Tag Archives: reading

Eustace Diamonds (100)


To see this week’s photo or more flashes prompted by it, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and explore the Friday Fictioneers.

When Eustace becomes the dragon, I laugh hysterically. My dad is reading and I can see the tragic comedy captured in this fumbling, speechless boy-turned-dragon on the sand. To me, this is not a parable on greed. It is the ultimate embarrassing moment.

Maybe it sinks in over time because later I am an angry person – and so unforgiving of injustice. I wish I could be a dragon that I might fly in the face of money, or hoard treasure and make friends with lonely people. I wish I could be a dragon that forgets, not an elephant, always remembering.


Drea says I’m a beast


And I think this should just be the purpose of Twitter — to have your friends say silly and uplifting things to you from halfway around the world. Life is just so much better that way.

She called me a beast because I tweeted that I was about to run 8.5 miles and I tried, but then I got lost and only managed 7.61, but according to Map My Run, I ran about a 7.52 (minutes per mile) pace the whole time, which makes me feel happy. Next long run will be the 8.5, though, and I will be even faster. Half marathon April 15. Yeah, baby.

In other news, I have two columns to write for this week and it seems like a lot, but I will post them promptly when they are published and you lovelies can click on the link and pretend to think I’m really smart and that will make it seem worth it.

Then I really need to read Vertigo by Sebald because apparently he is the writer I’m striving to be. Therefore, reading him could vastly improve my life. Or make it worse. Because there’s always a chance I’ll become profoundly depressed as a result of seeing that someone else has already done everything I’ve ever imagined doing.

Fortunately, I don’t think he has a blog.

(Rules for) Living Life on the Lime (89)


A). Imagine what you would be like if you were 89 years old.

B). Eat a seasonable fruit.

C). If you are going running in Scotland, wear protective layers over your ears.

  1. For example, a bandana that would be mistaken for gang gear in the south Seattle or Chicago is definitely appropriate while running in Scotland.
  2. I mean, you could wear a hat, too. That would probably work.

D). Consider writing down a plot to take over the world. It will probably be a bestseller.

E). Read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Reading is good for you.

  1. Then draw pictures of tattoos you wish you could get for a year and then make disappear.
  2. Draw lots of these pictures because it is good to exercise your creative mind.

F). Having a schedule is good.

Sometimes you just need to shut the door.

Reading a Poem — Last Night


I read a poem for an open mic last night because I’m planning to slam in three weeks and it seemed like an appropriate form of preparation. I went with one that I Limed previously (Like Road, Like Car), before I was blogging excessively. My poetry professor from a couple of semesters ago hated it, but uh, I chose not to take this as a sign that peeps at a reading wouldn’t like it. Plus, I’ve practiced it aloud before.

It was a little scary. My face got progressively hotter as I read and it’s not really a short poem, so I was burning by the time I finished. I didn’t cry, though, or throw up. And that was awesome.

Big and exciting discovery of the evening: stuttering and quietness don’t seem to be issues for my most nervous of selves. Rather, I seem to have the quirky “deep blush” thing going on. At least I know where to go light on the makeup.

Fortunately, my slams really were written to be performed, so that should make the whole performance piece easier.

Unfortunately, I have not mastered this thing called “memorization” and I’m really wishing it came a little more naturally.

If anyone has any grand advice or helpful tips, I would be grateful like whoa (especially if they are magical tips that immediately imprint my poetry into my brain).

Return from a Writing/Reading Retreat


Oh hello, blogosphere, I’m back again.

Let me tell you, I had an adventurous weekend in an exceptionally large country house on a wee hill among the rolling hills of rural Scotland. Gorgeous.

When I say adventurous, I mean I stayed in a strange bed for almost two days because I became quite ill immediately upon arrival. (This is my awesome face). But actually, it all turned out to be very productive and I read somewhere near 350 pages — finishing both “The Year of Magical Thinking” by Joan Didion and also “Housekeeping” by Marylin Robinson, and getting well into “This is not about me” by Janice Galloway. I think my only issue thus far with “This is not about me” is that it actually is entirely about her, starting with birth, and providing only close and first person narrative. So the title is a big fat lie. My poet friend Will suggested it was meant to be ironic and I said that would be fine but I wasn’t sure. And when you’re not sure about these things, it’s just best not to buy in wholeheartedly.

Anyway, productivity provided by fever and excessive sleep. Not my usual refrain. Still, I got in two gorgeous walks, took loads of pictures (139) of other people having an excellent time (which I also had, but mostly with my books in the strange bed).

Weekend high point: the clean bath tub, with amazing hot water.

Weekend low point: lying in the bath tub and noticing a large spider was in one corner of the bathroom ceiling and a small spider’s nest was in one corner of the bathroom window.

Weekend medium point: realizing that the various spider presences were not particularly active nor particularly close to me.

Good and unrelated news: Emory editorials staff likes me enough to let me write more for them. Oh happy journalistic soul.

Scotland: Green, wet, muddy



I am back.

No doubt this is unsurprising to “my readers” who have been following the travel posts and know that the week has been long and adventurous. It may be surprising that I have arrived all the way back in Scotland unscathed, though, especially given the relative fiascos that occurred during each of my travel intervals.

I am alive, though, not sick and only a little worse for the wear. Soon, I will have exercised, showered, and cleaned my room — the essentials of a return to real life.

And then I will probably write more blog posts because I feel I have not been strict enough in my creative jaunts. I did, however, read all of “The Journalist and the Murderer” by Janet Malcolm, half of Chekhov’s “The Lady and the Little Dog” (collection of short stories), and another 2% of “Middlemarch” (because that is how my iPad informs me of my progress).

Maybe this will inspire me to greater blogging heights. Although I think George Eliot is more fun to read than I am to write. So that might be a hinderance.

Dad, it’s your birthday


Dear Dad,

  1. Thank you for picking me up at 3 in the morning when I got scared on the bridge near the middle school and called you on my cell phone.
    • Also, thank you for taking my friends home and for not yelling at me or even seeming mad.
  2. Thank you for canceling that meeting when we were sledding and the inner tube popped and we had to get a replacement. You called from a pay phone in Target and told them that you had to play in the snow.
  3. Thank you for taking me to soccer camp even though I did cartwheels and picked dandelions instead of ‘bringing the pain’ on defense.
  4. Thank you for watching me play soccer for over a decade before ever mentioning that it’s your least favorite sport – except maybe hockey, right?
    • Oh, and thank you for teaching me how to kick, and for getting excited about dribbling drills, and for learning soccer theory so you could analyze games with me after the fact, for hours on end.
  5. Thank you for knowing and sharing with me the glories of board games, card games, and made-up games.
    • Especially thank you for playing pretend with me, for crawling around on your hands and knees and for being a mermaid or a little brother or a tree frog upon request (or command).
    • And ping-pong. Thank you for ping-pong. For the long conversations played while bouncing the ball back and forth. Thank you for playing with me even when I beat you – I’m pretty sure it only happened, like, once.
  6. Thank you for just saying no (not like in DARE). I read this blog the other day that reminded me of you – I recommend just glancing over the comics (the text is too much). But I mean that you didn’t tell me to stop asking questions, you just said no when that was the answer, and you always answered.
  7. Thank you for telling me you were sorry when I got my period and I was so angry about being a woman. I’m not anymore. But it helped that you understood.
  8. Thank you for running with me and for timing me and discussing times with me.
    • And thank you so much for being competitive and letting me be competitive.
  9. Thank you for reading all of the Redwall series with me, and Narnia. Thank you for the funny dragon voice you did when the boy put the ring on his finger. I laughed so long that we couldn’t read any more that night. Thank you for liking My Friend Flicka so much. I still don’t really remember it.
    • Thank you for reading Roald Dahl with me, especially the Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More and especially Danny, the Champion of the World.
  10. Thank you for being a feminist.
  11. Thank you for taking me to that art class where we drew the trees in the snow and for proving to me over and over again that people liked mine as well as yours, even though it seemed so messy to me.
  12. Thank you for listening to all my crazy music and letting me tell you the lyrics.
    • Thank you for always saying that my piano-playing sounds good.
  13. Thank you for getting excited about writing editorials as a competition over Christmas break, and for being the sort of person who writes editorials and cares about the world.
  14. Thank you for being clumsy.
  15. Gosh, and thank you for playing football in college. I wish you didn’t have any leftover injuries, but I love telling people that you were a monster with no neck (according to Mom).
    • And along those lines, thank you for having even bigger quads in high school than I did. I guess it makes sense, but I tell people that you couldn’t wear jeans because they wouldn’t fit and then I can smile because my quads used to be so big, too.
  16. Thank you for making pancakes all the time, and other yummy breakfasts, and for burning grilled cheese sandwiches so that when I’m away from home for too long I can just order a grilled cheese and ask them to burn it so that I don’t feel so sad. It’s never exactly the same, but it helps.
  17. Thank you for letting me come to workshops with you, in Oregon and New York, and for being humble. People love you so much, and I’m glad they understand what I do.
  18. Thank you for visiting me everywhere in the world and for planning April Fool’s pranks with mom.
    • Especially, thank you for dressing up as a woman once (as a prank – I recognize other people read my blog and maybe I should be clear about that). It was incredible.
    • Also, thank you for thinking fake poop is funny.
    • And thank you for being Uncle Leroy!
  19. Thank you for being cool enough that when you came to do guest lectures in my fifth grade class, I was proud instead of embarrassed.
  20. Thank you for being my dad.
  21. Thank you for loving pastries and bananas. I love them, too.
  22. Thank you for the memory I have of riding my bike to Paxson in 1st, 2nd, and 3rdgrade. I can see you ahead of me on WaterWorks hill, speeding down with a backpack and helmet on. You were so proud when I would keep up.
    • Also, thank you for letting me throw up on you that one time.
  23. Thank you for letting me be the same as you, and different from you.

I love you, Dad. Happy birthday.

– The Other Lime (Mom was really the first one)

This image is brought to you by Mom and Dad, World Travelers and Dramatic Photographers