Good morning from Las Vegas!

We arrived yesterday morning. The city hadn't woken up yet. We walked into our hotel, The Rivera, and all the signs at Check-In were turned to Check Out, since nobody checks into a hotel at ten o'clock in the morning. We'd been up since 4:40 a.m. and were pretty tired but had had enough coffee over the course of the morning to keep us from sleeping. So we went to our room, ready to drop our stuff and head back out for a bit. I love hotels. They have king-sized beds and fluffy pillows and cable TV. I was psyched to find out where we'd be staying for the next four nights...

The room was AWFUL. I won't even go into detail (because I don't want to remember it), but I'll say: I cried. Yes, I cried. I didn't want to stay there AND be missing my baby for five days. No way. I asked C if he'd call the front desk and ask how canceling a reservation works (how much money we'd lose). I really wanted to go somewhere else.

He was kind enough to call and ask, and the woman on the phone told him, he hung up, then she called right back and said, Why don't you come downstairs and talk to Vera. I'm sure there's something we can do to make you a little happier.

My spirits perked. I was feeling a little guilty for not liking our room. Surely I could just ask for a few extra pillows and more bed sheets and deal. How snobby am I?! But still, I was so happy...though hesitant to believe the rooms in the hotel could get much better.

Long story semi-short, they did. Vera was as kind as can be and got us a new (recently remodeled) room for the same price, and when we arrived in the room, she called immediately and asked how we were or if they needed to upgrade us even more. I said no. "Thank you so much. This is marvelous." And it is. Snooty, spoiled Meghan got her fluffy king-sized bed with fluffy pillows and a flat-screen TV, AND a view of Trump Tower and the mountains. (Don't really care about the TT bit.)

So we settled in and went downstairs to find something to eat. We ended up playing our first slot machine together and won zero monies (but only put in one dollar). Then we went outside, where it was raining, walked across the street, and went to Circus Circus. We're in the "old" part of the strip; just down the street are the bigger, newer hotels. I'd always wanted to go into CC when I was a kid, but my parents said no, so I thought: let's do it now. It's probably just as grossish as our hotel, and we'll probably not go back again, so let's go have lunch at Circus Circus. And we did. And it was gross. :) But we'd eaten at a decent price and were ready to go back to our hotel and have a nap.

Of course, by that point I'd already called my folks to check on Drue at least three times. She's doing great, btw. Loving spending time with her grandparents. They have such a cozy home; I can't imagine her NOT enjoying herself tremendously there, even at eight months.

After a quick nap, we played a game of Arkham Horror in our room then decided to hit the town!

I would like to take a break here and note that pictures are forthcoming. They won't send from my phone to my email currently, but as soon as they do, they'll be posted! Not that they're much to look at.

As we were walking down the strip and were thankful we were wearing our tennis shoes, we talked about C.S. Lewis and his idea about hell being (to those of you who know all about this and realize I'm communicating it incorrectly, please give me a little grace here) noise...or that noise is something that works to keep us from God. We realized that we were in the midst of a lot of noise, nothing but noise. C brought up the scene in Never Ending Story (is that the right movie?) where the kid (girl?) is in a trash heap, and the witch is trying to distract her with noise. "Here, look your dolly. Oooooh, look at pretty such and such," etc. Man, I remember being scared so badly by that scene, and so I was scared when - and honestly a little peeved that - he brought it up. (I got over it.) It was a good conversation. And nice to be alone together, though I miss Drue something fierce. All this to say, I'm glad we're just visiting.

We went to the Bellagio and to Caesar's Palace, which is crazy cool (and Bette Midler is performing her last week of shows there, so all the older folks were out in droves to see her and wearing black and fur). We spent way to much money on two drinks each then made our way back to the Riviera, where we decided to eat something. So we went to the best restaurant in the hotel and ordered spinach and artichoke dip. We couldn't wait to devour it. Then it arrived, and it was this: whipped heavy whipping cream with a few vegetables. Three bites of that would've been enough for anyone, so no real dinner for us. But lots of CREAM.

This morning C's at his conference, so I just buffeted alone and am waiting a bit for the city to wake up so I can go shopping (and not buy anything). It's sunny today with a high of 59. Very nice. For breakfast I drank lots of coffee and ate: two mini waffles, eggs with peppers and ham, one biscuit and gravy, a slice of honeydew melon, and a few bites of "Mexican breakfast" (steak, potatoes, and corned beef hash). I am stuffed to the gills, but we're running low on funds, and so I know I probably won't eat again until dinner; that is, of course, unless I win big on video poker. Nickel slots, here I come!

Tales from the Kitchen

I attempted Kirsten's Beef Burgundy last week, and it was a hit, though better three days after the fact. Things I learned:

1) cook the bacon until it is ALL crispy
2) salt the beef a little more
3) maybe use a touch more soy sauce

I would include a picture, but the only one I snapped didn't turn out well. My favorite part about cooking lately is cooking with wine. It makes everything taste so good and rich. I have a recipe to try later this week that involves white wine. And the best part is, you buy the cheap stuff!

I've also been enjoying my Flat Belly Diet cookbook of late. I'm not following the diet, and I'm not technically on a diet, though I pretty much always count my calories, but that's another story. Most recently C and I have come to enjoy: Chick Pea Curry with Cashews. Ooooooh, man.



Throw a dollop of Greek yogurt on a bowl full of THAT, and I'm a happy camper.

Tonight I baked homemade pizza for the first time. It was a recipe from Cooking Light, and in true Becky fashion (she's really inspired me), I modified the recipe. Instead of cumin and paprika, I used half curry/half chili powder and three quarters paprika/one quarter ground red pepper. Then, for the dough, I used mostly wheat flour and separated it into seven yummy personal pizzas instead of eight. The dough is INCREDIBLE. I also used Mozzarella instead of some other crazy cheese, though I'm sure the crazy cheese was better; I just didn't have time to get to Forward Foods.

Next time I'll probably process the diced tomatoes before simmering them. That or I'll find a way to crimp the sides of the dough so that the saucy part of the sauce doesn't fall off the pizza. Maybe corn starch? Anyway, here they are!

The Cutest Baby in the World, Subjectively Speaking

I'm getting ahead at work since we're heading out of town at the end of this month. I've been too busy to blog, but here are a few recent photos of the Drueb and updates:

1) Drue is CRAWLING!
2) And I'm pretty sure she said the word cat.
3) I am loving the Efficency Fitness workout.
4) A FAVORITE Tate author is now on Twitter, per my advice. Go, Heath!
5) We are driving to Dallas tomorrow to see Bruce.

I shall post a more meaningful something soon (something regarding our favorite new meal and my most recent go at "high cooking"). In the meantime, check out these very meaningful pictures.

The Sound of Nostalgia

We were given a 40th Anniversary Sound of Music DVD for Christmas. The gift was for Drue, but I've been enjoying it. The Sound of Music was the first movie my dad ever recorded on TV, and so I watched it all the time. The thing about The Sound of Music is that seemingly everyone loves it, and if they don't: they at least have a story about it. My story is that my dad recorded it first and so I watched it. My story might also be that it was the first kiss I ever saw on television, maybe ever in my life (that I noticed). Oh, and I might also note that "Climb Every Mountain" was my favorite song for a time. I'm interested to know your Sound of Music story.

I only realized when watching this time around that the TV version I'd always watched was missing a lot. (Thank goodness they edited out a lot of the original Police Academy; I would have been scarred for life had they not, but that's a different story.) Anyway, I'm just rambling. So now, for your viewing pleasure...

Peek-a-Do!

I always thought the game Peek-a-Boo was boring. Why do people do that with their children? I thought, judging them mercilessly.

Well, I get it.

I get the reason for it. I get why it is fun. I do it all the time. I even have a peek-a-boo book that I like to read with Drue.

It takes actually being a parent to get a lot of the things I didn't get before.

Thank you, God, for this beautiful, learning little creature...


PEEK-A-BOO! (That's Uncle Michael.)

Oscar the Calf

I'm editing a book this morning that is a study of the book of Malachi. The author has used passages in Malachi to address certain issues that the larger church doesn't seem to be getting today. It's written by a reformed minister and deals with such issues as (surprise!) predestination, marriage, and now idolatry.

So I'm thinking, regarding yesterday's post: Do I throw around the word idol too loosely? Idols are something that should be put to death. They are scary. In yesterday's post I wrote about an idol of mine, but I didn't make it clear how much I desire to put that idol to death. So I'm saying it now...and continuing to think about idols.

Do we have a healthy enough fear of the idols in our lives, or do we easily forget what a big deal they are and just say, "I have this or that idol" as if it's nothing? I fear I'm in the latter category, heading toward the former...

I find it interesting that Webster's defines the word idol as: "anything on which we set our affections: That to which we indulge in excessive and sinful attachment."

To be liked or not to be liked: that is the idol.

I have an idol. I have more than one idol, but the idol I'm thinking about right now involves whether everyone on the face of the planet likes me.

Now, I care about this less than I once did. I recently advised a friend not to worry whether the man she's interested in's ex-girlfriend likes her. Who cares? I said while flicking my hand. You're not obligated to be friends with her; she's not obligated to like you.

Hypocrite.

Today when my husband said, "Not everyone is going to like you," I was faced with the tough reminder that: 1) this is true; and 2) I do still care - because I got sick to my stomach.

Let me say: I'm not delusional. I know that not EVERYONE is going to like me all the time. That's impossible. I don't even like me all the time. What bothered me about what he said is that he was referring to people whom I know and with whom I am friends.

Do people I know not like me? I thought. Probably. Ouch. Do they like me in general but sometimes not? Surely. Still ouch. But this is a truth that I need to get used to, just as I've gotten used to the fact that it's okay that my husband sometimes doesn't like me. Because he always loves me. I can't find my rest in whether so-and-so likes me. I can only find rest in the one who gives me true peace and rest.

My husband.

I'M KIDDING! To all of you who just gasped and had already opened a new window to compose an email that communicates to me just why that is so very wrong.

I still want everyone to like me...all the time. But hopefully this "need" will lessen now that I'm made even more aware of it. I suppose I can get used to my best friends not liking me now and then. After all, this has always been the case; I just hadn't thought about it much before.

The Story

Little girls with names like Amity and Hailey and Reagan are sinners. And they don’t know that their names, which afford them instant popularity so long as they’re not fat, add to a level of inherent evilness. How can a name like Bunny not flip a little girl’s evil switch?

I don’t have one of these names. I have a name like Sarah or Lisa or Lenora. And I also didn’t have Guess jeans with a zipper running down the ankle or a ten-speed bicycle. I had a banana-seat bicycle with pictures of bananas on it—bananas and apples and oranges. It was blue. The bike had shiny silver handles that started at seat level and rose up about a foot before curving out into very wide grippers. “Here I come on my nerdy bicycle!” they proclaimed. Only I’d gone one step further and attached streamers to the handles, which made me even more of a target to the Peppers of the elementary school social sphere.

At the time, I’d already had my shoes removed from my feet and thrown into the muddy sinkhole on the playground. I’d already been embarrassed to tears by Jenny, who took my arm and strutted me past Jason, my heartthrob, while batting her eyes at him and then me and chanting, “Guess who has a crush on you?” I’d already been called out for cheating on a test that I wasn’t cheating on—Cherry was. So should I have known better when two of the most popular girls in my class came up to me one day and said they wanted to ride bikes home with me after school? Maybe. Instead, my heart pounded and I said excitedly, “Sure!”

I was finally going to fit in.

“Great! We’ll meet you at the bike rack after school,” they said.

Great.

It was all I could do not to run to the bike rack after school. And there they were, their bouncing curls bouncier than ever, their smiling faces smiling at me sinisterly, and maybe part of me knew it. But more likely than not, that’s just hindsight bias. We only made it halfway down the fence that bordered the school play yard before they looked at each other and took off, leaving me alone on my banana seat. At first I pedaled as fast I could to catch up. I thought it was a game. Then I knew. It wasn’t a game. I was a loser. A chubby, nerdy loser, who was never going to fit in and was never going to have the things the other girls had so that she could fit in. I road home crying.

Mom wasn’t yet working in those days, and so when I got home, she was in the backyard in the strawberry patch picking strawberries. I remember wanting to make sure I was crying when I got to her. I was going to make myself cry if I had to; I needed someone’s affection that badly. But it wasn’t difficult. I bawled before I got one word out. And Mom was sad for me, I think. I don’t remember what she said. But I do remember her wondering why I wanted to play with those girls days after they’d done that to me. She let me go but didn’t understand.

The thing is: I always come back to this story. Every time I sit down to write about my past, this is the story I start with. It’s like I can’t get past it. Every time I think about being hurt as a girl, this is the story I remember first. I’m realizing how utterly heartbreaking this was for me. I wonder what it means, if anything. I wonder where those girls are now. I wonder if they have little girls. I bet they’re sinners. That’s a joke. I know they are, because I am too, and so is my daughter. But I pray that she never treats another peer that way. I pray that she loves her neighbor as well as her enemy, and that she talks to me when she’s hurting. I don’t look forward to her crying. I don’t like it now. But crying is good…

My Blog Has A New Name

Probably because I haven't blogged about my job in while but have blogged about my newest addition: Drue.

She's almost six months now and sort of sleeping through the night. She wakes up so that we'll give her, her pacifier, but then she goes right back down. But enough about her sleeping habits, for goodness' sake. Why do I always go back to that?

I am having trouble typing today. For the rest of this post I will type as I have been all day and not go back through and edit. Here goes...

I"m editin ga book for a guy in Maryland. He's payign well. This is freelance work. I've almost transcribed the entire book.

I need to get to work, so relaly this post is nothing, except to show you that I cnnot type dtoday wihtou making a million zillion typos. Aughhhh!!!!

Redundant Much?

I didn't realize I blogged about napping in my last post. Oops. Sorry to bore the few of you who read my blog with the same topic (sort of).

Do you know what I love right now? Knee socks on my baby. You're supposed to fold the little socks over when you put them on, but I just yank 'em right up, all the way to the knee. Yep. Gooood lookin.

Little Bear, Little Bear, How You Snooze

Naps. I love them. I wish I, myself could take them. I try, but I can't. Well, every couple/few weeks I get a good one in, but other than that, I just lie there, get annoyed, and get back up again. But the Bear? Oh, she naps. Unfortunately, we've gotten in the habit of appeasing the 45-minute intruder (going in and patting her and giving her a binky), so that means we have to visit her at least once (and in the afternoon at least twice) during her naptime. I keep wondering whether we need to break her of this. (We also haven't yet forced her to sleep through the night. She gets one meal in some time during the wee hours.) (Thoughts?) But she's such a good sleeper. Thank God. She goes right back down (most days) and sleeps until she's supposed to, according to the schedule I've created for us.

When I think about having a second child, I wonder: Will he or she sleep as well as Drue? Probably not.

Because Drue sleeps a lot. Sometimes I wonder if she's sleeping too much. I know that every kid needs something different. But this kid...

She needs like 16 hours.

I'm getting more into the swing of motherhood. I've realized the Bear does okay when we're out and about now. In fact, she's liking it more and more and does great in the Bjorn. I think she's going to be a thinker, like her dad. Her eyes are just brilliant. I see those wheels turning 24/7. Well, 8/7. Anyway, yesterday after her four o'clock meal, we went to Sam's straightaway. No hanging out at home. We just left. And yesterday evening was the first evening in at least two weeks that she didn't cry for over an hour. We came home and I put her in her exersaucer and I chopped up dinner (fruit salad!). Then we had some Mommy-Baby time, took a bath, got lotioned, and it was already time to eat again. No tears! I think I'm going to try it again today, and if it works again, try to make this four-thirtyish outing fairly routine.

Regarding other new things: She's found her falsetto, or something like it. This high pitch she couldn't emit before. She found it yesterday. I came home from work, and there she was hanging out with Daddy, cooing in this hilarious new voice. And she knew it was new, because she couldn't get enough of herself. She was actually entertaining herself. She was so proud.

She's smiling a lot more now too, and really, really trying to laugh. She'll bust a gut soon. It just won't quite squeak out right now.

It's like something new happens every day. I can't get enough of this Bear.

The Napping Game

Dear Drue: You are to stinking cute. But when you are moody, it's annoying. Please stop that. Love, Mommy

The babe has a similar routine each day. On days that I work: up with Dad, morning nap, hang with Dad; Mom comes home and puts her down and works/does something while she takes a long afternoon nap. God answered prayer today in that she slept well; I only had to go into her room a few times, and each time she settled right back down into more sleep. Yesterday was good too. But the day before that, oh, the day before that...

I've learend that if I give in during her afternoon nap crying time and pick her up: it's over. There's no hope of her going back down, and there will be a lot of screaming. But I couldn't help but pick her up two days ago. She was doing her crying thing, and I had let her "cry it out" enough; it was time to visit her; and when I walked into her room, she was pushing up and had drool running from her lip and tears pouring from her eyes and snot dripping from her button nose, and the look on her face was perhaps the saddest, tiredest, most pathetic, adorable, sad sad saddest look I've ever seen. I didn't think about the repercussions but immdiately swooped her into my arms and almost started crying myself. Poor baby.

Am I a sucker? Perhaps. Will I be a sucker? I hope not.

Lessons in What Not to Write: No. 526: "not unexpected"

I saw a tweet today that got me reeling. I am thankful it was just a tweet and not a book I'm editing. I like the person who wrote this tweet; he's a crafty guy, very good at what he does. But he could use a lesson in "writing worthiness".

Oh, twinges of hypocrisy are bubbling up. I know that very little that I write is exciting and/or worthy. Let me just say that up front. But the subject of this tweet went something like: traffic is really bad; it's not to be unexpected.

What does that sentence leave you feeling? It leaves me feeling like I just wasted time reading that sentence.

Lesson no. 1 in news writing: mans bites dog versus dog biting man. If the story isn't original, then don't write it. If your audience expects that the traffic will be bad, then they don't need to read that it was bad. And THEN be told that it is not to be unexpected. And let's not even get into the double negative issue here.

Today I published a Facebook status that admits to the world that I love to imagine myself playing lead guitar on songs that rock. I do this probably daily. Maybe a little less. Doesn't everyone do that? Anyway, that may be a stupid post; that may be something that no one wants to read; but at least it's not cheating the reader. It's giving them new news.

So, tell us something new, something truly unexpected. Make us feel. The purpose of even Twitter shouldn't be to ALONE write things like: went to the gym; went to the store; went to the gym again; played some golf; wow, it's hot; traffic is bad, but who the hell thought it wouldn't be? etc.

Or maybe that is it's purpose.

Hello!

Well, the first sentence of my last blog is incorrect. My identity isn't new; it has only been added to.

I love this baby more each day. It's quite a ride. I still don't mind getting up nights, mostly because I only have to do it once now, though we're having to sort of work toward the "once." Meaning, when she wakes up at 1:30, I have to go in and pat her and put in her pacifier, then go back to bed and wait to see if she'll cry and I need to do it again...until I actually feed her at 3:00. But I think she'll start sleeping until 3:00ish without assistance soon.

I was freaking out about her schedule last week but am feeling much better, thanks to the many friends who sent me messages on FB about the topic and the husband who is more understanding than I at times deserve. Right now we're doing a morning nap and a longer afternoon nap, and she's pretty much given up a full evening nap, though she likes to doze here and there before 7:00. A bedtime routine is forming. But most importantly, I'm learning to have an open hand with it all. There are days when the "schedule" just isn't going to work "perfectly," and that's okay. Thank God.

I made it through my first month back to work, which feels great. I look forward to one book in particular next month.

I Am a Mother

My identity has changed.

I've had some baby blues, but last night I had a breakthrough. I realized how bonded I'd become with the baby when I tried to feed her a bottle at 11 p.m. and wanted to cry. Let's be honest: did cry.

There's nothing wrong with bottles or formula. This is just my experience.

I also realized how much I love my baby when I went to Target to pick up some diapers and smelled them, and a huge smile crossed my face and I wanted to rush home to her.

I'm also starting to get used to being up nights. It's difficult but truly getting easier - something I hadn't thought about. I don't know why, but I honestly didn't think that this could get "normal." Thank God it does. Of course, I'm talking about one night here. We'll see if I'm spewing the same come tomorrow and the next day.

Collin has been great about bearing the load with me. We're lucky in that he doesn't have an eight-to-five, in-office job, and I have the month off, so now that I can drive, he makes sure I can get out a little. I was freaking out about him leaving during the day at first (mostly because I want to be selfish and NOT tied to my house and live the life I lived before, free as a bird), but a dear friend reminded me that who I am a wife and mother is probably much more sane than who I would be (and have been) without.

Anyway, here is our little Drue bear.


I sang "Jesus, Lover of My Soul" to her the other day while she was settling down, and I realized how much she depends on us, as we are to depend on Jesus. What a beautiful picture painted before me. Unfortunately, I forget it all too often and think I'm doing this all alone. Thank God I'm not. And thank God she's not.

"Other refuge have I none
I helpless hang on thee
Leave, oh, leave me not alone
Support and comfort me
All my trust on thee is stayed
All help from thee I bring
Cover my defensless head
In the shadow of thy wing."

Let's be honest: I had trouble not boo-hooing through this verse.

In a change of subject...
I never thought I'd have to have a c-section, especially for such a tiny thing. I took the tape off my incision today. Strange to think that's where she finally came from - after a labor to remember. I'd go back and do it again in a heartbeat.

Still getting used to this mother thing though.

"They float down here. And when you're down here, you'll float too!"

I finished Jodi Picoult's The Pact this morning. I don't know what I think about the ending. The whole book was depressing. Parents who don't know their kids; kids who don't know who they are. It was well written and compelling, as usual; she's one of those who can break rules and it's OK. But the ending. Was it too quick? I like that she ended with the climax and wrapped up in an epilogue, but I felt there was one bit of information lacking.

I don't want to ruin this book for anyone, so that's all I'll say, but if you've read The Pact, did you think there was at least one bit of information lacking in the epilogue, or did you love how it was done?

My husband is finally conquering his fear of Stephen King's It. He's been afraid of the story, or the Pennywise the clown, since the movie came out on TV in 1990. He's on page 753 of the book now and loving it, which is validating to me, as it's one of my favorite books.

I would love it if he started reading fiction regularly. He's already a great idea man and has been helping me with my novel a bit (although sometimes I have to tell him to save it; the plot is the plot, and these other fantastic ideas can go into other stories), and I think his reading fiction will make for some fun conversation. Not as though we don't already have great conversation, but how cool would it be to talk about psychology, research, AND story, among other things, of course.

4:54 p.m. + 7 working days

Just finished an incredibly sad and moving story about an American nurse working in Saudi Arabia. Remind me to tell you about it.

In other news: just finished the backmatter for an incredibly sad and moving story about an American nurse working in Saudi Arabia. Remind me to tell you how to get a copy of the book once it releases.

And finally: the book does has some non-sadness about it.

Awry in Arabia by Mary D. Kavanwal

Psycho Editor is Unable to See Beyond Technicalities, Becomes Depressed

I've noticed that I often get so caught up in structure that I forget character - that, to me, structure trumps character. But this seems crazy. Could this be true?

When I've asked job candidates the question, "What makes or breaks a (fiction) book for you?" nine times out of ten the candidate's answer has been "character." And nine times out of ten I have snickered and thought, How cliche. Do you really know what you mean by that?

But the truth is: character is a fine answer. Often times whether I've liked or cared about a character was the reason I kept reading a book and didn't throw it across the room. So why do I have such trouble digging into this area when I'm editing a book? Why is it always: plot structure, holes, story questions, plates, stimulus-response, dialogue tags, etc.?

Probably because these are the things I studied in grad school. But also because these are simply the things that stick out to me.

Last month, however, I felt I did at least one of my authors a disservice by not talking character and focusing on other, what I thought were, larger issues. And maybe they were larger issues, but regardless of whether this author goes back and fixes all of her dialogue and answers or doesn't answer certain story questions, there is still the issue of, Do I really know and love these characters? What could she do to make me care about them more?

It's not as I don't have pages and pages of knowledge on this stored away as well. I just seldom bring it up. Ugh.

This month: I focus on character. I see what happens. I dig deeper. I don't forget about the rules, but I am honest about how I feel about the characters in the books I'm editing and whether they really impact the reader.

This month: I get back to work on my novel.

This month: I have a baby.

This month: Angela and I make this magazine happen.

And then I don't sleep for a while, because hey, it's May. I can't believe it's already May. I had a big realization when I left work Thursday that today it would be May. And months go fast. And at the end of this month comes new life. Whoa.

A Follow Up

BACK TO HUMOROUS CREATIVE NON-FICTION:

A writer friend asked what I ended up sharing with the author whose memoir I edited and posted on earlier this month.

Had I given the book more time before posting I would have seen that there were moments of depth in the story and ultimatley a well-contructed story with a clear story arc. I spent most of my notes discussing story structure, tense, and the inclusion of a second voice. However, there was also something to be said about the at-times too intense humor toward the beginning of the book.

So I addressed where the author was pushing it; where hyperbole was too obvious; where humor could have worked better if focused differently (e.g.,not just on sex; that gets boring, is too easy, and can exude an image the author doesn't want to portray). That's not to say I don't appreciate both brokenness and redemption. I do. I read mainstream women's fiction and get a kick out of the crass humor at times. But there's no denying it can be a little...bleh. Have you SEEN SNL lately?

It was a good read, and I'm excited to look over the polished product next month.

An Awakening of the Mind

A fellow editor and I were walking back to our computers after a nice walk to Homeland, and she asked, "Bruce Springsteen or Huey Lewis?" I had to go with Huey Lewis. I don't know much Springsteen but grew up with The News. Then she said, "Huey Lewis or Billy Joel?" I had to go with Billy Joel. Then somehow Phil Collins came up, and she said, "He beats 'em all!"

I realized that growing up I thought that every Phil Collins song I heard on the radio was just a Phil Collins song. I knew of a band called Gensis, didn't I? But weren't they just a side project for Phil Collins for some short period of time?

Well, no. Duh.

I then realized that I now knew that Genesis was something bigger than I'd always suspected, but that I'd still never learned much about the band. So, I finally took to Wikipedia tonight and learned about Genesis, and whoa...what a project. I had no idea. Basically every Phil Collins song I ever loved growing up (aside from "In the Air Tonight" and "Sussudio" and the song about the homeless lady) was indeed a product of Genesis. Even less did I know that Peter Gabriel (holy cow) was the original singer of this band.

I am now up to speed on Genesis, at age 30.