Captain's Blog: I hate head colds

Stardate: Nasal Decongestant

I can't tell you how much I hate head colds. I can't think of one good thing to say about a head cold.

Top Story: Easter Eggs Go Into Hiding

Reports have reached us that Easter eggs all over America, stuffed to capacity, are preparing to go into hiding. Red, green, blue, yellow; it doesn't matter. They all wait nervously for the final word which means they must disappear before voracious egg-hunters begin the search.

Who will survive?

Terrible Log Line Contest

If you aspire to write terrible log lines, check out this:

http://www.guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog/

Captain's Blog: If I Was Floating in Space, My Feet Would Not Hurt This Much

Stardate: Way past bedtime

The little people are in bed, and I'm trying hard not to be envious. They don't have to grade papers, and there are four of them to generate schoolwork and only one of me to deal with it.

(Although two of the little people aren't really so little anymore, and they insist that they're really ensigns by now. I maintain that unless you clean the bathroom once a week, you cannot be promoted to ensign. Also, ensigns must be able to swab. It is a longstanding tradition, and I refuse to be the kind of captain who doesn't observe the formalities of swabbing.)

Also, two of them don't have to deal with physics or trigonometry. Somehow that should benefit me, but I can't quite figure out how yet.

It's been a long and busy day, and I decided to make it longer by making banana bread and streusel topped strawberry muffins. (Please note that being able to bake floofy snacks is not required in order to be a captain, but it does make for a happier crew. Also note that spell-check denies floofy is a word. It's objection to my using the word is duly noted and ignored.)

Somewhere along the way, my feet got really tired of standing in the kitchen. I think it was because I was wearing my old shoes. All I know for a fact is that if I was floating in space, my feet would not hurt this much. But on the other hand, I've gotten sort of used to oxygen. Decisions, decisions. I think I'm better off here.

Muffins, anyone?

Nothing Like a Warm Brownie and a Smile

Today was a busy day. I didn't save the universe. I didn't discover anything that altered life for mankind. To be honest, I didn't even get my house cleaned and all the papers graded for school.

But I did get to make brownies with my youngest child. We had a good time, just doing something fun together. You know, sometimes, that's enough.

When Really Bad is Really Good

I don't know how many people look forward to exercise. Probably very few. But we do look forward to the results. So here's an exercise which I hope will help us all come up with some great ideas as we work on our books. (P.S. I didn't come up with this, but am adapting it for my own current needs.)

1. Lift pencil

2. Lift paper

3. Choose character

4. Duct tape mouth of inner editor

5. Drop and give me twenty-five terrible things that could happen to your protagonist (You heard me, mister. I said twenty-five.)

Because really bad is really good. The worse things get for your protag, the better it is for you. I'm not good at making my MC suffer, so I'm hoping that doing this is going to help me get past a stuck place on a ms that I'm working on, especially since I only have a vague idea of where I want to go with it. Hope it works for you too!

Who Are The Manufacturers Kidding?

Today I fed a friend's baby some babyfood. Having eaten mushed pears and raspberries earlier, she was an unsuspecting victim when I gave her the first bite of Herbed Chicken and Pasta. Her expression and subsequent wails as we continued the meal clearly said, "Why are you trying to force me to eat Weirdly Flavored Chicken Gunk and Pasta Globs?"

It was not fun for either of us.

Personally, I'd eat chocolate cake for every meal if I could get away with it. Alas, that's not possible. I remember my college meals of popsicles and cold cereal. Cooking was not a skill I had acquired at that point in my life, plus my roommates never cleaned up after themselves in the kitchen. After helping them get organized once, I wasn't interested in staying on as their housemaid. Thus the strange uncooked meals.

But I do feel a little bit for those under the age of 18 months who have to eat baby food. You don't even know how to say the word "yuck," and you are totally at the mercy of the adult with the spoon. In my case, I can't quite bring myself to try out Weirdly Flavored Chicken Gunk with Pasta Globs. But I guess in the baby's case, it's a good thing that people don't remember much of what happens to them before the age of three.