How is it already Thursday? How is it already mid-March?
Been trying to get back into my 6 a.m. drafting/revising groove, and have done so successfully… But I had forgotten how sleepy I get during the day at first. So I'm probably yawning right now as you're reading this, no matter when it is. And if I'm not, it's because I resorted to extra coffee.
I also have an exciting afternoon on the way which involves getting a filling replaced at the dentist (ready to hum my favorite dentist song as always–thoughts of Steve Martin are the only pleasant thing about going). The tooth in question is one of my front bottom ones, and broke cleanly in half and went through my lip a bit below my mouth when I was in fourth grade. It was a very exciting day, and I remember it well, because this was one of the only brief times in my life I thought perhaps I was coordinated in the hand-eye way. I had discovered that I could fly down the steep hill on the dirt and gravel road behind our house on my bike–a pink Huffy–and jam on the breaks at the bottom, whipping around to stop with an enormously satisfying skidding sound and leaving a giant dust cloud in my wake. Obviously, I was super-cool.
Until, oh, the third or fourth time I did it and had a catastrophic dismount–in front of kids my own age who were visiting the neighbor whose house I was riding in front of, and probably trying to impress with my badassery. I remember the neighbor coming out and asking with great concern if I needed them to help/call home/etc, but not to be completely shamed from my Evel Knievel fantasy, I forced myself to get on my bike and ride home.
All the drama ensued, though it was determined I didn't need stitches because of where the wound was. The tooth came all the way through, and I had picked it up, but alas, it could not be put back on, so filling. But, you know, flaming disastrous dismount aside, this was the grade where if you had a broken arm or leg or stitches or any kind of visible injury you were a mini-celebrity for at least a day at school. Of course you were! You'd survived a brush with DEATH. And so, I took the pain in stride, expecting my moment of glory.
It was not to be. Because what I had was not cool stitches or a cast people could sign. What I had was a giant scab above my chin. Which, unbeknownst to me until the straightest of the straight A students in our class turned to tell me, looked not like a battle scar but like "You have chocolate on your face."
And scene.
Anyway, I actually dropped in not to tell you that story, but to point you a couple of other places I am today.
- First up, I talked to Jeffrey Lee Puckett at the Courier-Journal about YA and dystopians and Divergent in particular earlier this week. We discussed all sorts of things–dystopian themes, gender politics, some of our favorite YA and children's books. But I had no idea I was going to be my own sidebar. And I'm a writer and scholar, which sounds very fancy.* The story is here.
- Also, the wonderful Sandra Nickel invited me by her place for her "What's on…" interview series, which I love reading and was honored to be a part of. You can find out what's on my mind, reading stack, windowsill, TV, playlist, and in my catalog of fears thither.
*Remember the pink Huffy. Never forget.