On Saturday nights, our family was happy. During the week, Dad wasn’t ever around, my brother and I fought, and Mom made a sound effort (though not sound enough for her overly observant and analytical daughter) to hide her unhappiness. But on Saturdays, we pretended to be a happy family. And we pretended well.
Alternate title: Why Jude the Obscure Infuriates Me 1982. Eighth grade. Fifth period. Speech class…Mark. I only had three crushes in eighth grade: Scott, Jerry, and Tom Selleck. Mark wasn’t a crush. It was love. And he wasn’t getting the hint. I upheld my end of the eighth-grade romance bargain. I’d done everything I was supposed to do. I’d told my friends, my friends told his friends,
Fifth grade. Danny. He had freckles and smelled like some exotic spice: cardamom or coriander. He was a foster kid and only lived on our street for a year before being sent to another home. What drew me to Danny (other than the mysterious scent) was that he came from a family more screwed up than my own. His brother was in juvenile detention. His mom was in rehab. His…
Ah, my first kiss. His name was Luke. Branson School lower parking lot. After a Christmas tree lighting event which I was attending despite my Jewishness because I’m the second least observant Jew in the world — the first being my mother, who at that moment was still standing at the Christmas tree making small talk with the other mothers and probably looking for me. Most of the details of…
I love this week’s topic. My first book- In the Stars– is about a woman who fakes psychic abilities in an effort to get her ex boyfriend back. As any writer will tell you one of the best things about writing is finding things to do to procrastinate doing the actual writing. As a result, I spent a lot of time avoiding writing by researching psychics, talking to people who…
First, a big squishy Debutante thank-you to Mia King for taking over last Saturday (hence my appearance here on Mia’s usual Thursday!). Did you all miss me? You did, didn’t you? You were bereft; you were nearly catatonic at the thought of getting through your weekend without the benefit of Deb Kristy’s words of wit and wisdom, right? Or did you even notice? What else don’t we notice? Some people…
I should start by explaining that I’m not writing off topic — even though the topic of the week is the supernatural and I’m about to be writing about home improvement. I’m simply pretending that I didn’t notice that the topic du semaine was changed God knows how long back because I feel I have more to offer on the home improvement front. This is how my most recent experience…
This past week, instead of writing, I’ve been dealing with contractors — the retaining wall beside our house has fallen in and our roof is leaking. The guy building our new wall — and it is a beautiful wall — is fascinated with the fact that I’m a writer. He says he wants to write a book. Instead of working on my new book, I stand out in the cold…
I looked under the bed this morning to see what was lurking. The recovered tally includes: one lone sock, a book, a couple of dead crusty Kleenex, several clots of dog hair, a hair scrunchie and few magazines. (no they weren’t porn unless you count cooking magazines as food porn)
This just out: if you can make it through a 6.7 earthquake (including a 5.8 aftershock and some), then you are entitled to some chocolate. Or, at least, to write off-topic. “The hairy thing that lurks under my bed” suddenly seems harmless when compared with your entire house rocking and rolling like nobody’s business. “The hairy thing that lurks under my bed” could be a science project gone bad, a…
