I freaking hate daycare.

Hate them.

I get they have a responsibility to all the children who are there, and I get that’s it’s not acceptable that my son bit his sister (granted, given where she was bitten, I’m sure she was clothes-lining him, so she may have deserved it). But to say, “All the parents are concerned about having C in class with their children” goes too far. It goes right along with, “He’s a liability” and “It’s your fault for not bringing in the “I am working for” boards and the smiley face charts.”

I take issue with this. First, the one chance I got to make these boards–today–is the day they called me to come and pick him up. I explained to C’s teacher yesterday that I would be working on the boards today. Second, it’s not like making these boards takes ten minutes: it’s closer to ten hours to make all the things they said they wanted. When I explained this to them, the director said, “It’s been three weeks. You have to make your son a priority. He can’t return until we have the boards in place.”

The fact that it took them over a week to get me a schedule they already had printed apparently isn’t an issue. That’s OK. My not making a bunch of stuff for my son so that they have an easier time dealing with his behaviors (crap we really don’t see at home) is apparently cause for a lynching.

They want the smiley face charts, the schedule, the “I am working for boards” printed, laminated and velcroed (at my expense, of course, despite the fact that I pay them quite a pretty penny to watch him) before he can come back, and I’m supposed to drag a sick three year old around with me while I do it? The problem is, I’ll go through all of this work to make things happen for C and they’ll kick him out all the same. Because, as the director told me, “We have to give him three weeks with the new system before we can take any additional steps against him.” I could say, “Neener, neener” and take everything I made with me but that just seems childish. 

I know he has a bad streak in him (though I never got one–not one–complaint of him hitting or biting at his old school), but he’s not a criminal. Additional steps against him? Are we going forth with legal proceedings against my three year old? And what, I’m guilty of neglect because I didn’t make a bunch of boards I said I would because my life got in the way? Is that the way of it? The kid is fed, loved, read to every night, and comes to school clean every day. I could spend all of my free time with him making story boards and crap for him to take to school and basically ignoring him, or I could spend it with him BEING HIS MOM. Weird, I chose to be his mom rather than a speech pathologist working on behaviors. I chose to spend time with my kids, at the expense of effort on daycare’s behalf.

I want to quit my job and stay home. I’d do just that, but I somehow have to pay bills, and we can’t do that if I’m unemployed. Until I make my fortune as a novelist, I’m thinking staying home is not an option.

My poor boy.

The thing is, he’s good at home. Easy to get along with, happy. The occasional temper tantrum, but then, he’s three, and I don’t think they’re bad ones (after all, I cut my teeth on his sister’s tantrums). I very rarely have had to do the walk of shame out of the Home Depot (or supermarket or Costco) with him. That’s not to say I haven’t, but it’s less often than I had to when his sister was that age, and now, her teachers label her as pretty much perfect.

I realize that this, too, shall pass. Really. It passed with his sister, after all.


Getting Ready

Well, I’m supposed to be getting ready to send my manuscript(s) in to the agents who requested them.

But I’m not.

Because I’m a chicken (bock bock).

Actually, I amend the previous comment. While I am still a chicken, I am actually getting prepared to send in my manuscripts. The unfortunate problem: my synopsis sucks.

I mean, it sucks so bad I’ve actually named it J. Edgar (Hoover).

My writing can range from ho hum to really pretty awesome, but J. Edgar is so awful I’m ashamed of it. And it’s long: while other people are talking about their 900 word synopses, I’m looking at 2800 words (eight pages)… Eight pages of something clearly not my best work.

And I get that everyone hates her synopsis. After all, it must be a common enough problem since every time I go to one of my meetings (“Hi, my name is Meggan and I write romance novels”), the published authors complain about what one dubbed the “POSS” (piece of shit synopsis). I think those words are pretty adequate in summing up precisely how I feel about mine. It’s wretched. And boring. And not half so fascinating as the book I’ve actually written.

Because the book, in my humble opinion, is pretty good. It’s placed in a couple of contests, and since then, it’s only improved. I’m actually doing fairly well in my contest entries: I’ve finaled in 66% of the contests I’ve entered (though I think that number is actually 50%, but I haven’t heard official word about one, but it was one we had to include the synopsis for, and, as previously mentioned, my synopsis is horrid), and in the one I didn’t final in, I actually got pretty decent scores. High nineties, so it must have been close to finaling. Granted, I haven’t always finaled with the same story (shocking!), but I guess my finaling at least demonstrates I have some capacity to write… Someone seems to think I show some promise, anyway.

But back to J. Edgar. How does one go about summarizing a four hundred page novel in less than 10 pages, including the end? I built an entire world, and now you want me to sum it up–including plot points–in less than ten pages, and let you know how it ends? Impossible. Well, not impossible, but hard to do well. And all the advice I’ve gotten in regard to writing the synopsis (well, all the advice I’ve read) seems to indicate I should figure out a sentence that best describes every chapter, and then use that. But so much happens in my book that I’m finding that a very difficult thing to do.


The hard part isn’t writing the book (though that’s no easy task, either)… The hard part is everything that comes after: the query letter, the pitch, the synopsis, the endless edits. And then there’s the waiting.

I want this so much I can taste it, but I’m terrified, too. Afraid someone will take one look at J. Edgar and say: “Holy cow, this is the worst piece of crap I’ve ever read.” Because, really, it kind of is.

So I will revise, and edit, and edit some more, and hopefully, come back with a synopsis at least vaguely worthy of the book it represents…