Miss you. Love you.
This morning, as the kids were getting ready to go outside I heard Becca scream, "There's a dead mouse!"
Sure enough, lying frozen on the ground was a dead-dead-dead mouse, eyes all open and beady. Ugh.
"Andrew!" I squealed to our oldest, "You have to handle this for me! I can't do mice. Please get a shovel and scoop it up." He promptly started searching for the needed item, when I saw KwanYong standing there silently.
"Kwan Yong!" I squealed, again, "YOU should be doing this. You're closer to being a grown man than anyone else in this garage."
"What-do-you-want-me-to-do?" he asked. I rolled my eyes back sarcastically, then ran inside to get a plastic bag. While frantically searching for the trash bag, commercial-grade Lysol, and an orange Toxic Waste clean-up suit, KwanYong came into the kitchen cool as a cucumber, opened a drawer, then walked back outside.
Suddenly, cheers erupt from the garage. "Yay! Hooray! Go KwanYong!"
It seems our Korean boarder had a real break through here in America, today. He became a true man. The kind that saves a garage full of screaming damsels from dragons, disease, and mice.
Before I get to my notebooks, I've a stack of papers on which I've scribbled countless notes and trains of thought. This week, I'm substituing in kindergarten and teaching the kids how to make a bubble map, which is really just a simple way to teach them how to brainstorm. Looking at the scrawled writings upon these stacks of paper, I wonder if my own kindergarten teacher would be mightily unimpressed by my own lackey use of bubble mapping. Oh, woe.
There are a few notes of these notes which I can't for the life I me remember what I meant when I wrote them. But, most of my scrawled sentences and words bring back a flood of thoughts and ideas. The penciled bits and pieces on scraps of torn paper, grocery bags, napkins reinspire that original idea. The tilt of a phrase, or the way I drew arrows, or grouped a list take me back to the moment the idea came into mind in the middle of the grocery store, or as I walked to pick up kids from school, or at the end of the night just as I drift.....off.....to bed. That's so often when those pesky ideas crop up, isn't it?
So, somewhere in the middle of my super scribbly, non-bubble-mapped papers, I found this unopened, unsent envelope. It's also unstamped. Golly, I do that a lot. Write, seal, address, no stamp. Note to self--get some stamps.
Although, in this case, maybe it's a good thing. I can't for the life of me remember what I wrote. Not to mention what might make it good enough to query Writer's House, that holy edifice of New York writing agents. Good gravy, what was I thinking?!
Shall we open it?
Yes. Yes we shall.
Allright. There she is. A one page letter with a one word first sentence.
Those first sentences are such a doozy, aren't they? Everytime I send a query, I nearly pop an eye vessel trying to conjure that first sentence. It's just all too easy to imagine some gum-chewing intern glancing at that first sentence nonchalantly, and tossing it into the office incinerator.
Now, with retrospect on my side, I'm wondering if a one word first sentence is any good. I think not. At least, not the word "FRIDAY." Maybe if I'd thrown in a real clincher of a word. Like "Abominable." or "Byzantine." or "Floccinaucinhilipilification." That would have been so good.
So, with that first word out of the way, whatever was my point?