Building Castles on the Beach

Back in July, I posted a rather hasty entry about a writer's conference I would be attending in San Francisco. Since then, I've purposely put off writing about that experience so that I could finally say what I'm trying to say now. So lemme 'splain. The emphasis of the Algonkian Write to Market Conference is the pitch. Conference director or leader or headmaster or whatever he is, Michael Neff, says that the pitch tail wags the novel dog . You can read it in his own words by clicking that link. But the idea is that if you can't verbalize a decent pitch for your story, then chances are your story needs work. This idea was illuminating to me, since I showed up to this conference with a story that included little external antagonism and tiny buds of dramatic turns. How fast would John Keating tear this from the pages of his text book? I've studied--and taught--literature for most of my adult life, so understanding development of a story arc and dramati...

The boy is crawling now. Since his nine month birthday about ten days ago. He just decided that day he wanted to go. So he did. And he hasn't stopped. Twenty-three things you can't do any more once your child knows how to self-locomote: 1. Take your eyes off the child. 2. Take a shower. 3. Go to the bathroom. 4. Get dressed in private. 5. Leave your shoes out. 6. Leave doors open. 7. Leave drawers open. 8. Leave cupboards open. 9. Drop anything. 10. Put the child on the bed. 11. Take naps anywhere with the child in your arms. 12. Keep trash cans on the floor. 13. Type while the child is on your lap. 14. Sit in a rolling desk chair. 15. Run on a treadmill. 16. Let crumbs fall where they may. 17. Vacuum only a couple times a week. 18. Unplug anything from a wall outlet. 19. Plug anything into a wall outlet. 20. Assume your stereo speaker wires are well-hidden and out of the way all tucked back behind the furniture. 21. Pla...

Maybe we both originated from and will be terminated by primates. We all know that soon humanity will be decimated by our own hubris. We will either accidentally enhance the intelligence of the common ape or purposely build a contagion so resilient that it will mutate into something that reanimates the dead. If it's the former, there's no coming back because Charlton Heston and Phil Hartman are dead and everyone already forgot that Marky Mark ever made a trip into that wacky wormhole. If it's the latter, then our future rests with those of us clever enough to study our Zombie Apocalypse manuals. (There is a slim chance that some grieving mother will find the monkey's paw that a bunch of mystics turned into a human key that just might be your sister in order to protect the secret of everlasting life because they knew that a lasting everlasting life meant only an ever worsening craving for brains. I think I'm mixing my myths here, but probably ...

I'll put this photo first. Then back up. Don't worry. No one was harmed in the making of this blog.  Previously on:  When we last left little boy Xander, he was about to be put under for a Sleep Study . (Read that part first.) The Call: My original assumption of what the sleep study entailed was all wrong. I figured that once the boy was off the oxygen for a little while, they (and who "they" were was always ambiguous) would come to our house one night and check his pulse-ox while he slept. If he passed, they would take away all the oxygen equipment and declare Xander will live long and prosper. When we got the call that the sleep study clinic had an opening on Sunday, I realized that we would instead be spending the night at the hospital, doing a full, thorough sleep study. Which is fine, except that only one parent is allowed to accompany the baby. For a variety of reasons, we decided it would be me, so I steeled myself for a night of fitful sleep in a...

Back in June, I decided it was time that Xander graduated from the bedside bassinet to his crib in his own room. I was out of school and felt like I could spend all night coaxing him back to sleep if he didn't like where he was. But on the second night when his mom compulsively went in to check on him, she found that, in his sleep, Xander had pulled his oxygen cannula down from his nose and it was now twisted around his neck. (If you've read my first installment of A Star is Born , you'll recall that my wife's compulsions are often right on the money and are therefore essential to our lives.) You might also recall that this is how Xander looked with an oxygen cannula up his nose. Xander was okay--no actual throat constriction was evident--but he ended up sleeping back in his parents' room for the next month or so. Momma called the doctor and the doctor said this is natural and expected. As children on oxygen get older, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep ...