Sarah Strohmeyer's Blog, page 2
April 4, 2012
God Bless You, Suzanne Collins
Our sixteen-year-old son is dyslexic, a fact we discovered not by school reading tests - which he aced - but by my sister in law, a schoolteacher, who called me up one day and, after taking a deep breath, said there might be something wrong with the way Sam reads.
It was odd because he understood what he was not able to read. Does that make sense? Prose he could not parse aloud in class he could analyze. Poetry, that he loved. And because our elementary school was a small rural one and my husband was on the school board and felt we shouldn't "burden" taxpayers with tutoring, I took him out of class four days a week when he was in third grade to a specialist who, literally, taught him the rules of words, word by word, syllable by syllable. (Thank heavens I was an author by then because that kind of schedule never would have passed in my newspaper job.)
Sam benefitted from a high IQ, a boost that would only get him so far. He's great in math and I have the feeling that his model as far as math geeks go is not that unusual. By the way, he hates video games, possibly because he can't process them as fast as his friends.
And he hates reading. Actually, he loves it. Or he wants to love it. But it still requires such extra effort on his part that what for most of us on Goodreads is a joy and an escape for him is, well, like sitting down with a cup of tea and a set of twenty calculus problems. (I don't mean to stereotype....maybe some of you do that!)
Until The Hunger Games. Sam read the first two over two days, just as he read Harry Potter back to back (his sister and us reading them to him when he was small helped) along with the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe series and for reasons that totally escape me, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
But Suzanne's books are the ones that prompted the words that for years and years I've longed to hear: "I think I might like reading."
God Bless You, Suzanne!
It was odd because he understood what he was not able to read. Does that make sense? Prose he could not parse aloud in class he could analyze. Poetry, that he loved. And because our elementary school was a small rural one and my husband was on the school board and felt we shouldn't "burden" taxpayers with tutoring, I took him out of class four days a week when he was in third grade to a specialist who, literally, taught him the rules of words, word by word, syllable by syllable. (Thank heavens I was an author by then because that kind of schedule never would have passed in my newspaper job.)
Sam benefitted from a high IQ, a boost that would only get him so far. He's great in math and I have the feeling that his model as far as math geeks go is not that unusual. By the way, he hates video games, possibly because he can't process them as fast as his friends.
And he hates reading. Actually, he loves it. Or he wants to love it. But it still requires such extra effort on his part that what for most of us on Goodreads is a joy and an escape for him is, well, like sitting down with a cup of tea and a set of twenty calculus problems. (I don't mean to stereotype....maybe some of you do that!)
Until The Hunger Games. Sam read the first two over two days, just as he read Harry Potter back to back (his sister and us reading them to him when he was small helped) along with the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe series and for reasons that totally escape me, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.
But Suzanne's books are the ones that prompted the words that for years and years I've longed to hear: "I think I might like reading."
God Bless You, Suzanne!
April 3, 2012
The Cats Are Out to Kill Me
I live in Vermont with two cats I adopted from the local humane society four years ago - evil sisters, or so they said - Fred the basset, as well as a collection of humans. But they're not important. Today, it's all about the cats and how they're trying to kill me.
They've been practicing on small animals, warming up with mice and then moving on to other members of the order Rodentia. Chipmunks. Voles. Moles. They arrive in various states of decapitation much like the Mafia drops off horse heads. Calling cards of cold-blooded assassins. Warning signs that the Sensitive Stomach Purina Chow is just not cutting the mustard.
One day, I emerged from the downstairs bathroom to find their latest weapon - a snake curled up and very much alive right outside the door. This could only have been a matter of revenge since my fear of snakes is legendary. They hate me for reasons I do not know.
Much to their chagrin I'm sure, the snake was a simple garter. Not much poison to kill me and I was able to sweep it into a waste basket and throw it outside.
....And yet they continue to plan and plot.
If I don't blog someday, call the PD and tell them whom to finger. Because if I write "Patches and Tiny" in my blood, you know they'll only lick it off.
They've been practicing on small animals, warming up with mice and then moving on to other members of the order Rodentia. Chipmunks. Voles. Moles. They arrive in various states of decapitation much like the Mafia drops off horse heads. Calling cards of cold-blooded assassins. Warning signs that the Sensitive Stomach Purina Chow is just not cutting the mustard.
One day, I emerged from the downstairs bathroom to find their latest weapon - a snake curled up and very much alive right outside the door. This could only have been a matter of revenge since my fear of snakes is legendary. They hate me for reasons I do not know.
Much to their chagrin I'm sure, the snake was a simple garter. Not much poison to kill me and I was able to sweep it into a waste basket and throw it outside.
....And yet they continue to plan and plot.
If I don't blog someday, call the PD and tell them whom to finger. Because if I write "Patches and Tiny" in my blood, you know they'll only lick it off.
April 2, 2012
When All Else Fails: Bohemian Rhapsody
I can't tell you how many times Bohemian Rhapsody has saved my own butt. But it probably would be best if I spared you details. My parole officer children probably would appreciate a little discretion.
But not Robert Wilkinson!
http://www.nj.com/entertainment/index...
But not Robert Wilkinson!
http://www.nj.com/entertainment/index...
April 1, 2012
Today I am 5
Well, not me. Fred. Fred the basset. My April Fool. (You can see his birthday photo in my photos since I haven't figured out the Goodreads uploader code.)
I always wanted a basset hound ever since my neighbor Mrs. Arbogast had Pokey, a basset who slept on her driveway and never moved. It was like he'd been steamrolled. Maybe he was stuffed. Who knows?
Having been denied dogs (and Barbies, but that's for another blog) as a kid, the first dog I chose on my very own was Fred. I remember when I used to hold him in my hand and cuddle him under my chin. Now, he's 60 lbs and loooong. And a lover, especially of children.
Now, it just so happens we live about one hundred feet from the elementary school where Fred is something of a local celebrity. When the doors are open in the summer, Fred has been known to saunter into Mrs. Domanski's first grade class and have a sit down. Last year he arrived center stage at the spring concert and more than once the little league coach down the street has had to chase him off the field for catching baseballs.
But that's Fred. He loves chicken and his buddy dogs - Shayla, Sam and Niko. He sleeps. He talks. He insists on sitting in the passenger seat. In fact, he knows all about driving. And he likes dinner at exactly 5 p.m.
What he can't figure out are the cats. And that's just the way they like it.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRED!
I always wanted a basset hound ever since my neighbor Mrs. Arbogast had Pokey, a basset who slept on her driveway and never moved. It was like he'd been steamrolled. Maybe he was stuffed. Who knows?
Having been denied dogs (and Barbies, but that's for another blog) as a kid, the first dog I chose on my very own was Fred. I remember when I used to hold him in my hand and cuddle him under my chin. Now, he's 60 lbs and loooong. And a lover, especially of children.
Now, it just so happens we live about one hundred feet from the elementary school where Fred is something of a local celebrity. When the doors are open in the summer, Fred has been known to saunter into Mrs. Domanski's first grade class and have a sit down. Last year he arrived center stage at the spring concert and more than once the little league coach down the street has had to chase him off the field for catching baseballs.
But that's Fred. He loves chicken and his buddy dogs - Shayla, Sam and Niko. He sleeps. He talks. He insists on sitting in the passenger seat. In fact, he knows all about driving. And he likes dinner at exactly 5 p.m.
What he can't figure out are the cats. And that's just the way they like it.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRED!
March 31, 2012
Kissing. Kissing. And More Kissing
Why has this taken me so long to figure out that what I want is what I want in my books, those that I read and those I write? Kissing. Lots.
In adult books, of which I've written something like fourteen or maybe more I forget, kissing is "quaint." Adults kiss their children sweetly or each other at times of crisis. Though, actually, in the case of Bubbles, Stiletto first made out with her on top of a car in the rain which was pretty hot. THAT was fun to write.
Now that I'm writing young adult, I'm reliving my teenage years. Not my real teenage years - the first time a boy kissed me I threw up. Fortunately, not on his shoes. I had enough sense to keep it together until he left.
Also, my first date was seeing Ibsen's Hedda Gabler at the local playhouse. Nothing says hot like 19th century Norwegian suicides!
Looking back, I might not have had the most normal adolescence.
I'm making up for that now with SMART GIRLS GET WHAT THEY WANT and this fabulous book I'm rewriting now. Hot boys. Hot "me" - I mean, my teenage protagonist - and kissing.
Yes!
In adult books, of which I've written something like fourteen or maybe more I forget, kissing is "quaint." Adults kiss their children sweetly or each other at times of crisis. Though, actually, in the case of Bubbles, Stiletto first made out with her on top of a car in the rain which was pretty hot. THAT was fun to write.
Now that I'm writing young adult, I'm reliving my teenage years. Not my real teenage years - the first time a boy kissed me I threw up. Fortunately, not on his shoes. I had enough sense to keep it together until he left.
Also, my first date was seeing Ibsen's Hedda Gabler at the local playhouse. Nothing says hot like 19th century Norwegian suicides!
Looking back, I might not have had the most normal adolescence.
I'm making up for that now with SMART GIRLS GET WHAT THEY WANT and this fabulous book I'm rewriting now. Hot boys. Hot "me" - I mean, my teenage protagonist - and kissing.
Yes!
March 30, 2012
First Blog - Win $640 Million
....Or not. Because then everyone and their sister will come out to slip and fall on your sidewalk so they can sue for your millions, right?
Sure. A risk you're willing to take you say. Also, you're willing to face a bankruptcy (because unlike all those other lottery winners you'll be sensible) and a relationship breakup (because yours is solid).
Hey! Me, too!
Which is why over on my Facebook page my friends and I thought up the winning MegaMillions number. Got a pencil? Because you're going to want to write it down and trot over to the Cumberland Farms/WaWa/7-11 whatever to buy it for a buck. Okay, here goes....
3-9-14-16-27-35
That's it! That's going to be the winner. Make sure you buy a ticket with it by 9:50 tonight (Friday, March 30th). Now, aren't you glad you read a really stupid blog?
And, remember, if you win you and I are BEST friends.
Sarah
Sure. A risk you're willing to take you say. Also, you're willing to face a bankruptcy (because unlike all those other lottery winners you'll be sensible) and a relationship breakup (because yours is solid).
Hey! Me, too!
Which is why over on my Facebook page my friends and I thought up the winning MegaMillions number. Got a pencil? Because you're going to want to write it down and trot over to the Cumberland Farms/WaWa/7-11 whatever to buy it for a buck. Okay, here goes....
3-9-14-16-27-35
That's it! That's going to be the winner. Make sure you buy a ticket with it by 9:50 tonight (Friday, March 30th). Now, aren't you glad you read a really stupid blog?
And, remember, if you win you and I are BEST friends.
Sarah
