What not to do...

I sent off my manuscript Friday, and realized today after reviewing it that there were a couple of typos. How many times have I read the story and not seen them? Argh! And the stupidity of it all is that the nasty sinking feeling I got in the pit of my stomach upon discovery could have been completely avoided had I done the one thing every savvy college student knows not to do. I shouldn't have read it after sending it off. How in the world does this relate to college? No fear, I'll tell you.

Let's say you're handing in a 10 page case study. The teacher is a hard-nose, so nothing short of perfection will garner an A. You've proofed it, read it aloud, even got your cat's approval. So what do you do? Print it, of course! There it is on pristine 22lb paper--GORGEOUS. You slip it into a report cover and go to bed for the three hours you have left before class. We won't talk about why you only have 3 hours before class--you're in college for God's sake! You dash out the door, showered and heavily made up so no one can discern the heavy, black fatigue rings under your eyes for all the eyeliner. Scrambling onto the bus, planting your butt in the last remaining seat, you breathe a sigh of relief.

Finding yourself with nothing to do--besides wondering when your seatmate last bathed--you pull out your shining report. The heavens sing as you free it from your bag and flip past the title page. From 1 to 5, everything looks great. And then it happens. You spot the HUGE mistake on the top of 6. Instead of staff, you've got stiff, and the context just ain't right for a business paper, if you know what I mean. Up 'til that second, you were secure in the knowledge that the coveted A was all yours. And now all you've got to offer is the stiff in your slick sheath. In the space of a breath, you catapulted from the pearly gates to the seventh circle of hell. So what do we learn from this boys and girls? Two things: when you think it's perfect, proof it again, and more importantly--DON'T LOOK!

The good news for me is that I found and corrected my error. Too late for this agent, maybe, but not too late for the next. I've finally gotten too old or too crazy to make myself completely sick over things out of my control (at least for today). And what the hell, I got a good story out of it. Plus, who wouldn't want to reminisce over the good old days?

Naughty, naughty...

I haven't been here in a while. Not that I haven't wanted to be, but I couldn't muster the strength to blog, cook and write. Since I was reading another Lynsay Sands book on top of my regular stuff, something had to give. Ideally, I'd have something pithy and imaginative to say--especially after a four day hiatus, but alas, I have nothing. Like a number of Americans, I'll spend the coming days eating turkey leftovers. Admittedly, my preference leans to the pies. They are a naughty indulgence I enjoy only a few times a year. Regardless of how I try to moderate the pie eating, the buttery crust seems bent on attaching itself to my thighs. What kind of craziness is that? Maybe I'll eat it standing up next time so the calories won't count.

The good news is the writing has been going well. I set a little goal for myself--really wanting to reach it, but at the same time, not trusting myself to do so. Not only did I meet my goal, but I surpassed it. That reminds me of a conversation I had with a student this week. I gave the class my list of expectations--in my mind, something small and attainable--respect for the classmates and that each person would do their best. One of the kids piped up and said I was going to be disappointed because my ambition was too high. I told him I would not be disappointed because I knew each of them had the power to rise to the challenge. I wasn't disappointed.

When I accepted the job, the clerk advised me that I'd be working with special needs students. My approach may be a bit Pollyanna, but I figured they were kids like all the others I'd encounter. At the school, when other faculty learned whose class I was subbing for, their eyes grew wide and they didn't bother to hide the pity that shrouded their faces. I was too dazed to think anything of their responses 'til I'd gotten more sleep. Of all the students I've subbed with recently, those were the best behaved and possessed the best attitudes. You go into a classroom to teach, but if your heart and head are in the right place, YOU will be the one to learn. That adage--people will rise or fall to meet your expectations is so true, and I can't think of a more poignant way to have experienced it.

To all who find themselves passing through the random mumblings sponsored by the scattered fragments of my mind, happy holidays. May you find joy peace and happiness as you embrace the coming new year.

Happiness is...

Today was as normal as any. Short of a thirty minute nap, I didn't sleep. Just as I was going to bed at 8:30 this morning, I got a call from the school district. They needed a sub, and since I was awake it made perfect sense for me to say yes. The day couldn't have been better. Children are wonderful because they are honest about their feelings. They are much more real than we are as adults. And I think it's a crying shame that as we grow older, we learn to hide the best parts of ourselves.

After going through an exhausting, but fabulous day, I didn't think things could get much better. As I rifled through my mail, though, I found that more pleasant surprises awaited. A letter from the agent arrived with a request for my entire manuscript. I am still reeling from the news. My next objective will be to print it, complete with revisions, and send it off to him in hopes he will like it. Now, because I have had all of 30 minutes sleep in about 34 hours, I am going to bed. Sweet dreams and pleasant rest until tomorrow.

Behind the mask....

So here I am again, not feeling so funky but still only part of myself. The good thing is that I'm back in my space. In my happy world and I feel safe and happy. I'm also a bit more rested and have eaten, so I'm more sane. At least more so than yesterday. The highpoint of my day was lighting a fire in my little fire pit. I will admit that it took a while to get the fire started, and I was frustrated. Fires don't start easily--you have to nurture the flame and coax it to life. They don't tell you that when they ship the box of firewood to your house.

I have a stack of cherry and apple wood in my backyard. When it's lit, the smell is intoxicating. The fact that it took me forever to light the fire is a moot point. I love fire. The way it glows, the way each blue-orange flame licks against wood. It's beautiful. I watched the flames dance for a while, drinking wine and enjoying the bitter cold of a winter night. Night is absolutely still. I couldn't see the moon, don't even know if there was one tonight. The starlight was fascinating, though. All the constellations are shining. Orion, my favorite, was a bit east of my house. I love Orion because it is multi-faceted--the belt, the entire layout is just amazing to me because none of the stars are fighting for a place. Each is content to fulfill their given role.

Today, the book is working a lot better. I removed some of the heartache--for now. I'm one of those evil authors who likes to send the character to hell before letting them get a glimpse of heaven. Life is like that, though. Things are going beautifully and then you get a phone call or a surprise bill that knocks the wind out of your sails. But even when life takes you to a valley moment, you can still see the sunrise. Likewise my heroine gets a splash of pleasure with her pain. She and I are getting along quite well. I will write the rest of this chapter and move into the next. I'm trying not to edit right now--something totally against my nature--because the story just needs to get on paper.

Overall, the week wasn't terrible. I mingled with reality, wrote my syllabus, cleaned closets and put the turkey in the fridge to thaw. What more could a girl ask for?

Here I Go Again...

Yep, it's been confirmed. I am a killjoy. Tonight I hung out with a group of folks whose company I enjoy. There were new people in the group, but that was okay. The only problem was me. Not that I was an ass (I hope), but I was withdrawn. I purposely shut down to a degree because sometimes I think I'm too easy to read. I didn't realize how completely I'd shut down until it literally hit me in the face. I tried to open a bit but I couldn't do it completely. Now I feel terrible because for a moment, my darkness leaked. I don't let people see that side of me. That is something I keep inside or share here on this blog.

God, I wish I could just be myself and be absolutely safe in doing so. Truth be told, I am depressed and disappointed. When I imagined this day, I didn't plan for it to go this way. I don't know what entirely I expected, but it wasn't to become an island to myself while surrounded with people. How do you get out of a dark place? No amount of food fills it, chocolate didn't help. I want to read, but I don't even have the compulsion to turn a page. That is not me! It just dawned on me that the last time I ate was breakfast. I haven't really slept either, so I'm all out of whack. So maybe after I finish this episode of Charmed and have a bit of extremely late dinner, I'll go to bed and the world will look like a much better place.

Who Am I?

Another busy day...but not bad. I did all my running around and feel as though I accomplished something. My adventure at the post office went well. Of course I drove to town during rush hour, so I had plenty of time to think about life as I sat in senseless traffic. All of us have people in our lives who think of themselves as our friends but are more like cling-ons. You know, those folks who just won't let go. Remember when I said that I'm not a nice person? Well here's the deal. I am not the type of person who's good at shaking off barnacles. If someone feels the need to "cling on," I'll let them--to a degree. I know who my friends are and they know me. Period.

No one who's ever been a cling-on has moved into friend status with me. I am happy to be superficial with those people, and the funny thing is that those people are happy knowing me by my mask. Only the true friends want to see me for who I am. The sad thing is that no matter how much I love my friends, I can't shed the mask. Does that mean the mask is not a real facet of myself? Absolutely not. I am real at all times--just to varying degrees. If I've learned nothing else in life, it's that a lot of people are simply unable to handle the truth. Because I am fortunate enough to have people in my life who deal honestly with themselves and with me, I have the freedom to be who I am more often than not. I can't imagine having to live sequestered from even my own scant version of reality on a permanent basis.

So if I'm wearing a mask, who am I? That's the question of the decade. My first thought was to define myself by what I do--I'm a mother, friend, wife, the list goes on. But as to WHO I am...hmmm...I think of myself as being a rather morose person. Don't get me wrong, if I want to have fun, I'm the life of the party. People generally enjoy the color I bring to a conversation. Guaranteed, anyone who converses with me will share a laugh and probably learn some useless information they could have lived without knowing. That's me. I find useless trivia interesting. There I go defining myself by what I do again. What a terrible trap!

There was a time when the chasm between men and women was well-defined. Men identified themselves by their occupation while women tended toward identifying with their roles in life. Now, the divide--which used to be the size of the Grand Canyon--is more like a bridge over a trickling stream. To a large degree, I think it's good that men and women are learning to share the better attributes stereotypically associated with each gender. In my own life, though, I've noticed some of the downside to only being able to define myself by whatever my occupation is at a given time. When I don't work outside the home, my self-esteem is lower. When I'm safely ensconced in my happy little walls, I don't notice it so much. But when I have to deal with people on the outside, and I have to answer that question--so what do you do?--it trips me up a little.

When you choose to stay home with your children and you say this with pride to those inquiring minds, some understand and others give you those pitying looks as though anyone who would want to stay home had well and truly lost the plot. When you work outside the home, the risk of coming under judgement is no less. If your job is not interesting enough or doesn't pay a six-figure salary, you get the same damn pitying looks. What is up with that? Is there something wrong with working and enjoying the job--even if it is running an efficient home? Only someone who has no concern whatsoever for politically correct conventions would answer that question with a yes. But guess what, when I think of myself, regardless of how well I can conceptualize the value of any of my past or current jobs, I look for ways to rationalize what has become, in my mind, a source of personal failure--the lack of an upward moving career.

That is MY hang-up, but I wonder how many people find themselves in a similar position. I know in my heart that I've only held positions I deemed honorable in one way or another. My head is what needs convincing. In the grand scheme of things, my life span has been a minute compared to the time I have left (or at least the amount of time I'm planning to have). So hopefully, sooner than later my head and heart will have a meeting of the minds. Every time I stop to question the qualifiers I use when answering the dreaded question, I'm bringing that meeting forward on my life's agenda. Right now, that's what I can do.

So in the meantime, I write and read and talk to people who are hell-bent on challenging conventions. That keeps my mind sharp and exposes me to the viewpoint of others. How many of us truly get to see ourselves through someone else's eyes? What a rare gift. I see the way people respond to me and am constantly awed because when I look at me I see a person who is desperately trying to figure everything out. People treat me as though I'm some kind of rock or a guru of sorts. If I were a rock, I'd be made of jelly and for the record, I'm a guru of nothing. All I do is live and observe--something all of us have the opportunity to do. It's a simple matter of choice.

I can choose to be anything--sanguine, happy, content, successful. I can choose to see myself as deserving of respect for the simple fact that I am a human being. I can choose to be a hero for my children, my friends, myself. Today, I choose all of the above. My attitude determines my altitude.

Yea, Me!

Guess what I did today??? Okay, not much, but I still feel as though I was productive. I rearranged my dining room, organized my kitchen and cleared my writing space. I took care of a friend who just needed a break from life and I went to karate. Did I mention I cooked a FABULOUS dinner? All this equates to a packed day for me. You'll notice that I'm saying "today" when in fact it's only a little after 5am. Until I go to bed, it's today.

After I got my children settled, I turned on The L Word and reviewed my last project. I had to prepare it for a contest, which means checking each word, each page for anything that could be considered in any way flawed. I made a few changes and printed it out. All I have to do is get all of it to the post office. While I fine tuned that ms, I wrote another query, printed it and got it packaged for mailing. Though I didn't do any writing on the current project, I spent the day being writerly. That counts, doesn't it?

About dinner...My dear husband has done the cooking duties for the good part of a month. I have to say I'm not a really good person. I try, but sometimes I can't keep my mouth shut. He did his best, and my kids had no problem eating their dad's cooking. I tried to eat some of the early meals, but after each, I was hit with terrible waves of nausea. As I can't stand the thought of puking, I stopped eating. It was easier to be hungry than to have a heaving stomach. As the month progressed, the meals got more and more "interesting." Antelope chili, moose stew, anything that could be made from red meat and in GIANT quantities. The smell was enough to put me off food for a good minute. The last straw was his spaghetti.

I've had some bad pasta sauce, but this topped all. It wouldn't have been bad if he hadn't asked for my opinion. I told him the truth. He knows me well enough to understand that if one queries my opinion, one will receive truth as I see it. I went with a diplomatic answer--it seemed to be lacking something. We then worked together to figure out what went wrong with the sauce. He accepted my help and moved on. No feelings hurt, but I still feel like the bad guy for having to tell the truth. When my surprise meals flop, I'm the first to admit that they suck and I wouldn't hold it against any of my subjects, I mean victims, test dummies, family--that's the ticket--for speaking their minds.

His cooking exploits are why I had to resume my duties. Amazingly, I had no stomach upset from eating dinner. Funny that. Once again, I've been hornswaggled into cooking a crazed Thanksgiving dinner. My husband wants to learn how to de-bone a turkey. I've done it for so many years that it's almost as easy as writing my name. I just realized that I will spend the better part of the coming days in my kitchen. My kitchen is my domain--no one is allowed entrance when I'm in the zone--at least not without a pass from me. I love to cook, and I know I'll be excited once I'm in the throes of prepping the dinner. It's just the anticipation that makes me crazy. Friends would argue that I'm crazy without the anticipation bit, but I choose to ignore them.

So what's on the agenda for tomorrow? More of the same, but a bit heavier on the new work in progress. I'll spend some time at the post office, waiting in line while making polite conversation with my queue mates. Then, I'll run random errands that wouldn't fit in today's schedule. I'm sure dinner will happen at some point. All I have to do is do it. The break has been just what I needed.

One final thought before I sign off...
I had an interesting dream last night. Before I went to bed, I thought about my current project and the direction I need in order for my imagination to become real--or at least as real as ink on a page can be. I was somewhere in California for some sort of party. That part wasn't all that clear. The organizer was someone I respect deeply. She gave me money and told me that the event depended on me getting supplies. Apparently, I did everything right, because when I returned, she congratulated me and gave me a car. It was a coppery-orange color--one of the brand new Mustangs. I remember feeling the drive as I shifted gears--powerful, in control. It was phenomenal and then the alarm went off.

The kids will be up in a few minutes, so it's time to sign off. Have a great night or day or whatever you're headed to. See you tomorrow, folks. Same bat time, same bat channel.

There and Back Again...

OK, after yesterday I was feeling pretty funky about my writing and life in general. I spent the day in bed, caught up on reading and watched back episodes of The L Word on demand. I set a serious deadline for my current work in progress, but the actual work part has been much slower than I planned. I'm okay with that. The words flow in dribbles--like the way an old man with prostate trouble pees. But if that's what it takes to make the characters come to life in my head, I'm willing to take my time.

Tonight was karate--again. It was good. I worked up a sweat, ran through the forms and drills, and for once didn't feel like the odd man out. My kids have studied karate for over a year and are much more advanced than me. I plug away like the steam engine that could. Sometimes I just don't get it and I ask for help and I work 'til I attain perfection. There's nothing like going to class and finally being able to do it right. If only that worked for everything!

Now, I'm spending time with Dexter, enjoying the unfolding drama. If you don't watch the show and you have cable, give it a try--even if it is just once. The premise and writing are compelling. That's what I hope to attain, not a TV show, but the kind of writing that draws an audience repeatedly. I don't want to be the kind of writer that offers a one-time bit of entertainment. I want to be the writer who draws the reader back time after time. The same way I feel the need to revisit Poe, Dumas and Tolkien. The same way I slip into the Burg to visit with Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum characters. Isn't it amazing how some writers just make you feel the moment, the story, the adventure?

I am an escapist by nature. From the time I was able to read (age 2), I climbed into books to get away from being the outsider. For the couple hours I spent with the author's characters I transcended my own reality and was catapulted into a new world. I can't begin to express how wonderful it felt to be the hero who set wrongs to right or the adventurer who took on a quest and found himself. I still have the hardest time thinking about Frodo's journey without crying--not because it was tragic, but because it has to come to an end. I always sink into a bit of depression when I finish a book--like I've lost my best friends, because for however much time I spent with these fictional people, they were my friends.

I don't believe there is anything such as a new story. People have inhabited the planet too long for that. I do believe, however, that we have new ways of telling a tale. No matter how many times I read one of Julie Garwood's historicals, entering with the full knowledge that I will meet a strong woman who stumbles into a relationship with Mister, Viscount, Marquess Right, I know that their story will be unique. An experience that I couldn't have with any other character. Their view of the world is what will spark laughter when I can't find funny in my mundane life and will inspire tears when their weariness threatens to tear them apart. That is writing!

Who do you read when you need to escape?

Another sucky day...

I've spent the last couple days refining my last novel. It was like visiting a friend I hadn't seen in years. The characters were so happy to come out and play. After doing that, I tried to return to my current project only to find that it's stale. I'm so frustrated that I could scream--or just delete the whole damn file. I know the story premise is solid, and the characters have real potential, but they don't want to play with me. I've cleaned, done laundry and got physical--tonight was a karate night. Usually, I can distract myself enough with random business that ideas spark off in my head. I don't know why it's not working! I've got one last thing to try...

OK, I feel better about the writing now. I scrapped a few pages and it all looks better. Right now, I'm too tired to do any more. I want to read and escape everything for a moment, so that's what I'm going to do. I've been thinking about why I write lately. From the time I could string a thought together, I've enjoyed making up stories. It never mattered which class I wrote for in school, I always approached the assignments with fervor. When my children came along, I told them stories--and they were always my heroes. Now that I'm older, I have more to draw from and while sharing my stories with others in random conversations is fun, there's nothing like actually penning a yarn. A hundred years from now, people may not know my stories or even care about who I was, but in some small way I will have left a legacy of words.

I am off to bed now. My stuffed lion, a good book and my mp-3 player will be my companions. Hopefully, I'll dream of my characters and wake with something of value to offer them. And maybe, just maybe they'll decide to scream. All this damn whispering in making me crazy.

A Hiding Place...

Sometimes I have to wonder about myself. What kind of person has a more intense relationship with her laptop than the people around her? Apart from my family and a select few I care to call friend, I can't muster a positive feeling for my fellow man. That sounds wrong, and maybe if I was in a better frame of mind, I'd be willing to change my attitude. For today, I will revel in abject anti-socialness. Does that mean that if I saw someone broken down on the side of the road, or learned about yet another tragedy befalling innocents that I wouldn't care? Of course not, because try as I might, I'm a sucker. I can't stand to see anyone cry, especially if there's nothing I can do to fix it. So rather than engage with people outside of my happy box, I remain in my house safe from people who are trying to figure out how they're going to feed their children or buy gifts as the holidays rapidly approach. I'm not strong enough to wander outside of the box today. And yes, I know that makes me the chief of chicken shits, but I can't do it. In my happy world, people eat everyday, they have friends and a place to call home. More importantly, they know what it is to love and be understood without strings attached or bounds applied.

When's the last time you felt as though you could be exactly who you are without having to hide? I know I spend more time behind closed doors--and not of the brick and mortar variety--than being open with those around me because I'm afraid if they see the real person that inhabits the corporeal version of me that folks will be down right disappointed. If anyone else told me that they refused to function outside of the superficial, I'd tell them to embrace reality and to wish a fuck you to anyone who refused to accept them otherwise. So easy to say, but not to do. Why? Because it costs each of us something to be real. It's expensive, and in a world where we celebrate cheap and easy, being who we are is just too damn expensive. So we'll stay locked in our closets, smiling and pretending to engage with others all the while crying inside because yet again, we've failed the one person whose opinion actually matters.

Tonight, I was driving home from the video store after returning Brokeback Mountain and heard a song that played at one of my best friend's son's funeral. I hadn't heard it in a while. In fact, when I tried to find it on Napster, I couldn't even remember what the name of the song was. So I left it in the back of my mind where all my heartbreaking memories reside because I don't know that I could function otherwise. Anyway, the song played and I tried to just hear it without letting it sink to my heart. I almost did it. But as it continued, I couldn't help but remember standing in the procession with my friend and her family as we celebrated a life that came and went too quickly.

As much as I LOVE my friend, I will never understand her grief. I tell her I love her, and I flew across the world to be with her on that day, but I came home to all of my children safe, healthy and alive. And I have to wonder if she thought I was just applying a set of trite words--a used bandage--to cover her pain. I felt like such a sham that day because I didn't know her pain. Truth be told, I don't want to because I'm not made of strong enough stuff to survive and not be bitter. I am sure the days I cry for her loss aren't even a small fraction of the tears she's shed over the past couple years, but they are no less real. I promise. I'm tired of people that I love being in pain. I'm tired of them dying.

Maybe now that I've spewed my pain over the board, my heart will awaken and I'll be able to write. Better than that, I'll be able to hear my characters, because right now I'm too numb to care about them. Trust me, that's not a good place to be. When I started writing tonight, I'd planned to explore why exactly I write. Man, has this taken a different turn. Maybe I'll save that for tomorrow.

Sunny Side Up

Today has been a more productive writing day. Usually, it doesn't take more than two chapters for me to relate to my characters. This book has been more of a challenge for me. I am still interested in their stories. I want to know them, but unlike my usual playmates who prefer to scream to be heard, the newbies are content to whisper. Call me a freak, but I like the screamers. The bottom line is that the whisperers are teaching me a lesson. I've had to learn to shut up and play nice if I want them to join me on the swings. So it took me six chapters to recognize this--at least I learned. Don't I get a cookie or something?

Other than writing, I've done gobs of reading. Real writers read--period. So what's on the list today? The last of the Lynsay Sands Argeneau series--at least what's out right now. She's as funny as all get out. I've laughed until my stomach seized and tears rolled down my face. The love stories are sweet and I want to be them. But alas, I sit at laptop central, typing away. After I finish LS's book, there's a Harlequin Intrigue waiting in the wings. And Steven King and JD Robb sprinkled with a touch of Janet Evanovich for a bit of a giggle, and I can't forget the classics. Lately, I've been feeling the call of Dumas, Shakespeare and Poe. Would that I had more eyes and an extra brain to process it all. My TBR pile is out of control, but I can't stop buying books. At least I'm saving a few dollars by hitting the used bookstore. My grand total for the week is just shy of $100. Perhaps my time would be better spent at book readers anonymous.

Every now and again, it hits me that I'll be teaching my first class soon. Orientation is next month and I have to RSVP next week. My syllabus is due next month too. Guess it would be a good idea to get the text book. I am so excited to have the opportunity to give back a small part of what's been given me. Hopefully, my students feel that time spent with me was worthwhile. I am already nervous about the first night and it's not 'til the new year. I'm sure I'll be blogging more about this as the time draws nearer, but it's playing on my mind right now. Just another reason to finish my manuscript.

What are you just dying to read? Is your TBR pile overflowing too? Please tell me I'm not the only rabid reader out there.

Scaring myself...

New to blogging, and already I've been neglectful. I haven't done much writing at all the last two days actually. Or anything writerly for that matter. For some reason, I've been swamped with fatigue--a condition totally unlike me. Now that my life has a bit more direction than its usual willy-nilly, I am feeling more inspired. So here I sit, in front of laptop central ready to pour out my soul, and can't come up with a damn thing to say. Guess I'll hit my new wip with a vengeance--make up for forgotten pages and finally do what needs doing.

I couldn't sleep last night because I've been working on scaring myself. Sounds strange and maybe a little stupid on first glance, but it makes perfect sense to me. You see, unless I push myself beyond the limits, I'll stay where I am. Not that where I am is a bad place to be, but if tomorrow is the same as yesterday then there is no reason for me to occupy space on this planet. I need to grow and change--even when it hurts, and one thing life has taught me is that change and growth almost always hurt. But it's a good pain, the kind that you look back on and stand amazed at. Amazed because you learn that you're made of stronger stuff than you think.

So what was it that pushed my bounds yesterday? Sending off a query and contest submission. I've sent queries on my last novel via email with no success. I've begun my collection of rejections, and that's okay because I can't be rejected if I don't stick my neck out there. The e-query rejections didn't hurt. I accepted them as par for the course, but for some reason, I am nervous--and almost sick to my stomach, if I'm honest--about the snail mail query I sent yesterday. I followed directions, used the agent's name and double-checked my spelling. The letter was good, but that doesn't mean I won't get a "no" back in response. And this time, it would feel more real because I sent my work on paper. His yea or nay will return on paper. I will touch it and read it more than once. It will be real.

My friend thinks writers are brave because of the way they repeatedly expose themselves to rejection. I don't feel brave at the moment. I feel stupid and pretentious for thinking that I have something to offer that someone else will want to read. This isn't a game. And I so want people to read my work and feel my words the same way I felt them when I applied them to the page. Or at the very least, I want my readers to hear the voices the way I heard them when they shouted in my ear that they wanted their story told. If you didn't think I was crazy before, I've certainly cemented it for you now.

Yes, I hear voices. And yes, they demand their story to be told. They yelled when I altered their truth and didn't let me sleep (literally) when I didn't hold to their demands. Some of those characters are still screaming at me, and I thought that if I stepped back for a moment that they would leave me in peace. No such luck. They want to talk, but I have someone else's story in line at the moment, so they'll have to wait their turn. The good news is that so far they're content to let me explore a different world while I listen to their whispers in the background.

If you came here for something other than random babbling, I feel for you. I tried to be up front...explained that this blog would be full of random musings. So far, I've delivered on that promise. All this crap has been running through my head, not necessarily preventing me from doing real writing, but definitely keeping me from sleep. So I'll leave you with all my baggage and drama. It's time to write and enjoy Brokeback Mountain as I do so. Talk about a stretch for me. I am SO not a movie/TV person, but I actually got my lazy bum off the couch to put this movie on, and I'm going to watch it. So far, I see a movie about people in love. My opinion may change after I've seen it in its entirety, but for now, I'm enjoying the scenery and admiring the courage of the actors for assuming such roles. Especially when so many of us are satisfied to hide in our own walls.

A couple questions because I'm just nosy like that...Did you watch BrokebackMountain? Why or why not? (I wasn't going to watch it because of all the Hollywood hype initially) And, what have you done to scare yourself today? Do you even know what scares you? (I didn't 'til I sent those queries off)...

Guess what I did...

Last night the newest episode of Dexter aired. I have to admit though I knew his identity/issue would remain a secret, the writers had me on pins and needles as the drama unfolded. Why is all the good TV on cable? I remember when TV was a family recreation--maybe some of that's due to where I grew up--in the middle of nowhere. I used to swear that all the channels were PBS back then. I cut my teeth on Sesame Street, Mister Rogers' Neighborhood and The Bloodhound Gang.

Sesame Street is still a show I'll turn to when I need a slice of comfort or nostalgia; and to this day, I absolutely believe Mr. Rogers spoke to me when he stepped through his door with his sunny greeting and zippered cardigan. Everybody understands a guilty pleasure--chocolate, junk food, karaoke on a Friday night--but how do you explain holding onto a show you watched as an infant when your 20's are such a distant memory that they're fuzzy? Two options: don't broach the subject, or construct a treatise on the merits of quality public television. Sadly, most of the time, I opt for the former rather than the latter.

Really, watching those shows reminds me of a time when my Dad was my hero and right there when I needed him instead of existing merely in photos and my ever-depleting memory. They remind me of my fleeting moments of innocence--and trust me, in comparison to the journey through adulthood, childhood occurs in the space of a breath. Sometimes I yearn for the time when I was oblivious to the various ways we create to hurt each other, when my sole life objective was to have fun--and that was okay. Does that mean I want to go back and relive it? Hell no! Once was plenty, but that won't stop me from singing loud and strong for someone to come and play today. Seems like the best memories are bittersweet.

Life goes on. The alarm clock just buzzed, so it's time to wrest the kids from bed for school... Today feels like a Sesame Street day....

Doing what I'm supposed to...

So, I was supposed to be writing. I've managed to do everything but. Me and my little crew went to our karate get-together. While the kids were off playing pool, we adults gathered to discuss things completely inappropriate for little ears. We never plan to start these discussions about sex, but apparently, if a bunch of us hang out the conversation topic spins from karate and parenting to where the best spot for green beer on St. Paddy's is. More surprising than having these wild sex talks, is who starts them.

I don't know what people see when they look at me, but for some reason, I'm the last person who's expected to know anything remotely interesting about sex. I have 3 children, so is it any wonder that I have a reasonable amount of experience? Can I help that I am curious by nature? Things that would make the average person blush, pique my interest for no reason other than pure science. That does not mean that I am enjoying all these alternative activities myself, but I have an understanding of them. And at the end of all this scientific research, I come away with great conversation fodder.

So now I'm home. I was going to take a nap and refresh for an evening of writing. Instead, I called my cable company to see if I could negotiate a deal for an upgrade. For those of you who are disinclined to believe that you affect your own destiny by managing your attitude, get this. I knew what I wanted from the cable company before I called--what I was willing to pay, etc. My experience with this company has been nothing but positive, so I expected nothing less tonight. The agent was helpful and went above and beyond to provide stellar customer service. Long story short (TOO LATE), I got an upgrade that includes Showtime, TMC, Starz and Encore free for a year.

Here I sit, watching back episodes of Dexter (thanks to my friend who got me hooked on this damned show). I haven't written a lick except for what you see here. The crazy thing is that I'm not a big TV watcher. I write, read anything I can get my hands on and critique the work of fellow aspiring authors. After all this rambling, I've decided to give myself time to refresh--even if that does mean spending a couple more hours with Dexter.

Welcome to the 21st Century...

I guess, technically, that the welcome is for me. While I am a committed voyeur of a few blogs, until now, I've avoided the pull to be self published in such a way. But today, I'm throwing my hat in the ring, baring my soul, and perhaps giving a piece of my mind that I can't afford to lose. My hope is that in doing "random musings" I will clear the clutter from my head, or better still, come up with something prolific (or at the very least interesting) to say. It's 1:30 am, and I'm fresh out of pithiness but I'm tickled to be here. So for all you avid bloggers, why do you do it?