Ten Things I Don’t Know About Laney

My small-but-mighty creative writing class at Sunbury Christian Academy is using Nanowrimo’s Young Writers Program, and today we attempted to fill out questionnaires about our protagonists. 

Forty-six questions! I realized I couldn’t respond to all of them even after writing and publishing two books about Laney Odell. So here are the top ten things I’m wondering about my favorite Arkansian refugee:

10. What color are her eyes?  I looked at Laney on the Surviving Meemaw cover, but she’s looking down at her cell phone, so I can’t tell.

Laney, look up
so I can see your eyes.

9. What is her fondest memory? We all know her worst memory, but what’s her best?

8. Who is her favorite band? I decided she likes country music, because she’s from Arkansas, so she almost has to. But band? I have no idea.

7. What are her superstitions?

6. What three words would describe Laney? Only three?

5. What is the best thing that ever happened to her? We all know the worst thing that happened to her. I think she’s still waiting for the best. 

Laney, would you like to go skiing?
Or cuddle with Calvin in front of the fire?
Or cuddle with Josh? Or someone else?

4. Where is her dream vacation? She went to Jamaica, and we all know how that turned out. But where does she want to go?

3. What is her favorite television show? Not the ones she tolerates because Meemaw is watching them on the Fox News Channel, but what would Laney watch if she could wrest the control from Meem?

2. What are her political views? Do high school seniors have political views? I know I did back in 1971, but I’m not sure about Laney.

And the #1 question I can’t answer about Laney is…

1. If a song played every time Laney walked into the room, what would it be? Now I’m considering what song should play when I walk into the room.

If you’ve read Surviving Meemaw and Surviving Jamaica and you know the answers, tell me! If you haven’t read them, you owe it to yourself!! (Did I go too far?)

Many thanks to www.nanowrimo.org and the free curriculum at http://ywp.nanowrimo.org/. I encourage other teachers to check out these resources. There are free curricula for all ages of young writers, from kindergarten on. It’s not too late to get started.

The Elusive Squeegee

            I believe I may have mentioned a few times (okay 10 or 20) that I’m attempting to write a 50,000 word novel in November. Last blog post brought you recycled poetry; this one will give you recycled humor.

            Eleven years have passed since I wrote this 99% true account. Most mornings it is still true.

The Elusive Squeegee

PLACE:  Anytown, Pennsylvania

TIME:  Any Autumn weekday, ten minutes late

            Juggling bookbag, purse, and travel mug of coffee, and followed by a grumpy ten year old, I stumble through the early morning fog toward my rusty, trusty Mazda. If we pull onto the northbound route within thirty seconds, we might arrive at his school and my workplace on time.

            No! The windows are covered with dew.

            I stash my burdens in the trunk and begin wiping down the side and rear windows with paper towels. “Help me, Ten! You do your side and we might get out of here before noon.” Alas, I have no garage, and my car is dew-covered every morning. If only I had a squeegee, I could zip that water off in seconds, and not deal with cold, soggy paper towels.

            I am loathe to transfer the shower squeegee to the car. If I am ever not late, I like to use it on the shower walls. (Hey, it could happen.) How hard could it be to find another squeegee, anyway?

            Usually the need to hunt squeegee only hits me as I dry the car windows. One evening my brain kicks into gear while in the grocery store, which offers a variety of brooms, mops and sponges, but no squeegees.

            Picking up a prescription on another occasion, I search the pharmacy aisles. Shelves overflow with Christmas decorations in mid-October, but no squeegees.

            My husband checks the auto department of America’s favorite discount store, but he finds no squeegees. Oh well, men can’t shop. He should have looked in the cleaning supplies section.

            Several days later, while Ten picks through ghoulish Halloween accessories, I stalk the squeegee. I should have known a second rate store like this wouldn’t carry one. How about the third rate store farther down, where everything costs a dollar? If I want to blot the dew with a linen 2002 calendar, I am in luck.

            Ten and I proceed to America’s favorite discount store, to accomplish what his dad could not. And for a very good reason:  They don’t have any. I could possibly blow dry the windows with any one of a dozen models of hair dryers, some of which doubtless have auto adapters.

            Like Captain Ahab, I am obsessed. The squeegee has become my Moby Dick.

            After a Saturday morning walk to the post office, I enter an independently owned hardware store.

            A clerk rushes over. “Can I help you?”

            “Yes, I hope so. I am Captain Brosius, and I hunt the elusive squeegee.”

            “Down that aisle and to your right,” another cheerful clerk answers. The first clerk follows me to make sure I reach my long-sought destination.

            I have died and gone to squeegee heaven. There are car-sized squeegees, truck-sized squeegees, RV-sized squeegees, armored assault vehicle-sized squeegees, and a squeegee I could use to clean cosmic goo off a spaceship.

            I tenderly carry my treasure home in a brown paper bag, eagerly anticipating the new work week.

PLACE:  Anytown, Pennsylvania

TIME:  Monday morning, ten minutes late

            Juggling bookbag, purse, and coffee, and followed by a shivering ten year old, I stumble through the frigid early morning air. The Mazda is covered with frost.

            Does anyone know where I can buy a good ice scraper?

Recycled Poetry

            Since I’ve signed up for nanowrimo, November is not a good month to blog. I should be writing my future best-selling novel. I'm trying. Actually, I should be participating in the never-ending cycle of lesson plans, teaching, testing, and grading. And I am.

            I also should be working on Advent readings for my church. And I will. I was waiting for an original idea, and it came this morning while listening to my pastor pray.

            So as not to totally ignore my myriad blog followers (all 19 of you, I love you!) I have decided to recycle poetry. I have found poetry inspiring to write and impossible to sell. I exaggerate, since I have actually been paid for 2 or 3 poems; believe me not enough to report to the IRS.

            I remembered this poem when a young friend and former student posted the famous Serenity Prayer on his Facebook status. Disagreement exists about the origin of the prayer; SKdesigns.com attributes it to Reinhold Niebuhr, and includes a longer verse after the one that’s so familiar. Niebuhr’s version begins:

God, give us grace to accept with serenity
the things that cannot be changed,
Courage to change the things
which should be changed,
and the Wisdom to distinguish
the one from the other.

             Here is my take on the prayer. Maybe it applies to all the things that I want to do and have to do in November.

God grant me sweet serenity

What I can’t change to receive

With contentment from my Father

And in his goodness believe.

God grant me compelling courage

To change what I can’t abide,

Striving to serve God’s family,

His Word and Spirit my guide.

God grant me unwav’ring wisdom

To rightly discern the two

In prayer first, and then in living

As the Savior did, to do.

© 2007 Roberta Tucker Brosius