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The ugly truth about “bile” (and how writers misuse it).

By on November 19, 2010 in Random

Marianna stood in the doorway and listened. Her father just gave her away in marriage to cover his debt. She clutched the doorway. Bile rose into her throat…

Sorry, won’t happen.

Last Thanksgiving at this time, my dad went in for a simple outpatient gallbladder removal. Should have been easy. No complications.

But after he came home, later that night, he rushed back to the ER in extreme pain. But they thought he was being over dramatic. Nothing could have gone wrong. So they said. But the pain only got worse. He was readmitted. Several days went by. And on Thanksgiving Day, right before we cut the turkey, we got the call. “You’d better come in.”

What were we supposed to think? My dad isn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore, even though he still runs up mountains at 73.

Bile was leaking from the sutures and filling his stomach cavity. It was slowly eating away at his live organs. This is an extremely rare occurrence. But deadly. They had to operate. Again.

We all took turns sitting with my dad. Over the next couple days, he slowly came to but he couldn’t walk. And he’d break down and cry just because we came to visit and walk with him down the hall, which he could barely do. He couldn’t believe we loved him that much.

I felt many things. Outrage that the hospital staff didn’t believe my dad when he said something wasn’t right. Fear that he could have died. Regret that I hadn’t told him I loved him. Thankfulness that our relationship had gotten better over the past ten years. Forgiveness goes a long way.

After the second surgery, they inserted a tube into his stomach to let the bile drain. A brown icky substance produced by the liver to aid in digestion. That took days. And that’s when I realized not only how much I loved my dad, but there is no way bile can rise into the throat.

So I asked. And a person would only taste bile in their throat or mouth if they’d been throwing up continually for a very long time and nothing was left in their stomach.

So, the next time you go to use that phrase. Well, don’t.

And this Thanksgiving, I have a lot to be thankful as I look back on last year.

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A Thankful Friday Story.

By on November 5, 2010 in Random

I know, I know. Posts about being thankful should be on Thursday, so the whole alliteration thing works. Eh. Sorry. It’s thankful Friday.

It was the last day of school. Rowdy kids were high on the fact that they would never be in elementary school again. They’d had enough of kiddie stuff. They were ready for the big time – middle school.

To celebrate, a bunch of them met at the lake. The sun danced across the water, the docks floated, ready to be jumped off, and, somehow, even the sand felt smoother in between their toes. They splashed into the cold water without a care. Summer was here.

Parents lined their beach chairs up on the beach and watched their kids shake off the shackles of elementary school and grow up all in the span of one afternoon.

The kids jumped off the dock. They pushed each other off the dock. But without lifeguards the innocent fun turned into a boy vs girl war and who would control the dock. This meant more pushing and shoving and pulling.

Somehow, one girl slipped on the ladder and her tooth cracked against the hard metal. Blood poured from her mouth. She struggled to shore, her classmates not sure if she was kidding or not.

Reaching the beach, she searched in vain for her mother. “Where’s my mom?” she cried. Well, her mom had left her in the care of the parents where she was about to spend the night that night. So she wasn’t there.

After getting over the shock, parents jumped up to help her, pulling out napkins and water bottles to rinse her mouth, offering a hug and kind words.

One man jumped up from his beach chair. “Is it her tooth?”

This man and his wife happened to be dentists. Wearing flip-flops and bathing suits, they brought the girl to their office, stopped the bleeding and glued half of her front tooth back on. The mom arrived, shaken and feeling bad she wasn’t there. Friends brought flowers and good wishes.

I’m thankful for our friends, who happen to be dentists, who gave up their free time to treat my daughter like she was their own. It really meant a lot to me.

What are you thankful for?

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Where are you on the writer’s journey?

By on October 27, 2010 in Random

So, wow, I reached a 150 followers.

But I feel like some of the more recent followers I don’t know very well.

So, here’s your chance. Tell me your name, what you write, what stage of the writer’s journey you’re on, or something about yourself. I’d love to visit your blog and follow back if I haven’t yet.

I’ll start it off.

My name’s Laura, but don’t ask me for my middle name because I’ve never liked it. So far, I’ve only written middle grade (kids ages 8-12). But recently, I started my first YA! Ack! I’m trying YA because my plots tend to be complicated and I get comments that my characters sound older. And the idea I got wouldn’t work for MG.

I’m almost done revising an upper MG and will eventually query it.

Now it’s your turn. Tell me about yourself and let my other readers get to know you too!

Comments { 29 }

Refueling

By on October 11, 2010 in Random

This weekend has been a refueling weekend for me.

Soccer games.
Dinner with family.
Cook out with friends (because we were supposed to go camping but a soccer tournie intervened and I did the happy dance but shh don’t tell anyone) (October is way too cold to go camping.) (I am summer camper.)
Hiking with friends. (Again, a faux camping hike. #amdancing)

So have you refueled Columbus Day weekend or did you get in some lean mean writing time?

And my intended Monday post will be up on Tuesday when I won’t be hiking and can visit your blogs!

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The key to believable sacrifice.

By on September 3, 2010 in Random, Writing

I won’t blame you at all if on Wednesday you saw my ultimate sacrifice as trivial. You might have thought, just another female afraid of rodents.

 But that’s because you don’t know the whole story.

 Key music and strange colors as we travel back in time.

 I’m single. Twenty three year old. Working at my first job teaching second grade. And I live alone for my first time ever. In the apartment from hell. (Literally)

 The freezer still needs to be defrosted. Tiny kitchen. I’m lucky to even have a bathtub.

 A mouse decides to move in with me. He’s a daring mouse. He walks across the floor in the middle of the day while I’m correcting papers at my table. Often. I wear snow boots around my apartment. All. The. Time.

 And at night, I pile up whatever I can find at the doorway of my kitchen, so he can’t sneak into my bedroom.

 One afternoon, I spot him. I call my neighbor. “Jim, I see him!”

 Jim comes over with a broom and pokes around; but of course, the mouse is gone. I call Jim many times. Poor guy. But he has a good story to share at work. I’m sure.

 I set mousetraps. Jim sets mousetraps. The peanut butter is licked off. I set glue traps to find it halfway across the floor with fur still on it. Jim sets more traps. I find part of a foot in the trap. The mouse chewed his foot off to escape. And don’t you dare feel bad.

 Neighbors give me a barn cat. The cat can’t contract its claws. I have to wear thick clothing all the time. He meows all night. He knows I don’t like him. I think he has red eyes.

 I am terrified of a mouse with no fear. He stalks me. On purpose. I am only safe in my classroom. I creep around my apartment, my heart thumping.

 But through out all the insanity, I indulge in a hot bath. A lot. I’m safe in the tub.

 One evening, I start my bath water. I take a nice long soak. I get out, hum a little tune, and slip into my bathrobe. My hair in a towel.

 And the mouse slips into the tub. I scream. But in my extreme panic, I know I’ve got it cornered. I don’t want to lose it, so I point the spray nozzle at him, so he can’t crawl out. I get too close and he tries to jump onto the nozzle to escape. I scream again.

 I call Jim. Jim takes of the mouse. Except, it’s not a mouse.

 It’s a mole.

 And he entered my apartment through a tiny hole next to my bathtub. He could have braided my hair while I bathed.

 I lived in the apartment from hell three years. And every fall, mice invaded. Now that you understand the backstory, maybe you can appreciate my sacrifice in letting my son have a pet gerbil.

 The key to believable sacrifice is in the back story and/or events leading up to the sacrifice.

 (And by the way, Jim is now my father in law.)

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