Flowers and Bruises

Why so many pictures of  plants? Because they are a lot prettier than a picture of my foot, and they include all the colors that have graced my foot this past week. 

You see, I sprained my ankle in a Tae Kwon Do class. No, I wasn't sparring (so there is no other guy who looks worse) and I wasn't doing anything fancy. I was simply showing some students how to do a jump front kick, a simple kick I had done hundreds of times. I was concentrating so much on talking to them about proper execution so they wouldn't hurt themselves that I forgot to pay  attention to what I was doing.  

Ironic, you may think. Embarrassed was how I felt. I should have been more careful. I had worked out twice that day and was feeling pretty tired but thought that teaching wouldn't be that taxing. Turns out fatigue is one of the biggest reasons for sports injuries. I had also been strengthening my legs in the last few months so that I would jump higher for the jump-kicks in my own form. Perhaps I did gain a few millimeters and it messed up my coordination. (Just indulge me, okay?) Or I may just be plain old clumsy.
 
In any case, this ankle has been occupying a lot of my attention. What does this have to do with writing? Take your pick:

• pay attention , especially when you're jumping, or writing about jumping;
• when you're too tired, step away from your writing before you injure its plot or flow or character development;
• color is not directly related to pain, the boldest purple may not hurt but that faint green stretch that doesn't look like much may;
• just because the swelling has gone down doesn't mean you should resume normal activities, especially driving, playing the piano, or pivoting;
  
• learn from babies when trying to negotiate stairs: going downstairs backwards is the most efficient
• that one tiny little thing can REALLY MESS UP YOUR LIFE.

Anyway, take care.

Aint' That The Truth, Part II

When I read Cold Cereal, there were other passages that made me think "Ha! How true is that!" but I could find only one. I found another one:

"You're still upset." Emily told him. "About Denton teasing you."
"No. No. I'm fine."
"Forget about it," said Erno. "Everyone else has."




 

 

Ain't that the truth

I love fiction for so many reasons. One of the foremost reason is I find truth in it. 


Take this passage from Adam Rex's crazy book*, Cold Cereal, for example: 


"We're going to see a play. On Broadway."
"Is it Makin' It? I saw that once."
"No, it's called Oh Huck! It's a musical Huckleberry Finn. We just finished reading the book, so..."
" Uh-huh. I saw the original cast of Makin' It, with Reggie Dwight and Ashlee Starr. My sister knows someone, got us tickets."
"That's great."


Have we not had those conversations? 


*When I say the book is crazy, I mean it in the nicest way. It seems as if someone wrote a bunch of ideas on pieces of paper and then randomly chose 6 or 7 of them: an evil corporation, leprechauns, Merlin, the Queen of England, Giants, genius children, unicats, and of course, cold cereal, and put them all in a story. I don't know how it works, but it does.