It’s That Time of the Semester Again

Well, it’s the end of the semester again, which means final papers and projects are eating up the time I would rather be blogging. At the moment I’m caught up in trying to translate a bunch of Anglo-Saxon riddles. Have I mentioned that when the semester began I didn’t speak a word of Old English? Well, now I find myself muttering, “Saga hwæt ic hatte” (“Say what I’m called” — a common riddle ending) in my sleep.

I’d love to spin this into a wonderful blog post about idiomatic expressions and how easily a reader can be trained to use them, but, frankly, I’ve just said it, and I don’t really have time to elaborate.

Happy writing!


I’m not terribly fond of blogging about politics and current events as part of a writer’s site, since I want my content to be something that can be referred back to later on, but I think there’s a valuable lesson about fiction writing in what’s going down in Boston as I write this. Continue reading

A Truck in the Trap Room

My husband and I were talking the other day about Hands on a Hardbody, the Broadway musical that seems to be vying for the title of shortest-lived show of the year. It’s a show about people who enter one of those contests where you can win a pickup truck if you’re the last person left with a hand on it, and it’s closing with only 28 regular performances. Despite that, my husband had mentioned a report that the producers were going ahead with the cast album, which, he said, usually means that they hope to make up their losses by encouraging regional and amateur productions. At that point I said, “Oh, God, how long will it be before a pickup truck crashes through a stage somewhere?”

My husband stared at me blankly. The regional theatres he’s worked with have overwhelmingly been very competent, and in the professional world an accident like that would be unthinkable. Me? I’ve had a very different experience with people who got into producing theatre just because they love it. Continue reading