tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-157312142012-01-16T21:25:31.457-06:00M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.comBlogger3111100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-44238980596451558062011-10-15T23:56:00.000-05:002011-10-15T23:56:42.896-05:00

(trumpets!) My editor finally gave me the okay on OFFICIALLY announcing my book's cover. So without further ado: I am completely in love with it. It's been hanging out as an image on my phone for months now, but I still get excited whenever I see it. Isn't it so pretty? You can pre-order the book in a variety of places, including indiebound, Barnes & Noble, amazon, and -- weirdly --

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-11488679139567084832011-08-31T05:00:00.001-05:002011-08-31T05:00:12.410-05:00

As you know, my debut novel, The Princesses of Iowa, will be published next spring (just under the wire before the END OF THE WORLD, so, you know, that's convenient). Anyhow, to celebrate the year leading up to -- and following -- the release of my book, I'll be joining The Debutante Ball, a group blog for debut authors which is now in its sixth year. I'll be posting every Wednesday (long-time

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-4230451546728254402011-08-01T18:04:00.000-05:002011-08-01T18:04:16.684-05:00

"The first week of August hangs at the very top of the summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-22810757820662837422011-07-26T01:30:00.004-05:002011-07-26T01:38:33.385-05:00

In the two weeks since I last posted, this blog has gotten as many hits as it had previously gotten over the course of its entire eight-year existence. Normally, I get maybe 250 views of each entry. “How to be a Writer” has had 100 times that. I’m gratified and overwhelmed by the response, and eventually I think I’ll have more to say about the subject -- both the strangeness of viralocity, and

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-61954694048505928932011-07-12T22:35:00.000-05:002011-07-12T22:35:07.141-05:00

A few weeks ago, a woman asked me for advice about her teenage daughter. “She wants to be a writer,” the mother said. “What should we be doing?” To be honest, I was kind of stumped. (In part, I think it was the way she asked it – “What should WE be doing?” I didn’t really know what to do with that “we.”) (Also, it was quite early in the day, and I hadn’t yet had sufficient coffee to be giving

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com111tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-70641448914374832022011-06-15T21:15:00.017-05:002011-06-16T17:39:30.090-05:00

I almost always have the radio on in the background (I like to pretend it's because I'm such a genius that my brain can't handle doing just one thing at a time, but it's probably just leftover ADD from teaching 7th graders too long). At work, we mostly listen to XRT, at least until Jill gets fed up and yells about the state of music today and changes the station. The only problem with listening

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-21623948282770131512011-05-24T11:17:00.001-05:002011-05-24T11:19:12.460-05:00

I have some! 1. If you're halfway through your story & your plot is grinding to a halt, maybe you need to re-think your character's wants & needs. Or maybe you're just generally sort of interested in things I write. Either way, check out my article in the latest issue of The Prairie Wind. 2. If you've read Eleanor Brown's The Weird Sisters or Elizabeth Stuckey-French's The Revenge of the

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-127468941523147502011-05-17T21:47:00.002-05:002011-05-17T21:51:16.748-05:00

Among several modest talents, one of which I am particularly proud is my general competence at not killing things. I might even go so far as to call it a gift. There are tons of things I haven't killed. Middle schoolers, for one. That I managed to teach 7th and 8th grade for years without killing a single child is pretty impressive, if I may toot my own horn. I've had probably close to a hundred

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-23350983434432394172011-04-24T20:00:00.004-05:002011-04-24T22:26:03.390-05:00

Remember that movie Paddle to the Sea? You probably saw it in like third grade on a day when your teacher had a migraine and didn't want to explain the difference between a cursive capital Q and the number 2 for the seven thousandth time. In the film, a sick-but-winsome kid carves a canoe with an Indian guy in it and then drops him in the snow, hoping that one day he'll make it to the ocean,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-52307579950618160222010-11-30T22:54:00.020-06:002010-12-01T01:08:37.275-06:00

I spent the last two days in bed, sick with what feels like strep but isn't strep. (Doctor: The good news is... it's not strep! The bad news is... I can give you a prescription for cough drops and tea and you're going to be sick all week. Sucka!) (Okay, she didn't really say 'sucka,' she was actually super nice and sympathetic, but still. Sucka.) The point is: sick. And because I've been sick,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-7907236979952226292010-11-16T11:26:00.002-06:002010-11-16T11:47:47.202-06:00

Let's skip the requisite apologies about how hideously neglected this poor blog is. Reader, it's not that I don't care about you, it's merely that I'm entirely uninteresting, and every time I think about writing a blog entry, the only topics that come to mind are things like "I like banana muffins!" and "Zia is a tiny angel baby!" You should probably thank me for not subjecting you to such things

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-33774079739305513272010-08-04T22:45:00.005-05:002010-08-04T23:17:38.979-05:00

So an awesome (but sadly anonymous) commenter points out that instead of waiting around for big companies to create the products I need, I should just make them myself. To which I say, YES. I totally support that notion. I am all about making things, and if they end up involving slightly more duct tape than they might if I bought them at the store.... well, duct tape's charmingly punk rock, right

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-44701899140182273992010-08-02T21:34:00.009-05:002010-08-02T22:14:10.512-05:00

Apparently it's August. I'm not sure exactly how this happened, other than the whole inevitable passage of time, clock slowly ticking toward death, blah blah blah. It has often been pointed out to me that I don't understand the passage of time, and my frequent exclamations as to people's age relative to the number of months or years since I saw them last ("When did you turn into a big grownup

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-10401973817877092742010-06-12T19:46:00.007-05:002010-06-12T20:11:06.013-05:00

The ability to put every car on a block in neutral and roll them closer together in order to maximize street parking efficiency... with my mind. The ability to talk to woodland creatures... so bunnies wouldn't have to hop away when I walk past them. Also so they would come clean my house. Super hair that never needs to be washed. The ability to shrink my car into a tiny match-box sized car that I

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-43357268000972144402010-06-01T22:25:00.004-05:002010-06-01T23:28:45.797-05:00

You know you're hanging out with writers when, in the middle of a conversation, someone spaces out and murmurs, "I should use that...." My most recent "I should use that" was tonight when I was telling people about this song my family sings. That we made up. About how the Boston Terrier is the Size of a Human Baby. ("Size of a human bay-beee! Size of a human BAY-beee!") Because what family

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-15513766636535520892010-03-22T10:58:00.005-05:002010-03-22T11:56:50.697-05:00

When I was 23, I moved to New Mexico with my truck and my dog and my laptop and a bunch of notebooks. (And, you know, underwear and stuff.) At the time it seemed pretty straightforward, like of course I'm moving across the country without a job or friends or any kind of particular plan, what else would I be doing at 23? In retrospect, I'm fairly impressed with myself, even though it didn't seem

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-74398094309339367342010-01-25T11:47:00.003-06:002010-01-25T11:52:53.172-06:00

Hang out with dog people long enough, and you will hear tales to take your breath away and freeze the blood in your veins. I don't mean Lassie stories of daring rescues or tearjerkers about loyal little pups who waited faithfully by their masters' graves. I'm talking about the dog lover's version of the famed fish story: the most repulsive, upsetting, and offensive story possible involving a dog,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-1778051124569137332009-12-04T14:52:00.003-06:002009-12-04T14:57:13.453-06:00

Squee!(click to see full size)

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-70410150896748296822009-12-01T17:43:00.001-06:002010-01-23T17:48:02.095-06:00

Dear friends, family, and supporters, I finished!! I am so exhausted I can hardly see, and I'm so sick of my own voice that I can't compel myself to add even a single word more to my NaNoWriMo novel, not even to round it up to a nice even number. Final wordcount, according to the Official NaNoWriMo Wordcount Validator, is 50,261! Could I write just 39 words more, just to get my wordcount up to a

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-12088210257596254872009-11-30T21:40:00.003-06:002009-11-30T21:43:12.174-06:00

And I am tired.

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-76974784338315373892009-10-29T18:30:00.005-05:002009-11-02T13:07:35.858-06:00

In high school, we used to play this game called the Stick Game, which went like this: So, I'm holding this stick, see, and I'm thinking of a word. And you have to guess the word I'm thinking, and if you guess wrong, I get to hit you with the stick. Now, I know what you're thinking: that's just TOO easy, right? So to shake things up a bit, I can change the word at any time....In retrospect, it's

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-90693475139381981162009-09-30T16:06:00.014-05:002010-07-11T00:27:08.088-05:00

Last weekend we went to see Fame (the 2009 remake) in the theater. I was really excited about it, because the 1980 movie (and even moreso, the TV show) were so influential in the world of Young Molly Backes. A school where you get to be a total diva, wear legwarmers, and dance on top of taxis? Sign me up!Woo, leg warmers!So, first of all, I have no idea what I was thinking. Remakes are never as

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-31745998516866548452009-09-19T16:56:00.005-05:002010-07-11T00:34:53.240-05:00

God bless Hulu.So it's Saturday afternoon and I'm doing laundry while N's at the theater. In a former life, I used to wait until Kate & Alley was on so I could fold my laundry to the comfortingly mild hijinks of Jane Curtin and Susan Saint-James, but lacking a TV, I have more control over what crappy TV I get to watch while I'm folding towels.Okay Hulu, I say, gimme your best shot.Yeah? Asks

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-16751112468766752892009-07-24T14:50:00.008-05:002009-07-24T15:09:22.451-05:00

Excessively genial insurance salesman: Hey, that's a beautiful dog you have!Me: Thank you! EGIS: So, she's some kind of mix, huh? What kind of mix?Me: No, she's actually a purebred. EGIS: Oh yeah, a purebred! So she must be a... what, a pomeranian? Pomeranian: Tiny. Fluffy.Me: EGIS: Pomeranian? Is that right? Zia: Not tiny. Also not fluffy.Me: Um, she's a greyhound. EGIS: Oh yeah, of course! A

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-56220277406940917802009-07-17T13:40:00.003-05:002009-07-17T13:50:19.720-05:00

Who's a dog?Who's a good doggy?Who's a good girl? Who's a pretty girl?Are you a dog?Are you a doggy? Are you a good dog?Are you a good doggy?Are you a nice dog?Are you a nice girl?Are you a good girl? Are you a pretty girl?Are you such a pretty girl? Are you so pretty? What's your name? Why are you so pretty?Why are you such a pretty girl? Why are you such a good doggy?How did you get to be such

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-56647172757025123982009-07-06T22:23:00.002-05:002009-07-06T22:27:39.861-05:00

Zia, Week One: First of all, she is absolutely beautiful. She has gorgeous liquid brown eyes, deep amber in sunlight (just like Zeke's were, when I first met him), and lovely black lining around her eyes. Her fur is striped like a tiger, and she can camouflage into our living room rug pretty tidily. She folds her paws daintily when she rests, and has a very pretty prancing trot when she walks. At

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-84351787309953431312009-04-15T11:33:00.004-05:002009-04-15T11:44:55.700-05:00

Ever since I saw an article about how one-third of sea turtles have plastic in their digestive systems, I've been eschewing plastic bags at stores. I've felt gross about plastic bags ever since I first learned about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch last summer, but for whatever reason, the article about sea turtles really pushed me over the edge. I guess the sea turtles put a face on the problem?

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-74201730547677660502009-03-14T19:54:00.006-05:002009-03-14T20:10:55.672-05:00

In the years since I traded the safe and happy bubble known as My Wisconsin Childhood for the cold and cruel existence known as My Iowa New Mexico Illinois Stressful and Expensive Student-Debt-Ridden Tax-Paying Adulthood, I have learned a few lessons about the wide world. Never pass up an opportunity for free food. You don't really have to wait an hour after lunch before you go swimming. Showing

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-77486482997371686562009-02-19T13:55:00.001-06:002009-02-27T14:05:04.203-06:00

Every now and again I actually scrape together enough time to blog at work, and then post it here to create the illusion that I actually do sometimes update my own blog, aside from all the youtube videos of ladies singing about grammar and Jesus singing about gays. Of course, if I were really diligent about posting videos, I'd direct you to KITTENS! INSPIRED BY: KITTENS! which is both funny and

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-35464857512764359572009-01-30T21:38:00.003-06:002009-01-30T21:47:35.507-06:00

In other words, The Greatest Snack Food Stadium Ever Built:One billion trillion, dude. One billion trillion. On a similar note, and in case you've been living in a Bacon Cave (or would it be a vegan cave? A bacon-hatin' cave? Anyway, you know what I mean), the internet's crazy for the Bacon explosion!! Almost as popular as that goddamn Snuggie.Happy Superbowl!

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-15040480324706088572009-01-15T12:23:00.002-06:002009-01-16T00:28:59.637-06:00

Sit back and allow Sistersalad to tell you a little something about grammar, with a little help from Sir Mix-a-Lot.

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-51421849653057737112009-01-12T22:47:00.005-06:002009-01-13T10:37:53.681-06:00

Cross your fingers and send good wishes to my mother's dog Basil, known for many years as "your little brother" and also answering to: Beez, Beezil, Weez, Weezil, Waz, Wazzil, Beezer-Weezer, Beezil-Weezil, Weenie Boy, Baz, Bazzy, Spazzil, Beefaroo, Pony Boy, Hobby Horse, Sits-Like-a-Person, Aunt Basil, Beeazulbub, Buddy, Bubba, Nancy Boy, Wild Nancy, Princess Basil, and "Shut up, you crabby old

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-26481377300354582232009-01-10T19:00:00.011-06:002009-01-10T19:20:00.534-06:00

So apparently writing a blog is not much like riding a bike. Which is actually a good thing, because the last time I rode a bike I nearly got hit by a Netherlandian bus. I was in Amsterdam at the time, which explains the presence of the Netherlandian bus. I mean, it would probably be a better story if I were biking in Madison and got hit by a Netherlandian bus, because then you’d be like,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-41650149874400709692009-01-09T14:03:00.004-06:002009-01-09T14:12:19.596-06:00

Zeke WordleGiven that my primary obsession from about 2000 to 2003 was the problem of making visual art out of words, how is it possible that I didn't know about Wordle? The site allows you to enter a web address, body of text, or del.icio.us user name, and from there generates a random word cloud based on the number of times certain words appear in the text. I used the text from Teacher's Pet

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-43977476093591576292008-12-18T12:02:00.002-06:002008-12-18T12:13:21.084-06:00

December 17, 2008Rock Bottom Brewery, ChicagoNat: ...and that is why I love licorice the best.Me: Can I interrupt you? What is this song?Music: La la... female of the species is more deadly than the male....Nat: Hmmm. I don't know.Me: It's from high school. I haven't heard this song in like 10 years. Who sings this?Nat: Let's see if we can guess. [listens intently] Yeah, I got nothing.Me:

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-23340441354829906042008-11-10T20:21:00.005-06:002008-11-10T20:29:37.144-06:00

Dear friends: you should probably go see this movie. Chicago, it's now playing at the Gene Siskel Film center downtown, scheduled for this week only. Courtney, Sara, Megan, and everyone in Portland, it's at the Hollywood Theatre next week. Albuquerque folks, it's playing in Santa Fe on the 28th. Everyone else, you're on your own. But really, if you have the chance, see this film. It's good,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-56900571107061406942008-11-06T15:10:00.012-06:002008-11-06T16:37:27.551-06:00

So, Tuesday was amazing. Being in Chicago was absolutely incredible. It was like everyone was having their birthday on the same day. But not just any birthday: the BEST birthday. That one birthday you looked forward to your whole LIFE, the one where you finally got a PONY. Happy Birthday, America!And not only was Obama totally eloquent and poetic as always, but then he went and promised his

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-16165870091591867172008-11-04T10:09:00.000-06:002008-11-04T10:11:20.720-06:00

We know the battle ahead will be long. But always remember that, no matter what obstacles stand in our way, nothing can stand in the way of the power of millions of voices calling for change. We have been told we cannot do this by a chorus of cynics. And they will only grow louder and more dissonant in the weeks and months to come. We've been asked to pause for a reality check. We've been warned

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-3797248780138818482008-11-03T10:05:00.001-06:002008-11-03T10:07:00.750-06:00

Les Misbarack

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-18225103853679061232008-11-02T10:09:00.000-06:002008-11-03T10:32:49.952-06:00

...and it only took me two and a half hours!The Line to Vote at Welles ParkI went over to Welles Park on Thursday, knowing I'd have to wait in line for a while -- I figured a half hour, maybe an hour. When I got in line, a man said it was about two hours from the tree. The tree? I wasn't even AT the tree yet! I thought about cashing it in then and waiting until Tuesday, but it was such a

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-29276848224197970212008-10-22T15:33:00.005-05:002008-10-22T16:22:31.534-05:00

That's right, JONATHAN KOZOL!! I MET him!Here's how you know whether or not you're an education nerd:If you're currently squealing with excitement and jealousy, you ARE.If you're scratching your head and going, Jonathan Who? then you are NOT an education nerd, not even if you're an educator yourself. In fact, if you're an educator or an educational administrator, and you haven't heard of Kozol,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-45378930370340268142008-10-20T13:42:00.002-05:002008-10-20T13:51:14.490-05:00

If you're feeling remotely good about this country and its people today, you might not want to watch this video.I always thought that "Of the people, by the people, for the people," was an incredibly inspiring, hopeful phrase. It's been my touchstone for understanding this country and its government for years and years. We're not supposed to question our president? Sorry bud, of the people by

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-7251271897558459562008-10-17T11:12:00.000-05:002008-10-17T11:12:00.808-05:00

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-4141677917516038072008-10-16T17:51:00.006-05:002008-10-16T19:27:57.413-05:00

I am such a nerd. I know this about myself, and I'm totally fine with it. I've made my peace, as Leslie would say. I've made my peace. One of the many manifestations of my utter nerdiness is my interest in grammar. I wouldn't say I'm a grammar nazi, or even a grammar queen. More like a connoisseur. I'm interested in language, in general, and in finding ever more perfect ways to express myself,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-56897278156898018342008-10-15T15:21:00.009-05:002008-10-15T17:49:48.526-05:00

Because everyone from college is now having babies or thinking about having babies or thinking about NOT having babies -- in other words, going through their late 20s and early 30s -- the Grinnellians started talking about baby names the other day. Specifically, Secret Future Baby Names, those names you hold close to your heart for future children, names that are so beautiful and perfect that

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-44963856525453198102008-10-14T13:30:00.002-05:002008-10-14T13:56:18.392-05:00

Okay, okay. I know you've all been terribly neglected and you don't even know what to do with yourselves. I know you've been obsessively checking this site every day, hoping... wishing... that maybe.... It's not that I've forgotten you, I swear. It's just that I'm so goddamn busy, all the time. Even now. Because I don't have time to write some thoughtfully scathing-yet-fond review of some

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-6743113505555224942008-09-24T15:49:00.004-05:002008-09-24T16:03:01.506-05:00

This afternoon, I took a stroll around the block while waiting for a conference call that never came. It's a gorgeous, warm September day, not a bit like winter, regardless of what my subconscious thinks. (A few nights ago at Kate's, we were talking about something or other and I said, "Now that it's winter...." and everyone looked at me until Natalie patted my hand nicely. "It's not winter

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-76293400923778839962008-09-17T15:59:00.003-05:002008-09-17T16:03:06.706-05:00

Two links that made me laugh:Hamlet as a Facebook Feed, which probably isn't very funny if you're not a Facebook person, but is absolutely hilarious if you are,andAre You an Elitist? 18 Ways to Tell for Sure: "You recognize and appreciate more than 50 percent of the references and enjoy at least a quarter of the featured profiles in the New York Times Arts section. Also, you read the New York

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-86844604454846885782008-09-13T10:52:00.009-05:002008-09-13T12:07:22.395-05:00

Or: Still Ranting After All These YearsThis week marks the Five Year Anniversary/Blogday of Bittersweet. Happy five years, Bittersweet! I meant to celebrate on the actual day -- September 8 -- but once again I find myself deeply immersed in rewrites. So it's a very merry belated blogday, this time around. I'm sure you haven't noticed, but I really like anniversaries, birthdays, turning points,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-61210316773416837302008-09-02T12:15:00.001-05:002008-09-02T12:15:35.697-05:00

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-63101207042647441822008-08-29T14:20:00.001-05:002008-08-29T14:23:06.078-05:00

It’s awfully easy to be cynical about the American political system. Sometimes it feels like a struggling marriage: objectively, you can still remember what you saw in it, back when you were young and the Bill of Rights was more than a string of broken promises, when you and Congress strolled hand in hand over the moonlit grass on the Washington Mall, when you split a bottle of wine with the

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-51620318490562805592008-08-25T15:41:00.016-05:002008-08-25T17:35:04.658-05:00

It was an historical weekend on several fronts. First, Friday the 22nd was the ten year anniversary of meeting my college roommate, partner-in-crime, fellow Cool Math teacher, and all around BFF Alison C. Brown, aka AliBrown, Ali N. Brown, "Sally," Alicakes, and Monsterface.Freshman YearThe summer before college, everyone I knew regaled me with their stories of crazy roommates. The roommate who

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-28597578591364393472008-08-13T10:36:00.003-05:002008-08-13T10:41:07.460-05:00

Sometimes I wonder what exactly my life is missing. It's nothing obvious, no clear gaping hole in the center of my life I have to step around during the day and fall into each night, nothing so apparent. Just that, from time to time, I have this ghost of a yearning, the feeling that my life should be slightly more, that I'm not adequately cashing in on all life has to offer. Today it becomes

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-820457948624763992008-08-08T12:45:00.001-05:002008-08-08T12:45:16.117-05:00

Ever since I sold my truck in May, I've been walking to and from work nearly every day. I work about three miles from my house, and sometimes I walk the entire way home, though the last mile or so is rather ugly. I prefer to walk through the neighborhoods, off the main streets, but the Chicago River limits the ways to get home. The Chicago River from DiverseyI can wander through the

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-56120424766847926162008-08-07T14:23:00.003-05:002008-08-07T14:29:39.045-05:00

While we live in a nation that is enriched by a vast array of diverse traditions, cultures and histories, it is our commonality that most defines us. The desire to build a life with a loved one, to provide for a family and to have children who will grow and thrive — these are desires that all people share, regardless of race, sex, religion, sexual orientation or gender identity.[...]But we also

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-32096977371046831462008-07-21T08:44:00.003-05:002008-12-09T00:11:27.636-06:00

But you know, they don't really care if you go a block or two that way.

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-13359164860308989832008-07-19T11:24:00.006-05:002008-12-09T00:11:27.842-06:00

I know that most of the readers of this blog are grownups. Most of you even have college degrees. Good job! Go, you! You deserve a cookie. If you have already graduated from high school, this blog post is not for you. If, however, you are one of the approximately 400 students I taught in New Mexico, or you're a kid whose overbearing parent or grandparent or teacher sent this link to you, or

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-46883349617403785442008-07-17T21:18:00.000-05:002008-12-09T00:11:28.418-06:00

Yesterday, a woman showed up in our office trying to sell a $50 spa package. ($400 worth of spa treatments for $50! How could you say no?) She told me all about the Swedish massage and pedicures and facials and whatever else, and then looked at me expectantly, as if there was no possible way anyone in their right mind could pass up this opportunity. I shrugged and said, "I really don't have $50

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-51868452953838237002008-07-14T16:11:00.003-05:002008-07-14T16:31:16.214-05:00

Walking to work in the morning through the moving shadows and leafy light. An endless supply of lemonade in my refrigerator. A cup of hot tea while the rain splats against the windows outside. Fireworks from a city roof, 360 degrees. Grinnellians. Watching the mice poke their noses through the bars of their cage. An unexpected gift, a necklace hanging from a tree. Postcards. Sitting in a

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-52482328271408324102008-07-10T13:06:00.003-05:002008-12-09T00:11:28.647-06:00

All about that adorable little robot and what he has to teach storytellers over at Cooler By The Lake.

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-68052086756729988582008-07-09T16:19:00.012-05:002008-12-09T00:11:29.579-06:00

Reader, I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. I'm up to my waist in questions of emotional logic and over-parented characters (don't even ask) and character arcs and plot twists. In other words: BO-ring! Instead of putting you to sleep with descriptions of my incredibly exciting days (I work! Every day! And I write! Every day! Sometimes I drink tea instead of coffee! It's madness!!), I

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-17763557907011826882008-07-05T09:04:00.009-05:002008-12-09T00:11:30.558-06:00

Zeke was a bad dog. The first time I saw him, he was streaking across a campus quad, ears flying in the wind, leash dragging behind him, while his owner followed on a bike, screaming his name. “Zeke! ZEKE! Bad dog!” He lived across the street from me my last year of college, and I watched him, surreptitiously, from my porch. Sometimes I stopped on my way home to pet him. My dog had died

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-32123970721540683972008-07-04T10:18:00.003-05:002008-07-04T10:21:29.007-05:00

That was terrible! Horrendous! I'm offended! I'm appalled!

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-3208945229643596972008-06-24T10:39:00.003-05:002008-06-24T10:45:21.861-05:00

This pretty much made my morning:(See it in high quality res on youtube or at wherethehellismatt.com.)

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-23631069655341041222008-06-20T12:55:00.006-05:002008-06-20T13:05:22.240-05:00

In line at Walgreens: "Aveda! They're like Earth Nazis, man!" At Ipsento:"He's worse than Bill Clin-ton. You remember Bill Clin-ton? What did he say? I did not commit no crime, I only had a little fun in the oval office. I did not have sex with anyone, I just had a little fun in the Oval Office. Isn't that what he said? He was a world class con-man. But I still like him, though. He did

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-17833847078514974822008-06-17T09:19:00.000-05:002008-12-09T00:11:30.765-06:00

The feds never have gone for subtlety. Natalie said, "They should call themselves 'Not Selling Guns' or 'You're Not Under Surveillance.'" The truck moved right after I snapped this picture.

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-16079480883183612852008-06-15T23:03:00.000-05:002008-06-16T14:24:57.489-05:00

My friends (and fellow Grinnellians) Liz and Andrew have started a blog to document the experiences they've had with the flooding in Iowa City. Today's post includes a video tour of their house. Check it out. As with any disaster, the media will stay with the story as long as there's shocking footage and new developments to grab audience attention. As the floodwaters recede, so will media

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-38435878114186953022008-06-13T12:40:00.016-05:002008-12-09T00:11:31.862-06:00

A few weekends ago, five of my friends and I rented a van and drove down to Iowa for Grinnell's Reunion. It was our five year cluster, so the classes of 2002-03-and-04 were all lumped together on one side of campus. Grinnell does one big reunion weekend for everyone, so there were people on campus for their ten year (1998), twenty-five year (1983), thirty year cluster (1977-78-79), forty year (

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-72738167353863932732008-06-03T22:20:00.001-05:002008-06-03T23:33:24.641-05:00

God, I thought I took Zeke's death hard, but as usual the lives of the celebrities make me feel better about the way I'm conducting my own humble life in relative obscurity. That's right, Tatum O'Neal, I'm looking at you here. Apparently, O'Neal recently went through a similar situation as we did: "I lost my Scottish terrier, Lena. [...] She got old. She got cancer. She was the fabric of our

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-1970209102653956662008-05-28T17:59:00.003-05:002008-12-09T00:11:32.011-06:00

You were my best dog.

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-9299519278393182142008-05-22T18:51:00.007-05:002008-05-22T19:49:11.883-05:00

Or: Why Chicago So Totally Kicks Your First Responder Ass, New Mexico!Tonight I was lying on the couch, half wondering if I should go ahead and take a nap, half contemplating getting back into the Graham Greene novel I'm reading (half dreaming about the green chile cheese bagels currently in our refrigerator.... mmmmm....) when I heard a braking noise and then a faint crunching noise. "Was that

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-69628108685471567692008-05-20T13:44:00.003-05:002008-05-20T13:47:40.709-05:00

My friend (and fellow writer) Mark needs your help. He's finished with his novel and currently in the process of sending out queries, but... he doesn't have a (good) title. He's burned out on brainstorming (and completely unimpressed with ALL of my suggestions!), so he's turning the wheel over to you. If you come up with a winning title for Mark's novel, he promises to buy you "many expensive

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-81634342183412614762008-05-19T18:50:00.009-05:002008-12-09T00:11:32.128-06:00

If this picture of an otter mama holding her little tiny grover doesn't make your heart rejoice, even a tiny bit, for all that is good and true and itty bitty on this often-wretched-but-still-full-of-baby-otters planet of ours, then wow. You're really in trouble.

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-89135053923248367382008-05-05T21:42:00.006-05:002008-05-05T21:59:59.586-05:00

Yesterday, when I logged in to my blogger account, I had a notice saying I had 28 comments. "Twenty-eight comments?" I thought. "That's amazing! Twenty-eight comments! That's one for every year of my life! If comments were dollars, I'd have enough to buy fourteen giant boxes of junior mints! Twenty-eight comments! Twenty-eight comments! Woo hoo!" Then I opened them up. And they were all

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-46787657528865746372008-05-03T19:25:00.003-05:002008-05-03T19:29:57.589-05:00

Plans went down this week, and I’ve been thinking about community ever since. Do virtual networking sites like Facebook and Twitter really help to build stronger communities, or do they impede actual human interaction, until one day we’ll never leave our houses at all and merely communicate with people by sending them one-sentence updates about the minutia of our shut-in lives and then throwing

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-52764531047900270932008-04-30T09:51:00.019-05:002008-12-09T00:11:33.884-06:00

If your average college band concert and Cirque du Soleil ate a bunch of Wisconsin brats and then got completely piss-drunk on Capital Brewery Wisconsin Amber at the Ice Capades, the UW Varsity Band Spring Concert would be their cheese-curd loving beer-soaked streamer throwing pyrotechnical Love Baby. On crack. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I grew up in Wisconsin, just outside of Madison,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-31432775128705527512008-04-27T23:56:00.007-05:002008-04-28T00:58:22.055-05:00

I’ve been working on this entry for a couple of days now, and it’s been a difficult one to write. It’s a funny story with a sad background, and I think sometimes in the middle of such a giant loss you feel not only like you'll never laugh again but also like maybe you shouldn't, as if in this new and strange landscape built around this hole in the sky it's simply not okay to laugh anymore.

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-25345920233996138942008-04-25T13:15:00.003-05:002008-12-09T00:11:34.093-06:00

When I go to the zoo, I stand outside every animal's cage and make kissy noises at it. Sometimes I tell the people around me that it looks just like my dog Zeke -- no matter what kind of animal, I always think it looks a little bit like Zeke. Hippo, otter, tiger, giant sea tortoise... they all look like Zeke to me. Then I think about how much I would like to snuggle with whatever animal I'm

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-73122531035876495112008-04-15T18:33:00.005-05:002008-12-09T00:11:34.180-06:00

Oh my goodness, I have so much news. All through January… and February… and March, I felt like I couldn’t blog because I only had two thoughts in my head: 1) Oh my god it’s so effing cold I want to die, and 2) No, seriously, it is SO COLD and WHY GOD WON’T IT STOP SNOWING? Therefore, it was an effort to blog about anything that didn’t directly involve complaining about how cold and dark it was,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-44090606464698406292008-03-30T19:18:00.005-05:002008-12-09T00:11:34.296-06:00

Yesterday, my mother came down to Chicago and hung out with me for the day. Ostensibly, she was here to help me pack (which she did) and take me out for my birthday (we went to Zia! New Mexican food in Chicago! Best of both worlds!) but actually we spent the majority of the day driving around the city looking for baby hats. It's a long story. Anyway, even though tromping all over the city with my

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-80558050156313022972008-03-27T20:10:00.002-05:002008-12-09T00:11:34.440-06:00

Last fall, I wrote about my lifelong fondness for Louisa May Alcott’s timeless Little Women. I may have also mentioned, once or twice, my deep and profound love for reimagined stories. If you know me well, you also know that I love song covers – same basic concept. You take someone else’s story (or song) and spin it in a slightly different way. When you’re successful, you gain the ring of

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-76239549035560342752008-03-21T19:22:00.001-05:002008-12-09T00:11:34.601-06:00

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-18165000447209157062008-03-21T15:54:00.003-05:002008-12-09T00:11:34.715-06:00

Dear Wisconsin, How’s it going? Things are pretty okay here, I guess. I mean, Illinois is all right and everything, even though we used to make fun of it a lot. Those were good days, huh Wisconsin? Remember? Those long lazy days of summer, when it seemed like everything was funny and nothing could go wrong? I know you’re one hundred thirty two years older than me and everything, but our age

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-61517878156871591022008-03-19T14:57:00.003-05:002008-12-09T00:11:34.845-06:00

By MamabackesWhen I got home from work yesterday, 15 year old Zeke was not at the back door to greet me. About half of the time he seems to hear the car or otherwise sense that I will be opening the door and is there waiting. I let Basil out of his crate and went to tell Zeke that it was time for a walk. When I left the house nine hours earlier, Zeke was sleeping peacefully on the couch, but

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-45282874871931625682008-03-11T15:45:00.004-05:002008-12-09T00:11:35.126-06:00

HUGE thanks to everyone who came out to support the George Drake Players as we represented Grinnell College in MARCH MADNESS AT THE PLAYGROUND! With your support, we beat the University of Illinois Urbana/Champagne, and will move on to face UNC this Sunday night, same time, same place. If we win this weekend, we'll move up in the bracket and play against either Ball State or William and Mary in

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-78760568409798082982008-03-09T15:09:00.002-05:002008-12-09T00:11:35.277-06:00

March Madness! Tonight! 10:00 pm @ The Playground Theater, five bucks. Come out and support the 2007 March Madness Champs the George Drake Players, Grinnell's one and only Chicago alumni improv team, as we go against the alumni team from the University of Illinois Urbana/Champagne. If we win tonight, we'll move up in the bracket and play against either UNC or Indiana next Sunday night. The

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-16708019791839161172008-02-27T13:00:00.002-06:002008-12-09T00:11:35.361-06:00

Recently, spies at my old school informed me that some of my former students thought to google me. Apparently, they found this blog and came back with the information that A) Ms. Backes is writing a book! [True] and B) Ms. Backes has friends!! [Also true, and how flattering that it should come as a surprise to them. Reminds me of Valentine’s Day a couple of years ago, when my students were

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-74117799347532548372008-02-26T15:01:00.004-06:002008-12-09T00:11:35.578-06:00

Last night, we watched Hayao Miyazaki’s film Mononoke-hime, or Princess Mononoke, which – according to Wikipedia, at least -- is the third most popular anime film in Japan, after Spirited Away and Howl’s Moving Castle. For good reason. Princess Mononoke is beautifully animated and presents a tale of complex moralities in the struggle between the Humans and the Forest. Like Harry and Voldemort,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-82329509652047198182008-02-20T17:10:00.002-06:002008-12-09T00:11:35.913-06:00

I've gotten a couple of panicky emails asking where I am. "You haven't blogged in FIVE DAYS!! Are you alive??" I am. I haven't. I'm sorry. Here's the thing: the high -- the HIGH -- in Chicago today was 10 degrees Fahrenheit. I don't want to know what the windchill was. The sun was actually out, which was a nice change, but still? Twenty-two degrees below freezing is goddamn cold. As it

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-33292016945374547032008-02-15T14:19:00.003-06:002008-12-09T00:11:36.085-06:00

Subtitle: Things I've Thrown Away This Week (Not Including My Heart)On Tuesday, I spent the entire day making thirteen copies of a 60-page binder. 780 pages, plus all the binder tab pages (65). And the cover pages, 13. So... 858 pages. This comprised about two, two and a half hours' work, and tons of paper cuts. The company paid approximately sixty dollars to have me do this. At the end

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-16276565670677634382008-02-14T10:02:00.000-06:002008-12-09T00:11:36.294-06:00

Glad tidings to you on this most joyful of holidays: Lupercalia! Woo hoo! In Ancient Rome, Lupercalia was the festival celebrating the wolf who mothered Romulus and Remus, the most famous feral children in history. The festival of Lupercalia involved sacrificial goats and dogs, wiping blood on the faces of naked boys who then ran around in goat-skin undies whipping girls with goat-skin thongs.

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-6121897279124683722008-02-13T10:42:00.001-06:002008-02-13T10:44:44.684-06:00

Dilemma. Yesterday my old job, the one I left when they downsized my position to 20 hours a week, called and said, "Hey! Turns out 20 hours a week doesn't actually work! Turns out we need someone full time! Turns out you were right last fall and we miss you and we love you and we want you to come back!" Well. While I'm not a bit surprised -- in fact, if I were the sort of person to say, "I

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-32744340503852622512008-02-12T10:51:00.000-06:002008-12-09T00:11:36.405-06:00

Everyone knows that one of the best things about teaching is summers off. When you're stuck in marble corporate hell, losing brain cells by the minute, slaving for your five personal days, summers off seems like some sort of fairy tale. Forget the fact that teachers commonly work sixty and seventy hour weeks, forget the fact that grading papers at home is one of the least fun activities in the

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-73776742225713561472008-02-09T12:30:00.000-06:002008-12-09T00:11:36.535-06:00

Our house smelled weird. Was it the smell of winter coats drying, of the pile of laundry that should have been done a week ago, the lingering scent of microwave popcorn that ALWAYS burns, or the two bad mice who do nothing but bite each other on the face and poop? Maybe it was the boys below us who like to smoke and spill beer and pet dogs and let smelly homeless musicians crash on their couch;

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-37760982582033257812008-02-08T21:02:00.000-06:002008-12-09T00:11:36.799-06:00

Maybe I shouldn't admit this, what with my expensive liberal arts eduation and my yay, feminists! break the glass ceiling, bitches! leanings, but... there is a part of me that really enjoys playing Molly Backes, Girl Secretary. (Does that need an exclamation point? I think it does.) Molly Backes, Girl Secretary! I like walking downtown in the raven black crowds of thin, hungry young people in

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-76043091704412735132008-02-07T13:03:00.000-06:002008-02-07T13:09:09.561-06:00

Seeing as how BFFs – even Future BFFs – should support one another no matter what, I’m extremely tardy weighing in on the issue of whether or not my FBFF John Green is, in fact, a pornographer. For the record? He’s not. Two teachers at a high school in upstate New York want to teach Looking for Alaska to their junior English classes. They sent home a permission slip saying that if the parents

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-9757053558026445972008-02-06T11:59:00.000-06:002008-12-09T00:11:37.161-06:00

This week at Bittersweet, I talk with Chicago’s own Kelly Williams, who took on both Mary Kay Letourneau AND Amy Fisher and was only a little worried about getting her ass kicked for it. Your show, C. U. Next Tuesday: The Amy Fisher Story, A Karaoke Musical, based (loosely) on her teenaged affair with Joey Buttafuoco, opens this week. The most obvious question, I think, is: why make a musical

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-11643723622576685682008-02-01T13:33:00.000-06:002008-12-09T00:11:37.284-06:00

I love my friends and family, and I’m relatively certain they love me, but lately I’ve been noticing a similar glazed expression in their eyes whenever I start talking about my novel. So, they say nicely, you’re… rewriting it? The unspoken word hangs between us like an impolite body odor: Still?Yep. I am. My favorite friends, the ones who are most likely to buy me a beer and maybe even some

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-13250770777290938492008-01-31T14:39:00.000-06:002008-12-09T00:11:37.533-06:00

I’m sitting in the back of the high school auditorium, writing in my journal. On stage, my BFF Nat is rehearsing with the high school’s brass sextet, running through a tricky phrase yet again. In a few minutes, the bell will ring to end the day, and we’ll wander out of the school and drive around in search of French fries. Maybe we’ll head to the drummer’s parents’ house; maybe we’ll just go

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15731214.post-17463855916842397492008-01-25T15:49:00.000-06:002008-12-09T00:11:37.690-06:00

The other day I dragged out my old copy of Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet, looking for a certain quotation [1]. Old books are like old friends, reminding you who you were, who you’ve been. This book reminds me of how I read it in one of the art studios at Grinnell, perched up on the counters near the windows. It shows me how I wrote my name in the front, says “Here is how you rounded your 9s,

M. Mollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01340364298155651414noreply@blogger.com1