Datebook : July 21, 2008
We are into the “Dog Days of Summer” although recently I am not sure if this should not read “Daze.”
The highlight of each day seems to center on if I should have Honey-Nut Cheerios or settle for the more sensible plain, whole-grain variety.
My son, home for the summer from his freshman year at college, announced last week that he wanted to spend an afternoon with me for some “quality time.” I packed a travel package of Kleenex for our outing and my new Coolpix camera anticipating in-depth conversations and photo-ops at the city museum. “Quality time” to an 18-year-old turns out to be a stop at the local running-shoe store for new Asics ($132.00), a haul from Office Depot for second year school supplies ($84.00), and a jaunt through the aisles of Target ($76.00). We had more of a Saturday Night Live spoof for a MasterCard commercial than soul searching discovery. It was, however, time with my son who will now deny that he ever skated, let alone had the leading role in the ice version of “Peter and the Wolf”—an off-Broadway production to say the least.
As usual, the high drama in my daily existence is anchored to my daughter and all things skating.
My aforementioned promise to my daughter to complete a novel this summer has been productive. It is a work of fiction but, of course, some truth may have layered itself into the plot and characterizations.
“Mom, you Cannot Use these names!” my daughter editorializes from the bottom of page three.
“They are just ‘working names,’" I explained. “It helps me keep things in order. ‘Brock’ was actually a name from a popular soap opera. I think he was a bit of a cad for at least one season but may have redeemed himself. I’m not sure. I stopped watching.”
“Don’t you think it is a bit drastic to have the murder plot center around the three positions for the Olympic team? Is that going to be believable?”
“Sweetheart, it will be so believable. You were too young to remember the mother of girl who was trying out for cheerleader; she killed the mom of a team member hoping the daughter would be so distraught it would open a position on the squad. In real life things are not so tight. In fiction anyone with any sense would have realized that would not work.”
My daughter looks at me with a slight elevation of her eyebrows. (As she advances toward the end of her teen years this seems to be a more fashionable conveyance of annoyance or vexation than the previously moderated eye roll.) She has added more capitalization to her speech patterns however.
I try to placate her.
“I toyed with centering the plot around a costume ordered from Russia that had real diamonds smuggled in instead of the ever-glued Austrian crystals, but that seemed so, I don’t know, trite and expected.”
“Ummh…well, you aren’t using any character names that might cause me Embarrassment, are you? You don’t have any minor characters with extraordinary skating abilities covertly named ‘Chuck Black’ or ‘pixie’ girls with oxymoron names?”
“Sweetheart, this is a work of fiction. Of course there will be some truth to it—the training schedules, the friendships, the moms sitting in the stands. The actual sport itself will be clarified and researched. Some things have to be changed of course—I cannot divulge the price of skating costumes or the hourly rate of skating coaches—to do so might launch a horrific fluff piece regarding Lycra and spandex before the Cleveland Nationals and commence an IRS investigation into unreported income, or at least padded expense accounts.”
She sighs and closes the manuscript.
“I think I will wait for this to come out in hard cover. When do you think this will be published?”
“Well, I’m thinking they might wait until right before the 2010 Vancouver Games. It can be part of the pre-hyped press. Maybe it will even get a bit of play like the Harry Potter series, or the new Twilight books. Oh, not in sales of course, but that the book stores will open at midnight and fans can come dressed in skating costumes.”
“That is an image I want to erase my mind. There should be a weight restriction on Lycra.”
“Well, it isn’t that far-fetched. Remember you went to see Blades of Glory a few years ago with about twenty of your fellow skaters, and you were all decked out in glissenette, rhinestones, and beads.”
“Yes, well, that was a bit different AND several years ago. I think we’ve all grown a bit since then.”
“Of course you have dear, and I would never reveal secrets like that in my novel. No one would believe it anyway.”
Mombo
The highlight of each day seems to center on if I should have Honey-Nut Cheerios or settle for the more sensible plain, whole-grain variety.
My son, home for the summer from his freshman year at college, announced last week that he wanted to spend an afternoon with me for some “quality time.” I packed a travel package of Kleenex for our outing and my new Coolpix camera anticipating in-depth conversations and photo-ops at the city museum. “Quality time” to an 18-year-old turns out to be a stop at the local running-shoe store for new Asics ($132.00), a haul from Office Depot for second year school supplies ($84.00), and a jaunt through the aisles of Target ($76.00). We had more of a Saturday Night Live spoof for a MasterCard commercial than soul searching discovery. It was, however, time with my son who will now deny that he ever skated, let alone had the leading role in the ice version of “Peter and the Wolf”—an off-Broadway production to say the least.
As usual, the high drama in my daily existence is anchored to my daughter and all things skating.
My aforementioned promise to my daughter to complete a novel this summer has been productive. It is a work of fiction but, of course, some truth may have layered itself into the plot and characterizations.
“Mom, you Cannot Use these names!” my daughter editorializes from the bottom of page three.
“They are just ‘working names,’" I explained. “It helps me keep things in order. ‘Brock’ was actually a name from a popular soap opera. I think he was a bit of a cad for at least one season but may have redeemed himself. I’m not sure. I stopped watching.”
“Don’t you think it is a bit drastic to have the murder plot center around the three positions for the Olympic team? Is that going to be believable?”
“Sweetheart, it will be so believable. You were too young to remember the mother of girl who was trying out for cheerleader; she killed the mom of a team member hoping the daughter would be so distraught it would open a position on the squad. In real life things are not so tight. In fiction anyone with any sense would have realized that would not work.”
My daughter looks at me with a slight elevation of her eyebrows. (As she advances toward the end of her teen years this seems to be a more fashionable conveyance of annoyance or vexation than the previously moderated eye roll.) She has added more capitalization to her speech patterns however.
I try to placate her.
“I toyed with centering the plot around a costume ordered from Russia that had real diamonds smuggled in instead of the ever-glued Austrian crystals, but that seemed so, I don’t know, trite and expected.”
“Ummh…well, you aren’t using any character names that might cause me Embarrassment, are you? You don’t have any minor characters with extraordinary skating abilities covertly named ‘Chuck Black’ or ‘pixie’ girls with oxymoron names?”
“Sweetheart, this is a work of fiction. Of course there will be some truth to it—the training schedules, the friendships, the moms sitting in the stands. The actual sport itself will be clarified and researched. Some things have to be changed of course—I cannot divulge the price of skating costumes or the hourly rate of skating coaches—to do so might launch a horrific fluff piece regarding Lycra and spandex before the Cleveland Nationals and commence an IRS investigation into unreported income, or at least padded expense accounts.”
She sighs and closes the manuscript.
“I think I will wait for this to come out in hard cover. When do you think this will be published?”
“Well, I’m thinking they might wait until right before the 2010 Vancouver Games. It can be part of the pre-hyped press. Maybe it will even get a bit of play like the Harry Potter series, or the new Twilight books. Oh, not in sales of course, but that the book stores will open at midnight and fans can come dressed in skating costumes.”
“That is an image I want to erase my mind. There should be a weight restriction on Lycra.”
“Well, it isn’t that far-fetched. Remember you went to see Blades of Glory a few years ago with about twenty of your fellow skaters, and you were all decked out in glissenette, rhinestones, and beads.”
“Yes, well, that was a bit different AND several years ago. I think we’ve all grown a bit since then.”
“Of course you have dear, and I would never reveal secrets like that in my novel. No one would believe it anyway.”
Mombo
posted by IDC Staff @ 9:28 AM
1 Comments:
Chuck Black...is that a reference to Charlie White? I love this blog, Mombo, LOVE IT. I look forward to your posts every Monday!
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