A Little Writing Fun

So this weekend, I had the fun of participating in a quarterly 24-hour writing contest...I turned my story in (Being somewhat "written out," I had actually decided not to do it and then about five hours before the deadline decided I should do it... I'm so fickle sometimes.)

They'll announce the winners in about six weeks.

Phew.

I'm not a big fan of writing contests -- for me -- because I struggle with getting it just "perfect" and suffer from a general lack of self-confidence. But I think it's a great way to work on writing to a deadline. If nothing else, it certainly helps to sharpen your brain power.

The contest runs for 24 hours only. You receive a story tidbit from which you write. It only has to somehow be in the story -- whether literally or just the concept. You're even allowed to change the characters and setting if you want. And you have to stay within the word count limit.

This weekend's was the second one I did.

I also wrote one for the Winter 24-Hour Writing Contest. I didn't win anything, but I had a blast writing it and getting feedback from family and friends. There were so many possibilities...

This was the winter topic:

Blue ice stretched to the horizon, fading into the blinding rays of another waning winter sun. She shivered violently as the shifting mass groaned under her feet. She instinctively glanced down, looking for cracks under the transparent sheen. Suddenly, she tensed and dropped to her knees. Desperately clawing at the ice, she screamed...  850 words or less.

And, as I didn't win, here is my story:

To Sleep

by Susie Foote

Copyright 2012

Blue ice stretched to the horizon, fading into the blinding rays of another waning winter sun. Despite her warm jacket, Sophie shivered violently as the shifting mass groaned threateningly under her feet.

She instinctively glanced down, as she’d been taught to do, looking for cracks under the transparent sheen. Why had they felt the need to chase down a suspect in this climate? And how had they gotten separated?

Suddenly, she tensed and dropped to her knees. Desperately clawing at the ice, she screamed, shutting her eyes...

Sophie sat up, blinking. Then, looking up at the ceiling and down at the rumpled flowered sheets, she sighed, happy it was just a dream. Just a dream, she reminded herself. But what was causing these nightmares to reiterate in her subconscious?

Pulling her legs out from under her covers, she shivered again as her feet touched the cold hardwood floor. She needed a cup of tea to shake the chill of the room -- and her thoughts -- from her being. She staggered from her bedroom, down the hallway towards the kitchen and the much-needed cup of tea.

Her phone sang her favorite tune from Romeo and Juliet. She grabbed it, flipping it open and balancing it on her shoulder.

It was her co-worker, Marcy, lamenting about their job at the theater and the hours they had to keep.

"Ready for rehearsal?" Marcy wondered.

Sophie mentally thumbed through the responses she stored in her mind like an old Rolodex of addresses, a sure way to have the right response at any given moment.

"I forgot. Just tired, I think," she answered, yawning and flicking on the kettle.

"You need to get more sleep," Marcy told her.

Sophie didn't want to argue the point, her mind still stuck in her dream.

It's winter here…winter there, she thought. She's some place colder than her city apartment...

Sophie shut her phone and continued making her breakfast. She felt chilled in her short-sleeved pajama top, reaching over to a sweater she'd left on a chair.

The kettle finished, and she poured the boiling water into the teapot, the steam reminding her of the smoke of her breath in her dream. She sat down on a stool.

She opened her eyes, wide. She hadn’t remembered shutting them. Was she dreaming? Her breath shot out like bursts of smoke, the warmth of it instantly freezing in the air. The biting cold on her cheeks told her it was no dream.

She clawed again at the ice, desperate to free what she was seeing under it, the blood of her ripped skin obscuring her view. Her tears froze to her face. “If onlys” bounced around her brain. She wished she’d stayed home. She wished she’d never thought to join the FBI. She wished she didn’t have such a stupid partner.

Stupid? Who was she kidding? He was the smartest man she’d ever known. He was just stupidly in love with her.

And now? She closed her eyes, telling herself to be strong. It wasn’t becoming for an agent to be so…so what? Emotional. Feelings were discouraged. They could bring the end to even the most experienced field agent.

She placed her hand on the ice, allowing the brief warmth of her skin to melt the spot above what she was seeing. Random tears escaped, hitting the ice and causing little dips in the surface. She stared at them, noticing again the cracks around her.

Her heart began pumping as adrenaline reminded her to flee. There was nothing she could do to change what had already happened, but she could at least save herself.

Yet, without…

A sharp retort, like that of a gun, sounded in the air. Her heart stopped, and she jerked around to see the wide span of blue ice again, cracking, opening, shifting, settling.

The sun dipped further, and the ice grew dark beneath her. She tried to stand up, to get her footing and head back to the shore, but it was much too slippery, and she was tired from the cold. She fell back to her knees, her eyes misting in pain.

She lay on the ice then, to dream that dream again…that she was at home, in her little apartment, working as a Shakespearean actress in a big city theater. It had never appealed to her since she hated performing in front of people, but now it seemed so much easier.

She wished Peter had done the same. Then…

She put her hand on the ice above what appeared to be a submerged FBI jacket and let herself sleep.

“To sleep: perchance to dream,” she quoted to herself and shut her eyes. “Ay, there's the rub; for in the sleep of death what dreams may come…”

It was nearly dark when they spotted her reposing silhouette in the spotlight. Peter, hoarse from calling her name, picked her up and cradled her, carefully moving her back across the ice to the shore.

Sweet Sunday

One of my very favorite times of the week is sharing Sunday worship time with my family. To stand alongside of them and sing together gives my heart the biggest thrill! Not that the 3-year-old is always willing to sing..or even knows the words to sing...but when he does... Mmmm...

We sang this song today, and once again I felt the profound meaning of the words and the joy the Lord has given me -- and my family -- swell in my heart!  Hope you feel them, too!

Enjoy, and have a sweet Sunday!

Saturday Sweetheart

This is Ethan's beloved "Bear." Ethan has had him since he was about a month old...and like his sister's "Bunny," Bear goes everywhere with him. Bear even got his own treat on our last trip to NYC: a t-shirt from Build-a-Bear. Who could resist? He's just so cute...and well-loved! 

Friday Funnies

I was more than a bit surprised by this notification that popped up on my iPod today.

Thanks, Karen, for the chuckle!

Smelling the Roses...

I don't know if it's that I'm aging...or if it's a build up of busyness that fills our lives, but I have the overwhelming urge to stop and smell the roses (really smell them!), lay in the grass and stare at the clouds, sit in the sunshine and eat a Popsicle while telling jokes.

..just think about anything -- and nothing -- letting my cares go free for a moment or two...or three...

I was driving down the road the other day, and I spotted the most beautiful end-of-the-day cloud formation. It was pink and wispy, soft, and between it and the song I was listening to, it conjured up a dreamy feeling in my head, reminding me to "stop to smell the roses."

I remember a song when I was little -- maybe in kindergarten -- that was a part of a listening game. You had dance around like crazy while the song played and then, without knowing when, you would hear someone shout: STOP! and the music would stop and you would have to freeze. It was fun and a great tool in teaching the art of listening.

But, more than that, it encouraged the idea of just stopping...in all the energy and activity of the song, just ceasing to move for a moment.

That sunset reminded me of that song. It implored me to: STOP! and actually enjoy it.

Sometimes in the busyness of our lives -- school, work, chores -- we feel like we're dancing the crazy dance, trying to keep up with it all, trying to bring some saneness to the busyness around us by constantly moving with the tide of life.

And then, like in the song, something -- or someone -- shouts: STOP!

Are we listening?

Wordless Wednesday

A Sigh and a Humph

There's a danger in blogging.

While it's a fun way to keep track of the happenings in a family -- post pictures and/or write a blurb about what goes on -- and becomes a diary of sorts, it doesn't offer a realistic picture of the day-to-day events, including the emotions and triumphs and defeats.

Well, not unless you write about those, too.

But if you write too much about them, your blog becomes a drag, a veritable notepad of complaints...weighing down the readers with all the "blueness" you're feeling.

Sigh.

It's really a balancing act, knowing which details to include and which to keep hidden in the family's wall safe (...behind the photo in the living room, combination 45-92-17... Oops! Was that my "out-loud" typing?)

So you're stuck, really.

Write about too many happy events and you almost seem too perfect, creating feelings of inadequacy in others around you. Write about too many complaints, and your readers will want to find a hemlock tree...

The power of the pen. I learned about it while studying journalism in college...and later when I worked at the newspaper.

If you say that a person "refused" to comment, while it's his right to do so, it makes the people reading/hearing the story wonder what that person is hiding. If you say he "declined" to comment, people nod and say he (the speaker) must have felt it was necessary...it's his right after all. An odd difference in two words that mean exactly the same thing, which is (drumroll, please) the guy didn't talk.

So it goes with blogging.

As the blog writers, we can include anything we want to share...or keep out anything we don't want known.

For instance, while we might have had a fun time doing "XYZ," one of the kids might have had a meltdown before we left the house and another split open his lip on his way back to the car. While the included photos show smiling cherubs and sunny weather and the text surrounding them says a "fun time was had by all," the parents might have been battling about household chores or a big bill might have come due....who knows.

Only the writer.

To the reader, the world of the blogger is just peachy, perfect all the way down to the professionally-coiffed and impeccably-dressed little ones standing in a neat row.

It's a big responsibility...and one that I take very seriously. I know that my photos and posts make it seem like our family has "fun in the sun most of the time"...but that's simply not true...not that that wouldn't be fun...in the sun...

There are tons of posting styles, and I love and appreciate and read all of them. It's the true freedom of blogging.  I try to mix up my posts, keeping in mind that occasionally I need to "be real" and say what I'm thinking and feeling at that moment, even if it's not as positive as usual.

But I'll try to never make it a "sounding off" place. I might feel so strongly about something that I have to let it out, or I'll burst...but that's all I'll do. Just let it out. It's not meant to be offensive...just my brain at that moment.

And as my brain at this moment is a bit jumbled by thoughts and emotions, I'll end with "a sigh and a humph...parenting can be so hard sometimes."

Curious (About) George?

Happy St. George's Day!

The day that St. George, the patron saint of England, died and thus is celebrated each year.

So saith wikipedia.com, and you can learn a bit more about his encounter with dragons here.

We typically wish each other a happy day and have something yummy and English (synonymous, really) for dinner. Stuart insists that every holiday that revolves around an English saint involves wings -- this one being no exception -- but I'm thinking something more along the lines of pork pie might be in order this year.

The photo is from Ethan's first St. George's Day in 2009. He's not quite ready for knighthood yet, but he could be the Knight of Sweetness, maybe?

We read quite a bit about St. Patrick this year, trying to understand him as a man. So I looked up something on St. George, too, and here it is... A bit of background on the man behind the holiday from the website WearetheEnglish.com:

St George - The Man

Hard facts are hard to come by, but what is know is that St George was a Roman soldier who was tortured to death in the Holy Land around 300AD for refusing to renounce his faith. Apart from this much of the rest of his life remains shrouded in mystery and even his nationality is uncertain although he was probably Turkish or possibly Palestinian. He certainly wasn't English but then again St Patrick isn't Irish and St Andrew isn't a Scot.

The English are not the only people to stake a claim to him. In the Middle East, Christians invoke his powers to exorcise demons. In many countries St George is associated with fertility and his day marks the beginning of summer. In Lithuania he is revered as the guardian of animals and in parts of Spain his day is celebrated with feasts and gift giving.

From the middle ages his cross had become the flag of London, Durham, Lincoln, Rochester and York as well as England itself. Tales of St George were brought back with the early crusaders and with his story, even at that time being so vague he could be made to fit more comfortably with the violence of England's warlike kings than many of his more pacifist counterparts.

The later crusades really cemented George's status and in 1191, Richard the Lionheart was reputed to have discovered his tomb at Lod in present day Israel. During the 11th century siege of Antioch he is said to have appeared to the crusaders, as a knight dressed in white robes decorated with a red cross urging the men forward and again 800 years later British troops reported sightings of him on the western front.

Fact or fiction, with the tale of his slaying of the dragon, St George represents the victory of good over evil and touches something very deep and potent in the English psyche.

The legend of St George is probably best summed up by William Cook who finishes a book review of St George by saying: "You are left with a strong suspicion that, even though most of this tale is surely legend, something incredible really did happen in Palestine 1,700 years ago - well worth a round of drinks on 23 April".

Sweet Sunday

We sang this in church today after a fantastic sermon about evolution.

 "Savior He can move the mountains..."

What an amazing God we serve!! Have a sweet Sunday!

 

Saturday Sweetheart

It's hard to remember that this round-faced cherub is our 11-year-old. It seems the years have literally flown by, and he's growing into a the proverbial "fine young man." 

Wow! 

Did I just type that? 

I cannot imagine my boys as men...though that's what they're heading towards -- whether or not my "mommy-heart" likes letting go of their boyishness.

I decided to post Edward's photos today because, well, I noticed a generally lack of him on my blog. He's a hard one to photograph since his eyes are very "photo-sensitive" and have a hard time staying open in a staring position for long. Still, he deserves blog time, too, right?  

 

Friday Funnies

I absolutely love "Simon's Cat" on YouTube, but I haven't paid much attention to the new ones that he's made. Knowing that they're always entertaining, I thought a new one might be a fun post for this Friday.

And I wasn't wrong!

Enjoy! And have a funny Friday!

Where Have All the Young Ones Gone...

When you give birth to a baby, you inherently know that at some point in the future you will have to let go of said-baby. If you don't, said-baby will let you know by kicking or crying or pushing away...somehow. And when that happens, life is forever going to be different.

For some that first "letting go" comes when they go back to work -- sometimes at 6 weeks or sometimes when the baby is slightly older. And when that happens, life is forever different.

For others, that first moment comes when the child goes to school -- whether preschool or kindergarten. They drop them off or wave goodbye to the schoolbus, knowing that life is forever different.

Then there are some who don't really do this "letting go" until the children are much, much older. They might choose to homeschool them, keeping them closer to home for awhile longer. There are outside activities, to be sure, like dance or soccer or theater or youth group or even a homeschool group. But the children haven't officially left home -- not in the traditional sense anyway.

School is done at the dining room table or the local coffee shop or the backyard or the library. Evenings are divided between family time and activities, the enjoyment of laughing together warming each family members' heart.

It's comfortable.

Summers pass peacefully with the minimum of activities and the maximum of books and drawing tablets and games and crafts and relaxation. Trips to the playground are punctuated by quick pop-ins to the library on the way home to pick out "just-five-okay-six-wait-no!-okay-ten" books to read in the next two evenings. Summer jobs aren't necessary just yet -- they will be soon -- but just not yet. There's time for exploration and fun...and the bliss of boredom.

But the summers end all too soon, and it's back to the books at the table and activities after dinner...

...thus, the seasons pass.

In the back of these parents' minds is the fact that at some point in the not-so-far-off future these days of comfort will end....the "schoolbus" will come for these children. And this comfort that has been enjoyed over the years will begin to change...and life will be forever different.

But different isn't bad, right? Different is just changed, and change can be good depending on how you look at it.

And this change will mean that time spent together as a whole family will be cherished a bit differently, treated as the treasure that it is -- special moments together enjoyed on a whole new level. Life will begin to open like the layers of a "cootie-catcher," each triangular fold opening up possibilities for a new kind of fun.

So it goes...the passing of one generation to another. We all grow older. It's all a part of having children, right?

It just feels like the summer ends too soon.

Wordless (Mostly) Wednesday

(I love this...and I didn't actually write the words...so it's still mostly wordless, right? *wink-grin*)

Random Acts

Random acts of kindness?

Or...

Random acts of justified anger?

My hubby and I were discussing this on our way to his workplace today.

When a person in another car stops to let you out, should you wave or get angry?

My point was that it's a kind thing -- whether or not the person meant it to be so, doesn't matter. I always wave when I think the person was being nice.

My hubby's point was that sometimes it's just stupid, especially if it isn't safe to stop or safe for the someone to come out.  If it's the person's right of way, then take it. I totally understand and get that.

But it was a definite "hmm" moment.

I went on to say that I think kindness needs to be shown and shared. How else can we teach our kids to emulate this character trait and later share it as an adult?  And how else can we make our world the "better place" we all long for?

A few posts ago, I wrote about peace on earth. I said I think we look for it in the end of wars, with a nicer government (with lower taxes, or at least more fiscal responsiblity), with fewer guns, and less bullies.

None of those brings peace, not the true lasting peace we wish for.

That peace starts with us and our attitudes, with our hearts belonging to God and letting Him shine through us in our actions and reactions to others.

Peace starts at home -- not with the other family members first, please -- in our very own heart of hearts.

We have to determine to be kind -- no matter how others treat us -- and to treat others nicely -- even when they're rude to us.

Why?

To show the next generation that kindness does actually exist beyond the storybooks we read to them as preschoolers.

So sometimes that's means giving a wave to someone who has been kind -- even when it wasn't necessary...or very smart.

That's why these acts of kindness are called "random," right?

H is for...

Hormones.

Our seems to be full of them these days.

Estrogen. Progesterone. Testosterone. More estrogen.

With a pubescent girl and a pre-pubescent boy and a toddler-turned-preschooler boy...and a cycling mom...

Ugh.

It's enough to send any sane husband person -- sans hormones -- running for the hills.

Sometimes I wish I had a tent like the women had in the days of Moses from the Bible.  A tent to stay separate from everything and everyone who annoys me.............. But I digress.

Stuart recently came up with the best-est ever idea for me. (Did I mention how much I love this man?)

He said when we move one day, he's going to make sure that we have a "period" room for me.

A period room just for me! Like my very own indoor tent.

And are you ready to hear the design of said-room?

(Hold onto your hats, everyone. It's awesome!)

It will be an oversized room with a big claw-footed tub in one corner and a cupboard full of bath bubbles of all kinds nearby, as well as a cupboard filled with chocolate and a coffee maker and a television with a DVD player and Roku and a cupboard filled with Kiefer movies and chick-flicks.

No kidding. He said ALL of that.

(Did I mention how much I love this man?)

Of course, all that could really only happen after the kids leave home....in another 20+ years...and by then I'll be past "times-of-months."

Still, what's to stop me from taking a bubble bath whilst enjoying some chocolate and a Kiefer-y movie even with hormones?

I'll hold onto my dream, though. It's what makes these "special" times-of-month bearable....for me and him.

Sweet Sunday

Another Half-Birthday celebration hit our house today.

Emily turned 14 1/2.

14 years and 6 months old.

I harkened back 14 years ago to her first half-birthday. We started celebrating "half-birthdays" to help her get used to the idea of people singing to her. We'd heard so many stories from friends of how overwhelmed their babies felt on their first birthdays. It seemed a fun thing for her, especially since we share a birthday in October. (Half-birthdays are meaningless to adults who really don't want the reminder that they are a half-a-year closer to that next number.)

We gave Emily a "roll-around people set" wrapped in the comics from the newspaper. She loved it! The paper, that is. *wink-grin* No, she really enjoyed the set, too, but she didn't understand the half-birthday concept...yet.

Today, Emily harkened back even further from me to 15 years ago...when I was just passing my first trimester. What a relief that was. Not that I was out of danger -- pregnancies are full of dangers, right? Well, that's what my What to Expect in Pregnancy book told me -- but at least I was edging past the especially scary/sick zone.

Ah, the memories.

We asked Emi what she wanted to do after church today, since it was her half-birthday, and she told us that she wanted to "fence" and do a family version of Britain's Got Talent.  Both were a lot of fun!  Stuart showed us that he's an awesome fencer -- turns out he learned everything he knows from watching The Highlander and Lord of the Rings.  Then Stuart got to be Simon Cowell and I was Sharon Osbourne for the talent show. We finished the day by walking to the playground, opening prezzies, eating a yummy dinner, and watching the movie Tangled.

All in all, Emi said she had a fantastic day!  And we're glad since she's such a fantastic girl!

Here are some photos to help prove that:

Saturday Sweetheart

While I was up before everyone this morning -- tweaking an article that's past due -- I heard Ethan on the monitor as he began to sing upstairs. I was quick enough to capture a part of it before he stopped. I love his pronunciations and the percussion sound effects.

A definite precious moment in time!

Friday Funnies

Great way to use the one cracked egg in the group? Hee-hee!

A Few Ethanisms

"Out of the mouths of babes," says the old cliched saying.

When my older two kids were a bit younger, I used to jot down what I called "Emilyisms" and "Edwardisms," funny little quotes that I picked up along the way of their early kidhood. That's the thing about little ones. As they learn about language and life, they say the darndest things.

Ethan, of course, is no exception.

*   *   *

Today, he was singing a favorite kids' song in a low growl-ly voice. "I'm gonna catch you...you better run...I'm gonna catch you. Here I come."

I overheard it as I was sitting close by and said, "Wow! That sounds ominous."

"I'm not ominious," he said, in protest. "I'm not an ominous boy."

*    *    *

Stuart was heading out the door for work.

Ethan hugged him, kissed him, and said, "Drive carefully."

"Okay," Stuart answered.

Ethan looked up at him and laughed. "You're s'posed to say, 'Always,'" he informed him.

"Okay," Stuart said. "Wanna try again?"

Ethan nodded and stood on tippy-toes to hug and kiss him again. In his mind, "try again" mean the entire scene.

*   *   *

On Easter, we decided to do our egg hunts one at a time this year.

We handed Ethan a plastic basket to gather his eggs, and he said excitedly, "Oh, goody! I just love going trick-or-treating."

*   *   *

Giggle-giggle-snort!

Wordless (Mostly) Wednesday

Emily volunteered to do a cover photo for the Voices section of our newspaper, with whom she is employed.  The photo has become a fast favorite of mine:

Remember When?

Wow!

I had a sudden brainwave about a site I used to use to make video montages of photos of the children -- especially the youngest kid.

So I googled what I remembered of the site's name and up it came. (I even remembered my log on information, a great feat for me.)

Here's one that was amazingly special to me, especially so since the little one that was "incubating" inside of me is now over 3 1/2 years old.

How fast the time goes, huh?

Make a video - it's fun, easy and free!
www.onetruemedia.com

Clickety-Clackety-Click!

Do you hear that noise? That's the sound of the construction being done on my blog. I'm still tweaking my blog's new look...and I think I'm almost there.

I find that I am particularly picky when it comes to these things as the look makes or breaks my enthusiasm for my blog.

It was the main reason I didn't upgrade to the editable version of Blogger when it became available. Given too many choices, I'm paralyzed in my writing by the mere look of where I'm writing.  It took me awhile to find the "perfect" notebook and pen to begin writing offline.  (See the proof here.)

I guess that's why so many writers are deemed "tempermental." It's really not a problem...just a process that many of us have to work through to feel comfortable. It's our template...or our blank paper...where we bear our heart and soul to the world.

So hang in there with me as I work through my redesign. I think it will click when I have it just the way that I want it. And listen out for that click.

Feel free to leave me a comment or two with your thoughts on the new look. I'd love to know how readable it is...since that's what it's all about, right? 

Happy Easter!

Exactly how many photos does it take to get at least one good Easter photo with all three kids smiling and looking the same way?

Behold:

I guess there's at least one "nice" one among those. *wink-grin*  They certainly captured a "moment in time," right? 

A little Easter "ham" to go with your photos?  We've got one. His name is Ethan.