But Call Me Betsy

In honor of the Academy Awards or the Oscars or the National Book Award or whatever show is on tonight, Dan and I went to see The Artist last night, a big deal for us because we don't often go to the cinema, as it were. Even though we arrived before the movie started, all of the seats in the normal part of the theatre were taken, leaving us only the nosebleed, head-cricking row right up against the front. We weren't alone, and bonded with the strangers around us in that way you do when you're all in a slightly irritating but unfixable position. We tilted our heads back and dealt with it. For those of you who don't know anything about the movie, it's an old style black and white silent film with subtitles. Very purposefully melodramatic and it had pretty much every silent movie cliche embedded in the body of the film, including the part where the little dog saves his owner's life by running out and barking at a policeman who then pulls the guy out of the fire....

A woman from this class that I teach told us about this site she uses called 750words. com . It's sort of like a blog that you sign up for and then you get an email prompting you to write each day. You can sign up for challenges--like to write every day for a month, and then, the email you get tells you how many people on that particular day are still in the running. It's satisfying to see that many, many, many people drop out. I'm competitive and want always to be the superstar, so I'm motivated to keep writing in this way. You also give yourself rewards for if you finish the challenge, and then something you'll do if you don't finish the challenge. For this month, I said I would donate to the site if I didn't finish. If I take next month's long, long challenge, I'm going to have to set the stakes a little higher--like saying I'll give money to the NRA or some Christian right wing group, because I don't know how else I'll manage it. ...

We went over a story in class this week (the one I take; not the one I teach), where almost every dialogue tag was an active verb. I love active verbs, but not in dialogue.  For example, the first two lines of the story we read last night were something like: "Get out of my way!" DuBois growled. "You can't tell me what to do!" The Captain barked. Before you know it, we're going to start thinking the two central characters are a terrier and a bulldog or that we're in the middle of a barn yard. Character will be clucking, neighing, mewoing, or, my personal favorite (Dan came up with this one) mooing. Keep it simple; "he said/she said" unless you're purposefully trying to create a madcap, satirical piece. And watch out for the adverbs. They are not your friends, she warned suspiciously. I did read a funny piece from  The New Yorker this morning that made me LOL on the trolley this morning It's Calvin Trilling's piece in...

I just found this photo, and it was taken by me right after I was crying about something--I think I was crying about Henri being put to sleep. And then, for some reason, we decided to take a picture; maybe for a holiday card? Anyway, I think it's funny and sad.  And I think Dan looks extra cute and sexy. As does Ernesto.

In the writing class I’m taking, we’ve work-shopped a couple of stories that revolve around a character suddenly remember something of significance that happened to her in the past. Here's generally how it unfolds: the story is told from the present day/now, with the character doing something languid--like sitting in bed wrapped up in quilt, remembering. As the story continues, we move back and forth between the present day action and the traumatic event being recalled. In the present tense of the story, the writer describes the character doing mundane things, like spreading butter on a piece of toast or pouring over her reflection in an antique mirror. These activities trigger additional memories that reveal for the reader more of the traumatic event.   By the finish, the event is explained---the baby burned in a fire left by the mother's drunkenly dropped cigarette; the car skidded off the road and into an oncoming semi, the aliens sucked up all of the townspeople, except ...

Late to work today because the PGW guy had to install something. Now, I fear I have rushed out of the house in an outfit that is too matchy. Like an outfit you'd see on a doll. All red and blue, so a Penn doll. Here's a sample. Train has arrived.

I don't have much time here, people, because DA--the show for people who like antique pocket watches and leather valises, and fat white labs running across green lawns, and lovely dresses with delicate collars and beadwork, and candlesticks, and dastardely footmen vying against holier than thou butlers--shall be on in 16 minutes. However, I don't like an entire week to go by without at least geting something written in the blog, lest you stop checking it. Have been reading lots of drafts of short stories in both the class I teach and the class I take, and the levels of skill are astonishing--ranging from people who seem to have a good command of the story, to those who have had very little practice writing short stories. Just this afternoon, I read a piece for the class I'm taking that was heavy with images that were unintentionally funny; comparisons being made between chest hair and ants, just as an example (something like: "his hair was stiff and short like ants...