Coining Femininityism

Somewhere here in the next couple years it’s going to be time for me to write a children’s book. Or rather, a series of children’s books destined to become wildly popular for both their authenticity and their unabashed look at femininityism.

We have four daughters. People ask if we were trying for a boy. My response is usually, “No, we were trying for puppies.” This masks my annoyance that somehow I could (maybe should) be disappointed by my children’s gender. It’s also just polite because, really, those folks are just making small talk and when you have four of anything in a row it does spark a certain trend in the conversation.

“You’re really going to have your hands full in a few years.” WTF? Like I don’t already? Seriously, it’s the head count that chafes not all the X chromosomes.

Anyhow, back to me writing that book. I should write a few. Maybe go Wattersonesque on you guys with four sharp as a whip, wise beyond their years, snarky, but distinct girls that each tote around a rag doll that turns into an Amazon Warrior, Queen, Muse, or Scientist as the situations warrant. Or something more Lewisian with a lion and a closet. Or I could find some LCD and try a Carolinian trip of some kind. No worries I couldn’t and wouldn’t and shouldn’t and wontn’t go Geisel.

No really, back to the book thing.

I’ve poked around at some fairy thing a few months back. Maybe I could expand that into a more substantial vehicle. Right now they are all at such disparate developmental stages that will blur quickly with age. Has anyone ever written something interesting with four kids under five? Talk about difficult voices to develop.


In case you were wondering “femininityism” is a cross between what my ignorant brain knows of femininity and feminism. Think CEO with a ponytail or “Who the hell asked you if I look fat in this, but do I?”

Word count: 325
Day 177

Day 76: On Giant Lizards

I believe I’ve griped elsewhere that I envy artists’ ease concocting the fantastical.  I don’t know that I pinpointed the part that annoys me the most: that they can do it with obvious style, accuracy, and expedience.

There are differences in drawing giant lizards and writing giant lizards.  An artist draws the exact giant lizard she has in mind: the one with baggy skin, porcine snout, but sinuous tail.  Or maybe the one with a thick-veined dorsal fan, tusks, and dainty wren-feet.  Currently, an author expounding anything is to be held in disregard for the sin of ‘info-dumping’.  An author, rather, must become a modeler.  Starting of with giant lizard lump-of-clay then gracefully mentioning excessive rolls of leathery skin when it moves the plot forward, or the piggish facial features when it enhances the theme, and finally the sinuous tale when it increases the conflict.  Or maybe none of this at all–just knowing inside that it was all there despite the literal omission required to novelate commercially.

For author’s these days it’s about the journey and not so much the scenery along the way.  Scenery is fine to be sure as long as we readers don’t have to slow the vehicle to take it all in.  There really is no picture taking and definitely no scrapbooking in novels these days.

Fairness is not a concept I worry too much about when I gripe, but I always wanted to be an artist, so I have decided to find out just how hard it is to craft a giant lizard in a visual language.  I suspect I’ll go for the same 1000 day conceit I’ve been pushing here–though I don’t make as big a deal of it over there.

Maybe some day I’ll have color.

Word count: 291