Organize your many years of family photos so that your sons won’t be left with that overwhelming task.
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Author: Tracy Abell
Patron saint of scrapbooking
My sister left Florida to go back home after helping Mom and me make huge progress in our massive photographic undertaking. I arrived a day before her and as I sorted boxes of pictures, discovered a tiny Tracy-head photo from long ago. I taped it to the wall next to the work space, wondering how long it would take my sister to notice.
Less than an hour.
But now it’s just me, Mom, and that June Cleaver-esque pinhead.
At least no one expects me to wear pearls and heels while I slog through the photos . . .
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Friday Haiku
Tricolored Heron
is feeling kinda stabby.
Where are all the fish?
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Thankful Thursday
Thankful that sister Katie arrived to help archive our mother’s eighty zillion photos.
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Wordless Wednesday: Out my mother’s window
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I’m leaving on a jet plane
Heading off to see my mom.
I don’t anticipate an Albert Brooks-Debbie Reynolds kind of visit (if for no other reason than Mom and I aren’t quite as funny as Albert and Debbie), but this movie tag line from MOTHER feels appropriate:
No one misunderstands you better.
I’m eminently qualified to joke about such things. One: I’m a daughter. Two: I’m a mother. Pretty sure my sons gird their emotional loins for visits with me, too.
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Houston, we have a problem
A few minutes ago I searched for something on my desk. I found what I wanted.
However, I also discovered a whole stack of stapled-together drafts of various scenes from two different projects plus a pile of chronologically-organized query versions for one of those projects. Clearly, I have a paper problem.
But even more distressing than the avalanche of paper that has become my life is the realization that all those pieces of paper had one thing in common: handwritten revisions.
What am I thinking? That the literary world will need those important documents for the museum created in my memory after I die?! That someday someone will publish a study of one of my books à la E.B. White and THE ANNOTATED CHARLOTTE’S WEB?!
I tossed all of them in the recycle bin.
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Hungry hounds
Zoey and Coco are watching us closely (despite the nose smears on the glass), well-aware the 6:30 p.m. feeding is nigh.
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I grok grackles
Just found some photos Zippy took ten days ago.
There are five Common Grackles in this photo. Can you spot all of them?
I looked for a quote about grackles, but only found a poem by Ogden Nash which I chose not to copy here because of its serious anti-grackle ‘tude.
I’m a huge grackle fan. Ogden Nash fan? Not so much.
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Friday Haiku
A bunny at ease
sudden bushy invader
hey, got any nuts?
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Incessant buzzing
Because I finished my middle-grade revisions yesterday, I wanted to spend today zeroing in on a nonfiction project. So I sat down with the research books I’d checked out from the library a couple weeks ago and started reading. The topic I’d chosen was intentionally broad in the hopes that after pitching it, I’d be allowed to highlight different aspects in a series of books.
But my intentionally broad topic suddenly felt way-too-broad, and I knew I didn’t have the necessary enthusiasm to sustain me.
As I leafed through my nonfiction idea notebook, my brain started buzzing with other possibilities. So many projects had potential! So many projects sounded fun!
Buzzzz, buzzz, buzzzz……………..
My brain was overwhelmed by all those ideas and I needed to focus, damnit.
So I put on a metaphoric beekeeper suit.
After donning that protective gear, I wasn’t nearly as troubled by the many buzzing possibilities, and I’m pleased to say I was able to zero in on an idea with a series potential. Bonus: it’s stuff I’m excited to write about!
Oh, happy day!
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First commit and then prevail
Yesterday I was tearing out my hair in frustration over my revisions. I struggled with a couple paragraphs for hours before finally calling it quits. I was in a pretty foul mood.
Today I returned to those paragraphs and am happy to report that the words cooperated. And I didn’t even have to bludgeon them into place.
Even better news is that I then spent the rest of the day going over the entire manuscript and am now ready to send it to a brand-new reader. Do you know what this means? This means I am five whole days ahead of schedule! FIVE WHOLE DAYS, people!
Bracelets made by Laura Hamor of Silver Freckles. Find her on Etsy.
What’s the key to my success?
As always, it comes down to two little words.
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Real feelings
There’s a real feeling when you know you’re getting it right. It’s a physical feeling.
~ Robert Caro
Yeah, but what about when you’re not getting it right? Huh? What’s that physical feeling called, Mister I’ve-won-multiple-Pulitzer-Prizes-and-National-Book-Awards??
Around these parts it’s starting to feel an awful lot like baldness.
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Hello, Monday
Took a cue from Marcel, and spent the day reading and revising in our patch of sunshine.
Keep your face always toward the sunshine – and shadows will fall behind you.
~ Walt Whitman
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The eyes have had it
After a revision-filled day, I’m pleased with my progress. In fact, if I pushed on for just one more hour, I’d probably make it to The End. But my eyes are screaming for a break and, since my peepers work very, very hard for me every single day, I owe them a respite.
This lemur’s calling it a day.
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Can I get an amen?
I’ve made huge progress on my middle-grade revisions, and am ahead of schedule. Woot! My plan was to have the revision finished before leaving to visit my mother at the end of the month and, because I’ve kept to my pages-per-day commitment, I will succeed. And that feels very good.
However, I can’t help thinking about how much revision has gone into this particular project. Oy. It’s been a long, long haul.
But a wise children’s writer with WAY more experience than me once said:
Revision is the heart of writing.
Every page I do is done over seven or eight times.
~ Patricia Reilly Giff
It’s nice to know I’m not alone.
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Friday Haiku
Looky looky here
spiral-y peanut challenge.
Feeder empty now.
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Freewheelin’ Bob nabs the Nobel
As has been documented here over the years, I’m a long-time Dylan fan, so wasn’t completely surprised when it was announced today that Bob Dylan has won the Nobel Prize for Literature. (Although, as I said in an email to a friend, I do wonder whether Bob should’ve been disqualified from consideration due to his Victoria’s Secret commercial years ago.)
![Bob Dylan in November 1963 (Unknown [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons)](https://tracyabell.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/bob_dylan_in_november_1963-684x1024.jpg)
Bob Dylan in November 1963 (Unknown [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons)
Masters of War
Written by Bob Dylan
Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build the big bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin’
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it’s your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly
Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain
You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
As young people’s blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud
You’ve thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain’t worth the blood
That runs in your veins
How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I’m young
You might say I’m unlearned
But there’s one thing I know
Though I’m younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do
Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die
And your death’ll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I’ll watch while you’re lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I’ll stand o’er your grave
’Til I’m sure that you’re dead
Copyright
© 1963 by Warner Bros. Inc.; renewed 1991 by Special Rider Music
Wordless Wednesday: The Drear Edition
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Why me, creepy inflatables?
This morning I was in my living room when I felt eyes upon me. I looked up and out the window.
I’d noticed these inflatable horrors in the new neighbors’ yard yesterday, but at that time the leering jack o’ lanterns and coked-out cat were oriented toward the street. Somehow, they’ve all pivoted a bit to the right so that they’re now staring across the street and directly into my living room window.
At me.
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Bunny Monday
This is what I saw out the window this morning, a bunny at rest. A symbol of calm in the universe.
And then as the bunny hopped to another position, I noticed this:
I guess that’s to be expected.
Because nobody goes through life without a scar.
Carol Burnett
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Sunday melancholy
Zippy and I have been together a whole lotta years, but he still doesn’t get why I frequently** start feeling low at about 4:30 on Sunday afternoons. Zippy is one of those almost-Pollyanna types who maintains a pretty consistent emotional level. I guess you could say he’s even-keeled. (Except when he’s not, but that’s a whole other topic.)
Zippy’s obliviousness aside, plug “Sunday melancholy” into the Googles and you’ll get 761,000 hits. I’m not alone.
Somehow, that knowledge helps.
Image from Morguefile
** I’m pleased to report that the melancholy has not yet hit me this afternoon.
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I gots critique brain
I spent the entire day working on a manuscript critique for a new partner, and now I’m feeling like this:
My hope is that right about now she has lightbulb brain:
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Friday Haiku
Shrub running amok,
an aggressive takeover.
The elegant brute.
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Thankful Thursday
Zebu and Wildebeest have been avid Spotify users for years, and now Zippy and I also have access to ALL THAT MUSIC.
It’s great to have a song pop in my head and then seconds later, I listen to it. It was years since I’d heard Roberta Flack’s “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” and then the other morning her voice gave me chills.
Spotify is also great for quickly checking out bands and musicians I read about in Rolling Stone, plus I discover new music while listening to other people’s playlists. Case in point, Earl St. Clair. Spotify = MORE MUSIC TO LOVE.
But the absolute greatest thing about Spotify is how it’s rejuvenated my hoop dancing. In the dark ages, I’d cobbled together a playlist of songs that were mostly good for dancing within my hoop. And while Aretha Franklin’s “Rock Steady” and Stevie Wonder’s “Higher Ground” are kick-ass hoop dancing songs, I was bored.
Dancer Doris Humphrey (1895-1958) in her hoop many years ago.
Enter Spotify.
I’m now the proverbal kid in the candy store. New songs every day to inspire my hoop dance. New favorites to sample again and again without fear of getting in a permanent rut.
So on this Thankful Thursday, I am grateful for:
my hoop,
all the incredible music that makes me want to dance,
and Spotify which makes it easy to do.
Tracy Abell 