Monthly Archives: January 2012

Lost

Lost a week to the void, a.k.a. TV and other humdrum things. Drat.

X, who heads the writer’s group I belong to–or hang out with, for lack of a better description–commanded me last November to come up with a short story by March. He has deputized Hubby to pester me–a totally useless exercise since Hubby hates confrontation and mostly lets me do what I want. (Insert Wish no. 1 here: that Hubby’s support for my writing efforts include nagging, if needed, and for him to stop enabling me. There. It is nice to put the blame on someone else, yes?)

I haven’t been working, and wish I could attribute the vacay to writing. But no. Have been watching DVDs, playing with the iPad, reading, catching up on Facebook.

Time’s up.

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Photo credit

The drawing on the header of this blog isĀ Natalie Dee‘s. I think it ties in nicely with the theme and content. I hope she approves! šŸ™‚

365 days

Trust me to copy someone else’s idea.

Bad idea to start a writing blog–or a blog to spur me to create–on an unoriginal thought. But the premise of theĀ Julie/Julia Project–and the pluckiness of the film–is charming, perhaps serendipitous: Julia is to Julie as Jimmy is to Janet. I, too, have an affable Eric. So I imitate, and hope either Julie, Julia or Jimmy is flattered. And that I do produce publishable work in 365 days.

There are, thankfully, differences.

  • My Julia thinks I’m a writer. He sent me a note–a challenge?–last June: “May there be more stories from you!”
  • I don’t write out of a sense of drift or because–borrowing the elongated vowels of Meryl Streep’s Julia Childs–“I don’t have anything to dooooo.”
  • My dry spell is caused by fear. I made excuses. I don’t want to anymore.
  • I use the Sheffer stroke |, not the forward slash /. The slash sounds violent, implies equality between mentor and tenderfoot, and seems to require a choice: JulieĀ orĀ Julia. The Sheffer looks cleaner, and the disjunction shows more respect.

So here we go. With one eye on tonight’s episode ofĀ Lie to MeĀ and an ear tuned to Hubby’s comments on our daughter’s “classic” photos, I write.

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