Day 18: down in the mines, spinning

What a profound learning experience is this 30-straight days of writing 1,700 words a day! I am a little jealous of those people who are producing works of fiction from their neat (I imagine) little outlines. I, on the other hand, am hard at work in the mines of my own memory, my own experiences, spinning as fast as I can, straw into gold, Rumpelstiltskin impatiently keeping time.

On the other hand, though: gold.

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The core for what ails you

Truth: it is possible to avoid your abdominals for your whole life. For fifty years, even.

I should know. 

I've mastered the art of ab-stinence.

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thousands of Santas: Batkid Day forever!

You know me, so you know I am a HUGE fan of Santa Claus.

Pish-posh on those people who don't do Santa because they think of it as lying to their kids. Sillies: you're missing the point.

The wonder of Santa is that it's adults making MAGIC for children, spinning them this glorious story of goodness and wish-fulfillment, staying up late to sneak the presents down the chimney, leave the traces of the Big Man's passage, that one cookie with a bite in it.

It's magic because we give someone else, a mythical creature, the credit for all of our thoughtfulness, all of our effort to brighten the eyes of a little kid.

It's magic because it's selfless.

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NaNoWriMo: harder than childbirth. seriously.

Wait, did I already say that on Friday mornings, at 4:30am, I am so tired I can barely see straight? 

It's true -- by the end of the week, my FYEE Wake-Up Time is totally kicking my ass, and I'm shuffling to the coffee maker, shuffling to my desk, waiting for the caffeine to help turn the lights on in my head.

But I do it anyway.

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Twenty-six years ago today

Maybe you, too, have your own calendar of holidays, days that you mark every year in your own way. Days on which you, too, are immersed in memory.

I'm having two of those days right now.

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