On behalf of on the accounting firm of Popover, Frenchpress & Malarkey and their associates, Frog on a Dimes wishes to congratulate Kim Patrie— winner of our birthday grand prize giveaway! Be watching your mail box!
Many thanks to everyone who entered the drawing by submitting your favorite 7-letter words. Check out this sampling of 7 dazzling examples:
My warm-as-a- marshmallow-lounging- in-a-cup-of-cocoa gratitude goes out to everyone who visited Frog on a Dime this year. Your encouragement and support mean so much–for 7 years and counting!
Wishing you a blissful New Year, my Little Cream Puffs!
December birthdays can be bummers for some, I suppose. But Frog on a Dime is fine with a sidebar birthday. It’s still fun to celebrate! And the best part, my darling dangling participles? The best part is the birthday giveaway! This year’s prize package is filled with all manner of goodies sure to solicit “Oh, wow!”s from the lucky recipient.
Might that lucky duck be you?
To enter Frog on a Dime’s 7th Birthday Celebration giveaway, leave a comment with this blog post (or with the Facebook post). Your comment MUST INCLUDE your favorite (or least favorite) 7-letter word.
The day for the drawing giveaway is Lucky Friday, December 13 at 6 p.m. (Eastern Time). Can’t wait!
I grabbed a pile of dust, and holding it up, foolishly asked for as many birthdays as the grains of dust, I forgot to ask that they be years of youth. ~ Ovid
I am thankful for librariansand teachers. So long as there are people who devote themselves to the tender loving care of children and of books, I feel like we’ve got a reasonable chance at a smart and civil society.
I am thankful for friends who make me offers I can’t refuse. Who am I to decline a generous offer of thoughtful feedback or to teach me a new writing technique or (better still) tell me where to find a new brand of writer refreshments?
I am thankful for the opportunity to revise. If only life always gave us that option.
I am thankful to be a fool. When you don’t have a clue how hard novel writing will be, it sure makes it a lot easier to dive right in.
I am thankful for long-suffering manuscripts that allow me to fiddle with them until I’m finished. Okay, I mean, really finished. Well, almost. I am a literary glacier.
I am thankful to present at schools and spend time with curious, uninhibited kids who love to read their stories aloud and show their artwork to anyone with eyes and ears. They inspire me.
MOST MOST MOST of all, I am thankful for YOU. There was a time, just after the Earth’s crust cooled, when I didn’t know a single soul who wanted to write for children. And now, here you are, my little cranberry cupcake! I am always grateful for you.
No duty is more urgent than that of returning thanks. ~ James Allen
Oh, those childhood memories–rabbit, hobo, gypsy and bat costumes, sugary school parties with little plastic witches and candy pumpkins perched on orange frosted cupcakes, and staying up late for It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. But no memory can compare with the annual candy-coated ritual of trick or treating.
It may not be socially acceptable for a 50-something “kid” to go door-to-door on All Hallows’ Eve, not even one who writes for children, BUT that doesn’t mean trick or treating is entirely out of reach. Check out this list of (entirely treacherous) tricks that can trip up even the most tenacious writer. BUT don’t stop there! A list of tempting treats is ready for all of you, my tiny talented toffee topped wordsmiths and creative caramel apple artists.
Salty Self Sabotage. I should be further along by now and everybody knows it.
Jealous Beans. Every writer (minus me) mastered Scrivener in 24 hours.
Lazy Lolliplops. Thinking about writing is equivalent to fingers on keyboard writing.
Bitter Gummy Bears. I can hop on Facebook for ten minutes, then hop right off.
Delusional Lemon Drops. If I finally manage to get published, my life will burst into unicorn shaped rainbow bubbles.
Goody Gumdrops. Take a 3-day holiday from social media.
Lickity Split Licorice. Set a timer and give yourself 20 minutes to tidy your desk. Admire. Have a sweet treat.
Come Away Caramels. Register for a seminar, workshop or conference.
Candied Dates. Make a date with your most encouraging friend.
Butterscotch Boosters. Open your file of uplifting notes and enjoy rereading a few.
This year’s summer giveaway has been my favorite. Reading your childhood memories sparked my recollections of so far gone summers.
Running throughthe sprinkler with my sister or wading in our little dark green inflatable pool with a smiling dolphin looking up from the bottom. (I feared sea creatures back then, and would only wade around the inner perimeter of the pool because I didn’t want to step on that dolphin. He looked suspiciously sharky to me and I wanted to keep all ten toes.)
Loading up the car on a hot afternoon and heading to a local lake or river and coming home with sand stuck to my “everywheres.”
Picking strawberries with my mom.
Going to Vacation Bible School.
Slurping home-frozen popsicles.
Rambling family road trips.
Reading outside while swatting away maddening mosquitoes.
Watching my sister catch tadpoles and frogs in the creek near our house (again, only watching – you know, the whole “sea life” thing).
Donning PJs and going to a drive-in movie.
Eating corn on the cob with no front teeth.
Being bothered by the sound of chirping crickets when we moved from our city house to the country.
Having a lemonade stand (which was a challenge considering we lived on a dead end street).
Falling off the jungle gym repeatedly (no wonder I have back issues).
Wearing a gob of baking soda paste on a bee sting. And calamine lotion on poison ivy bumps.
Riding my brown Huffy around and around our subdivision.
Building a fort in the woods with my neighborhood friends.
Staying with my aunt and cousin (a boy) and playing GI Joes on a sandy hill.
Watching the lights change on the waterfall fountain my grandpa had built into the side of a hill.
Going out for A&W root beer.
Strolling through the sensory overload that was the county fair.
Eating watermelon and trying not to swallow the seeds. (Who wants to have a melon belly with green vines coming out your ears?)
Getting to stay up late. Following fireflies. Counting stars.
Learning to love the sound of the crickets outside our open bedroom windows.
Feeling like summer was an entire year unto itself.
See what you started?
So, thank you very much to everyone who shared a memory, a story or a snippet of their childhood summer memories. I enjoyed reading all of them. The winner of this year’s giveaway package was chosen at random, but after you read her submission, I think you’ll agree, she deserves the prize times two.
My warmest, summery congratulations to Rachel Anderson! You’ve won a prize package filled with snacks, a craft book, a journal, a slinky and all sorts of fun stuff. Be watching your mail box!
Rachel shared this summer memory:
As a kid way back in the day, my ultimate favorite thing to do was to ride horses with my sister. We rode for miles and miles, jumping creeks, racing through hayfields and plodding lazily along rivers. Life was good.
Here is part of a poem I wrote about riding:
Two little sisters, eight and ten, Dashed up to the farm and then Jumped on horses for a ride Raced the field, side by side. Galloping without a care Going here and going there.
What a lovely memory. Enjoy these last lingering days of summer, my little strawberry shortcakes.
Every summer, like roses, childhood returns. ~ Marty Rubin
Summer may be slip-sliding away, but there’s still time for my blog’s seasonal giveaway.
To enter, all you need to do is comment on this or any post on my blog. Tell me your favorite summertime thing to do when you were a kid. That’s it!
Deadline: Noon on Wednesday, August 14. So hurry!
Your Prize Package will include:
Journal to Capture Sparks of Brilliance On-the-Go
One of a Kind Doodle with Your Initials in It
Manual Thought Generator (aka a Slinky!)
Disclaimer(s):No purchase necessary (or even an option). Shipping & handling included. Safe when used as directed. Do not submerge. Batteries not included. Dryclean only. Frog on a Dime is furnishing this Prize Package “as is.” None of the authors, contributors, agents, editors, miscreants, vandals, ambidextrous nose miners, or anyone else connected with Frog on a Dime, in any way whatsoever, can be held responsible for your (mis)use of the contents of the Prize Package. Remain seated until the ride has come to a complete stop. Do not refrigerate after opening. Contents may settle during shipment. Prize Package sold by weight, not by volume. Frog on a Dime does not provide any warranty of the item(s) whatsoever, whether expressed, implied, or statutory (whatever that is), including, but not limited to, any warranty of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose or any warranty that the contents of the item will be error-free (because). Use at your own risk. Subject to approval. Driver does not carry cash. No substitutions. Do not fold, staple or mutilate. Some restrictions apply (but you can’t make me say what). Void where prohibited. Employees must wash hands. For off-road use only. All terms and conditions shall be rendered null and void on a whim. If state laws apply to you, some or all of the above disclaimers, exclusions, or limitations may not apply to you and you may have additional rights. (Go You!) I know you are but what am I. This tag may not be removed except by the consumer under penalty of law. (Ooo, scary!) See store for details.
A Bohemian earth mother or a wee-winged sprite whirring through clouds of opal pixy dust. That’s how other writers might describe their muse. My muse is, well, she’s not like that. I was going to say she’s indescribable, but that would make for a mighty short post, my little salted caramel squares.
One day I would love for you to meet Enid, my extraordinary muse. Rain or shine Enid wears a double breasted camel coat with a Union Jack pin on the lapel, a hat that you can roll to jam into a suitcase, dark support hose and Crocks. She’s instructed me to let you know that she’s foregoing the ankle bracelet in 2020 and swapping her orange Crocks for green. Ever the fashion plate, my Enid.
What’s in Enid’s bulging plaid book bag? Enid’s packing PW, the 2009 Writers Market, Levenger’s catalogs, an autographed John Grisham novel (don’t ask), a bag of Hershey’s miniatures (with all of the dark chocolates ones missing), one of those fancy wooden boxes of assorted tea bags, her PBS travel mug and a paddle ball game. (She likes to play with that when she’s getting impatient with me.)
I didn’t always have a muse. For the first few years of serious writing attempts, I had to be self-musing. Enid came into my life after the writer she was bemusing moved out of state and Enid opted to stay here to be closer to her grandchildren. (I know. I had no idea muses could have grandmuses.)
Enid typically pitches me ideas right before I go to sleep or when I’m in the shower. I understand that’s standard MMO (Muse Mode of Operation). She caught on early that there was no point in giving me a lot of detail when I’m in bed. Her ideas evaporate by morning. If I’m showering, I’m too soggy to capture anything on paper. So, mostly she gives me titles or character names and lets me dig for the rest. But it’s a start and that’s usually the toughest part.
Yes, Enid is a no-nonsense gal. Lest I give you the impression she lacks a sense of humor, I have heard her laugh. It’s more like a nasally, smirkish chortle. I typically hear it when she’s waiting for me to do something with an idea she’s pitched. She’ll go sit on an overstuffed stool in my office, reach into her bag and pull out a crisp copy of The New Yorker. Enid does love her snarky cartoons.
Has she ever laughed at anything I’ve written, you ask? (I assume you mean the stuff I’m intending to be funny.) Yes and no. Once I saw Enid’s shoulders spasm as she covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. She was reflected in my computer screen as she read over my shoulder. Oh, please don’t tell her I saw.
But better than a laugh is an Enid smile. Enid is one of those eye smilers. You know the ones. The corners of their mouths turn up or down ever-so-slightly and 99 percent of the smile comes from their eyes. She has violet eyes. No, not violent. V-i-o-l-e-t eyes. Like her laugh, an Enid smile is a rare treasure. Oh, how I work for those.
Oh, no. Enid must have heard me talking about her. Act natural, okay?
Enid is whispering in my ear.
What’s that, Enid? You think I should blog about Heather? (She’s my Inner Critic.)
What if I . . . (Oh, no. Enid’s going for her paddle ball game.)
Looks like there’ll be no Enid smile (again) today.
What about you, my gooey gumdrops? How would you describe your muse?
Following my muse has worked out pretty well so far. I can’t see any reason to change the formula now. ~ Chris Van Allsburg