I just wrote an e-mail to some friends of mine about how absent-minded I've been lately (writing can make you schizophrenic). I cut this bit for your benefit:

I've been spending a lot of time with Maple [the character in my book for young readers] these days. So much, in fact, that in the car I couldn't get out what I wanted to say to the kids, which was, "Roll up your windows!" What came out of my mouth was, "Boil your seats!" I wish the kids just knew what I meant. Mental telepathy, while dangerous, could be helpful.


And then tonight when Elspeth hurt her pinky finger I said, half-paying attention, "Don't worry, honey, you'll get a new pinky soon," and she stared at me blankly and a little worried and said, "What?" Oh, man. I'm losing it.

In other news, my friend Sal fulfilled a life-long dream of mine and rented a rollerskating rink for my birthday. What do you get when you combine a bunch of thirty- and forty-somethings with a bunch of kids ten and under? We were falling like flies. One of my friends ended up wrapped in heating pads and she and her daughter, whose sprained ankle was on ice, watched a "Mythbusters" marathon as they recovered. But baby, all those years of skating on cobblestones in Kenya paid off--I had the time of my life and even remembered how to skate backwards so I could finally fulfill a fantasy--skating in my true love's arms. Martin looked a little less than relaxed and we weren't terribly close, but we made it around the rink one entire rotation without wiping out. Sheer bliss. Check out Bea 'n friends "shaking their grove thing" by clicking HERE.

I'm entrenched in my own vocabulary.

When Martin told me that it's 90 degrees today for the Boston Marathon, I said, "That's terrible." I thought about it some more. Ninety degrees for a spring marathon! It was unusually warm in southwest Pennsylvania, too; we were driving with large gas rigs into town and the roads gleamed with heat and the sky darkened with the threat of a thunderstorm. I imagined running, a sport I detest unless I'm being chased by dogs, and I said again, "That's terrible. Terrible. Ninety degrees." There was a pause. "That's terrible."

My thoughts shifted from the terrible April heat to my vocabulary, so lacking and barren. I spent the next few minutes in despair.

I have been working hard on a third draft of a book for young readers, and there's nothing like writing a novel to realize how limited your bank of words really is. Last night I took a break to read a book--a published, popular one, and though the writing comes with its own set of predetermined words, they're different than mine. I read the word, "preternatural." Of course I've used it before, and it's not exactly a grandly unusual word, but I mentally flogged myself. Why can't you use that word sometimes? You're terrible!

I've been combing through my novel with the aid of the "find and replace" button. I type in "sparkly" and I find all one dozen mentions in the 170-page book and replace them with glitzy, shiny, twinkly. . .I was never aware of how predisposed I was to "sparkly." Or "miserable" or the idea of someone's ears burning when embarrassed. Now I know. It's not a pretty discovery.

If you have any favorite synonyms for 'sparkly' or 'miserable' that are appropriate for young readers, let me know. I need help. Don't give me any for 'terrible,' though. I'm on a roll with that one.