Countdown...

So the New Year is approaching... I hate knowing that I should be writing my resolutions because I haven't yet, and I feel I've fallen behind by avoiding that whole mess. I know I am going to finish the book I'm currently writing and a new book. My plan is to submit to contests and agents like crazy. Agents only if I don't get a thumbs up from the one who has my ms. That whole topic brings me to the drama tugging at my psyche.

What if the agent sends the ms back and says it absolutely sucks? The possibility is oh-so-real. He could easily say my book was a disappointment, or didn't keep his interest, or had way too much foul language. As all writing/reading is a personal experience, any of those responses would be valid. I don't think the book is a disappointment. The ending is happy, and I get chills when I think of how my heroine's life works out. Maybe the language is strong. I don't usually swear. Cross my heart. You wouldn't know that from reading this blog, I know, but in the majority of my conversations, I really don't use any naughty language. Once the sun goes down and my kids are in bed, sometimes my language goes the way of the sailor. A sprinkling of the f-word. A damn here and again, but nothing major. But if my use of the no-no words turns him (the agent) off or seems gratuitous, he has the right to say no. I won't be angry, but I have to admit that I will be disappointed.

My DH says I'm pessimistic about my talents--that I don't see myself for who I really am. So maybe part of my resolution should be to try to see myself as others see me. I am a wife, a mother, a writer, a teacher and I will be successful. Whatever I put my mind to, I accomplish, so as far as publication goes, I know it's a matter of time. See, I'm not a pessimist. I also must lose the twenty pounds I found during 2006. The extra weight is making me crazy. Like the rest, it will happen. 2007 will be a year of good things. I feel it.

So what are your goals this year?

You know you're crazy when...

You know you're crazy when you think a holiday's passed because it happened in your manuscript ages ago. I was wracking my brain tonight, trying to remember when I'd spent New Year with neighbors. The memory is so strongly entrenched in my mind that I heard the conversations and even watched the ball drop on Dick Clark's New Year TV show. I saw the toasted old ladies and remembered sharing jokes and avoiding the toxic eggnog. Would that I could say I was asleep and dreaming, but alas, I haven't yet gone to bed.

What are your New Year plans? I will spend the day with my little people and the DH, eating black-eyed peas, cornbread and greens. Traditions die hard with me. It's so much easier to cling to habit than to re-invent holiday celebrations. I don't mind shaking up everyday life, but when it comes to the holidays, I like knowing I can count on the routine.

The new beginning rapidly approaches, and I have so much that needs to be settled. I don't like carrying old problems into a new year, so I will do my best to achieve resolution. Other than mundane trivialities, this has been an excellent year. I've done things I never thought I'd do, gone places and been allowed to grow in unexpected ways. My family is healthy. We eat everyday, have warm clothes to wear, a place to live, snow to shovel, and we have each other. My plan for the coming year is to enjoy more of the same--only better.

Champagne Tastes on a Beer Bottle Budget...

What do you give the person who has everything? You know, BO, butter-colored teeth and athlete's foot from hell. Apparently, the gift of the year in my neck of the woods is deodorant. DH went to the store where one can buy anything that strokes the imagination (within reason). Of course, since his tube of deodorant chose today of all days to run out, it was all the added incentive he needed to brave the mania. That and the fact he needed to correct his puff pastry error (a story for another day). He drove out to the store, fought for parking in the pre-Christmas swell and wrestled his way inside. He's sensitive to smells--particularly bad ones--so when he told me the entire experience stank, I knew he wasn't just talking about the last-minute rush. After hobbling through on his cane, he reached the personal hygiene aisle.

All the deodorant was gone.

So if you're one of those hard-to-buy-for folks and you haven't been able to guess what's lurking in those cleverly wrapped pressies under the tree; if you live where I do, deodorant dreams and showering wishes may just be coming your way.

As to the title--I've just always wanted to say that!

Going batty...

Yesterday was my kids' last day of school until the new year. I was excited about them coming home and just spending time with them. After the flurry of baking, I was all too ready to settle down into abject laziness. That worked for a minute. I had tried to convince my dh to go to the grocery store for hours. He pretended not to hear me, then said if I'd let him off the hook for the rest of the night, that he would do all the necessary shopping tomorrow. I decided to do the shopping myself. I hate to go to the store, but I'm a fussy, demanding cook, so it seemed the wise course of action. Before I left, I asked him if he wanted me to throw the ham in the oven. He said he didn't want ham--he wanted to go out to eat. He offered the right bait--B&E's--normally, I wouldn't have resisted, but in light of the holidays, I stood firm. Yea me! But then I forgot about the ham.

Fast forward to the store. It was dead! I couldn't believe my luck--all the apples were on sale, along with most of my veggie favorites. I wanted parsnips, but they looked like they'd been hit by the truck rather than delivered by it, so they got a pass. I strolled the aisles with my cart, bopping to my mp-3's as opposed to the canned Christmas music that's piped through the stores during this season. There's just something comforting in dancing to Eminem while navigating grocery lane. At any rate, having gotten everything for the coming meal, I wandered to the freezer case for the puff pastry--a must have for Beef Wellingtons. They had none! Bliss turned to devastation! I scanned the end caps and looked in all the places it shouldn't have been to make sure the grocery gods weren't playing a trick on me. But alas, 'twas no joke. I took a brief moment to indulge in panic, then let it go and headed to the registers.

I called DH from my cell and got the death beep from my phone. When he picked up using his "silly voice" I told him my phone was dying and I needed info--quick! After watching Alton Brown's treatise on fruitcake, all my fond memories of the delectable delight from days in England sprang to mind. I NEEDED fruitcake. Good thing the cart was loaded with a selection of all my favorite dried fruits. But I digress. I asked him how much brandy we had in the house. He told me there was about an inch left in the bottle. Immediately, I started dreading a trip to yet another store. Did I mention I hate shopping? Anyway, I figured since it was inevitable, he could put the ham in and I could come home to it being half done. I got as far as, "put the ham in," before the connection cut. My phone had given up the ghost. Instead of going after the booze, I drove home to see what if anything they'd done in my absence.

My children spent the entire hour I was gone sorting the recycling bin and cleaning the garage. They were still at it when I pulled into the drive, so I unloaded all the groceries. DH was planted in his favorite chair playing video games while I made trip after trip to my car. Are you beginning to see how this story's about to turn? "What are you doing?" I asked on my third trip out.
"Playing my game," he replied. He looked up for a brief moment as I continued out the door. "Wow, looks like you bought a lot of groceries."

I said nothing and let my blood work itself into a frothy boil. One key detail I left out was that I was HUNGRY at this point. I hadn't eaten since morning, so my stomach was turning itself inside out. Add hunger to my already "interesting" personality and you get a volatile mix. I washed my hands and took out my butcher knife. I decided making a veggie tray would make me feel better, so I did. Along with dip and dressing. Then I noticed the air was devoid of the sweet/spicy aroma of ham. The oven wasn't on. And it was empty. Something told me that DH hadn't bothered to do a damn thing since our phone conversation.

I stomped back to the living room and told him he would have to come help in the kitchen. He looked over the edge of his laptop and told me he couldn't because he was in the middle of the game. I kept my mouth shut and returned to the kitchen and my ham. I got it in the oven, laid out my newly created veggie tray and sat the cream puffs out for pre-dinner enjoyment. Meanwhile, my kids searched the game closet for Uno. I declared family game night to celebrate us being together. They used their time to destroy the work I'd done a month ago. The last thread of my patience frayed and snapped. The house fell under martial law, and even DH plucked himself from the recliner to avoid my wrath.

After my explosion and a meal, we regaled the children with stories from their infancy. We laughed and then played the PlayStation version of The Weakest Link. It was a great night and I look forward to many more while the little people are at home.

I'm Tired...

Exhausted, more like. Today, I made all my candies and turkey soup. Obviously, the turkey strike didn't last too long. It's a good, honest fatigue. I was in the kitchen most of the day, only taking a break to read through my notes on the writing contest I'm helping to judge. I only have four entries to read, but I wanted to do a preliminary read to gather first impressions. So far, I've made it through two of them. Other than small issues--commas, small plot holes and sentence structures--the writing is pretty good. I've wanted to turn the page and learn more about the characters. That being said, I am the type of reader who hates to leave a story unfinished. For a Gemini, I have a weird need for closure. Most people who share my star sign tend to flit from one project to another and have difficulty finishing things. That is not my burden. Part of me thinks I would want to know the rest of these stories just because I'm wired the way I am.

Judging is a unique experience because theoretically, the judge is supposed to be impartial. In this case, that means that whether or not the story is their kind of story, the judge is supposed to evaluate the writing based on how well the writer tells the story. I guess both the writer and I should count ourselves lucky that there isn't a type of book that I won't read. My hope is that when someone reads my work, they will be as impartial as humanly possible and evaluate my writing based on the story. When I submitted my entry fee, I thought the contest date would never come. Then I sent in my entry, and again, it felt like I'd entered some sort of cruel time warp. As of next Friday, the judging officially begins. Now, I have to cross my fingers, toes and eyes and pray that whoever reads my work will see some merit. Like every other contest entrant, I want to win. Which brings me back to the Golden Rule--do unto others as you would have them do unto you. So will I read with a critical eye? Absolutely, but in the back of my mind, the hopes and dreams of the writers who were brave enough to submit will rattle in the few empty spaces left in my brain.

So while I'm not creating confections, doing karate and cleaning, I'm reading. I'll be starting a new book tonight based on a friend's recommendation. It's a set of three short stories by three different authors. My friend enjoyed the work of the first two authors, but hasn't been able to get through the third. Being a nosy writer, I had to ask why. I expected a trite answer--not because she isn't a "real" reader (whatever that means)--but because a lot of people will tell you they don't like something and are unable to qualify their response. This was certainly not the case. My friend was deeply offended by the perspective painted by the author about people from the Deep South. Seeing as she's from the great state of Texas, I could see where she could have been offended. The fact that the author is from the South didn't matter to her. The initial description of the heroine's interpretation of Southerners turned her off.

But there was more. She would have been willing to forgive the jaded view if only she'd liked the heroine. To prove her point, she read the beginning of the story to me over the phone. As open-minded as I try to be about new-to-me authors or books, I have to admit the opening left me with a lot of doubts. The writing was intelligent and well done from a technical standpoint, but the heroine had a larger than life background for her age. Until I read the book for myself, I'll have to suspend formulating too strong an opinion. Of course, that means I'll have to read it tonight.

Off I go to do what must be done. Four days until Christmas from where I sit. It's all becoming very real! Am I the only person left who hasn't done all their shopping? Here's to candy cane wishes and eggnog dreams...

Of Maps and Men...

The dinner out on Sunday turned out nicer than I thought it would. Other than getting lost, of course. Neither my husband nor I had been to this place, so both of us looked at maps on our individual laptops. Each of us had a different map returned on our query, though we used the same software. Neither of us bothered to print the map--secure that we'd find the place. Ri-i-ght.

We began the evening a bit behind because son one of three had an afternoon birthday party. By the time I returned with all of the little people, it was 3:30 pm and none of us had eaten lunch. So I rushed in the door, made sandwiches and got everyone settled. I sat in my rocking chair, blissfully ignoring the clock until reality smacked me upside the head. The party was at 5, it was now 4:30, and while I wasn't looking rough, I wasn't nearly ready either. My husband insisted that I didn't need to dress up because it was just a podunk restaurant in a podunk town. Never trust a man when he's giving fashion advice--unless of course, he knows what he's talking about. My husband's idea of dressing for the evening consisted of slapping a shirt over the dragon t-shirt he'd worn all day. Since his jeans didn't have too many dirt smudges, they were cleared for the party (again him, not me). I asked him if he was serious--especially since I made the kids don their church clothes--to which he replied, staring at a closet rail FULL of clothes, I have nothing to wear.

I didn't have energy to argue with him and hem my skirt and iron my clothes. I know I should have had my things prepared ahead of time. I usually do, and I abhor being late to anything. But at the same time, I was under the impression that this was like every other casual get-together his office has. Boy was I wrong! We got there and the boss' wife looked downright frazzled. I asked her if she was okay, and she explained what transpired at the restaurant while we were making our way. To sum it all up, the restaurant staff wouldn't seat our group until more people showed up. We weren't the only late ones, but until the staff determined a majority of our party had arrived, they made them wait in the lobby. At this point, I'd be remiss if I failed to mention that the boss' wife is VERY pregnant and has 2 little ones to chase after. Having lived that side of life, I felt horrible for being late.

We ate, and the time came for an ornament exchange. I'd bought a simple angel. It was beautiful to me. Other people went all out in their quest for the perfect ornament. Mine was so simple that it looked almost grim in comparison to the others. So on top of feeling horrible for a tardy appearance, I felt stupid for not giving the "right" ornament. Could it get any worse? Oh yeah. People started pulling out gifts for everybody. Do you think I had anything to give? No. So today, on top of writing and karate, I'll be making candies for the darling husband to distribute amongst his colleagues. Good thing I opted out of making 4 cheesecakes...

Holiday musicals...

Today, one and two of three had school performances. The school issued notes to encourage (coerce) parents to attend. I try not to miss anything my kids do, so of course I was there. Early, so I could get parking. The school was built in a time when I guess maybe they didn't expect much by way of parental participation, but after last year's experience I made sure I wasn't going to have to park in the North Forty and schlep my way through rocks, snow and whatever else. Mind you, there was nothing I could do about the 50 knot winds that ripped across the flooded parking lot. I still don't know what that was about, but I digress.

The kiddies improved this year. The band and orchestra played songs I recognized and the fourth graders rocked their little hearts out. Yep, I was one of those dopey moms wearing a grin from ear to ear while the little people did their thing. What got me though, was that these kids actually sang/played Christmas songs. I grew up in a time when Christmas songs began to morph into holiday songs in order to acknowledge the large segment of our society comprised of different faiths and traditions. Maybe it has a bit to do with where I grew up as well. My current home is in the center of traditionalist 1950's values--where beef really is what's for dinner, and God help you if you expect to have anything other than a potato alongside.

Why I'm realizing all this now, I don't know. But what a wake up call, and all because I went to my kids' performance. Monday is kiddie show, part deux, which I'm sure will be equally interesting as it will be done by the ultra little people. But first, I'll have to survive the weekend. My darling husband's office Christmas party is Sunday--at a steakhouse. After some of the downright revolting steaks I've had here, I'm beyond nervous. We're doing an ornament exchange as well. The wicked part of me wanted to bring an obscene ornament. I'm mean it's all anonymous after all. DH vetoed that one pretty quick, so I'll have to buy something respectable. Shucks...

Just another normal day

For most of us, the holidays are a time of celebration and joy. There are presents and fun time with family, good food and the holiday specials we wait a whole year to watch. Charlie Brown Christmas, Rugrats Hanukkah, and of course, for us rabblerousers, Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer. Those of us who get to enjoy this sort of Norman Rockwell scene often spend time bitching about the lead up of the get-together. Who's doing what? What am I going to buy? Will Mom make her famous sweet potato pie? Do I have to spend time with so and so again? The list of gripes goes from not-so-bad to downright ugly as the holidays draw nearer. But when we get together, something magical happens--even if we do have to endure Aunt Bertha's diatribe on her irritable bowel. We drop the shit and enjoy each other. Because even though we possess the capacity to pule incessantly about our loved ones and will on occasion, malign them, a small part of us recognizes that tomorrow isn't guaranteed. We may not get to bitch about the feeble jello salad that Grandma always makes because she may not be with us next year. No matter how hard we try to be stupid, part of us never fails to admit to human frailty, whether we'll admit it aloud or not.

Today, I was fortunate to work. I say fortunate because I know there are still people out there desperate for a fulfilling job. I spent my day with a bunch of elementary students who've suffered more hurt than I ever did at their age, and probably ever will in my lifetime. These were the underprivileged kids. The ones who will get nothing for Christmas, who never had or will have a birthday party. These are the kids who go to school because it is the safest place in the world for them to be. They weep when school is out because in one fell swoop, they lose contact with their friends and people who genuinely care about them. They go from having a warm place to spend a couple hours to not knowing if they will eat from one day to the next.

It's not like my old school--where there were one or two lower income families. It is the ENTIRE school. For the majority of the year, these kids don't know the difference between their status and anyone else's because they are all on a level playing field. But when gift-centric holidays roll around, their world collides with ours. Blame this on the commercialization of the holidays, if you like. Ad campaigns step up with the sole purpose of making us think we need things we don't even want. All of a sudden, credit limits are raised, encouraging us to spend, spend, spend. Meanwhile, the stores scream buy, buy, buy. It's a fucking nightmare.

Today, the world looks normal for most of us. Depending on where we are, we may be facing a mound of snow to shovel or a healing dip in the ocean, or maybe just a nice steady rain. For some of the kids I met today, I have to wonder when the world will ever look normal again. How do you recover when a parent decides life is so not worth it that they attempt a terrible suicide? When you watch that person function because life support wills it so? When life support is cut off? How do you recover when you see one parent kill the other? When your hallway is stained with Mommy's or Daddy's blood? How the hell is life supposed to look normal to you? How do these kids survive? I'm barely able to move, and all I had to do was hear about it. My life will continue--karate, writing, talking with friends. Normal. Makes you think, doesn't it? As sure as I am typing away at this blog, I know that some of these children will survive and become amazing people because they've learned what real adversity is. Sadly, some will not. They will repeat the mistakes of their parents. Heartache will spill into heartache, and twenty years from now, another substitute teacher will lament their loss.

Rainbows and butterflies...

Today was a pretty good day. I'm tired, though not sure why, but it was a dog-gone good day. What made it so good? Let's start with first things first. I woke up! I had clothes to wear and food to eat and a warm home to ramble through at my leisure. I made a lot of progress on my writing commitments, half my Christmas cards are written and addressed and I scrubbed my stove! I feel alive today. I got another rejection letter, but such is the writer's life.

One of my neighbors came over this afternoon. I have to admit, I was looking house appendage chic--gray t-shirt and matching shorts, uncombed hair and a giant smile. He brought his son over to see if my youngest could come play. Because I live in close proximity to my neighbors, I tend to worry when someone comes to my door. Were the kids too loud? Did they throw a ball in someone else's yard? So to hear him rave about my son--especially this one, who is most like me--cantankerous, mischievous--really brightened my day.

Unfortunately for my little boy, I had to decline the invite because I don't allow play dates in the middle of the school week, but I promised that the weekends are fair game. Maybe I'm stupid for reveling in such a minor exchange, but for some unexplainable reason, my spirits lifted. I took a shower, did my hair and makeup and braved the grocery store. I am not the typical female from what I hear--can't stand shopping. If you want to see me have a breakdown, just take me to a mall and force me to meander from one store to another. God, I can feel the palpitations coming on! Even the store didn't daunt me today. My youngest and I did our customary laps through the aisles and then came back home. I ran into people I know from karate and was the engaging person I used to be. Granted, I didn't get totally perky and wear pink or anything--dressed in black from head to toe--but I smiled a bright, red lipsticked smile and looked like the type of person that people want to be around.

Yesterday was karate, which is always a ball of entertainment--at least when the adult class gets together. Somehow, the conversation always ends up in the realm of sex. I'd be lying if I said I didn't know how these things start--it's me, but we'll just pretend I didn't say that. Anyway, it all boiled down to jello wrestling, the rabbit and girls gone wild. What in all that's holy does this have to do with karate? Not a damn thing, but it was entertaining. Karate is about strengthening mind and body, but for me, it also encompasses the relationships developed between the wonderful folks I train with. I really can't imagine not spending time with these people on a weekly basis. Invariably, I will laugh, learn and be dead tired from all the drama afterward. Jeez, I don't know what I'm going to do when the night extends into include my classes! One day at a time...

By the way, if you were wondering why rainbows and butterflies, there's no reason. They just remind me of happy thoughts. Keep on truckin'

Long time, no hear...

Okay, so it's been a while since I've blogged. I've started a bunch of them and deleted them in the midst of the writing. Today, my goal is to start and finish a blog. People keep asking how the writing's going and it has been great--when it actually happens, that is. I've written a few pages here and there, but I've gotten caught up in Charmed and Love Actually and BBC shows. My focus has temporarily shifted. I've also been doing lots of reading. All of this is good and I feel renewed, but at the same time, I have this prickling guilt at the back of my mind. Christmas cards sit unwritten, I'm about a chapter behind on the writing. I need to work this week, which means once again, the writing will take a backseat.

Maybe part of the problem is that I've finally reached the detached scene I wrote a while ago. When I wrote that, I didn't believe I'd actually get there. Now, I'm here and I don't know where to go and how to maintain the momentum. The crazy bit is that I am still excited about the story. I expected to lose the fervor when I can't hear the story anymore. Remember when I was bitching about the characters whispering? They're still at it, but they are doing it so loud that all their stories are getting jumbled. Truth is, I'm afraid of where they're taking me. They are fiction! And they're confusing my life!

It's not just the writing that's skewed right now. My home life feels as though it's been turned upside down. I cooked another great dinner. We rearranged the house and the kids decorated for the holidays. Doubts about all my pursuits are swirling through my mind, which is making me CRAZY! More rejection letters poured in over the weekend and I don't know if I've processed that whole deal yet. I'm a control freak, and it just feels like everything I touch spins wildly OUT of control. But not in a bad way--just in an every day's-an-adventure sort of way. Could be so much worse.

Wish I had something at least half interesting to offer up, but I am Elayne, the everlasting dullard today. Back to the books, movies, etc. Here's to a happy fruitful week for all of you!