• I'm still in Building Resilience in Children and Teens by Kenneth Ginsburg.  This is an A1 parenting book, right up there with How to Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish.  Both books address punishment and consequences, along with connection and empathetic listening.  Actually, Ginsburg echoes Faber and Mazlish's contention that "punishment has no place in a loving relationship."  Ginsburg says that if we continually punish our kids, they won't learn to solve problems or "channel their energies." It's not that there shouldn't be consequences, but that the missteps should first and foremost become opportunities for conversation.  I mean, I agree with this in theory. But what about the umpteeth stupid decision your kid makes?  Ginsburg says we're supposed to say, "If I just get angry, we won't get anywhere. I'm going to take a walk; when I come back, I'll be ready to listen."  We'll see. 
• On a totally different note, I'm hooked into my very first "space opera."  It's a genre.  I'm embarrassed to say I'd never even heard of this ambitious literary category until the blurb on the cover of Leviathan Wakes proclaimed it as a hallmark example.  Like Ginsburg, James S.A. Corey addresses punishment and consequences, but on a more melodramatic scale - The Martians vs. the Earthers, the Outer Planetary Alliance vs. Everyone.  Two likable protagonists - players in the conflict, but lightyears apart from one another - alternately explore the growing unrest. The structure drives home the idea that conflicts remain inevitably multi-faceted.  See how I made the connection there?  It was a real stretch, but it's done. That's an English Major in action.

In last week's newsletter (let's be honest, if you're not getting the newsletter, you probably want the newsletter), I wrote about how I have this tendency to sign up for races and then under-train for them.
I did this once again with the Citytrail Loppet.  What happens is you sign up, think you're going to run a lot and be ultra prepared, and then you don't run and aren't. In any case, here are a few stand-out moments from my weekend single-track foray:

• My running pal, Paula, called me the night before the race to remind me to drink a lot of water. It was going to be sunny and hot on race day at 80+ degrees.  "Yep," I replied, thinking of the importance of hydration as I poured a stiff gin and tonic.
• As we milled around the starting line, we noticed that the crowd was extra fit, even for a running race.  "I don't see any cotton," Paula said.  Nope.  Everyone was wearing technical clothing and seemed perfectly muscled and slender.  "I usually rely on a third of the field to be wearing a cotton t-shirt," Paula said. "I'm looking for someone to beat," a friend told me.  "I volunteer," I agreed.
• I'd signed up to be in the first and fastest wave of the race, but on surveying the field, I demoted myself to the second.  Fewer people would need me to move over on the narrow trails to pass.  This was a good choice.  
• Even though the runners are for real, I've noticed that people are generally pretty cheerful and chatty in single-track trail races.  Like, racers in front of you will say, "Let me know if you want to go by!" while leading you deftly through the woods.  It's nice. And then, when people do pass each other, they generally offer an encouraging word or two.  I upheld this tradition heartily.  But, not weirdly or creepily.  It's a balance.
• Something that still weirds me out about trail running is that people generally walk up steep hills.  My high school cross country coach made it seem like the worst, wussiest thing you could ever do to walk up (or down) a hill.  The trail running people have a different philosophy. Their theory is that running hills takes more energy than it's worth in terms of total time.  I like this philosophy, and I think I could probably, with a little time and concentration, turn it into a metaphor for life.
• At the finish line, you got a pint glass and a technical t-shirt with a cool sun logo.  Who doesn't like swag?  I'll remember the effort fondly in my new t-shirt.  I didn't run super fast, but I had a super good time.

We've talked about May before. This year, I keep saying I'm hanging on by my fingernails.  Then, I make my hands into claws and contort my face to illustrate the reality of my desperation. After that, I imagine falling into a pitch-black abyss, as I've actually chewed my fingernails down to ragged flecks of nothing and can't  hang on by them.

I've spent a lot of time telling Dan I think this May is the worst of all Mays.  I can see when he's placating me that he actually doesn't believe this.  Not even a tiny bit.

"It's always like this, but maybe this one is a little bit worse," he wisely concedes.

Last night, I think I told him fervently, "It's not!  This year is soooooo much worse."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he said, and there might have been the edge of an eye-roll creeping in here, "but I can assure you that you're actually like this every year.  You're miserable every year.  And every year, I try to support you through it, knowing full well that after two weeks of misery, you're going to have like ten weeks OFF."

Hmm. I tried to tell him that I'm actually working for two of those weeks this year, so it's only eight weeks off,  but even I could hear the ridiculousness of that statement.  We can all be assured that I haven't completely forfeited self-awareness.  Sanity? Maybe.  Self-awareness? Check.

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The time I almost fell down when trying to teach eleventh graders about Bonnie Tyler.

The one May I tried to bribe my eighth grade advisory to win at kickball.

• I signed up for a class to help me make progress on my novel(s).  It's called Your Book Starts Here.  Apparently, you learn how to storyboard and then, presumably, you write the panels.  I'm taking the class online because I don't actually want to talk out loud to other people, but I think typing to them might be okay.
• I'm converting Shef's old study into a studio.  I'm calling it a studio because that seems official and legit, and as a full-time writer, that's also what I want to be.
• I'm learning all about being a blogger.  That seems weird to say because I've been a blogger for twelve years already.  Turns out, there's a lot more stuff to learn like email newsletters, images, Pinterest, search engine optimization.  Actually WRITING the blog turns out to be only one tiny facet of blogging, according to the Alliance of Professional Bloggers.  That's not a real thing, but you can find lots of other groups of them on Facebook.  I will employ the new things that I think are cool and relevant to my blog right here.
• I have business cards.  The cards say I'm a writer, so it's probably true.  I'll keep you posted.

Little pieces of fiction I've written.

The time I decided to quit teaching to be a full-time professional writer, but then I didn't actually do that.

• Audio - Could be fiction or nonfiction.  I'm especially partial to thrillers and mysteries on Audible. One of my faves, The Girl on the Train, was recently named Audio Book of the Year.
• Nonfiction - Teaching related or not, self-help or not.  Right now, I'm reading the parenting and teaching book, Building Resilience in Children and Teens.
• Middle Grade/YA - I've got The One and Only Ivan cracked at the moment.  I love having a kids' book in progress because you finish fast, creating that all important sense of accomplishment.
• Adult Fiction - Here, I crave a good mix of highfalutin "literary" work and well-done page-turners.  Right now, I'm reading Leviathan Wakes by James S.A. Corey. I need a few hours to really get into it, but I keep falling asleep ten seconds after my head hits the pillow. #struggleisreal

The time I read my all-time favorite parenting book.