This has been a big year for me. I graduated with my master's degree. I went to Disney World for the second time and New York for the first. My husband and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary. I was cast in my first play in seven years (two plays at once, actually--rehearsals start January 3rd!). I completed my first collection of short stories, though who knows how much tweaking it will receive before it's published (if ever). I had a few short stories published individually. I broke my aversions to fish, various fruits, and tried many many many new foods. I've completed a few editing and freelance writing jobs, some paid in money and some with the advancement of my career. And while I wouldn't say it was the best year ever, it was a fruitful one.
So here comes 2012. My husband plan to ring in this new year at a charity ball in our little town, with dinner and dancing and wine. Usually, New Year's isn't a big deal for us--we often go to bed by ten and wake up to the strict new regimens we've set for ourselves rather than hangovers and brunch. We intentionally diminish the celebration so the resolutions won't be so hard to keep. But this year, we're trying to make fewer strict resolutions and more manageable ones that can be built into lifelong habits. We're trying to build our lives more solidly instead of blasting calories for a month only to slide back into overeating.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Joyeux Noel
Hallo, Blogosphere!
As you can see, I've switched my picture to something more Christmassy. Yes, that is my butt. And my love handles. I was looking for an ornament. Deal with it.
Also, my husband recently replaced iPhoto with Aperture on our computer, which is apparently fancier, but I hate using it. Cropping a photo becomes a math equation. If there's an easier way to do it, I'd love to know.
Anyway--heading to the folks' tomorrow! I've just finished packing all but my toiletries (and I mean all--including presents, a fruit cake, and three kinds of homemade preserve) into my suitcase. The cat is very suspicious and not looking forward to our leaving. But it will make her appreciate it all the more when we get home.
As you can see, I've switched my picture to something more Christmassy. Yes, that is my butt. And my love handles. I was looking for an ornament. Deal with it.
Also, my husband recently replaced iPhoto with Aperture on our computer, which is apparently fancier, but I hate using it. Cropping a photo becomes a math equation. If there's an easier way to do it, I'd love to know.
Anyway--heading to the folks' tomorrow! I've just finished packing all but my toiletries (and I mean all--including presents, a fruit cake, and three kinds of homemade preserve) into my suitcase. The cat is very suspicious and not looking forward to our leaving. But it will make her appreciate it all the more when we get home.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
NaNoWriMo
It's November, and November is National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo for short. I've been curious to participate for years--the goal is to hammer out 50,000 words in one month--but I've always been too busy or lazy or skeptical. There are many who deride NaNoWriMo because it produces shoddy work, because some people seem to think a month is enough to really write a novel, because... I'm not sure of all the becauses. And really, I don't care. NaNoWriMo is what you make of it, and this year, I'm making something. A novel? Probably not. But a really thorough set of character sketches and outline for a novel? That might be closer. Which isn't to say I'm not attempting to make this thing read like a novel, but as I push through the words (I've got just above 14,000 here on day eight), I find dozens of things I want to go back and correct, but can't if I want to keep moving forward. So I allow for that and just sort of keep writing with the new idea in mind, and make a note of my new concept. Sometimes I go for pages and pages without writing a scene, or anything scenic at all; it's easy to get swept away in exposition. But it's good I've got that exposition down so I can sift through it when I come back to this thing.
Friday, October 21, 2011
What If?: NYC
This last week, the hubby and I had the pleasure of visiting New York City for the first time ever. It was, in many ways, fantastic. It was, in many ways, terrible.
I have this problem, you see. I'm a bit of a regret junkie. I would like to have about thirty lives, and in lieu of that possibility, I would like to cram thirty lives' worth of experiences into this one. And I must admit that, in the years since I got married, I haven't been packing those experiences in as much as I'd like. I've experienced grad school, the turmoil of the failed first novel, some housewifery. I've had my first visits to New York, Scotland, a few cities in England, Glacier National Park, Big Sur, Disney World, and South Dakota. I've learned a lot about wine and cooking and recently learned how to make preserves. I've revisited a few cities like London, Paris, and Las Vegas with my husband--his first time in each. When I list it like this, it seems that I've really done quite a bit since 2007, but still I want more. I wish I'd had the chance to live in more places, to work in commercial publishing, to spend less time sitting on my couch in Eastern Washington.
Here's where the terrible stuff comes in: living in New York was one of those dreams that never came to fruition. And, yes, I know it's a little trite. But I often imagined getting a job as an assistant at a publishing house or literary agency, moving to New York, and spending a few years soaking up the city. Maybe going to grad school there. I've heard a lot of bad stuff about New York in the past few years--it's loud, it smells, and so on--but when we actually visited, I didn't find those things to be true, at least not in any way that would dissuade me from wanting to live there. I hoped, in some ways, that I might be allergic to New York like I am to London--but New York doesn't have the same type of pollution London does, and it didn't bother me at all. So I walked around the city feeling those pangs of regret that all I had was three days, when a greedy part of me really would have wanted three years.
One piece of our trip inspired these bittersweet feelings more pointedly than anything else: On our second night in the city, we found a little black box theater where Scott Adsit and John Lutz (from NBC's 30 Rock) were doing some improv. We stood in line, paid our five bucks each, and got to stand at the back of the theater and laugh our guts out. We got to use the dingy little bathrooms with their bad plumbing and amusing graffiti. And I couldn't help thinking, this is the type of place I might have worked, some small theater like this that hosted small plays and comedy shows and theatrical workshops. This is the type of place I would have gone once a week to laugh if I worked someplace else.
Two days later, I had a birthday. I am now 27 years old, which is an age I had never really imagined for myself. The likelihood of my moving to New York is now greatly diminished, and to be honest, I'm past the age where I would have found the small, dingy apartments and constant street noise and crowded subways romantic if I had to deal with them every day. I'm past the age where city living really appeals; I want to live somewhere I can raise children, with backyards and good schools, where I can have a little land to spread out in, maybe raise some chickens or goats, grow a pumpkin patch and tomatoes and zucchini. But what if I'd transferred to NYU instead of WSU? What if I'd had more confidence in myself that I could do it? What would life have been like then?
I guess it's like the number of licks to the center of a Tootsie Pop (which I did, in second grade, attempt to count): the world may never know.
I have this problem, you see. I'm a bit of a regret junkie. I would like to have about thirty lives, and in lieu of that possibility, I would like to cram thirty lives' worth of experiences into this one. And I must admit that, in the years since I got married, I haven't been packing those experiences in as much as I'd like. I've experienced grad school, the turmoil of the failed first novel, some housewifery. I've had my first visits to New York, Scotland, a few cities in England, Glacier National Park, Big Sur, Disney World, and South Dakota. I've learned a lot about wine and cooking and recently learned how to make preserves. I've revisited a few cities like London, Paris, and Las Vegas with my husband--his first time in each. When I list it like this, it seems that I've really done quite a bit since 2007, but still I want more. I wish I'd had the chance to live in more places, to work in commercial publishing, to spend less time sitting on my couch in Eastern Washington.
Here's where the terrible stuff comes in: living in New York was one of those dreams that never came to fruition. And, yes, I know it's a little trite. But I often imagined getting a job as an assistant at a publishing house or literary agency, moving to New York, and spending a few years soaking up the city. Maybe going to grad school there. I've heard a lot of bad stuff about New York in the past few years--it's loud, it smells, and so on--but when we actually visited, I didn't find those things to be true, at least not in any way that would dissuade me from wanting to live there. I hoped, in some ways, that I might be allergic to New York like I am to London--but New York doesn't have the same type of pollution London does, and it didn't bother me at all. So I walked around the city feeling those pangs of regret that all I had was three days, when a greedy part of me really would have wanted three years.
One piece of our trip inspired these bittersweet feelings more pointedly than anything else: On our second night in the city, we found a little black box theater where Scott Adsit and John Lutz (from NBC's 30 Rock) were doing some improv. We stood in line, paid our five bucks each, and got to stand at the back of the theater and laugh our guts out. We got to use the dingy little bathrooms with their bad plumbing and amusing graffiti. And I couldn't help thinking, this is the type of place I might have worked, some small theater like this that hosted small plays and comedy shows and theatrical workshops. This is the type of place I would have gone once a week to laugh if I worked someplace else.
Two days later, I had a birthday. I am now 27 years old, which is an age I had never really imagined for myself. The likelihood of my moving to New York is now greatly diminished, and to be honest, I'm past the age where I would have found the small, dingy apartments and constant street noise and crowded subways romantic if I had to deal with them every day. I'm past the age where city living really appeals; I want to live somewhere I can raise children, with backyards and good schools, where I can have a little land to spread out in, maybe raise some chickens or goats, grow a pumpkin patch and tomatoes and zucchini. But what if I'd transferred to NYU instead of WSU? What if I'd had more confidence in myself that I could do it? What would life have been like then?
I guess it's like the number of licks to the center of a Tootsie Pop (which I did, in second grade, attempt to count): the world may never know.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
Parsnip/Pumpkin Beer Soup
So, I also have this food blog that has been petering out lately... it's an attempt at broadening my palate and learning to cook. I realized a while ago that I should probably have made it less than a year's project... I was really good for the first eight months, but now I just don't have the energy. Plus, the portion of the project I'm now requires me to cook something new every day, which would not only mean a lot of groceries, but some discomfort for my husband who likes a little more regulation in his diet, and also, potentially, a great deal of weight gain. But--last night I did post a new soup recipe that is just really really good, and so autumnal. So if you're interested in parsnip soup made with pumpkin beer, click here.
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