Fiorella's dirty little secret is that she loves doing revisions. Yes, while everyone else in her RWA chapter is complaining about revisions, she revels in them. It's another chance to improve her manuscript, to get it right.
Of course it helps that the divine Liza hasn't given her a deadline. Fio may revise her opinion of revisions when that occurs, but for now she's wallowing in perfectionism.
Besides, it's exciting to be on the cusp, not quite there, but able to see over the mountain. Sliding down the other side might not be quite as comfortable.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Relative Height
Fiorella's not that tall, but she used to be. In her sixth grade picture, she's the female steeple in the back row, center, but by the time she hit tenth grade, she was relegated to the front row, edging toward the side. Yeah. Five-four at age fifteen did not give her the same height advantage as five-four at age eleven had.
Not that she saw it as an advantage. Short girls were petted and told how cute they were while tall girls were expected to be mature and responsible. Besides, she was taller than the boys, which was becoming increasingly important to her because Fiorella was definitely heterosexual. In fact, she has long maintained that her first words, five minutes out of the womb, were, "Where's my boyfriend?" .
Her first indication she had shrunk, relatively speaking, was when the sophomore girls' PE teacher lined the class up for archery practice by height. Fio walked automatically toward the front of the queue and was relegated to the tail. She was short and cute at last
But even today, five-three and shrinking, she still feels like the tall, gawky steeple in the back row.
Not that she saw it as an advantage. Short girls were petted and told how cute they were while tall girls were expected to be mature and responsible. Besides, she was taller than the boys, which was becoming increasingly important to her because Fiorella was definitely heterosexual. In fact, she has long maintained that her first words, five minutes out of the womb, were, "Where's my boyfriend?" .
Her first indication she had shrunk, relatively speaking, was when the sophomore girls' PE teacher lined the class up for archery practice by height. Fio walked automatically toward the front of the queue and was relegated to the tail. She was short and cute at last
But even today, five-three and shrinking, she still feels like the tall, gawky steeple in the back row.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Equivalencies
Tail, mouth, and nose make up for dogs not having hands.
The wagging tail represents a waving hand, of course, and Sonya uses her mouth to carry around rawhide bones and grab my wrist to turn my attention to whatever she considers more important than revising Princess of Bosque Bend. The nose is an all-purpose tool, used not only for nudging rawhide bones between couch cushions, into a trough she has dug outside in the yard, or under my leg while I am involved in said revising, but also for smearing up my computer screen when she is, again, trying to get my attention.
Even as I write this, Sonya is probably wondering why I have two utterly redundant upper body appendages while she has four sturdy limbs to take her anywhere she wants to go.
Poor Mommy. No tail, a useless mouth, and such a tiny nose.
The wagging tail represents a waving hand, of course, and Sonya uses her mouth to carry around rawhide bones and grab my wrist to turn my attention to whatever she considers more important than revising Princess of Bosque Bend. The nose is an all-purpose tool, used not only for nudging rawhide bones between couch cushions, into a trough she has dug outside in the yard, or under my leg while I am involved in said revising, but also for smearing up my computer screen when she is, again, trying to get my attention.
Even as I write this, Sonya is probably wondering why I have two utterly redundant upper body appendages while she has four sturdy limbs to take her anywhere she wants to go.
Poor Mommy. No tail, a useless mouth, and such a tiny nose.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Eclectic Snippets
Like Dolly, Fiorella's back in town. Not that she was actually gone, just knocked off the internet till about noon today, which drove her crazy. No Google news, no e-mail, no blogging. For someone who calls herself a Luddite, Fio is mighty computer-dependent.
*
Looking at the pictures Son took of her, Fio realizes she doesn't really look as good as she thinks she does. But then, she never did.
*
Between the elections and the Longhorns, Fio's going to retreat into her snail shell for the duration.
*
What would Fio do without friends? Tomorrow she's going to have lunch with Joan, and last week she lunched with Sharon. Last night she wrote a long email to Suzy in England to bring her up to date. Paula has stood by her for years. Katie, Janece, and Jane have cheered on her literary aspirations, and Marion even read an early copy of P of BB. Fio's sure to have left someone important out so please forgive her because she loves you all.
*
Looking at the pictures Son took of her, Fio realizes she doesn't really look as good as she thinks she does. But then, she never did.
*
Between the elections and the Longhorns, Fio's going to retreat into her snail shell for the duration.
*
What would Fio do without friends? Tomorrow she's going to have lunch with Joan, and last week she lunched with Sharon. Last night she wrote a long email to Suzy in England to bring her up to date. Paula has stood by her for years. Katie, Janece, and Jane have cheered on her literary aspirations, and Marion even read an early copy of P of BB. Fio's sure to have left someone important out so please forgive her because she loves you all.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Backyard Safari
We have a hunter in the house, a mighty hunter who stalks the night, seizes his prey, and carries it off to his lair.
No, it's not Sonya, the mastiff, who has the equipment to do some mighty seizing herself, but Bosco, the pug, who last night chased down an errant frog hopping hell for leather down the backyard toward the pond.
Froggie never made it.
When Fio and Husband called Sonya and Bosco in for the night, Bosco didn't appear. Panicked, Fiorella ran outside into the darkness and checked the gate to the yard to be sure it was locked while Husband grabbed two big flashlights. Sonya started barking at the narrow area between the barbecue and the fence, Bosco's favorite hidey hole, so Husband shone the light down into the darkness. Sure enough, there was Bosco, growling fiercely, with a dead frog hanging from his mouth.
Oh, yuck.
Fiorella took over the flashlights while Husband began poking at Bosco with a metal leaf broom to get him to give up his prey. Sonya, of course, barked the whole time--she wanted the frog.
The story ended happily. Husband pried Bosco out of his den and flipped Froggie out of the yard, and Fio herded both dogs back into the house for the night.
But Bosco strutted.
No, it's not Sonya, the mastiff, who has the equipment to do some mighty seizing herself, but Bosco, the pug, who last night chased down an errant frog hopping hell for leather down the backyard toward the pond.
Froggie never made it.
When Fio and Husband called Sonya and Bosco in for the night, Bosco didn't appear. Panicked, Fiorella ran outside into the darkness and checked the gate to the yard to be sure it was locked while Husband grabbed two big flashlights. Sonya started barking at the narrow area between the barbecue and the fence, Bosco's favorite hidey hole, so Husband shone the light down into the darkness. Sure enough, there was Bosco, growling fiercely, with a dead frog hanging from his mouth.
Oh, yuck.
Fiorella took over the flashlights while Husband began poking at Bosco with a metal leaf broom to get him to give up his prey. Sonya, of course, barked the whole time--she wanted the frog.
The story ended happily. Husband pried Bosco out of his den and flipped Froggie out of the yard, and Fio herded both dogs back into the house for the night.
But Bosco strutted.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Brain of Fire
Fiorella had trouble sleeping last night so she drew a hot bath for herself, selected an old favorite from the window ledge next to the tub, and wallowed in romance till her bath water cooled.
Hearts of Fire is a historical set in the eleventh century, but Anita Mills' story is timeless--boy meets girl, they sorta like each other but sorta don't, he saves her butt and she saves his, they yearn after each other but he's promised to another, they become lovers and she runs off and marries someone else when she gets pregnant, etcetera on to the happy ending. Sounds goosey when summarized like that, but the way the story is told makes it not only believable, but compelling. Fiorella can only hope that while her body was wallowing in the tub, her brain was soaking up voice, style, and technique.
Princess of Bosque Bend awaits.
Hearts of Fire is a historical set in the eleventh century, but Anita Mills' story is timeless--boy meets girl, they sorta like each other but sorta don't, he saves her butt and she saves his, they yearn after each other but he's promised to another, they become lovers and she runs off and marries someone else when she gets pregnant, etcetera on to the happy ending. Sounds goosey when summarized like that, but the way the story is told makes it not only believable, but compelling. Fiorella can only hope that while her body was wallowing in the tub, her brain was soaking up voice, style, and technique.
Princess of Bosque Bend awaits.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Pedal Probs
Fiorella is on a hobby horse, but it's a bicycle this time.
Leave Lance Armstrong alone. He's past history, no matter how pathetically he tries to prep his aging body for competition again. Maybe he was a myth all along, but so what? Although, he passed years of drug tests, he's been indicted by supposed witnesses. Again--so what? What about all the other contenders who passed the drug tests, the losers? How about a decade-long persecution of them?
As Fio has said before, she thinks most of the the effect of so-called performance enhancers is psychological, like a lucky rabbit's foot. But if something gave ol' Lance a second or two's edge, so what?
So what if a baseball player used steroids? They might have allowed him to hit a couple of balls out of the park, but they also carried out their own punishment on his body and relationships. So what if Olympic contenders ingested something they thought might make them come out on top? Isn't Gabby Douglas's drive and self-confidence something that puts her a notch up on her opponents? Should we outlaw adrenaline, focus, and spunk?
Anyway, we're talking about sports, which aren't that important in the long run of things. Let's spend more time and money fighting poverty, ignorance, and real crime.
Leave Lance Armstrong alone. He's past history, no matter how pathetically he tries to prep his aging body for competition again. Maybe he was a myth all along, but so what? Although, he passed years of drug tests, he's been indicted by supposed witnesses. Again--so what? What about all the other contenders who passed the drug tests, the losers? How about a decade-long persecution of them?
As Fio has said before, she thinks most of the the effect of so-called performance enhancers is psychological, like a lucky rabbit's foot. But if something gave ol' Lance a second or two's edge, so what?
So what if a baseball player used steroids? They might have allowed him to hit a couple of balls out of the park, but they also carried out their own punishment on his body and relationships. So what if Olympic contenders ingested something they thought might make them come out on top? Isn't Gabby Douglas's drive and self-confidence something that puts her a notch up on her opponents? Should we outlaw adrenaline, focus, and spunk?
Anyway, we're talking about sports, which aren't that important in the long run of things. Let's spend more time and money fighting poverty, ignorance, and real crime.
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