Turkey, Adoption Stories and Lots of Links

The blogosphere has been so quiet this week.

Makes me think that I wasn't the only one kidnapped by a giant turkey named Fred.

Fred.

(If you want to read an interesting, cross-cultural, TRUE Thanksgiving story, I posted one last Thanksgiving. Click here.)

We went to my in-law's home for the evening. My father-in-law makes the best turkey and cornbread stuffing you have ever eaten. And my mother-in-law's pumpkin pies were scrumptious. The apple pies turned out wonderfully, so try this recipe sometime if you like apple pie. And while you're at it, Thanksgiving will never be the same once you make sweet potatoes this way. (I'm so sad the leftovers are gone!)

Thanks for all your comments about the baby boys in the picture (last post). My friend Jenny who lives in Tianjin is in the process of getting high-calorie formula for them. She told me she'll let me know what their specific special needs are, as well as their names, just in case anyone would like to donate directly to them.

It's been an orphanage-on-my-mind week for me. I came across this blog yesterday. This family is raising money to adopt 11-year-old Michael, also from the Children's Welfare Institute in Tianjin. His story is here and you can help them raise money by purchasing a whole slew of different products (in the sidebar of their blog). So, if you're doing Christmas shopping anyway, you might consider buying something that will not only be an awesome present, but also assist this family in their adoption efforts. After reading Michael's story, you'll understand why it's so necessary for him to be united with his "forever family." *sniff sniff*

And last but not least, my little brother got engaged this week. You can hop over to Danica's blog to wish them well, if you'd like, and to take a gasp at her gorgeous Eiffel-tower-esque ring. Congratulations Steve and Danica!

Now, seriously, I want to know - how was Thanksgiving for you? Have you recovered yet?

A Thanksgiving Plea

Today I made two apple pies using this recipe. (I'll let you know how they turn out.)

The Dashingly Handsome Sidekick and his father also had a productive day. They cut three holes in our basement ceiling.

The cold water in our kitchen stopped working, and since it was below zero degrees Fahrenheit this morning, there was only one explanation: a frozen pipe. Late this afternoon the emergency ceiling-excavation began.

I'm thankful because they located the pipe before it burst. We now have cold water again. (Never thought I'd be thankful for *cold* water. In China we always seemed to be running out of *hot* water.)

I'm thankful that it was my father-in-law's day off so he could help the Dashingly Handsome Sidekick search for the problematic pipe.

I'm thankful for apple pies cooling on my stove top.

I'm thankful for snow tires. The DHS went out and bought some today so that I don't have to remain a recluse for the entire winter.

I'm thankful for my family, for my sweet children, the DHS, my amazing in-laws and my incredible (but too-far-away) family in Hong Kong (and here in the US). I'm thankful for friends, both in-person friends and on-line friends, kindred-spirit friends, fellow-mom friends, writing friends, old friends, new friends....

But tonight my heart is heavy. I have so much to be thankful for, but there are so many people in the world who are suffering. This evening I read a blog post by my good friend-who-lives-in-China, Kimberly, about  two babies at the Tianjin Orphanage. Since I read her post and looked at the pictures she took, I can't think of anything else. It's hard to focus on apple pie when there are kids in the world who are suffering like this.

She gave me permission to post this picture. (I know it's hard to take and I'm sorry in advance if I depress you and you didn't want to be depressed on Thanksgiving.) The child on the right is over a year old based on the number of teeth he has.

These children are from the same orphanage where my daughter Olivia spent the first six weeks of her life (my dear young friend Esther, who often comments on this blog, and her brother Joseph also started life at this orphanage). *heavy sigh*

So, what can we do?

Well, while I was in China, I volunteered for an organization called ICCO. (That's how I was able to bring Olivia home when she was so little.) It's a wonderful organization that works directly with this particular orphanage. They coordinate and pay for surgeries and medical care for the children, among many other things. You can donate money through their website to pay for medical help for the little people pictured above. (I believe you can earmark a donation directly for them.)

During this season when we all have so much to be thankful for, I don't want to be guilty of forgetting those in need.

Sorry for the downer post. But I know you all are big-hearted and you won't blame me for it.

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'" - Matthew 25:40 (NIV)

Snow & Irrational Panic

This was yesterday. Beautiful, freshly-fallen snow.

There was a two-hour snow delay from school, but I decided to keep the kids home all day since I didn't want to get stuck on the hill in my minivan like last year.

Gabe was the first to get bundled up to go out in it. The cousins-down-the-hill had invited them over to sled in their yard, and so I sent him out bravely alone, down the back path to their house, telling him to stay off the roads as much as possible (due to skidding vehicles).

(Their house is down in that valley just beyond the line of arborvitae trees.)

After Gabe left, I started thinking: "I hope he gets there okay. I'd better call down there and make sure he made it. Make sure he's not lying in a crevice somewhere with a broken leg." (There are not many crevices in between our house and theirs, but you have to leave room for a mama's overactive imagination.)

Well, I didn't call down there. Instead, I busied myself in the kitchen. My older girls woke up and wanted to eat. Then they also wanted to head down to go sledding.

I bundled them up and sent them out, adding as an afterthought: "Olivia, help your little sister down the hill and if for some reason Gabe is not at the cousins' house, please call me so I can search the crevices for him."

Ten minutes later, Olivia came home to put on more clothes. About five minutes into this endeavor she mentioned, "Oh, and Anna's waiting down in the Taylor's yard so she didn't have to come up the hill."

"Where's Gabe?"

"I don't know. I didn't see him. The cousins were leaving when we got there."

"And you didn't see Gabe?"

"No, I didn't see him at all."

"He's not down playing in the cousins' yard?"

"No."

Now, usually, I'm not a freak-out-first-think-later type of person. Usually I would have used my brain instead of my emotions to make a rational decision about what to do next. However, due to recent sleep deprivation and I'm sure the added hormonal imbalance of being eight months pregnant, I totally flipped out.

"Quick! Get your clothes on! Sophie! We need to get dressed! We need to go out and find your brother who's lost in the snow!"

Several minutes later, Sophie, Olivia and I are slipping and sliding down the back path towards the cousins' house, checking the crevices. The path was very steep and covered in at least a foot of snow. After our first joint fall, Sophie was screaming. After our second joint fall, I was wailing like a banshee: "Olivia, please heeeelp me!" Olivia came to our rescue several times, saving me once from falling into a crevice.

We got down to the Taylor's yard, met up with Anna. I asked our neighbor if she'd seen Gabe, but she hadn't. We traipsed down the road toward the cousins' house. Sophie slipped on the icy road, and after that couldn't stop crying.

We arrived to find the cousins' car still in the driveway and most of the cousin population out in the front yard.

My first hollered question was: "Have you seen Gabe?"

Abby, the oldest, responded: "Aunt Amy, we can't play right now. We're leaving, but we'll be back in a few minutes to--"

"We are not here to play," I cried. "I want to know - have you seen Gabe?"

"Oh yeah, he's playing inside."

"What?"

"My mom just told him he has to leave, so he's getting his shoes on."

This is where the extent of my idiocy sunk in. I saw Gabe wrestling with his mittens in the doorway. My heart did that flip-flop of relief and ... the kind of frustration that comes after suffering through something completely unnecessary.

Morals to this story:
(1) Never rely completely on a nine-year-old's version of a story. They are usually a little confused.
(2) If there is snow on the ground, whenever possible use a phone to confirm said nine-year-old's story. (In this case, "the cousins are leaving" meant, "the cousins are leaving in the next half hour." For some reason, I heard it as: "the cousins are in the car, pulling out of the driveway.")
(3) Maybe it's better not to send a seven-year-old alone down a snowy slope when there are crevices involved.

Resolution:
We all survived. We limped back up the hill, but by road this time (because I realized everyone in our small town was staying home so there weren't a whole lot of skidding vehicles about). Sophie cried all the way. I looked like a bag-lady in my off-center beanie, my gaping coat, and yoga pants tucked into my boots. But we made it home alive. No one fell into a crevice. No bones were broken. No babies were prematurely born.

And for that, in this week when we focus on gratefulness, I am thankful.

In Which I Compare Querying to Toothpaste

Toothpaste is essential to good oral health.

If you want to get a book published, querying is also essential.*

Toothpaste has its faults.

Querying also has its faults.

But, considering the alternatives (baking soda on a tree branch? ... uh, personal drop-ins at agent offices?), toothpaste and querying are about the best we're going to get.

Here are some three tips to avoiding Toothpaste/Query Disasters:

1. Don't use too much toothpaste.
Query translation: Don't be over-confident.

• When you get an over-sized blob of toothpaste on that brush some of it will inevitably plop onto your shirt. Toothpaste smears on shirts are impossible to clean off. You might as well go change your shirt. Seriously, you can stand at the bathroom sink scrubbing and rinsing for an hour, and still -- halfway through your day -- look down and see that the mystery smear has reappeared.
• Query translation: Don't be too confident in yourself or your work. Remember, pride goes before a fall and we all have a lot to learn. You'll have a shorter distance to fall emotionally if you go into the query process with the correct amount of humility. And I think most agents appreciate humility in a query letter too (as opposed to YOU'D BE AN IDIOT TO TURN DOWN MY MASTERPIECE ... yeah, that's a toothpaste smear that you'll never be able to scrub off, no matter how hard you try).

2. Don't use too little toothpaste.
Query translation: Have faith in your work; submit your best.

• We've all done it: thought we'd applied enough toothpaste, but ended up walking out of the bathroom wondering if we even brushed our teeth at all. Not using enough toothpaste causes bad breath.
• Query translation: Bad breath in Queryland is the equivalent of submitting what we know to be sub-par just because we're impatient or we are planning on rejection anyway. While it's good to be humble about our work, it's not good to be faithless. We should be submitting our very best, polished material. Anything less is too little of a good thing.

3. Why do I even bother cleaning this mirror?
Query translation: Follow your gut. If you know you've got something good, keep querying it. Don't quit. (But please note the caveat to this advice.)

• Yesterday I cleaned my kids' toothpaste-splattered bathroom mirror. Three hours later it was toothpaste-splattered again. I asked myself why I bother. But then I thought of the alternative: a mirror so splattered in toothpaste that I couldn't see my own reflection. Yeah, pointless. So, I keep cleaning that mirror from time-to-time, knowing it's the right thing to do.
• After thirty rejections, you might start to wonder why you're doing this querying thing anyway. Doubt creeps in. You've given your all to this manuscript, you're pretty sure it's in the best shape you can make it. The temptation is to quit after thirty queries and move on to a new project. My advice: keep spraying that Windex and wiping that mirror because you never know when a guest will show up at the door and actually want to see their face as they're washing their hands. (Translation:  An agent might show up who loves your work and offers to represent you!) You never know when this could happen, so keep plugging away. Taste in manuscripts is so incredibly subjective. Remember that!
• Here's the caveat: Don't go overboard. Practice discretion and wisdom. If your gut tells you maybe there IS something drastically wrong with your story, it's better to step back and make a decision about whether to continue to query, to revise, or to go back to the drawing board with a new project. There's no point spraying Windex if it's five minutes until your kids' bedtime. Be wise. Query only when you feel in your gut that the world can't live without your manuscript (but reread point 1 before you put that in phrase in your query letter.)

Now, for those who are ready -- Happy Querying!

*There is probably some sort of device that people-who-have-dentists-for-fathers use that leaves the toothpaste out of the equation. Something like a high-speed, water-pick toothbrush. However, for most of us people-without-connections, toothpaste is still the way to go. In the same way, for us writers-without-connections, querying is also the way to go. Embrace it!

In Which I Learn a Writing Lesson from Star Wars Legos

I'm a tidal-wave writer*.

My son is a tidal-wave Lego builder.

In other words, we work feverishly on a project until we're done and it's hard to get us to think about anything else while the project is in motion.

I've seen the similarities the last few days watching my son react to the five boxes of Legos he received as birthday presents. He's been manic. Absolutely manic. Every waking moment he's not at school, he's hunched over his Lego sets, building, building.

He gets crabby. I remember last year after his birthday we actually had to remove the Legos and hide them for awhile (until he forgot about them) because he was impossible to live with. He was so focused, not being able to find a piece among the rubble spread out on the floor was a knife to his heart. Tears, screaming, accusations: "Everybody always loses my Legos!"

I've noticed improvements this year. He's maturing. Still, he gets crabby occasionally. Partly because he's tired. He's up at the crack of dawn so he'll have time to work on Legos before school. *sigh*

The problem is, I know where he gets this manic-bent from. When it comes to writing, I'm focused, too. I push through exhaustion just to stay up that extra half an hour to finish writing a chapter. The manuscript is often on my mind, even when I'm not physically sitting at the computer.

And crabbiness? That's something I really have to watch, because it's an easy trap to fall into. Say, if my writing time is interrupted (heaven forbid!), or I can't meet my goals for the day. I've seen this pattern in myself. It's good to be vigilant against it. Thankfully, seeing the pattern is a step in the right direction to correcting it. I'm trying to be better about pacing myself, living other parts of life to the fullest, enjoying my family and other non-writing activities. Still, it takes concentrated effort to pull myself away from THE BOOK.

You may or may not have noticed, I haven't written a Story-A-Week in awhile. I'm blaming it on the fact that I'm a tidal-wave writer, because while rewriting/retyping this story, my brain doesn't have the capacity to think of other stories. It's been my stumbling block all year with this particular challenge.

But there is an end in sight. I'm over 50,000-words into my rewrite (rewrite number three, baby! Third time's the charm? ... probably not), which means I'm almost at the finish (for this round).

I already have a wonderful beta-reader prepped and ready to look at it. And once that baby's sent off, I have some breathing space. Which means I'm focusing on a critique for another lovely writing buddy AND writing short stories so I stay up on my writing game.

That's the plan.

So, I want to know ... how are you as a writer (if you are a writer)? Do you remain balanced at all times, or is it a struggle? If you're not a writer, what's your personality with other big projects?

*I first heard the phrase "tidal-wave writer" from Julie. I love it, Julie! I've thought of myself that way ever since!

Happy Birthday, Gabe!

This is my son...

...after losing his first tooth. (Lost it while he was still six. He was very happy about that. He's a late-tooth-loser like the Dashingly Handsome Sidekick.)

 This is my son...

...on his seventh birthday with his crazy pirate (cupcake) cake.

 (Now you can see why I don't illustrate picture books. I'm big on ideas, short on talent. In case you can't tell, it's a pirate map. *blush* But, before you judge too harshly -- look how happy the boy is!)

This is my son...

...as the crazy blind present-treasure-hunting pirate about to scour the living room for his loot.

 And here are...

...all the scurvy pirates who attended the party (read: cousins).

Now, Argggh!

Be off with you.

Dog Tired

Ever have one of those days where you just need to sit down?

Veterans Day

Hooray for veterans!

Today is Veterans Day in the U.S.

The two handsome guys in the picture are my two grandfathers.

They were both World War II vets.

(Yes, I apparently liked snuggling in big leather chairs with my grandpas.

And look, we're reading a book together! They started me in on that obsession very young.)

Thank you, veterans!

Thank you for the sacrifice you've made -- and continue to make -- for our country and our freedom.

Learning from Literature: A Swift Pure Cry

Ugh. This book. I have a love/hate relationship with it. The subject matter is hard to stomach, but the writing is so beautiful, I'm compelled to keep reading.

There are times when I stumble onto a passage that showcases Author Siobhan Dowd's genius. I call it genius because it takes a special knowledge (or a lot of practice) to know exactly when to leave a scene alone, and exactly how much to say without ruining a feeling.

I thought I'd give two examples of Dowd's genius in this post.

(1) When to Leave a Scene Alone

Knowing when to end a chapter can be tough. I find myself prone to ramble. Siobhan Dowd doesn't. Without spoiling too much, here's a chapter ending from A Swift Pure Cry that impressed me:

The jacket hung open now; the shirt was two days old. He was looking at Trix and Jimmy, running across the top of the back field, heading for the copse, perhaps trying to get away from him. She saw her dad's shoulders sag, his head droop. Father Carroll's car vanished around the turn.

"Shell," he called. She could tell he wasn't in good humor. But he wasn't drunk either.

She switched on an electric ring to warm the pan.

Notice how she doesn't need to go into the conversation between the MC and the father. We can guess what will follow. We fill it all in with our imaginations. She finishes that chapter and moves on with the story in the next chapter. I love that brevity, that trust in the reader to be able to fill in the blanks. It's elegant.

(2) Knowing Exactly How Much to Say

I love the way Dowd handled this particular scene. It's a fragile one: the MC is planning to run away (for reasons I won't tell you).

She rounded the copse, then sat on the fallen tree to look down on the fold of slope a last time. She stared at the church steeple, the slate roofs, the swaying elms, the tired fields. She dumped the bag down at her feet. She took the money and ran her hands over the notes.

The ghost had followed her.

She remembered Mam's voice, singing to her that Easter night from beyond the grave.

She thought of Nellie Quirke, the dog, and the way Jimmy had been when he was sick last spring, with the white freckles standing out on his narrow face, asking for a spade.

She thought of Trix, with her paper dollies and strange chants, cuddling up for another Angie Goodie adventure.

They won't know to bolt the bedroom door at night ...

The morning ticked by.

At the end of it, she picked up her bag. The Angelus started ringing again, like a broken record. She didn't bother to count the peals. She trudged back down the back field to the house and unpacked all her things. She undid the piano, replaced the money in the caddy and put the piano back together again.

She ate the sandwich she'd made. Then she turned the oven on and started on some scones.

That's the end of this particular chapter (another fantastic ending). Isn't it amazing how Dowd doesn't tell us anything? She doesn't tell us the MC has changed her mind and decided to stay. We know through the MC's memories, her thought-process, and then her actions that she'll stay, but Dowd never has to say it outright. We're allowed to enter into the MC's feelings and that's how we know. Beautifully done, don't you think?

Like I said, A Swift Pure Cry is painful to read because it's so full of suffering. But Dowd is incredible. I love learning from her.

What books have you loved and learned from?

Alice Dancing Under the Gallows

Because of Blunt-Brain Syndrome (ie. I'm not accomplishing anything and my brain is fried) I thought I'd do on my blog what every great teacher since the introduction of the moving picture has done when they can't come up with a good lesson plan: SHOW A MOVIE.

I saw this one on Danica's blog the other day and it convicted me. I think it's Alice's boundless optimism. I've been so caught up in how tired I feel and how little the Dashingly Handsome Sidekick (DHS) is home this week (high school football playoffs + parent/teacher conferences = bluggghsplurt).

It could be third-trimester blues, losing-Grandma blues, not-having-DHS-all-to-myself blues, or maybe all of the above that's making me into a large, whiny sandwich who can't fit into any of her clothes.

Then I watched this movie. And really, what in the world do I have to complain about? And why aren't I smiling more and enjoying all the blessings that are poured daily into my lap ... and playing my piano? Why am I letting the size of my laundry pile steal my zest for life?

Hope you enjoy....

In Case of Fire...

My darling preschooler came home on Monday excited to teach me something:

"Mommy, I know what to do if you catch on fire.

You STOP, ROCK and ROLL."

She even pointed to the picture as she said it.

STOP, ROCK and ROLL.

I'm sure she's not the only four-year-old to say this, but boy, it sure was cute!

Happy Wednesday!

How Green (and Yellow and Orange and Red) is My Valley

 The view from my window gives me so much joy.

Yesterday evening.

This morning.

Happy November, everyone!

I love November.

The changing colors.

My son's birthday.

Thanksgiving (one of my favorite holidays).

High school football playoffs.

So much to look forward to!

Are any of you participating in NaNo? (For those of you non-novel-writers, it's a challenge to see who can write an entire novel in a month.)

I'm not participating because my WiP is too alluring and I don't have time for both.

But I wish all of you who are taking the plunge the best of writing-luck.

May your computers never break.

May the plot rise up to meet you.

May the cool days and crisp nights (unless you're on the other side of the equator) kindle the fires of your imaginations.

Now stop reading blogs and go write! I don't even require you to leave a comment. You have better things to do, right? *grin*