Our 14th anniversary! Here’s a writing exercise for you: What are we doing in the hard-to-see photo?

Travis’ window

JoJo wants to come in.

I’m curious…do you become impatient when the bloggers you visit post infrequently? Take me, for example. I’m so sporadic, I admit. Does it bug you? Or do you have a ton of blogs you visit and so it doesn’t matter?

I visit blogs–not often, but I do. Some I wish would post more, others it doesn’t matter.

If you would like me to post more often, send some topics this way that you’d like to read about, and I’ll do my best.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!

I just went to Writers Almanac and not only read a lovely poem about one of my favorite things–snow–but also the history of St. Patrick’s Day.

Are you wearing green? I am. I also spiked my son’s milk this morning with green food coloring–about the only time all year I use food coloring in food. How do you celebrate the day?

Also learned that on this day, in something like 1901, Vincent Van Gogh had his first major show–and he was 11 years dead. Yes, I know. Fame after death is a depressing thought, but hey, it’s better than nothing, right?

Just when you think you’re in a routine, your routine is blown to bits.

I exaggerate. But only a little.

My goldfish and the tank they live in have been looking sad. So this morning, I decide I’m going to do a quick clean, then write. (I’ve been putting it off for days.)

I clean the filter and put it all back together but now the filter doesn’t work. I end up taking the filter apart and finally, many minutes and attempts to fix it later, get it to work. I go to refill the tank and water sprays everywhere. Now, an hour and a half have gone by, the tank is clean, refilled, and the fish are happy. And the water has been mopped up off the floor.

I think I’ll go shower and try to salvage the morning. The day sits before me, splayed out, ready and waiting.

(But I should call Toyota, too, something else I keep putting off…..)

Interesting story in USA Today on the memoir genre.

Monday morning. Weekend’s over. Time to get serious again. Time to write.

My ritual is (after I get my son to school, walk with Kim, and clean up for my cleaning expert Cornelia who comes every so often) I shower, dress, and stop somewhere for a latte. Regrettably, that “somewhere” is most often than not Starbucks. I’ve tried all the lattes in my neighborhood and they make the best.

“A grande nonfat latte, extra foam.”
“Name?”
“Babette.”
When the barista calls my name, she says, Babbit. The one who took my order heard the mispronunciation and says, “Have a good day, Miss,” and I think he’s also shooting me a look that says, “Sorry….”

If the variant form of “Barbara” were actually my name, I would be more delicate, sweeter, maybe even French!

Barbara has 53 variant forms: Bab, Baba, Babara, Babb, Babbett, Babbette, Babbie, Babe, Babett, Babette, Babita, Babs, Baibin, Barabara, Barb, Barbar, Barbarella, Barbarit, Barbarita, Barbeeleen, Barbel, Barbera, Barbette, Barbey, Barbi, Barbie, Barbora, Barbra, Barbro, Barby, Barra, Basha, Basia, Baubie, Bauby, Beba, Bebe, Berbera, Berberia, Berberya, Berbya, Bibi, Bobbe, Bobbee, Bobbi, Bobbie, Bobby, Bonni, Bonnie, Bonny, Borbala, Varvara and Varina.

Hmm… Barbeeleen. I’d have to live in the South to use that one.

Anyway, so then I drive to the library and find a table upstairs, where mostly what I hear is the ventilation system. As quiet as a church.

I turn on the computer. While it’s booting up, I look to my right and see that today I’m sitting beside the fiction stacks. Fiction: DO-ER. Farther to the right: DA-DO. I go to see where my novel will sit. A little above my head, between DelVecchio and Kathleen DeMarco (no relation, not that I know of), above DeLillo.

Now I’m back to it. Done with this blog (thanks for bugging me, Jordan–I think). Time to write.

What were your pre-writing rituals today?