The Negligent Mommy

Not with a bang, but with a whimper. And a Fresca.

 

I did it.  50,000 words (well, 50,303, if you want to be precise about it) in 28 days.  I am officially a Novelist, at least according to the NaNoWriMo folks.  It wasn't pretty toward the end--I concluded the novel a few hours ago, but it was only 48,000 words long, so I've been scramling for those last 2,000 for  a while. 

There is also the fact that the vast majority of what I've written is total crap that will have to be discarded, or at least substantially rewritten, before I am willing to let anyone--and that includes my husband, who knows the risks he incurs by mocking me--read it.  The chunks of it are completely out of order.  The prologue doesn't fit with what happens at the end.

But I'm taking comfort in what one of the real (i.e., published) novelists said in one of the e-mail pep talks that got sent out:  Writing the first draft of a novel is like carving a huge hunk of granite out of a quarry wall.  It's only the first step--you still have to shape the huge block of stone into a sculpture.  That's what revising and editing are for.

Next month.

Holy Crap!

I have a six year old!

Of course, I've had one of those before, but now he is a very handsome eight-year-old!

All of which makes me old-old-old!

My kid on race relations

Wednesday, November 5, 2008:

Andy:  "Mommy, I'm tired of white people being President all the time."

Me:  "Well, kiddo, that problem has been solved."

Andy:  "I know.  Yay, Obama!"

*******

This morning, listening to NPR on the way to school:

A:    "Mommy, who's that Mama Africa they're talking about?"

Me:    "She was a singer from South Africa.  You know, for many, many years she couldn't live in her own country."

A:    "Why not?"

Me:    "Because she had brown skin, and the people with white skin who were in charge didn't like the things she sang about.  So they told her she couldn't go home."

A (vehemently):    "That's so STUPID!" 

Seriously, people, do I have to do *everything* myself?

Do y'all know how many women are in the South Carolina Senate as of today?

Go on, take a guess.  You'll laugh your ass off.

That's right, none.  Nada, zip, zilch, zero.

Fer cryin' out loud in a bucket.

Hey look, a soapbox!

Seriously, do it.  People have died so you could.  Are you just going to throw that away?

If you have trouble, or see someone having trouble, call this number:

 

1-866-OUR-VOTE

That's the number for the Election Protection Coalition, a non-partisan organization which exists for the sole purpose of helping people exercise their right to vote.  Voting machines down and no paper ballots provided? Call.  People being refused the right to vote because of I.D. problems? Call.  Polls closing early, or not letting people in line at closing time vote? Call.  Purple space aliens telling you to vote for Ralph Maccio?  Call, but we'll probably laugh at you.

When you call, a friendly neighborhood volunteer, such as yours truly, will be dispatched to the polling place, copy of the law in hand, to assist with the problem.

Vote.