When Madeleine Works She Doesn't Write

Not a big realization--or a new realization--but something I was thinking about today.

On days that I work, or, I should say, the nights before the days that I work, I plan on writing in the morning before I go to work. But this never happens. I make my lunch or I read or I listen to the radio. As I am doing these other things I am telling myself that I will write for a bit after I make my lunch or read or listen to the radio--or that I should be writing instead of making my lunch or reading or listening to the radio. Then I feel guilty and can't even enjoy making lunch or reading or listening, etc. etc. This makes for a sad morning.

Then when I don't write in the morning--and as I said, I never write in the morning--I plan on writing after work. This rarely happens. I was going to say that it never happens, but I think it has happened once or twice, so "rarely" is more accurate. But even though experience tells me that this rarely happens, I still expect to write every night.

In the same way--I think I've mentioned this before--I set deadlines (for finishing a story) and I fully expect to meet them but I never do. Actually, again, "rarely do" instead of "never do". So the deadline for story #1 was the end of august, then Labor Day, then the end of September, i.e., today. The story is not finished. Now my deadline is October 7th. Will I meet it? I expect to...

Also, I am taking a class beginning on October 7th. It's with a writer I like. Most of all, though, I am taking the class to help with deadlines. I think I'll be showing two stories in class, so I should have two stories finished by the end of it.

Anyway, I should definitely have two stories finished by then--the beginning of December, I think--if I want to meet my Mildred deadline. And I will DEFINITELY meet my Mildred deadline!!!

Madeleine Is Nervous

Or maybe intimidated is a better word for it.

The story I'm working on--story #1--is very complicated, and I'm afraid that I won't be able to pull it off.

That's all I'll say for now. I'm tired.

I wrote today.

A Positive Post from Madeleine

After my last post, and then Agnes's post yesterday--welcome back, Agnes!--I was determined to post something more positive today, because I was not pleased with the picture that was being painted of the two of us. That is to say, dear readers, I was prepared to LIE. I was prepared to say--no matter how the day went--that I had a GREAT day, that I felt GREAT about my writing, that the story was coming along very, very nicely.

But, in fact, I did have a great day. I did get a lot of writing done. And the story IS coming along nicely.

I spent three hours this afternoon at a cafe working on the next part of the story. I read the first four pages once and then I moved on, and I feel so much better this evening having written today than I do on days when I don't write at all.

I am hating this post, though. (That doesn't sound very positive, does it?)

I guess it's no fun for me when I succeed. Hmm...

I wrote today.

Why Agnes Worries

I am back for a moment but only just as have class in 15 minutes. Sometimes I think the fact that Madeleine and I are together is total magic, other times, as when I read her post for yesterday, I think that we are an unholy, Satanic union created by the Gods of inertia. The flattering simile: Angkor Wat, as in there is something good down there, once you cut through the vines that have grown up around it. The unflattering simile: that garbage continent in the Pacific. Something is there, true, but it's not a good thing. It's a thing that kills wildlife.

The difference between Madeleine and me is that I think I am lazy, and Madeleine thinks she is crazy. I need to stop watching documentaries about fashion: how is it that these people are so driven to create something so utterly ridiculous? Maybe even morally flawed? How can I get some of that?

Smoked today.

Madeleine Wastes the Day

I don't know what happened today. I guess the same thing that happened all those other days when I wanted to write when I woke up in the morning, I was actually looking forward to it, but then I did not write. There are still a few hours left tonight, so maybe I will write, though that is doubtful.

So I wanted to write. I planned on writing. I didn't write.

More specifically...

I woke up early. I had to do some work from home (for my job) so I went to the cafe down the street first thing and did it. Then I finished my last Mildred post--finally--in which I said that I needed to go home and start writing. I was home by 10AM and feeling pretty good. I had accomplished a lot by 10AM and I had the whole day ahead of me. Then, instead of writing, I finished a New Yorker article I had started last night on the subway. Mistake #1. I should have started writing immediately upon my return. Then I made coffee and turned on the radio; I wanted to hear about Ted Kennedy's replacement. Mistake #2. Once the radio is on, it never goes off. I kept reading. All this time, I was telling myself, I've got plenty of time--I'll finish this and then I'll start writing.

But first I'll balance my check book and pay some bills. Why do I do this when I'm going to write? There is some deep psychological reason... Any guesses, Agnes? Readers?

Lunch time. Or nearly lunch time, but I had finished the article, and it would be easier and more practical and time-saving to make my lunch before starting to write; otherwise I would have to stop writing in an hour to make my lunch. Mistake #3 or #4. I'm losing count of my mistakes because there have already been so many. I make lunch and listen to the NPR news summary. Then the interviews on the radio show begin--I can't remember who but I listen and eat my lunch. My lunch makes me tired! I think I'll take a nap, just 15 minutes, then I'll be ready to write.

30 Minutes later, I'm up. I wish I could check my email. I try to find an open Internet connection. There aren't any. This is NOT a surprise. There are NEVER any open lines during the day and rarely any at night. But I spent time looking, anyway. Are you counting the mistakes, readers? Then it's the afternoon. I had planned on going to Chelsea to visit some galleries in the late afternoon to reward myself for my day of writing. Maybe I should go now and write when I get home... I think on this for some time, then decide that, yes, I'll go into the city now and write later. That seems like the most practical idea.

(This summary of my day, I find, is totally humiliating.)

It's now 3PM and I am on the subway going into the city. I bring my writing! I thought I would read it on the subway so that when I got home after going to galleries and before dinner, I would be ready to write. Maybe I'll even write some on the train. (An acquaintance does all of his writing on the train; he rides the subway from end-of-line to end-of-line for hours and writes until he is done for the day. I admire this dedication and discipline and wish I was the same way.) Anyway, then galleries. Two hours later, I call a friend to see if he wants to meet me for coffee. He does! We have a lovely coffee date.

6:30 I'm on my way home. I am ready and excited to write. I organized the day perfectly! Pat on the back for me. In fact, why don't I stop at the Strand on the way home, look at books. I haven't been to the Strand in a long time. And there's still so many hours left in the day.

8PM. Home. Hungry. Eggplant must be cooked tonight or it will turn in the morning. Recipe takes one hour. Delicious! Lots of cleanup. While I eat, I check my computer to see if I have Internet access. I do! Thank you B's MacBook Pro! Let me check the news...

So that was my day. It is 10:30. I just spoke to Agnes. She didn't get anything done today, either. I tell her not to worry. She worries.

I am mortified. Will this depressing summary--out there for everyone to see--make me change my wasteful ways? I hope so. I think so.

There are still a few hours left in the day--certainly enough time to finish my next paragraph, otherwise: No writing today.

Madeleine Feels the Daily Pressure...

to post on the Mildred! I am letting down our dear reader--he told me so--and I am beginning to feel bad about myself. I can't manage to do this one simple thing...

I would feel less pressure if Agnes was/were posting something on here every so often, but she isn't. No pressure, Agnes! Really. I know you are busy with more important things, but I am eager and excited for you to come back and say something as soon as you can--a hello; a quick smoking update, i.e., I smoked last night, or even better, I did NOT smoke last night; a bit of something that you forgot to tell me on the phone or in an email or that could be shared with the devoted reader(s) of this blog (see my mention of the new sugar bowl of a few days ago); in short, anything that would fill up some space on this blog and give us all something new to read.

Plus you're such a good writer and I like the counterpoint. (Did I use that word correctly?)

Anyway, I started this entry TWO DAYS AGO with the intention of finishing it and posting it that night, then I added some things yesterday and was going to post it last night, but same old story--no Internet access, no B's MacBook Pro, work was very busy. I am going to try going to the nearby cafe in the mornings before work to get back to posting every day (if I ever did). Or I could quit my job and post every day; that would really be the best and happiest solution...

But going back to the first paragraph of this post... This is the same conversation that goes on inside my head every day of my life (that's a bit melodramatic, i know)--I need to write today; I need to write today; I still have a few hours left in the day to get some writing done today; I NEED TO WRITE TODAY!!!; I didn't write today!; why didn't I write today???; everybody else wrote today--even people with little children wrote today--what is wrong with me???; writers write every day! why don't I write every day? am I really a writer?

And on and on and on...

And going back to the paragraph before the last one--if I quit my job, would I write every day? I think not. I might feel more pressure to write and thus write less often.

I often have those romantic ideas (everybody has them, I guess)--quit my job and write, move someplace exotic and write, go into isolation and write--but I know none of those fantasy plans would work...

There's always some date in the future--after some life-altering event--when everything will change and I'll sudeenly be a real writer...

Anyhow, enough of that. And everyone wants to hear more about the dreaded paragraph, I'm sure. Did he go back to it? Did he change it? Is it really finished?

I can report, readers, that I have not changed the paragraph in the days since I finished it. I consider this a huge victory. I have read it many times and am very pleased with it. This is a different type of problem, though, that is also very familiar. I am fetishizing the paragraph! I read it and read it--out loud and to myself--instead of moving on and writing the next paragraph. In fact, by reading and re-reading it I begin to feel like I am actually writing--but of course I'm not actually writing. Is this clear? Now I feel like I have to stop writing this blog post and go write my story.

I plan on working on the next paragraph today. I don't think it's going to be as hard as the last paragraph. I can already see where I am going to run into problems (like the last paragraph) again later in the story. Perhaps that is why I am putting off moving on, etc. Obviously that is why...

Note the language I use in the last paragraph--"working on," "problems". Our dear reader would say that THIS is the problem. I treat my writing as if it is a chore, something to be DONE instead of something to be enjoyed. Right, dear reader? Agnes? Please comment on this. I will investigate this further some other time.

No writing last night--0r any night since Monday.

Madeleine Rewrites the Paragraph

Yes, readers, I rewrote the paragraph AGAIN--the same paragraph I said I was finally finished with a few days ago. I didn't want to rewrite it, but I couldn't stop myself, and I certainly couldn't write the next paragraph or any other part of the story until I was satisfied. So I worked on it for several hours this afternoon at Agnes's apartment.

Then I biked over to Agnes's studio and read the first four pages of the story to Agnes, including the newest version of the perturbing paragraph, and she liked them--and I did, too.

Now I think I really am finished with it and ready to move on.

Really.

Madeleine Is Frustrated...

...with so many things! ERT!

I don't have Internet at home anymore--or sometimes I do, sometimes I don't, but I can't count on it; B's MacBook Pro is letting me down!--and that makes it very difficult for me to post on the Mildred every day. I thought I would be able to post at my office, and usually I can, but this is my employer's busiest season, and I have a lot of work to do all the time (we're understaffed, of course; we can't hire anyone because of the bad economy, and also, no raises!) and coworkers are always walking behind me to go to meetings--I sit next to a conference room--and stealing glances at my computer screen as they go by. (I know they do this, because I do this as I wander in the company, moving work around. Mostly I don't recognize what they are reading all day on the Internet, which always surprises me, because I thought that everyone read the same things, or at least the same things as I read.) And I am fearful, I guess, of someone catching me--though not fearful of someone catching me not working as you might expect; everyone spends the whole day, it seems, trying not to work. I am fearful of someone catching me writing a blog. They might see the name of the blog and start reading it and tell/sneer to my colleagues about it and they would certainly wonder what I was writing a blog about, though not in a nice way. I still wonder what I am writing a blog about--and am I doing it right? Is the voice consistent? Is it interesting? Does the absence of Agnes hurt the blog?

And, yes, readers, I see it--these are all of the same questions, the same frustrations I have with my writing. In some ways, I still feel like I need permission to write fiction, just as I feel like I need permission to write this blog. (I was going to say this "stupid" blog, but I stopped myself.) I need to know that people think the blog is worth reading before I write it. And I need to know that my stories are worth reading before I write them. (This is a problem! A big problem! And sad. And it brings up so many questions that I can't answer/ponder in this post.) It comes down to the fact that I think writing a blog is self-indulgent--what makes a person think that they are SO interesting, that their experiences, their thoughts, etc., etc., are SO worthwhile and relevant that they need to be put out into the world and shared with strangers? Do I bring this attitude to my fiction? Clearly, and sadly, yes.

I will explore this further later on. Now I have to go to work. I am going to be late--again.

But first I have to judge my post: it started off well and was funny and lighthearted, I think, but by the end it's sort of depressing. I'm worried about what you think of me, readers...

And I know there is only one reader, really, and Agnes, of course. I hope it stays this way forever, that no one ever reads this blog! (That's what I say, anyway; secretly I want everyone to read it. I wouldn't be writing this if I didn't want everyone to read it. I think it's funny and fantastic and sad. Same way with my stories, etc., etc. And now it's on the blog so it's not secret anymore--I'm trying not to censor myself--except for the parentheses, which make it sort of secret, anyway; not everyone reads inside the parentheses. That's what my teachers told me in first grade: Don't cross out your mistakes--just put parentheses around them; we won't read them! Anyway, this post proves that the most interesting bits of this blog are in parentheses. If you get bored, readers, just read what's in parentheses.)

Am I making any sense, readers? Can you follow my thoughts? Are you frightened for me? Now I feel bad about myself.

By the way, Agnes, if you're reading: I'm using the new sugar bowl! It looks lovely. Also, Agnes, please don't smoke while you are reading this blog. And, Agnes, our reader misses you, as do I.

No writing last night.

A Short Note from Madeleine

I did manage to write type the paragraph into the draft of my story.

It took longer than I expected it to--I put off looking at it until yesterday evening, and didn't type it up until this morning--but it's done. Tomorrow I move on. My goal is to complete the next paragraph and move on to the next section of the story.

This blog is helping me, I think.

So: I wrote last night.

Madeleine Writes the Dreaded Paragraph

Yesterday, while visiting Agnes, I spent the afternoon writing my new story.

I worked on the paragraph on page 4 that has been giving me trouble.

I worked on the paragraph for three hours, probably, writing and rewriting it.

As soon as I am done with this post, I am going to type the final version into the draft on my computer--by final version I mean the version of the paragraph that will allow me to move on to the next paragraph in the story. (The next paragraph is a problem for me, too...)

Will I actually be able to type in the paragraph as is and move on? Or will I spend the next several hours fixing the same paragraph over and over again?

Tune in tomorrow...

And finally: I wrote yesterday.

Madeleine Misses a Day--and What Has Happened to Agnes?

Readers all over the world, I am sure, are wondering: Did Madeleine write yesterday? Did she finally write that paragraph on the fourth page and move on? Did she NOT post precisely because she was writing her new story?

Unfortunately, readers, no, I did not write yesterday.

(Now readers all over the world are shaking their heads--as am I.)

I didn't post, because I was at home and my Internet was not working. (I think that B's MacBook Pro has finally secured his line.)

I didn't write, because...

I will get to that in a minute.

First I want to tell you what's happened to Agnes as we haven't heard from her in several days.

I am with Agnes right now--she is sitting next to me on the couch--and she is smoking.

That is all I will say. I think I should let Agnes speak for herself.

As for why I didn't write yesterday...

I was excited to have the day off, and I was excited to work on my story. The blog has spurred me on, I think, and helped me realize that writing and completing these stories is not an impossible task--that, in fact, I make it impossible. I was feeling hopeful and really thought that I could finish that paragraph on the fourth page AT LEAST. I thought I would be able to write SOMETHING and move on knowing that I could go back and edit whatever I wrote after I had written a complete draft of the story.

But before I started writing, I decided to balance my check book. I often do this just before I sit down to write and I don't know why. Clearly it's a delaying tactic, procrastination, etc., but why checkbook balancing every time? Then I paid bills. I got paid yesterday so I had money and I wanted to pay bills, sure, but I could have done it later in the day, or at some time when I was not supposed to be writing. When that was finished, I checked my email on Agnes's iPhone. (Agnes had been in town the night before for a friend's art opening and when she went back to school that morning she left her phone.) Then, since I was already online, I read a few political blogs to save time later, I suppose. Then it was lunch time. What was I going to eat for lunch? While I thought about that I turned on the radio to hear the NPR news summary. After the news, the first guest on the Lenny Lopate Show intrigued me and so I listened--just one guest, I told myself, and then I'll write--and while the guest was talking about whatever book they were hocking, I started to think that actually I didn't have SEVEN months to complete this project (i.e., five stories by the end of May 2010), I had NINE months, including most of September and all of May, and so actually I'm way ahead of myself, five stories in nine months is really easy. I can do that...

That's how the day went--a familiar course of events, frankly, and the result was (as always) that I did not write. I MUST change this. I would like to finish the five stories sooner than May 2010, maybe have more than five--I mean, I would like to exceed my goal for once instead of rushing at the end to complete it.

Anyway...

No writing yesterday or last night.

Madeleine Overthinks It

I don't like my post from yesterday. I realized this almost as soon as I posted it and thought about it all the way home on the subway. I would have changed it as soon as I got back to my apartment, or at least amended it, but my Internet was not working.

(By "my Internet" I mean the current open line in the building; I don't have Internet at home. When I do have it--usually for a brief period of time after a new person arrives in the building and before they secure their connection--it is a huge distraction for me. I have been very distracted lately thanks to "B's MacBook Pro," whoever that is.)

I thought about the post some more this morning: I hate it! I want to change it! People are going to read it and be bored! I don't want to bore people! Agnes's posts are SO much more fun and interesting and better than mine! (You're nodding your head, dear reader, I know it! So are you, Agnes!) I should take it down and pretend it never happened! Why did I say those inane things about writing description???

Now I'm starting to hate this post, too.

But this is my point and this is what I learned: sometimes my posts are going to be boring, badly written, stupid, etc., and sometimes they're going to be funny, intelligent, stunning, etc. Yet another lesson about my writing process! Some days will be good, some days will be bad--and perhaps in a month I will look back at yesterday's post and love it or at least see it in the context of the blog.

And also I don't have to love it or hate it; I just have to do it--and try to enjoy it.

So it was a good thing that my Internet was down yesterday, because I would have changed that post and I might still be writing it now. That's what I do. That's why I can't get past page four in that new story--I keep writing and rewriting the same paragraph over and over again when I should just write something and move on.

Anyway, I'm at the office and trying to get out of here and getting confused.

So that's a new rule: no changing a post once it has been posted. Maybe this is the fundamental rule of any blog.

No new writing last night.

(Agnes will say that this post is earnest.)

NOTE: I broke the new rule already: I have edited this post several times since it was first posted. But I won't go back tomorrow and change it. That's the rule, I guess. (Until tomorrow...)

A Wonderful Morning

After a restless night--I dreamed of bugs, swarms of grasshoppers mostly, and actual bugs were biting me in my bed--I woke up early this morning and wrote for several hours before going to work. In fact I was an hour late to work, because I was writing.

I finished the revision I have talked about in the last few posts--and it felt good. I even enjoyed it. I made some new discoveries and added some description(!)--I really don't like reading or writing description, and this makes me feel bad, i.e., less of a writer--and I managed to fix several paragraphs in the story that have always bothered me.

Now I have no excuses, though; I have to return to my new work tonight or in the morning. Frightening!

I love the beginning of this new story I am writing--I always love the beginnings of my stories--but I'm stuck in a paragraph on page four. I have been laboring over this paragraph for many weeks. I wish I could skip over it and move on--in fact I have many pages after page four that I could be editing, adding to, etc.--but as much as I want and try to change my process, I always end up writing everything in order. More on this later. I am at the office and I want to go home.

No new writing last night. But my revision is done! (For now, anyway...)

Madeleine Breaks Her Rule

We have a reader. Hooray. And said reader is actually reading the blog; he called me first thing this morning to tell me that I need to do my writing. Yes, dear reader, I know. Thank you for reminding me.

So per my title, yes, I did break a rule that I set yesterday, i.e., day one of the Mildred: this morning I read Agnes's latest post before writing my own. I had no intention of doing this, but after telling me that I had to do my writing, our reader went on to tell me how much he enjoyed Agnes's post this morning--and then Agnes mentioned in an email that her post was all about me. Add to that the fact that I was sitting at my desk in my dumb office and I knew I wouldn't be able to post anything for several hours because I actually had work to do--so how could I resist?

But that's the point, I guess. I made the rule and I should have stuck to it; I should have resisted the urge to read Agnes's lovely post. Or, on second thought, is the point that I make too many rules--and can't resist breaking them? Am I constantly setting myself up--even in these very small ways--to fail? I am thinking about my writing process now, of course. And--yikes--this blog.

I often give myself deadlines that I know I am not going to meet. Then when I don't meet them, I get upset with and/or punish myself. Sometimes I draw outlandish conclusions based on this most recent failure about my writing abilities, my bleak future, my worth as a human being. And then, perhaps, I indulge in some paranoid fantasies: people aren't telling me what they REALLY think of me; somebody in my family is bound to fail--and it's going to be me; Agnes, eventually, will have no choice but to leave me because I am such a loser.

(That last bit was supposed to be funny and entertaining, but I fear that it was a bit too, I don't know, raw or something. I want to delete it but I won't, if only for the enjoyment of our dear reader.)

But this episode did give me a little insight into Agnes's struggle. One little peek at the blog before I post--i.e., one cigarette--won't hurt.

It is interesting, too, that both Agnes and I broke rules on the first day of the Mildred.

Anyway, I have lost my train of thought. I am still at work and am constantly interrupted!

So finally:

No writing yet today. Tonight, hopefully, I will write. I do need to wrap up that story revision I was working on yesterday.

When Agnes is good she is very, very good, but when she is bad she is Horrid

The funny thing is that I am certain it isn't even any kind of record to fail on the very first day. Maybe that would be some kind of recompense? Agnes smoked last night. And I feel horrible this morning. Not because of the smoking or drinking (there was some of that, too) but because I'm overwhelmed by a feeling of dread and helplessness. School has just started up again, and there are a lot of social gatherings at night which include alcohol and awkwardness--two of my "triggers". But it isn't like everyone was smoking, and I didn't really have all that much to drink. In fact, I had a cigarette before I even took a drink.

So how do we break it down? This summer has been comprised of a series of crap-ass attempts to quit for me, nothing all that serious. In retrospect, I always started smoking again the night that Madeleine went back home after visiting me, or I came back home after visiting her. Loathe as I am to admit it, I think part of it is that I am really growing weary of our enforced separation. We aren't even that far apart! And we see each other all of the time. But I really miss her when she's not around and it is harder, I think, for me to have the "willpower" that I need.

It's strange the difference in projects between Madeleine and myself: hers being sort of additive and mine being sort of subtractive. There's not a lot of drama implicit in not doing something, is there? I know that there has always been something appealing to me about being heroically good and then having a fall. Oh Eve, you bitch. I remember thinking last night about this blog, and how it would be impossible for me to smoke because I had started this blog and made an agreement with Madeleine. In fact it was very easy, but it's gotten to the point where it isn't even really any fun anymore. It has turned into something that feels almost outside of myself: an externalized force that fills me with resentment when I resist it and shame when I give in.

Madeleine's First Post

I have been putting this off. ERT! I'm ALREADY putting this off.

My first post was supposed to be yesterday. Agnes wanted me to post first since this blog was my idea but of course she beat me to it.

I haven't read her post yet. (Is she smoking? I don't think so...) She sent me a text message saying that she had posted. One of the rules I've set for myself is that I won't allow myself to enjoy Agnes' posts each day until I have posted myself. That is supposed to provide more motivation for me to post every day and stick to the blog--and hopefully, by sticking to the blog, I will stick to my writing and fulfill my stated goal of writing five stories by the end of May 2010.

(This deny-myself-X-until-I-do-X motivational strategy is very familiar to me. It's not always successful, however. Anyway...)

Why five stories? Because that seems to be a possible goal for me if I stretch myself and work hard and stop putting things off.

Why a blog? The public shame of not holding up my end of the bargain--i.e., finishing five stories by May 2010--would be too much to bear, especially since I so want Agnes to quit smoking. Plus, perhaps--hopefully--by writing about my tortured writing process, etc., it won't be as ever-present when I sit down each day to write my stories.

I feel very self-conscious and uncomfortable writing this post even though nobody is reading this now and possibly nobody will ever read this ever, except Agnes. Plus Agnes told me NOT to edit my posts and that freaked me out and possibly paralyzed me for 24 hours. Agnes is that powerful.

Truthfully, Agnes, if you are reading, I have edited this a bit, but not as much as I wanted to. I will try not to edit in the future, because I do think that would be good for me.

Now I'm worried that Agnes' first post is better than mine. Remember, Agnes, this is NOT a competition.

So that's all for today. This did not go how I expected it to go AT ALL. I was going to write about how I never read blogs--personal blogs, anyway; I read political blogs--and how I feel really silly writing a blog, and I don't know how a blog should read, etc., etc. How I don't want anyone to know that I am writing a blog. (Hence the pseudonym.) Maybe this is a lesson, I don't know.

It is interesting how I didn't write about my writing process at all in this post and yet this post is all about my writing process.

And finally:

No writing today, though I thought about my story while riding on the train. I did revise an old story.

Madeleine: bad influence; Agnes struggles

This is the first big day. Madeleine and I were to get an early start. We both have a lot of work to do. We were going to be magnificent and glorious (before actually typing that in was thinking about the relative probability that there is an existing search engine that you can type in something like 'magnificent' and 'Dylan Thomas' and out pops something blog-ready, smart-sounding, and properly attributed--now I'm thinking about what it means that I have no ready, internal access to poetry, and a just-demonstrated lack of respect for it (or at least for its affect on my soul as opposed to non-existent readers.))

Alarm 1: set for 6:45 am
This was when I was to arise, dewy-eyed and clean-smelling. The alarm went off, and Madeleine wove her soporific spells. I claim no responsibility, she is too strong for me.

Alarm 2: my watch alarm, set for 7:30 (though that was only a left-over; I had no intention of being in bed at 7:30). More spells.

We did finally get up out of bed at around 8:40. Then, instead of having a light and healthful fast-breaking of hot oatmeal and fresh strawberries we ate one and a half bratwurst apiece on a toasted wonderbread-style bun with peppers and fontina. Agnes had some salad, too. No smoking for Agnes!

Welcome to the Mildred

Agnes Dix is trying to quit smoking. Madeleine Moorhead is trying to finish writing five stories by the end of May, 2010. We are starting on September 6, 2009. This is our story...