Monthly Archives: April 2007

Endings

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My first experience into the world of on-line fiction writing classes is coming to an end with only about a week to go. I submitted my short story, again, with revisions, and will even give it another going-over based on the latest advice from the instructor and my classmates. Then I hope to find a home for it beyond my computer. But that’s too scary to talk about right now. I’m ready to be done, I want to be done, so I can concentrate on my own projects without having to check into class everyday.

For those of you interested, here are links for on-line writing classes. Please let me know of any others so I can add them to this list.

Gotham Writers Workshop

Writer Mama

An update on the non-reading reader

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Susan is sitting on the sofa flipping through Little House in the Big Woods right now. My heart be still, might she actually read it? I’m not going to say a thing to her. I don’t want to ruin the moment by making it my idea.

Within the last week she’s read two Babymouse books, which are cute as far as kid books go, but it’s no Little House classic. I keep sneaking peeks to her behind me… and it looks like the book is open to chapter one.

Uh-oh, she’s off again, the book left behind. Oh, well. At least she actually picked it up off the shelf.

I wish I knew her name: my Mom Moment selection

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This article is my submission to the blog challenge sponsored by Darlene Schacht , Author of The Mom Complex. Long-time readers of this blog may remember this post from August 2005. It’s one of my favorite “mom moments.”

I met a Muslim woman today. We were in the bookstore together and had the briefest of conversations. I wanted to talk more, but life got in the way.I had decided to take my children to the bookstore for “book camp” — a fancy way to advertise storytime. Something to do on a summer day before we went onto other errands. We were early, so we looked at the books in the children’s section. It was then that I noticed the woman with her little girl and husband.

Now where I live is not exactly the melting pot of America. After living here in this house for almost eight years, I’ve only seen one Muslim. It’s really too bad because it would be nice to have friends that don’t look like me or come from another country.

Anyway, there she was waiting with her little girl for the storytime to start. I had baby Lucy in the stroller, so I parked it next to her hoping to start a conversation. She was young, several years younger than I, with stylish eyeglasses. Her skin a beautiful olive next to my Irish complexion. And she wore the traditional Muslim hijab. Plus, she was wearing a long-sleeved blouse with slacks, most of the other women in the store wore shorts.

She peered into the stroller to admire Lucy and smiled at me. I smiled back.

Normally I don’t have a problem starting a conversation with another mother. There is so much to talk about with all the things we have in common, but this was different. Tougher. Maybe because she was with her husband. Maybe she was shy. Maybe because she was Muslim and I’m Christian.

What was she thinking? Did she want to talk to me?

I wish I had the chance to connect with her beyond our superficial conversation. I only had a chance to make a quick comment regarding the baby before I had to chase down my three-year-old getting into mischief. I guess there wasn’t much I could have said in such a short amount of time, but still it would have been nice to have made a friend.

I wanted her to know I wanted to talk with her. I think perhaps I was trying in my own way to make peace with the only person I could share peace with.

I’ll probably never see her again. I wish I knew her name.