My son got his hockey picture taken before his game today. This meant a lot of sitting around waiting and reading Scooby Doo. He's in his second year of French Immersion so he brings home Scooby Doo books in French. I end up reading them to him in both languages, one chunk at a time.
Last year my son was a five-year-old beginner on a house league team with three AAA league players, parents and coaches who wanted to WIN and a trophy at the end of the year. I enjoyed it but I prefer this year.
It's the opposite kind of team. We don't win. We sometimes tie, like today. We have scored on our own net and (hurray) my son is now one of the better players. The coaches are lovely and go out of their way to make sure the kids are having fun out there. No pressure.
One more personal tidbit if you can stand it: I finally broke the 100 page mark with the novel!
I know, it's only the first draft. I shouldn't get so excited. I just know I have to finish the first draft before spring.
At first it wasn’t too bad. I was writing at least 2-5 pages per day, five days a week. I was even starting to wonder why everybody wasn't writing novels. Then I got stuck around page 80 for a week, and then 82 for about two weeks, so I started writing short pieces and sending them off to contests instead. Call it productive procrastination.
I wrote one comic piece on Jane Austen and another on bowling. No, I don't really bowl. I went bowling recently because my friends were going and then enjoyed researching bowling terms and making silly jokes about it. This month I also wrote a kid’s skit with a litany of puns on synonyms for dirt. We all have our vices.
A friend and former university prof won't let me forget the oral presentation I once did to prove that Othello is a comedy. Actually, I understated the case. Othello is a farce. I mean, who would assume infidelity on the basis of a handkerchief? And why doesn’t Othello talk to her if loves his wife so much? Don't get me started...
Labels: Canadian, Humour