Monthly Archives: February 2012

February 28, 2012 · 7:45 am

Monday’s Top 5

This week:

Kay Hudson is Reading about the Craft of Writing.

Laura Stanfill talks about Time Management for Writers.

Howlin’ Mad Heather is asking people to vote on her 33 Films, 33 Years Poll.

Mommy Rotten has Play Group Anxiety.

And Renegade Mama Janelle is pretty sure that You are Not Your 401K.

Sorry for the short and sweet links this week. Unfortunately, I’m a little time-poor at the moment so will simply hope that you trust my judgement when I say that these are all fabulous links and you should click through and read more.

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February 25, 2012 · 2:39 pm

More Versatile Things About Me

It’s been a few months since I was last linked to a blog award — I was starting to think you all didn’t love me! — but the award train is back. Mommy Rotten awarded me the Versatile Blogger award a couple of weeks ago. (Thanks Ms Rotten!) As my regular readers know, I don’t do chain letters, chain emails, or chain blog awards (or chainmail, but that’s a different story). But I do have a compulsion for talking about myself and the attention span of a gnat, so I thought I’d (hopefully) amuse everyone with 7 fun facts about myself.

Plus, I’ve been goaded into it. Mommy Rotten said, “I picked those versatile individuals who I thought would have the funniest things to say about themselves.” Really, Mommy? Funny? No pressure or anything, right? Mind you, I was at the bottom of the list, so perhaps you’re only expecting me to be mildly entertaining.

I can do ‘mildly entertaining’.

1. I am totally a cat person… When I was 2 1/2 years old, I decided I wanted my own cat. Every day I asked my parents, “Please can I have a cat?” And every day they said no. Because we lived in a caravan park, because we didn’t have space for a cat, because we didn’t have the money for a cat, and because (above all) my Dad is allergic to cats. But day after day I asked the question. “Please can I have a cat?” After several years (or possibly weeks), I stopped asking. I got smart. I got cunning.

I didn’t ask for two days. Two. Whole. Days. And then, when I was grocery shopping with Mum, I asked, “Please can we buy some cat food?”

“Cat food?” she repeated. “Why would we buy cat food?”

“Because if we buy cat food, Daddy will have to let us have a cat to eat it!”

…

I got my cat the very next day.

2. … because even nice dogs can be scary. I’m not a dog person. If a dog starts sniffing at me, licking me, or looking at me with cute “puppy dog eyes” I have to fight the urge to flee, vomit, or cuff it upside the head. If it’s your dog doing any of those things (and you do nothing to make it stop) my esteem for you starts plummeting. I don’t like dogs. They’re too dependent, too overtly affectionate, and too eager to please. (I’ll take my cat with a mile-wide independent streak and a subtle hatred of the world, thankyouverymuch.)

But there was one dog, once, whom I came to love. 

His name was Bundy, and he was a Rhodesian Ridgeback cross (I don’t know with what). My family inherited him when I was 17. He had been abused and then abandoned by his previous owner, and was on the way to the pound when my Dad saw him and brought him home. Mum hated him. She made it clear that he could stay one week. One. And then Bundy started sitting behind her when she hung the clothes on the line, “protecting” her from the birds of the neighbourhood, and one week stretched into two. Then three. Then a month. Then ten years.

Bundy was big and aggressive. He bit more than one idiot who decided that coming into our yard without one of the family was a good idea because “dogs like me” or “Bundy’s met me before”. He was big and aggressive, but oh so gentle and caring when it came to “his people”. He’d grasp us gently by the wrist and tug at our arms, dragging us to see his latest treasure (which was often a dead animal that had dared enter his territory) without so much as denting our skin. He’d sit guard whenever we were outside, chasing away birds and insects that tried to get too close. (Mind you, when we were inside he’d just lie there and watch those same birds eat the food out of his bowl.)

He was big and aggressive, but I was never scared of him. I never had reason to be. And then one night, when I was 18, I staggered home at 2:00am, a few drinks sloshing in my belly, and decided to sneak in the back way so as not to wake my parents. I walked as silently as possible to the side gate, reached over, and clicked the latch up.  I was about to push the gate open when out of the darkness came a massive, growling, frothing monster.

The beast slammed into the gate so hard I was sent sprawling backwards. But not before I felt his hot breath on my face, his teeth barely missing my nose as they snapped closed.

I landed hard and let out a gasp of pain and surprise and (need I say it) fear.

The snarling stopped. Silence. A questioning sound from Bundy.

“Bundy?” I said, my voice quivering a little.

He whined apologetically, his tail swishing slowly and rhythmically against the fence. I got up and called his name again before I reached my hand over to unlatch the gate. He pushed his muzzle against my hand and licked my palm gently before backing off every-so apologetically. He was extra-attentive the next few days.

I learned two things from this experience. (1) Never try to sneak into a yard with a dog, even if he loves you. (2) Being terrified for your life does wonders to sober you up.

3. I am often unnecessarily verbose. I know. Shocking, isn’t it?

4. My brain lives in a historically mythological dimension. Did you know that Cupid was Aphrodite’s son? Or that after Loki cut off Sif’s golden locks of hair, he had actual golden hair made for her as a replacement? Did you know that Easter is variant of the heathen festival of Ostara? Or that in the year 1000, Iceland voted to adopt Christianity as its primary religion in order to be allowed to continue trading with the mainland? Did you know that the Dreamtime has no past or future? Or that the Celestial Bureaucracy has hundreds of gods and goddesses who operate within an organisation similar to an old Chinese political system?

I know all those things and more.

What I don’t know is anything about current events, reality TV stars, modern political figures, and the name of that actor who played the bad guy in that movie with the girl who sang the song about the flowers.

5. If you want to know something, call me. My sister does this. We live a long way from each other and communicate sporadically (once a day for two weeks, then not for six months, then a couple of times a month, etc.). It’s not at all unusual for our first phone conversation in months to go something like this:

*Phone rings*
Me: Hello?
Sis: Hey. What’s goulash?
Me: Goulash?
Sis: Yeah.
Me: It’s a type of food. Like stew.
Sis: Cool. Thanks.
Me: No prob.
Sis: Bye.
Me: Bye.
*Hang up*

Or this:

*Phone rings*
Me: Hello?
Sis: It’s me.
Me: Hey.
Sis: Spaghetti or lasagna?
Me: Lasagna.
Sis: Thanks!
Me: Bye.
Sis: Bye.
*Hang up*

You may be thinking that these conversations make more sense in context. But here’s the thing: there is no context. There is just this.

6. Don’t come to me for sympathy. My husband once (famously) told me that I was as sympathetic as a plank of wood. He complains that I’m not sympathetic if he’s hurt or sick. Even the boys know not to come to me with whinges and complaints and expect me to give them a cuddle and feel sorry for them — and one of them’s only just a year old. No boys, if you want outpourings of vicarious pain, go talk to your father. He’s the sympathetic one.

All that being said, I don’t think I’m unsympathetic. I care a lot about people (sometimes too much, in fact) and have a tendency to take their pain on to myself. I just have no patience for people who don’t help themselves.

Got a headache? I’m sympathetic. I really am. What can I do to help?

Wait. What do you mean you’ve had a headache for hours and you haven’t (a) taken any painkillers, or (b) stopped staring at the computer screen? Yeah, so my sympathy’s all dried up.

Or, in the words I use with my four-year-old: “I’m really sorry you hurt yourself. Do you need a kiss? Now, what did you learn about jumping off dining room chairs? What are you going to do differently in the future?”

Come on, if trying to prevent a repeat of the situation doesn’t qualify as “showing compassion”, I don’t know what does.

7. I’ve learned that dancing is not a hobby, it’s a lifestyle. And after three of Big Brother’s dance classes, he’s loving it more and more. We’re treated to daily dance recitals, and he talks about his next dance class all week long. But I’m not sure I’m really equipped to be a “Dance Mum”. There’s the time spent waiting outside the studio, the time spent preparing costumes and uniforms, the shoes, the fashion, the practice, and the money.

Oh yes, the money. I’d say I’ll need a second job to support the habit hobby lifestyle, but that would imply that I already have a paying job. Anyone know the going rate for a kidney? And what’s that in dance shoes?

I’m not going to forward this award on to anyone, even though I’m supposed to tag 7 people and then wait for the money love to come rolling in. Sorry. I should have added “I’m not much fun” to my list of 7 things.

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February 23, 2012 · 10:32 am

Writing Lessons from Janice Hardy

If you’re a writer and you don’t know the name Janice Hardy, you really should. If not for her books, then certainly for her blog:  The Other Side of the Story. This is one of my absolute favourite writing blogs, and I never miss a post.

On her blog, Janice provides a safe environment full of gentle encouragement, practical advice and a backlog of information on everything from generating ideas to improving your writing craft and submitting for publication. She runs an excerpt critique each Saturday (which I’ve taken advantage of in the past), and answers each and every comment left on her blog. Janice is a true “writing hero”, seeming to take every writer under her wing and help them learn to fly.

In the time that I’ve been following Janice’s blog, I’ve come to respect,  admire, and trust her. But there was always a little voice in the back of my head that wondered: ‘This is all well and good, but do you practice what you preach? Does your writing live up to your own standards?’

Janice writes Middle Grade fantasy — not genre that I would usually read! But I set out to find the first book in her Healing Wars trilogy: The Shifter.

This took quite some time to find. Eventually, I discovered that the book was released in the UK (and Australia) as The Pain Merchants. Or, rather, I suspected that it was. So I tweeted Janice to confirm, and she responded almost immediately in the affirmative. (Seriously — this is why I love both Janice and Twitter!) Within a couple of days, I had my hands on her book.

So, does she follow her own advice?

Let me answer your question with another question. Let’s say you were writing a book aimed at 10 – 14 year olds, set in a fantasy world, and you wanted to do the following:

  1. Describe the inside of a temple, including seven distinct statues.
  2. Introduce the religion of the country where the story is set.
  3. Give a brief indication of the political situation.
  4. Communicate the personality and beliefs of the main character.

How many pages of exposition do you imagine that would take? How many paragraphs of trying to “show, don’t tell” before you’d got your message across? Well, Janice Hardy does it in 260 words:

I crossed the geometric flower gracing the middle of the room — six overlapping circles centred under a seventh. The glazed tiles sparkled even in the weak light from the arched windows. Curved wooden benches radiated outward, two rows facing the seven alcoves where a statue to each Sister stared with blank eyes.

On the left, Saint Moed had her twin swords crossed above her head, though she’d done nothing to defend Geveg against the Duke when we needed her. Beside her, Saint Vergeef had one hand in a basket of pears, the other outstretched in offering. Cruel when so many went hungry. Saint Erlice had the smug look of one who never told a lie, not even to make someone feel better.

The right side wasn’t much better. Saint Vertroue planted her staff in the marble block at her feet, both hands gripping it and daring anyone to try and get past her. So much for her fortitude. Many had passed her and she’d never once pulled her staff from the stone to stop them. Saint Gedu patiently leaned against her alcove, clearly in no hurry to save anybody from anything. Saint Malwe smiled modestly, lids and eyes cast down as if embarrassed to have folks worshipping at her feet.

In the centre of the six was Saint Saea, hands open as if apologising. The mother of mercy; the grannyma of “sorry it had to turn out this way”; the one who made you think that this time it would be different.

Saints and sinners, this was the creepiest place in Geveg.

After reading this excerpt, I took that little, doubting voice outside and shot it.

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February 21, 2012 · 7:57 am

Monday’s Top 5

Jess Haines is one of my favourite authors. She writes of the H&W Investigations series, the first one of which I reviewed here. I’ve been following her blog for some time now, and always find her to be funny, a little snarky, and very open about her writing and her views. This week she posted about The Taste of Success — it’s a very personal and honest look at the realities of money, writing, publishing, and making it all happen. In her own words: “Well, you know what, self-doubt? Fuck you.”

Dan Thompson talked about an interesting sci-fi phenomena this week: the danger of missing the call. When you’re projecting your story into the future, it will quickly become dated if you miss an important element of future technology. As he says: “A story written in the 1930’s with flying cars can still feel like the future, but one that leaves out computers is fatally dated.” This article, titled What Are We Missing? is a must-read for any sci-fi writers out there.

Abigail of Oh My Words! revealed this week that she is in awe of a friend of hers who knows all the words to R.E.M.’s It’s the End of the World As We Know It. And fair enough, too. I’m pretty impressed that I know about 70% of them — and that’s more than enough to impress my lyric-challenged husband. In the spirit of this song, Abigail looks at a few other songs with lyrics that are just as tricky to Sing Along With All the Right (Oh My) Words when you know them as when you don’t.

It’s the same old story: Boy likes Girl, Boy pulls Girl’s hair, Girl goes home crying and is told, “It’s okay, it’s just because he likes you.” But have you ever stopped to consider why we think that’s okay? What makes it okay for a schoolboy to be hit, kick, taunt, or otherwise hurt a girl to show his affection? What would you think if he was an adult? And if society says it’s okay when he’s six years old, how can we turn around and tell him it’s not okay when he’s sixteen? I’d never considered any of these questions until reading this great article from the Queen of the Couch: You Didn’t Thank Me For Punching You In The Face.

And on a less serious note, Renegade Mama brings some of her trademark snarkiness to Valentine’s Day with her post: Yo, Hallmark, I got some Valentine’s for ya. After all, who hasn’t at some point wanted to give their partner a Valentine’s card that reads, “If you leave your boots on the living room floor one more time I’ll fucking cut you.”

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February 17, 2012 · 2:58 pm

Books I’ve Read in 2012: Part 2

This year I set myself a goal to read a minimum of 50 books and to share them here on my blog. To that end, I will be writing a quick wrap-up/review every time I finish five. I love sharing the books I’ve enjoyed with other people, and would love to hear from you if you’ve read any of these, or if you decide to do so based on my recommendation. (Actually, I’d love to hear from you anyway. I’m addicted to comments.)

Check out my previous 2012 book reviews here.

Mind Games — Carolyn Crane

Description

Justine Jones has a secret. A hardcore hypochondriac, she’s convinced a blood vessel is about to burst in her brain. Then, out of the blue, a startlingly handsome man named Packard peers into Justine’s soul and invites her to join his private crime-fighting team. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime deal. With a little of Packard’s hands-on training, Justine can weaponize her neurosis, turning it outward on Midcity’s worst criminals, and finally get the freedom from fear she’s always craved. End of problem. Or is it? In Midcity, a dashing police chief is fighting a unique breed of outlaw with more than human powers. And while Justine’s first missions, including one against a nymphomaniac husband-killer, are thrilling successes, there is more to Packard than meets the eye. Soon, while battling her attraction to two very different men, Justine is plunging deeper into a world of wizardry, eroticism, and cosmic secrets. With Packard’s help, Justine has freed herself from her madness–only to discover a reality more frightening than anyone’s worst fears.

Review

This book is not your traditional Urban Fantasy story. It has an almost super-hero feel to the setting and the characters, but most of the characters are anything but heroic. Their super-powers come, not from a traditional source of power, but from their neuroses, flaws, and fears. I absolutely loved it.

Many of the reviews I’ve read of this book focus on the fact that Justine is, shall we say, somewhat depressing. She suffers from a severe mental illness, and that colours everything she sees and does. The first quarter of the book is particularly heavy on the woe-is-me, I’m-so-helpless aspects of her personality and even after she learns how to use her illness as a weapon for good, she still has moments where she devolves into angst.

Normally this type of character wouldn’t appeal to me at all, but in this case it was so completely warranted, and so utterly authentic, that Justine’s anguish took the book from being an interesting premise to a truly enthralling story. I definitely recommend this book to anyone who likes gritty, disturbed heroes and vibrant world-building — just be warned that Justine Jones is not an upbeat, happy-go-lucky protagonist.

Writing the Paranormal Novel — Steven Harper

Description

Writing a paranormal novel takes more than tossing in a sexy vampire or adding a magic wand. It takes an original idea, believable characters, a compelling plot, surprising twists, and great writing. Broken down into four parts, “Writing the Paranormal Novel” explores: Prewriting - what a paranormal book is, how to choose supernatural elements, deciding what impact the supernatural will have on your fictional world, research tips, and how to deal with cliches; Paranormal Character Building – techniques for creating different types of supernatural protagonists and antagonists, supporting players, and – of course – the non-human; World Building – developing a strong plot and complementary subplots, controlling pacing, writing fight scenes and flashbacks, using dialogue, and much more; and, Submitting – tips for preparing your work for submission, polishing sample chapters, and more.

Review

The main theme of this book could best be described as: “Paranormal novels are so hot right now.”

While there’s plenty of helpful advice on world-building, race-building, and ensuring that the paranormal aspects of your story are authentic, the focus seems to be on taking an idea or a fully written piece of work, and tweaking it so it fits into the paranormal or urban fantasy genres. Got an aggressive boyfriend? Turn him into  a werewolf! Wondering how to throw a spanner in the works of their romance? Turn one of them into a vampire! As a spec fic writer, I found this attitude borderline offensive, if understandable.

I wouldn’t say it was a bad book, and I certainly don’t regret reading it. There were some genuinely useful pieces of advice, including a how-to guide explaining how to contact professionals to research aspects of your book, from law enforcement officers to scientists. But the mix of extremely basic writing tips, combined with the idea that any book can be made more marketable with the careful application of magic, made me question the target audience of the book.

Plain Truth — Jodi Picoult

Description

The discovery of a dead infant in an Amish barn shakes Lancaster County to its core. But the police investigation leads to a more shocking disclosure: circumstantial evidence suggests that eighteen-year-old Katie Fisher, an unmarried Amish woman believed to be the newborn’s mother, took the child’s life. When Ellie Hathaway, a disillusioned big-city attorney, comes to Paradise, Pennsylvania, to defend Katie, two cultures collide — and for the first time in her high-profile career, Ellie faces a system of justice very different from her own. Delving deep inside the world of those who live “plain,” Ellie must find a way to reach Katie on her terms. And as she unravels a tangled murder case, Ellie also looks deep within — to confront her own fears and desires when a man from her past reenters her life.

Review

It will probably come as no surprise to my regular readers to know that I’m not traditionally a Jodi Picoult reader. I know of her, of course, and I’ve read about her, but I’ve never felt any inclination to read one of her books. (I understand they’re fairly light on swords, sorcery, and magic rings.) Then I read Kim Pugliano’s review of Plain Truth and I changed my mind.

Part of the reason I decided to read this book because I’ve always been fascinated by the Amish way of life, and I was curious how it would be presented. In that, I was not disappointed. The details of the Plain way of living are authentic, honest, and presented in such a matter-of-fact way that it’s easy to believe that Picoult herself spent the last few years living amongst the Amish. Although I have  no way to confirm the accuracy of the facts presented, I have no reason to doubt their veracity.

There was nothing stand-out about the story itself – I saw the plot twists coming well in advance, and was entirely unsurprised by the ending. But the beautiful prose, truly authentic characters and fabulous setting combined to make this book one of the most compelling books I’ve read all year. I enjoyed my time with Katie Fisher and Ellie Hathaway, and am pleased to have made their acquaintance. So while I may not be inspired to race out and read the rest of Jodi Picoult’s backlist, I can’t say that I won’t read another of her books if I come across one with a setting and/or characters that sound interesting.

Clockwork Angel — Cassandra Clare

Description

It’s London, 1878: sixteen-year-old Tessa Gray’s priority should be finding her brother, not falling in love, especially with two boys. Tessa is soon caught in a dangerous love triangle where a wrong decision could prove fatal. She will need all her strength to save her brother and stay alive as she learns the chilling truth of what really lurks on London’s streets after dark. Discover more about the mysterious and sexy Shadowhunters in this first book of the thrilling prequel trilogy to the bestselling “Mortal Instruments” sequence.

Review

It’s Paranormal. It’s Steampunk. It’s magical and mystical and full of adventure. It is, in a word, amazing.

Tessa Gray starts out as your average, clueless, sixteen-year-old girl abducted by evil necromantic sisters and forced to learn how to magically contact dead people. Then she meets the Shadowhunters. Specifically, she meets the alternately dashing and abrasive Will and the quiet, sensitive Jem and is dragged into their world — a society of Nephilim who patrol the world on behalf of angelic forces, keeping demonic forces and Downworlders (vampires, werewolves, witches, etc) in check.

Of the two boyish Shadowhunters (both seventeen years old), I have a hard time deciding which I like best, and which I would prefer Tessa to fall in love with. Will is everything you expect in a brave and dashing hero (smoke him a kipper, he’ll be back for breakfast!), but he has a dark past that haunts him and causes him to lash out when he thinks people are getting too close. What girl wouldn’t fall for a handsome, strong bad boy like him? Jem, on the other hand, is quiet and soft-spoken, with never a bad word to say about anyone and the simple courage of a true hero. How could any girl fail to fall for him?

But despite my gushing over the two male leads, this is not a romance. This is an action-packed, mystery-fuelled ride through Victorian London, where vampires are vicious and cold, magic demands dark sacrifices, and the forces of good and evil battle openly. I was entranced by the setting, enthralled by the story, surprised by the revelations, and fell in love with the characters. I can’t wait to get my hands on book 2 in this trilogy (Clockwork Prince), and explore more of Cassandra Clare’s work. I may not have read it yet, but if her Mortal Instruments series is as well written and as this prequel, I completely understand how it became a bestseller in seven countries. 

Shatter Me — Taherah Mafi

Description

`You can’t touch me,` I whisper. I’m lying, is what I don’t tell him. He can touch me, is what I’ll never tell him. But things happen when people touch me. Strange things. Bad things. No one knows why Juliette’s touch is fatal, but The Reestablishment has plans for her. Plans to use her as a weapon. But Juliette has plans on her own. After a lifetime without freedom, she’s finally discovering a strength to fight back for the very first time—and to find a future with the one boy she thought she’d lost forever.

Review

 I don’t know how to write this review. If I just tell you it’s a “game changer” and a “wonder of modern literature”, will you go out and read it? Please? 

Shatter Me is a YA dystopian novel. I think. The story itself is almost a superhero origin tale, and the writing is modern literature in motion. It’s beautiful and flowing, sharp and discordant, crystal clear and maddeningly indistinct — all of these things at the exact right moment.

Juliette is a teenage girl with a special ability curse. When she touches someone, they die. She was locked up, put in solitary confinement, when her touch caused the death of a small child, and she has dwelled there alone, untouched, unloved, for years — reliving the moment she tried to help but instead brought pain and death to a toddler. At the start of the book, her sanity is hanging by a thread. And then things get worse.

The world of Shatter Me is disturbing, amazing, and Real. Juliette is a beautiful and tragic heroine. Her would-be boyfriend, Adam, is exactly what you want to see in a male lead. And then there’s the bad guy — the psychopathically evil, and yet strangely fragile and sympathetic, Warner. But even with all these amazing elements, the real magic of the book is Taherah Mafi’s voice and style. Every page, every sentence, every word is perfect. No word is chosen by chance — each one has meaning and feeling and sound beyond my wildest expectations.

I loved this book. I didn’t just read it, I lived and breathed and slept and ate it. And then I got to the end, and felt a horrid sense of disappointment… until I realised that it’s the first book of a trilogy. Bring on Fall 2012 when book 2 is due to be released!

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February 13, 2012 · 5:24 pm

Monday’s Top 10

I know, I know, I promised to catch up on last week’s Top 5. But by the time I’d read all the previous week’s posts it was Thursday, and I had another 90 new blog posts sitting there to be read, and it was just all too hard. So I decided to just move on and give you a double dose of linky goodness this week with the Top 10 posts I’ve read over the last two weeks. I hope you enjoy.

Billie Jo Woods explores her writing process in Ogres Have Layers and Novel Writing Does Too. What do you think — do you “pants” it all the way through, or do you write in carefully planned layers?

Alexandra Sokoloff (a fantastic author who draws on her experience in screenwriting for her novels) posted about Key Story Elements and Lessons from Musical Theatre. I’m a very auditory learner, and being able to put all the parts of a story into the context of exciting musical performances really works for me. Check it out and let me know what you think.

Aly Hughes has a weekly “vs” column where she looks at two different ways to do something and compares/contrasts the two. Last week she tackled the Hand Writing vs Typing debate with some interesting points. Personally, I’m more comfortable typing than hand writing — but only because my handwriting looks like a frog fell in blue ink, splotched across a page and then died an ignoble death. Also, typing is quicker. What about you?

My very good (real life) friend recently started her own blog (I’d like to think she was inspired by my pure awesome, but I’m pretty sure the two things are unrelated) named A Mediocre Bunch of Boring. She raises an interesting question this week: Who Wrote the Rule Book on when women have to move from miniskirts, high heels and flirting with bar-staff to sitting at home in a house dress plucking hairs from their chins? It’s a great series of questions (I’ve provided my own answers on her site), and I highly encourage you to check them out and support a new blogger.

April of That Nolen Chick is a prolific blogger, writer, and mother of four kids. She’s always got something interesting to share, and this week was no exception. Check out her Eleven Things Not to Do — especially because it includes a quote about Sicilians and death….

Thinking about Valentine’s Day yet? (It’s tomorrow. Just in case you didn’t know.) Lily from Bedtimes are for Suckers shares with us her ideas for Valentine’s Day Hearts for Parents… Without the Bullshit.

Remember when children belonged outside and you didn’t need TV or the government to tell you that? Remember when we spent hours away from home and our parents only had the vaguest idea of where we were? Remember when you could go visit your friends and you didn’t have to bring your mom with you? Mommy Rotten brings a little nostalgia to the blogosphere this week when she asks Remember When…? I loved this post — and it definitely got me thinking about the lack of freedom our own children have these days.

Remember when going for ice cream was just going for ice cream? A single or a double in a sugar cone? Tracy of Sellabit Mum remembers those days before we had the choice of 352 TV channels and 58 types of mints at the CVS check-out lane. Sure, it’s nice to be able to choose between the 5,789 pairs of black pumps available online, but what effect does that have on our children? In Tracy’s words: I Blame our Ungrateful Society on Baskin Robbins.

Kvetch Mom is also asking questions. In her case, the question is: How many two year olds get attached to a marble? Look, as someone who has had to listen to a similar cry of “AQUEEN! AQUEEN! WHERE YOU, LIGHTAQUEEN!?”, I completely empathise with her situation. And really, don’t we all have those stories of odd things our kids get attached to? (In Big Brother’s case, it’s been everything from a paper airplane to a snow globe.) Check out The Marble and Other Unsafe Lovies.

Don’t you just hate it when your children use your own rules against you? Yeah, me too. But sometimes it’s just so darn cute. Tricia from Critters and Crayons details just such a moment when her four-year-old daughter said, “Mum, You Need to Invite Dad to the Peace Table.”

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