Sanity Bakery

Recently in central Washington state, a cow decided to try bungee-jumping off a 200-foot cliff. Unfortunately, being a cow, it seemed it didn’t realize that it was missing something very important: the bungee cord. Thankfully, its fall was broken by a passing minivan.

According to doctordavid.wordpress.com, cows often make this tragic mistake. The bovine community, unused to the necessity of such newfangled inventions, is plagued by frequents deaths of cows who did not look before they leapt.

As for the two homo sapiens in the minivan, they survived without injury. But I suspect they will prefer to meet their beef frozen and in two-pound packages from now on, preferably labeled “ground chuck” or “top sirloin.” Personally, I prefer mine in the form of “Porterhouse,” although Bessie’s byproducts “egg nog” and “ice cream” are also delicious.

I was first introduced to the word online, in the form of an acquaintance’s screenname. Didn’t know what it meant, didn’t care, didn’t actually think it was a real word since it was spelled with a zero instead of an O and it was a screenname, anyway!

Meltzer’s thesaurus changed all that. I would like to kiss Peter Meltzer some days, and he’d deserve it. He has changed my life, or at least the part that thinks and writes or does anything involving words. Under the entry for “woman,” one of the possibilities was virago. 

The rarely-trustworthy Wikipedia says that virago is the Latin Bible’s word for “woman,” coming from the word “viro” or “man.” Makes sense to me. Except, a virago is not merely a woman. A virago—she is a Woman.

A virago is not a slut, a girl of low virtue and lower self-esteem. A virago is not a submissive kitten, bossed around by every whim of the breeze. A virago is a warrior. A virago is a leader. A virago is a mother, a wife, an individual. A virago is intimidating, apparently, as another definition is “shrew.”

The word-for-word definition of a virago is, according to the better-known Merriam Webster dictionary, a woman of great stature, strength, and courage. Not a girl. A Woman.

I am not a virago. I am still a girl. But I am a virago-in-process, a virago-becoming. I am 155 centimeters tall, in shoes; but I as a virago I will stand as tall as the Statue of Liberty. Strong. Loving. Kind. A virago, just like my mother.

    I love reading what my friends write, but there’s one complication: Most of them never have time to write. Actually, finding time is a problem most of us student writers have. Sometimes it can be impossible to do our homework, study, finish chores, do activities, and write. But there is a way to do it all—or at least multitask.
Whenever you’re studying something that’s hard, important, or just catches your interest, the best thing to do is write a story about it. It’s a new and different way to learn the material, and it’s a great opportunity to write a fun story. It’s like writing to a prompt while studying at the same time!
For example, if you’re studying ancient China in history, you could write a story about the Silk Road. If you’re trying to learn vocabulary words, find a way to use every word on the list. Even math and science can come into a story somehow. Why does your main character have to use the concept you’re studying? What problem is he trying to solve, or what’s she trying to accomplish? Challenge yourself to include as many details as you can about whatever you’re learning. Get inspired. Run with it!
My freshman year, I was in the hardest history class I’d ever heard of: World Civilizations. Doesn’t sound too bad, right? Probably study Greeks and Romans, with a little Aztecs and Incas thrown in for fun? Not exactly. We started with the first homo sapiens and went almost through modern times—in great detail! Mr. Schaffer was an amazing teacher, but it could still be hard to remember all the facts.
One day, when we were talking about ancient Egypt, I got an idea for a story. Right there in class, I started scribbling, and in short order I had a story about Egyptian gods and what the ancient Egyptians believed about the afterlife, based on a funny idea about a smart-mouthed American kid named Jason who finds himself being judged by the gods! It’s almost three years later, and I still remember the judging process: Your heart is placed on one side of a scale; on the other side, Anubis puts a feather. If your heart is weighed down by sins it’ll sink, and you get eaten by a crocodile-lion-hippo monster. If it’s sinless and light, it’ll rise on the scales and you get to go to the Osirian fields.
Oh, but, for the record you might want to jot down the idea right away, but wait til after class to start writing. Remembering the one concept doesn’t do much good if you’re not paying attention when the teacher’s talking about another! I have no idea what Mr. Schaffer was saying while I was scribbling away.
These stories don’t have to be long or well-written. Usually they’re not your best work, they’re more like writing exercises. But if you like an idea and decide to polish the story, try submitting it to a magazine or writing contest. I submitted my Egyptian story as part of an application to a famous writing camp at the University of Iowa. Some of the best stories are inspired by little things. You never know what could happen!

I wrote this for a kids’ writing newsletter. I’m getting paid $20! The other two credits are the Grace Tierney Fake Contest Contest and the many Orthodox spoof articles I’ve written for The Onion Dome. I’m beyond excited.

Tuesday, we went out to dinner with a group of doctors to listen to a presentation on Provigil, a sleep disorder medication used for narcolepsy and soldiers overseas. It was a lovely dinner, and I learned a lot. When we left, the presenters were still cleaning up, and the doctor sitting to Mom’s left was waiting for a dessert—tiramisu—to take home to his wife. Wednesday morning, we got a call that he had died ten minutes after we left. Suspected brain aneurysm.

It almost made me angry. How is this fair? He’s 37, out to dinner, and suddenly he keels over? How is that fair? He has four kids, ranging from 6 months to ten years old, and it’s not fair! Where is their father?

Mom told me how glad she was that we had left. She didn’t want me to have to watch him die. I smiled at her protection, which I love, but it seemed a bit futile. I don’t think we could have helped any, because I don’t think there’s anything a doctor can do for an aneurysm outside a hospital, but it isn’t the first time that a doctor has suddenly dropped dead while having dinner with us. When I was about five, an old doctor had a heart attack in the middle of dinner at the fish house. I was little and nonjudgmental, so it didn’t bother me, although unfortunately I’m bothered this time. Little kids don’t understand when things are fine and when they’re not. Thankfully.

Mom’s disliked that fish house ever since. She rode in the ambulance with the old man and never got to eat her food, but the restaurant still made her pay. It’s one of the most mean-spirited things I’ve ever heard. I was happy, sitting at a table with strangers as I finished my dinner while Mom went off on some adventure or another. But she didn’t eat (she was off trying to save a life, y’know, tends to supercede food), and when she came back exhausted she was presented with cold food and a check.

It’s not a big deal. He was a nice man I didn’t really know. I’m sad for his family, but my perception of death as an Orthodox Christian is that the dead are just fine. Better off than we Earthlings, for sure.

I’m feeling a bit stressed because I haven’t been getting to bed early enough (my fault, no excuse; FictionPress has the worst, best chick-lit romances ever), I need 10 pages of my best writing for a scholarship and I think it all sucks, I have a short story I want to submit to a contest but I haven’t written it yet and it’s due in two weeks, and I just haven’t been who I want to be. I want to be calm, happy, collected, responsible, trustworthy, and working on my goals. I sort of am, sometimes, but then again I’m really not. If I was, I’d stop reading chick-lit and start writing it. I’d like to think that my romances aren’t total chick-lit, because chick-lit by definition is fluffy and worthless, but they are typically about teens or younger adults who end up crazy about each other and in a long-term relationship. Eh, who knows. Just keep truckin’, right?

I won the contest. Grace Tierney’s Fake Contest Contest.

Mrs. Fussbottom’s Perfect Novel Contest—judged by Mrs. Junice Fussbottom herself—is now accepting entries. Mrs. Junice Fussbottom, an eccentric widow with very precise tastes, is searching for a book that suits her. Nothing in the bookstores is to her taste. She is looking for a witty and realistic novel of literary value set in the Victorian era. The main character, who should be nearly perfect, must be a no-nonsense sort of woman who can handle her own problems with minimal help from others and who also tends to solve every other problem that comes her way or in her general direction. The novel should contain no dull spots, less-than-credible events, romance, children, or plot twists of any sort. Mrs. Fussbottom does not like such things. First prize is $25,000 plus a permanent position writing for Mrs. Fussbottom; there is no entry fee or other prizes. All entrants should be aware that by entering they forfeit the right to sue Mrs. Fussbottom for any reason, including but not limited to cruel and unusual punishment or murder of their literary muse. Contact Mrs. Fussbottom’s personal assistant, Mr. Lawrence Theodore, if you are interested or have any questions. Please! 

Apparently only 30 people entered, and mine was funny. The rest were “more fact than fiction.” I made Grace smile.

I’m delighted.