soothing Groupon: for $20, you get a one-hour massage (up to a $65 value) at (company name deleted to protect the innocent).

(Company) offers soothing massage therapy within a calm and comfortable environment. Each hour-long massage ($65 value, $50 for anyone under 18 years old) utilizes the steady-handed skills of a talented staff of certified muscle molders. A variety of techniques are melded together to provide a mélange of optimal relaxation. Customers may delineate their desired pressure or area of focus, and the massage will be customized to suit their individual needs. Massage therapy helps the overworked masses shed their stress like a snake shedding an unfashionable judge's wig. Let firm arm paddles and a skillful touch provide a proper stress-blasting session with today’s Groupon to (company).


As Nicole's friend, Amy, said, "Wrap me in tin foil and bake me! Why would I want to go to a spa to be treated like a potato?"

All I can say is: I didn't even know snakes wore wigs.

Happy Anniversary to Me and a Way Cool Announcement

Tomorrow is the second anniversary of The Raisin Chronicles, and what better way to celebrate than by sharing that a major obstacle to one of my life-long dreams has just been removed?

I've wanted to study writing in a structured way for...well, for most of my life, really, but there were three barriers:

1) Money
2) Getting into a program (they're really competitive, especially for a degree that confers not one ounce more ability to earn a living on the recipient).
3) Time

I recently learned that my employer, an institution of higher education whose mission statement begins "We help individuals turn dreams into achievable goals..." (and who, by the way, won praise from the New York Times for its focus on helping people prepare for good careers) will assist in paying for a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing.

So now I'm ready to tackle the second barrier. I've been looking at low-residency programs (that is, programs where you do most of the work via the internet, attending on-campus workshops a couple of times a year for around 10 days each), and I've compiled a short list of favorites:

1) Bennington College in Vermont
2) Antioch Los Angeles in California
3) Hamline University in Minnesota
4) Seton Hill in Pennsylvania

Bennington sums up their program in six words: Read one hundred books. Write one. Can you imagine how much you'd know about writing after reading and analyzing a book a week for two years?

Antioch is considered one of the best low-residency programs in the country if you're interested in topics of social justice, like say, gay marriage.

Hamline offers a specialization in writing for young adults and seems like a perfect fit for my first novel, about a young woman coming of age in Minnesota in 1894--the year a massive forest fire wiped out the town of Hinckley, MN.

Seton Hill offers the only degree in the country tailored to writing popular (as opposed to literary) fiction. With what I could learn there, maybe I'd be able to finally finish my suspense thriller about the woman on the run from her porno director hubby who uses his skills to concoct a video that has everyone in the country looking for her.

My top choice has varied over time, based on what kind of story I was working on. In the end, I suspect the choice will be driven by which one (if any) will let me in. (Did I mention that it's really competitive?)

So, this fall, I will be applying to each of these programs, with the intention of starting next fall/winter. (I hope.)

I'll let you know how it goes....

Icarus Falling

If you're not familiar with it, the painting is Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, by Pieter Brueghel. I just discovered it recently and it really captured my imagination.

If you click on it, you'll be able to see the detail.

Go ahead. Click it. I'll wait.

Did you notice the legs in the lower right hand corner? Sticking up out of the water?

Those legs are Icarus, plunging to his death. You remember Icarus? He and his father, Daedalus, needed to escape from the island of Crete, so Daedalus built wings from wax and feathers, so they could fly away. But despite warning from his father, headstrong young Icarus flew too close to the sun, and his wings melted.

Now look at the rest of the painting. Everyone is going about his daily life, unaware of the boy's destruction.

The shepherd is looking up, like maybe he heard something, but it's clear Icarus will disappear beneath the surface without the shepherd ever seeing him.

Sometimes I think this blindness to surrounding tragedy is all that makes life bearable.

Fiction Friday: Jane Austen Fight Club