Z: zipline

z

ZIPLINE

In 2005 I was fortunate enough to go on a mission trip to Costa Rica. We spent several days working with kids at a school for the blind and deaf. It was a truly amazing experience. After our work at the school was over, our group headed up to the Monteverde Cloud Forest for a couple of days.

On our final day, we hiked up through the forest to the canopy. The trees were unbelievably huge, towering over us for what seemed like miles. Along the trail to the zipline station (our final destination), I happened across a giant black and orange tarantula, among other strange and new creatures hidden in the foliage. We crossed over rickety bridges and climbed old metal staircases that seemed sewn into the landscape.

But the real treat was the zipline experience. Let’s get real for a moment. I am not a thrill seeker. Soaring through the air while hooked to a thin line of cable was not something I ever planned on doing. When I stepped onto that platform and listened to the clink of metal against metal as my harness became one with the zipline, I nearly hyperventilated.

And with barely a word of instruction, I was shoved off the platform, twirling round and speeding high above the tops of those mile-high trees. At one point, I let go of my death grip on my harness, leaned back and just let my body fly through the air. I think several burbles of laughter escaped my lips, unchecked. Trees and waterfalls and mossy green riverbanks waved hello as I passed by, under a misty grey-blue sky.

All to soon, the ride came to an end. I wrapped my gloved hands around the cable and squeezed with all my might, kicked my feet out in front of me, and pushed off against the large tree that waited at the other side. My friends were there, cheering and laughing and jumping up and down on the platform. We hugged and whooped in that shared excitement that only comes after something amazing accomplished together.

And then, as a group, we all turned and watched and waited, as the next brave friend came hurtling across the sky.

Y: yes!

y

YES

I think it’s only fair that we look at what I say yes to, since x was all about where my no’s go. And I think I have far more new yes thoughts than no…

• Publishing my writing, or at least trying to
• Love, no matter what – even when things hurt
• Saving money for long term plans instead of spending it on short term thrills
• Understand true compassion (sad, right? This took me a long time to get the hang of… and I’m still working on it day by day!)
• Asking for help
• Speaking up when I’m in over my head
• Boldy asserting myself when my needs aren’t met, professionally and personally

Yikes. It looks like I might finally be growing up a bit.

X: x-ing it all out

x

X-ING STUFF OUT
Being almost 40 means having a ton of history to learn from. Here are just a few of the things I’ve crossed out of my life:

• Saying yes when I really don’t want to
•  Assuming I have control in how anything outside my own sphere of influence turns out
• Carrying around my father’s shame on my shoulders
• Blending in to feel normal – God knows that just made me feel more abnormal! I’m pretty much okay with being the “quirky one” at this point. In fact, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
•  Nightly Ben & Jerry’s (I miss you, Phish Food!)
• Accepting blame when it’s not my fault
• Funky socks (but I traded up to funky shoes, so this is a good thing!)

This list could go on for miles and miles, but then we’d all be trapped here forever. It’s best we tuck it away for now.

W: weights

w

WEIGHTS, LIFTING

I learned the power gained through weight lifting about four years ago. I had never considered myself to be an athlete, or even remotely capable of anything falling under the category of “sports.” But then, after losing about 100 pounds and needing a way to firm up all the undesired flabbiness that comes with a huge weight loss, I grabbed myself a personal trainer and timidly opened the door to lifting.

Here is what I learned about myself:

1.     Contrary to my lifelong belief, I am athletic

2.     I am stronger than I believed

3.     I push myself past the point where many people would stumble and quit

4.     I love lifting

Many women are afraid of lifting because they believe weights will hulk them out like a super-charged steroid-ridden power lifter. Not so much. Even lifting seriously heavy, a woman’s body just isn’t designed to grow gargantuan muscles without some serious supplementation on the side.

When I was lifting regularly and eating clean, I was leaner, stronger, and smaller than I had been in my life. In my life, people. It only took 2 to 3 one-hour sessions in the gym each week to maintain a body that, while not as sculpted as a fitness model, was still strong and healthy.

Right now I’m on the road back to that kind of regular dedication to myself. It’s a hard battle to fight, when it’s so much easier to let kids, a husband, work – really, any number of things – take precedence.

But here’s the deal – the truth of the issue that people just don’t like to face – eating right and being healthy aren’t about the calories or the scale or the number of reps or increase in weights.

Being healthy is about being dedicated to you. And when you can master truly putting your best health before anything else? I think you’re making an amazingly impressive statement: I matter.

And when you matter to yourself, people can’t help but treat you differently. Because you’re worth it, and you know you deserve a life filled with healthy choices – from the food you eat, to the people you surround yourself with, right down to what you’re willing to spend your money on.

Funny how I learned all that through “lifting things up and putting them down.”

V: vodka, vulgar

v

VODKA

Vodka was my drink of choice in my early twenties. Mixed with orange juice, cranberry juice, or just taken straight, I would happily sip my vodka-based cocktails through the night. I’m pretty sure it made me feel sophisticated. I was much too complicated for, say, beer, or even wine. Oh no, me and vodka, we had the hookup.

VULGAR

My mother found words like “fart,” “burp,” and even “kissing” to be highly inappropriate. Little girls simply did not say such things. These words were strictly forbidden, and this rule was enforced with a large bar of soap. She even went one better than the moms that rename the genital area with things like “your private parts” or better yet, “po-po.” (I mean, really, people? Po-po?)

Not my mom. My sister and I grew up having crotches. I’m surprised we didn’t consider ourselves to be asexual beings. I mean, what is a crotch anyway, besides a Barbie-style censored block of nothingness between the legs? How can we expect little girls to grow up and understand themselves as women when they’ve spend their entire life thinking the words that describe their anatomy are off limits?

There is an important difference between vulgarity and reality, and it’s something worth teaching our daughters.

U: umbrella, understanding, ubiquitous

u

UMBRELLA, DUCK

My favorite umbrella is still the small teal umbrella with a handle shaped like a duck’s head. The bill of the duck was also teal. Although I owned it in high school, I would still use it today.

UNDERSTANDING

I think everyone has a profound desire to be understood. The problem here, is that we’re all so busy trying to be understood, we forget to attempt understanding the other person.

UBIQUITOUS

This is one of my favorite words. Just look at that quirky combination of letters! Use it in a sentence correctly, and we can be friends.

T: tattoos, turtles

t

TATTOOS

I have two. There are at least three more I’d like to have.

TURTLES

Remember when I divulged my strange fascination with elephants? Well, here’s some more truth. I also love turtles. What is it about me a slow, wrinkly, ancient-looking animals?

Once, when I was driving down a neighborhood road on the way to Something Really Important, I saw a turtle lying right in the middle of the road. I did the only natural thing – I pulled over, grabbed the lost little turtle, turned around and took it home. He lived in a box full of random backyard vegetation for the rest of the night. When I got back from that Really Important Something I was off doing, we grabbed the turtle box and took him down to a nearby park.

I’m pretty sure this story makes me a wildlife hero, saving small animals from a terrible car-related tragedy.

Or a terribly irresponsible animal killer that left a turtle to his untimely doom.

Sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference.

S: sister

s

SISTER

I only have one.

She was born on Halloween, 1978.

As children, we played Barbies in the wee hours of the night, when we were supposed to be sleeping.

I treated her horribly most of the time, and she still loved me. I didn’t deserve it, but she did.

She still does, and thankfully, I grew up and stopped punishing her for things that weren’t her fault.

In fact, when she was a teenager, she moved in with me and our already blooming mother-daughter relationship became solidified.

I love her beyond measure or reason, and would give anything to ensure her safety and happiness.

I wept like a baby at her wedding. I distinctly remember thinking: She doesn’t need me anymore. It remains one of the most bittersweet, proud, and sad moments of my life.

When her first child was born, I felt like I finally understood the love grandparents have for their grandchildren. I felt the same with each additional child.

She is, quite simply, the most amazing and strong mother I have ever known. Her children are so incredibly lucky to have her. I wish I had been half the mother to my boys that she is to her young children.

She is passionate, free-spirited, hilarious, loving, and beautiful.

She is my sister, but more than that – my teacher, my confidant, my strong tower.

I think she’s always thought that I am stronger than her. But to be honest, I am strong because of her.

Without her, I wouldn’t have survived so many things.

I hope she knows that. I hope I make it obvious how important she is.

I hope she feels it in her bones, and it makes her stronger, too.

R: road trips

r

ROAD TRIPS

I’ve always been a fan of road trips. I guess this is strange, given that it was a road trip that resulted in my family’s near-fatal car accident. But there is something about a long road trip that I just can’t resist. Growing up, we never really had a tradition of family vacations. But when we did go on a trip, it was always by car. Flying was simply too expensive for us. Maybe that has something to do with my love of long distance driving.

Every summer, we pack up our car to overflowing, load everyone we can fit, and head off to Michigan for a two week camping trip. Sure, we could camp somewhere closer – but let’s face it – camping in the Texas summer heat is not something any sane human would attempt. And I like to consider myself moderately sane.

So what does a sane person do? Drive 22 hours (give or take a few) without sleep, that’s what! We play music and I do my best to roust everyone into an obnoxious sing-along. This normally doesn’t work, but I sing my little heart out, and I’m pretty sure that’s obnoxious to everyone else, so I still consider a win. The boys play video games and strange invented card games to pass the time. The Littles squabble over toys and draw pictures and ask, “Are we there yet?” so many times that my ears bleed.

And I love every minute of it. Because at the end? At the end, we’re surrounded by family and the unbelievably gorgeous Traverse City forest in Michigan. We spend days tubing down a freezing river (and some nights, too!) and baking in the sun.

It’s a tradition I never want to end.

And it all starts with a road trip.

Q: quotes I love

q

QUOTES I LOVE

But love is much like a dam: if you allow a tiny crack to form through which only a trickle of water can pass, that trickle will quickly bring down the whole structure, and soon no one will be able to control the force of the current.

By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept, Paulo Coehlo

I am going to sit here with you by the river. If you go home to sleep, I will sleep in front of your house. And if you go away, I will follow you – until you tell me to go away. Then I’ll leave. But I have to love you for the rest of my life.

By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept, Paulo Coehlo

It is a fool's prerogative to utter truths that no one else will speak.

-Dream

The Quotable Sandman, Neil Gaiman

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.” 

The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones, Neil Gaiman

“There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts.” 

Fragile Things, Neil Gaiman

“I’ve been thinking about the future lately. Well, actually, I’ve been thinking about The Jetsons.”

My sister, circa 2000

“Safety third!”

My darling husband, circa 2010

P: perseids, popcorn, procrastinate

p

PERSEIDS

I hope you’ve seen the Perseids. I hope you’ve stayed up late, spread a blanket on the ground, grabbed a bottle of wine, and snuggled close to a loved one – all to watch the best fireworks show of the year. I hope you were as amazed as I am every year in August as I gaze at the sky, counting each blaze of light that sails across the horizon. And I hope, if you haven’t laughed into the darkness, pointing and shouting, “There! There! Did you see it?!” that come this August, you will.

POPCORN           

Yes, I have gone to the movies just to have the popcorn. With butter.

PROCRASTINATION

Once Upon an Outline

Maybe you recall the other day when I freaked smooth out about my latest writing struggles. In the past, this would be the time when I would close the story up, toss it in the corner, and ignore it. Honestly, people. If you only knew the stacks of would-be's lying around my house.

Don't get me wrong -- I most definitely have been writing mental death threats to my main character, and yes, I've even talked to a new character on the sly, thinking life just might be greener (and wordier!) if I left my current MC.

I know, I know. I'm an evil, heartless woman.

But don't hate me too much. It's only an affair of the heart! I've also been working through my latest plot problems. Oh. So. Slowly. The good thing is, with all work, eventually there is progress. And I am definitely seeing some progress.

Last night I listened to two podcasts over at Writing Excuses --

Wait. If you don't follow this site, you should. Go do it now. I'll be here when you get back.

All set? Good! You can thank me later.

Anyway, their latest episodes focus on the ever-elusive outline. Well, elusive to me. I'm new to this whole "making a plan" thing. I can barely follow a plan in class (shocking!) so it shouldn't be surprising that when writing I'm more of a wanderer than a GPS drone. But I really am trying to make a plan and stick with it. After all, it wasn't until I had a detailed outline in hand that I was able to finish my first novel.

These two episodes are dedicated to breaking apart an outline of one of Mary Robinette Kowal's first novels, which also happen to be middle grade. Score! She even has the outline and her first chapters available on her website. Pretty awesome, if you ask me. It's especially helpful to hear the dialogue between the authors (Did I mention Brandon Sanderson and Howard Taylor are a part of this crew?) as they dissect the different elements of plot building and characterization throughout the story. Definitely worth a listen!

At the tail end of the episode 7.15, they mention that Dora the Explorer is actually a pretty decent example to follow when outlining a "quest" style story. In fact, I think it was Dan Wells that said he and his wife had once outlined the entire Lord of the Rings plot in true Dora fashion. As a teacher, I'm excited to watch a few episodes and use this format to help my students have a better grasp on outlining their fictional stories.

As a writer, I'm going to use this tip to grab my current MC by the throat and drag him through this story, whether he likes it or not.

We can always revise it later.

N: nightmares

n

NIGHTMARES

My childhood home in Florida was nestled right in the heart of Gulf Breeze, just across a long bridge that led to Pensacola. If you’ve never been there, you’re missing a lot of slow and sunny days. But not much else.

3 mile bridge from Gulf Breeze to Pensacola!

Throughout the three years we lived there, I had this recurring nightmare: hundreds of people are milling about on the Pensacola bridge. It is the grand opening of the bridge (this bridge actually opened in 1960, but whatever), and balloons and kiosks are set up all over the place. Don’t ask me. It’s a dream. In my dreams, bridge openings requite kiosks that sell newspapers with headlines about the bridge opening. Because obviously, the people there couldn’t figure that out on their own.

Everyone is having a fabulous “yay it’s a new bridge!” sort of day. Suddenly, the clouds roll in and the sky becomes black as night. A floating vampire dressed exactly like Dracula appears in the sky. He swoops down and grabs a beautiful woman with blonde hair. She is wearing a tight red dress. (Let’s all take a moment to remember that I am like FIVE years old here. What the hell?) In the instant that Dracula look-alike escapes with the gorgeous blonde, a tidal wave crashes over the bridge.

And then I would wake up.

Years later, on one of my trips to visit my grandparents back in Gulf Breeze, I had a new vampire nightmare. In this dream, horrific creatures chased me, and I knew they were vampires that wanted to kill me. During my dream, I remembered my nightmares from my childhood and realized I was dreaming. I turned and screamed at the vampires, “You’re not real!”

And I woke up, sweating and entirely creeped out.

I think this was about the same time I decided Florida was no longer a whimsical and fun-loving vacation spot.

M: mantra, manuscript, math

m

MANTRA, RUNNING

Remember how I mentioned losing working my butt off for a year and dropping 100 pounds in the process? Yeah. That was one of my more awesome moments. But it certainly wasn’t easy. Well, let me take that back. The concept is easy. Eat enough food to feed a healthy body, and move enough to rev your metabolism. Not rocket science.

During this time period, I was at the gym every day after work. The only thing I knew about weight loss at the time was cardio is God, so I walked into the gym, hopped on a treadmill and didn’t stop for at least 45 minutes.

Early on, I was lucky if I could run for 30 seconds at a time. Then it was 40. 60. 5 minutes. You get the picture.

But every second of that time on the treadmill, I was talking to myself.

I had a mantra.

I am a warrior, I repeated, my feet falling heavy on the treadmill, my eyes refusing to look at the elapsed time, I am strong. I am invincible. I. Am. A. Warrior.

And eventually, I believed it.

MANUSCRIPT

See also: frenemy

MATH MONTH, QUEEN OF

My senior year math teacher knew I hated math. Somehow we liked each other enough that I became her teacher’s aid. Even though math was my nemesis, I participated in most of her crazy Math Month activities. I mean, when it was time for the poster contest, I spent hours drawing a huge dead parrot with the word POLYGON beneath it. I was a trouper.

She surprised me that year, however, by crowning me Queen of Math Month at an assembly in front of the entire school. Complete with tiara and sash.

I’d probably have done the same thing, were I in her shoes.

No wonder we got along so well.

L: lame-sauce, lashes, lists, lock

l

LAME-SAUCE

I created this term. I also coined the term “awesome sauce.” If you've heard or used it, you're welcome. I'm pretty thrilled with it, too.

Then, last season, I heard my new phrase “awesome sauce” used on the show Community. I feel robbed. Couldn’t they at least have put me in the credits?

Use of jazzy new slang “awesome sauce”………………………….Kelly Mogk

I mean, that would have to go far on my résumé? Right?

LASHES

The older I become, the lighter my lashes are. Soon, I fear they will be completely white. And no one was ever known as supremely awesome for their snow-white lashes.

LISTS

I will make lists for just about anything. Lists are a thing of beauty. Lists are made to be crossed out – and OH – the crossing out of said lists… what joy! What wonder! I do love a good list.

LOCK, BATHROOM

When you work in a school, bathroom locations are particularly dicey. They are always near things like the cafeteria or the gym or the offices. I mean, I guess this makes sense – put the bathrooms were the greatest concentration of people are. But every time I make a mad dash for the bathroom (again, I said I was a teacher. I have about 30 seconds once a day to make it in and out of a bathroom!), I have to double – okay, triple, check that the lock is clicked in. The thought of a student or coworker opening the door to find my with my pants around my ankles or my skirt hiked up mortifies me.

K: Kelly, The Life and Times of a Writer Named

k

KELLY, THE LIFE AND TIMES OF A WRITER NAMED

Table

1974	Kelly is born in Biloxi, Mississippi, in a hospital hallway whilst Hurricane Carmen roars outside. Later, she feels thankful that her mother didn’t think to name her after the storm.
1978	Somehow, Kelly begins Kindergarten at age 4. Her favorite thing to do in class is draw, and play in a large wooden rocker shaped like a small boat.
1979	A huge celebration is planned to honor Kelly’s 5th birthday. She throws a diva-sized fit, mortified that the “Wonder Woman” on her cake has blonde hair instead of black.
1980-1983	Kelly’s mom begins taking her and her sister, Shannon, to the local library. The children’s section is on the second story. A huge bubble shaped window is set into one of the walls. Kelly spends many hours sitting in the bubble, able to see straight down to the entryway beneath her. Her favorite times are spent here, reading and watching the people come and go.
1981	One rainy day in 2nd Grade, Kelly’s class joins another classroom for recess indoors. The teacher reads a book to them that she has never heard before: Where the Sidewalk Ends, by Shel Silverstein. Kelly falls in love with poetry.
1982	Too impatient to wait for the beginning the school year, Kelly pesters her mother to teach her to write in cursive over the summer. She spends the rest of the summer lying in the sunshine provided from the long bench window of their living room. She loops her l’s and makes long, luxurious rows of o’s until her hand is coated with a thick sheet of graphite and her fingers cramp.
1983	Kelly’s 4th grade teacher gives extra credit for every poem written. Many late nights are spent with a flashlight beneath her blankets, writing poem after poem after poem. She writes herself right through one of the most difficult years of her childhood.
1985-1990	The library becomes her best friend. She grazes through the aisles, consuming everything she can put her hands on. By the end of middle school she has finished the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Louisa May Alcott, Grimm’s Fairy Tales, along with many of Agatha Christie’s books, which she loves. When she tires of fiction, she decides to make her way through several books on Freud and Jung. She and her best friend read through all of the Sweet Valley High Series and everything Christopher Pike writes. After school, they write plays and act them out. She keeps a folder with her at all times and writes poetry during class, and at night she sits behind a blue computer screen and types out one short story after another.
1989	Jane magazine is one of Kelly’s favorite lazy reads. Each month they publish a story called “It Happened to Me”. Kelly labors for weeks over a story explaining the car accident she was in and how it changed her life. Afraid her parents will see it, she prints it out and deletes it from the family computer. She gives it to her English teacher and asks her to proofread it so she can send it in. The teacher loses it, and she never sees it again.
1990	Kelly’s new English teacher asks the class to write a poem about a wall, after reading Robert Frost’s Mending Wall. She writes a poem about the emotional walls that people put up. Her teacher berates her in class, saying she obviously didn’t understand the assignment. She will never forget this moment.
1991	In 11th grade, Kelly’s English class delves into the world of creative writing. She writes plays, short stories, and poetry. She has never been happier in school. Her teacher writes back detailed comments and she realizes the impact of words well written.
1992-	She journals. Off and on. Daily. Or not. Carries snippets of words and quotes and stories around wherever she goes. Words run through her life like blood through a body.
1996-1997	Kelly’s runs an online zine called The Persnickety Poet, accepting submissions and posting poems each month.
1998-2004	Through online text-based gaming, Kelly invents characters, writes backstory, and brings them to life. She dabbles in game code and writes room descriptions, mythology Creation stories for new worlds, and random NPC’s (Non Player Characters). She also falls in love with Neil Gaiman.
2004-2010	Life gets in the way, the words come slowly now, like the scattered rain showers before the storm.
2010	The National Writing Project relights her fire.
2011	She completes her first young adult novel.
2012	With a few picture books written, she begins edits on the novel and heads off on the road to publication.

J: jokes

j

JOKES

My family has recently discovered that a truly corny, totally lame joke can make me laugh so hard I become completely incapacitated.

It’s sad to think that if someone wanted to kill me, they could joke me to death. Sad, but also within my realm of possibilities.

Here are just a few of the jokes that make me fall over in a fit of glee (don’t judge!):

What did the dad buffalo say to his son when he left for college?

Bye, Son!

Why was the belt arrested?

For “holding up” a pair of pants!

What’s red and smells like blue paint?

Red paint!

I even laughed while typing them. Seriously. It’s a problem.

There is no reasonable explanation for my love of stupid jokes. It’s the cruelest form of punishment ever, because my two oldest sons and husband will sit around forever telling one dumb joke after the other, just to see me laughing until I cry, hands flapping in the air, oxygen deprived, and red faced.

If I were Superman, bad jokes would be my kryptonite.

I: ice, Iceland, imagination

i

ICE

My mom tells me that when I was 2 (the more I write, the more I realize 2 was a hard year for me!), we were at a friend’s house for a party. Mom gave me a piece of ice to suck on, but it slipped right into my throat and I started choking.

Mom -- as mom’s do, panicked. Dad -- as dad’s do, did not. He kept telling her that eventually the ice would melt and I would be fine.

Meanwhile, I had ceased breathing. I can only imagine how my mom felt, watching her two-year-old baby flail and hack, with a bit of ice lodged in her throat.

Finally, my little face turned blue, my mom threw a huge tantrum, and my dad performed the Heimlich on me.

Lesson: Easy-ridin', Harley-ownin', doobie-rollin' children of the 60's don't always make great parental decisions.

ICELAND

Remember how I told you my family moved to Holland when I was 13? Well, we did. However, just months before that move, my dad’s original orders were for a move to Iceland. I remember looking it up in an Encyclopedia (damn you, Internet, for not being readily available yet!) and thinking we were moving to a volcanic graveyard of death and I would never survive the arctic tundra of winter.

I was much relieved to learn we were going to Holland, land of tulips and windmills, instead.

I had not yet learned of Holland's cloud to sun ratio.

IMAGINATION

You can do a lot of things with imagination.

Let your imagination run wild or carry you away.

Your imagination can get the best of you.

You can lose your imagination, which sounds bad because I’ve never heard of anyone finding their imagination. Best to keep it near.

Children are born with oodles of imagination, and I’d like to see us encourage them to explore the world of their own imagination, instead of boxing it up to trade in for a set of preconceived values. Even that word – preconceived – sounds stuffy and ordinary.

Why not run away with your imagination, instead?