Nuts

Have yourself a nutty little Christmas.

Island of Misfit Toys

My TV persona remains as timeless as ever.

Finally

I am a circus freak. I juggle plates. Today I have one less plate. I would like to have a gigantic piece of chocolate mousse on that plate, but I don't think that will happen.

Took my final and paid an overdue book fine at the library. The Hispanic librarian will no doubt end up in my fictional world somewhere. Her tired, over-worked sigh and pet phrase, "I'm telling you..." cracked me up.

A weight is lifted. I sigh with relief. Here comes Christmas.

A is for Academically Applied Awesomeness

I took a Creative Writing course this semester at the local junior college. Mainly because I wanted access to the campus gym but also because in all my hundreds of hours of college education I had never taken one. This despite that I am a writer of many moons.
We had to show a certain level of proficiency in short stories, novels, poetry, and drama. I wrote a devestatingly honest essay about a child's view of divorce for an essay and won the teacher over, thank God. I would need her affections for the poetry. The poetry had me shaking in my boots but I managed to amuse her with my pitiable attempts at wit. It helped that I kicked major mundo ass on the other mediums, novels (actually the first chapter of one) and drama.
I made a frickin' A.
Coolness.

Nanowrimo

I did it.
Again.
50k, ya'll.
Aw, yeah.
Uh.

William Styron

For those who have dwelt in depression's dark wood, and known its inexplicable agony, their return from the abyss is not unlike the ascent of the poet, trudging upward and upward out of hell's black depths and at last emerging into what he saw as "the shining world." There, whoever has been restored to health has almost always been restored to the capacity for serenity and joy, and this may be indemnity enough for having endured the despair beyond despair.

E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle.
And so we came forth, and once again beheld the stars.

By HILLEL ITALIE, AP NEW YORK - William Styron, the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist whose explorations of the darkest corners of the human mind and experience were charged by his own near-suicidal demons, died Wednesday in Martha's Vineyard, Mass. He was 81.
Styron's daughter, Alexandra, said the author died of pneumonia at Martha's Vineyard Hospital. Styron, who had homes in Martha's Vineyard and Connecticut, had been in failing health for a long time.
A handsome, muscular man, with a strong chin and wavy dark hair that turned an elegant white, Styron was a Virginia native whose obsessions with race, class and personal guilt led to such tormented narratives as "Lie Down In Darkness" and "The Confessions of Nat Turner," which won the Pulitzer despite protests that the book was racist and inaccurate.
His other works included "Sophie's Choice," the award-winning novel about a Holocaust survivor from Poland, and "A Tidewater Morning," a collection of fiction pieces. He also published a book of essays, "This Quiet Dust," and the best-selling memoir "Darkness Visible," in which Styron recalled nearly taking his own life.

I Need A Hug

Today is my eighth wedding anniversary and my husband and I are apart. My favorite night of the year, Halloween. What a way to celebrate my 100th post.