I'm not crazy...no, really, I'm not!

You write to communicate to the hearts and minds of others what's burning inside you. And we edit to let the fire show through the smoke. ~Arthur Polotnik

Recently, I was hit by a bolt of lightning. Okay, so not physically, but it felt real enough to me. I was reading over some of my writing and trying to figure out what the heck I’ve been doing with myself—what exactly my purpose is—and realized that while each of my heroines is different, they share a similar struggle. In each of my mss, my characters are searching for happiness. I don’t even think happiness is the right term because that emotion, while euphoric and exciting, is fleeting. I’d like to think that my characters are out for joy and contentment.

Being the type of person I am, I went on a soul-searching journey to figure out why I’m putting these people through so much for something that isn’t tangible by any means and is so subjective. For every question I put to myself, I received one answer. BECAUSE. That’s not the entire answer, of course. As my mom always said when I was much younger, because is not a reason.

Here’s the real deal. Every year, I go to a writer’s conference in LaJolla, California. It is intimate, but rife with opportunities to engage in conversations with bestselling authors, agents and editors. For the brave—or insomniacs—there are read and critique sessions available with the staff. Ten of us gathered on the first night with our precious mss or screenplays to get feedback, brainstorm, or revel in the energy that only writers seem able to generate. I did all three. That night, we sat with Warren Lewis—author of the screenplay The 13^th Warrior—and shared our work.

I don’t remember much of what happened that night—something about the wine at dinner followed by cocktails, did me in. But I did come away with one thought: All fiction is somewhat autobiographical. Not his quote, but as the name of the actual phrase-coiner is lost in that wine/vodka/insomniac haze, it’s the best I can do. We writers are told all the time to write what we know. Is this a bad time to admit how much I hate that adage? Every time I hear it, that niggling bit of self-doubt, which sometimes does a better job of screaming out than my characters, surges forth to say I don’t know anything. This begets an encouraging stint of positive self-talk that rambles on longer than this post. A nasty cycle of wasted time, to be sure, but at least each grows shorter as time moves on.

Anyway, I admitted to myself that night that Mr. Lewis is absolutely correct. Each of my characters has some bit of me, whether it’s gulping steaming mugs of hot coffee, a need to eradicate chaos from every aspect of their personal life, or the kernel of self-doubt. They are a little like me. Hey, what do you know? I’m writing on something in which I have a grain silo of knowledge. So what does that say about them searching for supreme joy? Yeah, I know that journey. It’s long, painful, tinged with rejection, but SO totally worth it. Now I wonder where I’ll take my characters (more like where they’ll take me—still can’t make them obey too well) once this happiness kick is worked out of my system. It should be interesting.

All this thinking made me wonder… Am I the only one who sees recurring themes from one ms to another? Please tell me I’m not alone! Tell me I’m not the only one who sees bits of self in what’s supposed to be fiction. (It’s make-believe, I swear!) Or do you see themes running through your work too?

News...

Today, DH and I found out he is officially retired today. That means we will be moving in less than a month. Yikes! We are scrambling to find new jobs and a place to live. I am scared and excited about the change. Scared because it will be a whole new life for us and excited because it's a whole new life! The kids will be in new schools. The eldest will be jumping from elementary school to junior high. The younger two will go to local elementary schools in the district. On the upside, they will get to be close to family, which is something they haven't had--ever.

Something new...

Today, we took our middle man to dinner to celebrate his scholastic achievements. His favorite restaurant happens to be near Barnes & Noble, so we stopped there first while we waited for a table to open. I am a fool for bookstores. I bought a new Piers Anthony and the newest addition to Simon R. Green's Nightside series. I also managed to find a book I've had my eye on for a little while--Eats, Shites and Leaves. Yes, that is the real name. It's a parody of the well known grammar/language usage book, Eats, Shoots and Leaves. With a title like that, I had to buy it. And because I neglected buying calendars at the start of the year, I bought everyone a new calendar.

Take a deep breath, 'cause we're finally getting to the good part. My calendar is based on the popular book series, Would You Rather...? So with each new day, I get to choose a new dilemma, which I get to share with you. Some of them are downright funny, and some make me blush! What a cool adventure. The worst part of this game is the fact that you must choose between the two options. Today's is kind of fun. Would you rather have breast implants made of Nerf or Play-Doh?1

Definitely Nerf. Nerf holds its shape. Okay, so dogs love to gnaw it to death, but if I keep my shirt on, that shouldn't be a problem, right? Those would be great. Never would I need a bra, and think of the rainbow assortment of colors! So what would you choose?


1 Would You Rather? Copyright 2006 by Justin Heimberg and David Gomberg

Still standing...

Remember how I was saying I hadn't worked all month. Then I got to sub Monday. Well, the only day I didn't work this week was Wednesday. I was trying to get some business taken care of, and I couldn't do that by spending a day at school, so I requested it off. Of course, because I wanted to take care of things, I met every road block possible. Such is life. I spent the last two days with a lovely group of kindergartners. It dawned on me today that I've spent the majority of my subbing time with older kids. Because my own children are older, I kinda forgot how exhausting being with little people can be. But, God, they were fun!

Now, I'm sipping tea and relaxing before I attack my new work in progress. I'm working on getting in deeper with my characters. Who knew how hard that could be? Writing if nothing else, is a learning experience. And I'm so glad to know I'm not the only person on the journey. I write because it is my sanity. My escape from the real world where things are absolutely out of my control. In my worlds, I'm the one in charge. But even though my characters are purely fictional entities, I can't make myself force them into ugly situations just because I want to exert myself over them. I can't hep respecting that they are people who have passions, dreams and secret, private pain.

This is not to say that I don't put my characters in tough spots. I'm the same woman who said I like to take them to hell before I let them catch a glimpse of heaven, after all. But I don't torture them just because I can. Recent feedback on my work has made me examine myself. I realized that part of the reason I wasn't allowing myself to go deeper with my characters is that I rarely let people see my depth. Why? Because most people are content to deal with the surface. They don't care about what makes me tick. So when I thought I was writing for an escape, I was so wrong. I can't escape myself. Love me or leave me, I am who I am. The people who are in my life in a real way understand this quirk of mine, and they let me show them the dark side. And for some crazy reason, they love me anyway!

They've earned that place by sticking with me and being brave enough to show me their true selves. I can't think of a better gift to offer someone than true, warts and all love. I am awed every day by the love and respect that my friends show me. My characters are seeking love, or at the very least a strong affinity, from anyone who will read my work. So that means they have to take the first step. I have to allow them to take the first step, and show their true selves. Wow! The funny thing is that as much as I maintain a private persona, my characters, the people who cohabitate in MY brain, have no qualms about being exposed. Man, I wish they had told me this from the beginning instead of making me slog through and discover it for myself. But like I tell my kids, they need to go through the learning process so the knowledge will be theirs. Touché.

Pushing against stone...

I was a bit disappointed that I hadn't worked all month. Even started looking for more permanent, regular work. I love working in education, but the operative word there is work. Well, I am disappointed no longer! I stayed up way too late Sunday night. In fact I didn't go to sleep. After eight, I figured the school district didn't need me, so I got in bed with a book and prepared to catch a little nap. At nine-thirty, the phone rang. They needed me to teach. As I needed the money and wasn't in a sleep state, I said yes and hurried off to the school. I had a blast, but was unbelievably tired and hungry after work. Add to that, Mondays are karate nights and I had to do some grocery shopping. By the time we got home from karate and the kids ate and went to bed, I was wiped out. Too tired to eat even! I sat in laptop central and checked my email. My dear crit partner needed me to fill in for her in our daily inspiration thread. Despite the fatigue, I was honored to have been asked, so I read through writerly quotes for one that would be just right.

Some members of our group took on a challenge for January to push ahead on our manuscripts. For some of us that meant outlining and plotting. For others, like me, it meant pounding out the pages. My crit partner has done an amazing job of keeping us encouraged during this month. She always had the perfect words to inspire, so when she entrusted me with the job, I felt less than equipped. Outside of schoolwork, I've never bothered with finding quotes. I try to be uplifting if I can, but the words don't seem to gel for me all the time. It took me three edits to get my little piece right, but I am proud of what I accomplished. Now, ask me what I got done on my book! Can you hear the winds sweeping through that deserted street there? See that tumbleweed passing through? Yeah, you know why? I didn't write word one on the manuscript.

Tonight, my goal is to write a few pages. I know how the story is supposed to end. The hero and heroine have finally worked out their little argument, the villain is comfortably hiding in the wings, waiting to come on-stage and wreak havoc. It's just hard to push through because I'm learning the story as I go. Once my fingers start flying over the keyboard, the story takes a life of its own and my brain isn't big enough to process it all. Every time I open my file, I get a little stage fright. I am afraid that I won't be able to live up to my characters' truth. Guess I'll have to bear in mind that bit of inspiration I shared with my writing colleagues.

The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

When I was searching for an inspiring quote, I ran into several that echoed a like sentiment. You can’t fix a blank page, so on and so forth. That’s wonderful and true, but we’ve heard it so often that the phrase has become a matter of writerly creed—something we can recite from rote that’s possibly lost some of it’s magic. But what if we shift the paradigm a bit? What if we view the page riddled with poignant words, filled with a story that refuses to remain untold, written in the world’s most inexpensive invisible ink? Lemon juice. Until you hold the page to a hot bulb, the story remains a restless secret.

WE are the illuminators, and just in case any of you are left with doubts after this nearly month-long adventure, WE ARE WRITERS! Every day, we pour our hearts and souls onto a page via pen or keyboard. And when we can’t do that, we’re thinking about it.

After spending time with this awesome group of writers, I am certain that not one of us travels through our day without experiencing a flash of recognition, or if we’re lucky, an ah-ha moment care of the characters rattling through our heads. Those imaginary friends are as real in cases as the people we interact with daily. Though we sleep, our characters don’t. And I’m sure they must sneak about, fueling our dreams, scribbling madly in uncapped supplies of lemon juice onto our blank pages in hopes that we believe in them enough—in ourselves enough—to flip the switch.

It sounds so easy when we say it like this, but we know better.

Writing is what we do because we can’t NOT do it. It IS work, and some days the words are one torturous moment to the next. But sometimes, and I’m convinced it’s these that feed the creativity monster, sometimes, the writing is pure magic. As enrapturing as first love, intoxicating as wine. Today, the pages await the magician’s touch—YOUR touch. Words only you can see in a story only you can tell. BELIEVING is seeing, so don’t leave the world waiting. Write on, my friends, WRITE ON!!!

A Family That Plays Together...

We're really big on family game night. Always have been, and hopefully always will be. I imagine they'll have to pry my Uno hand from my cold, dead fingers. At any rate, we played last night and we played tonight. Since last night's game was the funniest, we'll talk about that one.

First, I should say that I'm known for being the game master in our house. We usually play Lord of the Rings Monopoly, which is awesome by the way. I win, everyone else sulks and accuses me of dirty dealings. As if I couldn't win on merit alone. Ha! So we've switched to Uno so everyone else has a fighting chance. At first, the kids weren't that great at it--used no strategy whatsoever--and allowed their dad and me to cause devastation on the scoreboard. It only took a few hands for them to figure out that they didn't like having a new game to lose at, so they stepped up their game. My youngest has won nearly every game we've played since Christmas. What's that all about?

So I entered last night's game with nothing but winning on my mind. I had my customary three drinks at my side, and was ready to rock 'n roll. Each of us won a hand, though I racked up the least points, and the game got serious. Eight o'clock quickly became nine, and then ten. That was when the whining kicked up. No, it wasn't me! And yes, I was losing. "Please, mommy, please let us go to bed," they begged. "We don't want to play anymore." I laughed maniacally and told them no. I thought I had them on the rails, you see. Uno's like that. All I needed was one good hand. Besides, these are the kids who never want to go to bed. My little party animals have no problem running around for hours after bedtime.

When the whinging didn't work, they flew into dramatics. Where do they get this stuff? The middle man, bleary-eyed and desperate, threw himself onto the floor while I shuffled for the next hand, and pretended to sleep. Not to be outdone, the little man followed suit. My eldest sat there and enjoyed the show. I coaxed the kiddies to the table with the promise of coffee and dealt the next hand. They played half-heartedly, forgetting when it was their turn and all that nonsense. My eldest started making up silly songs, and my nerves, which were on edge--way too much caffeine at this point--frayed. DH began tugging at the remnants of his hair and vowed never to play with us again. Seeing him frazzled gave me renewed strength, so I joined with my eldest in his silly songs. That vein we all have, you know the one, it's the vein that tells people around us to back off as it throbs at the temple--well DH's looked ready to burst. Apparently he didn't like the silly songs.

At eleven, I conceded defeat. The little one did it again--blew me clean out of the water. For the first time in years, they all went to bed and didn't stir 'til morning. Had I known the powers of Uno before, I'd have used it to my advantage!

We enjoy our time together, and it never fails that one of these family moments will remind me of time past. My eldest used to sing himself to sleep as a baby. I always knew he was tired when he'd launch into a wordless song. Some things never change. He'll be twelve soon. He's goofy as all get out and stretching into whoever he will be as an adult. He gets on my nerves, and I know I get on his, but we love each other. I wouldn't trade one of his silly jokes, or the middle one's penchant for finding even my secret stash of candy, or the littlest's snappy attitude (which oddly reminds me of someone--can't think who) for anything in the world.

It is indeed a wonderful life...

Write on...

I'm avoiding writing. I don't know why, but every time I open my story, I feel compelled to wander off. This morning, I scrubbed the floors, washed walls and did some laundry. I finished my read of the 6th Harry Potter book. I do have an Agatha Christie to read, so maybe that's what I'll do tonight. After I write. I can't avoid the file anymore. It's begging to be finished, and as I'm the one who started it, it only makes sense that I should finish. I mean, come on, we're only talking about 133 pages. That's nothing, right? Right, so I'm off to write...for real this time.

Trying again...

I apologize for the tardiness of this post. I wrote it last night and have been having difficulty getting it posted.

So, I've been a relative hermit for the past three months. I've got a lot of writing done, played lots of board games with the family, read a few books, watched TV and got a nice burn from grappling in karate. That almost sounds eventful. Now, I feel like being around people. I'm even toying around with the idea of throwing a party. Don't tell the DH, he may think I've lost my mind. I can't help it though. The idea of doing days worth of cooking and having people traipse through the house, laughing and just enjoying themselves sounds fun. Tomorrow, I may wake up completely grouchy and anti-social, but I don't think so.

Another busy day ahead, meeting lawyers, doctors and the hairdresser. Oh my! It should be fun. I'll get dinner on--red beans and rice--and then off to karate again. I feel strong and alive when I'm physically active, whether it's washing the car or scrubbing my floors. Yes, scrubbing on hands and knees the old-fashioned way. It gives me time to think.

Sorry for the short blog, but I've been running around and losing steam. Probably because I couldn't sleep last night. Heartburn sucks! On top of that, I got a brilliant idea in the middle of the night that I just had to write down. My brain was going a mile a minute. I bid you all adieu--off to the shower and my re-read of The Half-Blood Prince. But I will leave you with a fun question.

If you could have any superpower, which would you choose and why?

I would have two because I'm a little bit greedy. I would want to fly, just because who wouldn't? And I would love to be able to communicate with anyone regardless of language because for as much as I talk about remaining closeted from social situations, I am truly fascinated by real people.

Clearing clutter...

Oh yes, dear reader. That's exactly what I did today. The DH and I have been planning to clean the garage since we moved here. Between work and sheer laziness, we left it. Now that I spend more time at home, I have more time to complain about things that have been left undone. Case in point, the garage. Now, before you get the notion that I'm a crazed bitch on the warpath, allow me to clarify the situation.

DH is a pack rat supreme. He's the type of guy that kept his high school jeans, just because. Me, on the other hand, well, I'm a clutter buster. I tend to feel crazy--crazier than usual--under mounds of crap. I'm a transient at heart, and need to feel that I can pull up and re-plant roots on a moments notice. I guess I shouldn't have fussed so much, seeing as we could park in the garage. Growing up, my parents couldn't park in theirs, so my ability to cope with his piles of random stuff is quite the coup for my dear husband. He should be grateful. None of us were all that grateful as we unpacked the boxes. All of us were in on the fun. We did it though. Mission accomplished. The garage is gorgeous, and now I won't have those pangs of guilt and embarrassment I always got from opening the door.

The only downside to all this clearing out is that I've netted myself mountains of laundry in the process. Did I mention most of the clothes are the hubby's? The man's wardrobe is three times the size of mine. I hate to shop, and the proof is in my closet. After all the work was done, I made dinner. We ate together, and later relaxed together while we finished the extended version of Return of the King. This is the first time I didn't cry while watching it. I think, to be honest, my brain was too tired to process the film. So what am I doing here, and why haven't I gone to bed? God only knows. I have writing to do, so I'll bid you all good night. What is the one room in your house you'd love to clear out? And what's stopping you?

Feeling free...

Two blogs in one day! A record for me, but I can't help it. I am about to start writing my pages. I write better at night when my entourage is asleep. I'm free to listen to inappropriate music, watch naughty TV shows that are filled with swear words and be totally free of guilt. After the rejection yesterday, I gave myself a pass on doing pages. Now I'm behind, but that's okay. I feel no guilt. Sometimes, you have to take a break to be able to be creative. I wrote out my disappointment here and shared it with a very dear critique partner. And even though it was just a long-winded email, I felt better for sharing my experience with someone who knows the pain of the writer's journey.

This morning, I took the opportunity to call a friend about her writing. We discussed her work, which was damn good. She too is striving to challenge herself, which is why she decided to take a chance and let me be the first to see this particular piece. I felt honored as I know what it's like to expose one's self in such a way. I feel more naked in sharing my writing than I do unclothed. A body is just a body--skin, flesh and fat. But writing is an expression of a person's soul. Because most of us don't share our true selves with people, to do so in a way that may potentially touch the lives of many is just so raw. Anyway, I digress. Her work was brilliant, but she was afraid it was crap. Even went as far as to warn me of some really bad spots, which incidentally didn't feel bad to me.

So much of her work took me back to some of the less pleasant memories in my past. There was so much pain and real tragedy in the writing. Great symbolism. My God, it was gut-wrenching. I look forward to seeing the final product, and to seeing her name in lights. It will happen. She thanked me for being honest and for being a safe place to be so exposed. Again, what an honor. Later, I went to my critique circle to see what people thought about some chapters in my recently rejected piece. One critiquer thanked me for an entertaining read. And that was when I knew, or reaffirmed my goal in writing. I want my readers to get lost in reckless, unmitigated pleasure. I want them to laugh, cry and laugh again because of something I wrote. I want women to draw closer to their friends because they recognize their friendships in my story.

As if that wasn't enough wonderfulness. Yes, I know that's not a real word. The reading partner I emailed wrote me back. Some people were just born to build others up. A long time ago, when we became critique partners we agreed to be harsh when necessary and to cheer each other with wild abandon when either of us found the chips were down. She is amazing!!! Words are not enough to express how much her letter meant/means to me. I wasn't anywhere near giving up. That's not in my vocabulary. Never has been. I had lost focus, and she helped clear my perspective. I wrote back and explained why I was reeling from the rejection, and when I read it, I realized why I write. I can't not do it! It is my therapy, my escape. Those characters are friends, and their stories are my temporary adventure outside my own.

What do you do when you need to escape?

Starting Over...

Once again, I'm up far later than I ought to be. I didn't write a lick today. Couldn't muster the energy, or maybe I was afraid to try because I got the first real rejection that stung. It of course, was nicely phrased and demonstrated that the agent actually read my work. From all the gripes I've read on blogs in the web-verse, this is one thing rejected writers cite as the reason for their un-published status. I can't comment on other people's experiences, and I won't bother to try. What I do know is mine was read and responded to quicker than I expected. I gave myself tonight to lament and I'll press on tomorrow.

The only problem is that now I'm afraid that this new manuscript is going to come up short too. That I won't delve deep enough into my character's minds so the reader really knows what's going on and why. That I will spend so much time polishing surfaces that I will totally miss the infestation of termites boring through what I thought was the story's core. I know who I am deep down. I even know who my characters are. Or I think I do...Ah well, life will go on, and I will continue to write. And maybe, just maybe, I'll figure out what exactly I expect from this journey.

In other news...
Temperatures have reached into the negatives now, so the car takes a bit longer to start and it's no longer prudent to step outside in my thong sandals. Had to clarify the sandal bit, because the last thing I want burned into anyone's memory is a picture of me running through the wilderness in barely there underwear. Gloves are no longer a clever fashion statement, boys and girls. They are an absolute necessity! My children decided to go to school without gloves or scarves. How is it that they manage to sneak out past me without being properly attired? I don't know because I'm usually on top of things, but one thing's for sure--we won't be advertising this to the DH. He loves it when they pull one over on me because it's usually him they hornswaggle. Guess I should thank my lucky stars they wore coats.

We may be looking at a move soon, so more changes ahead. That will be an adventure! New homes, different jobs and a fresh start--another blank page, but unfortunately, not one where I get to play God. I am nervous and excited about a new adventure. And scared shitless that I won't be able to survive.

A couple of months ago, I blogged about scaring myself. That was my plan...to purposely throw myself outside my happy little comfort zone. I never thought that it would be quite so extreme. Seems like for once, the Universe and I are on the same page.

Too little sleep, and WAY too little coffee...

I couldn't sleep last night. I went through my normal bedtime routine and slid between the sheets where DH was already fast asleep. Beyond tired, I hunkered into the blankets, snuggled with my lion, and grabbed my book. I'm reading Daniel Silva's Prince of Fire, which I bought ages ago yet haven't managed to read. All the books in my TBR pile were pushed aside because I feel my reading selection has been one-sided. Heavy on romance with a sprinkling of fantasy--Piers Anthony to be exact.

Back to Mr. Silva. This book is another Gabriel Allon adventure, complete with tense action, rapid changes in scenery, a fistful of love story and a dash of humor. I didn't want to put the book down. When I peered over the edge to look at the clock and read 3:03am, I thought about closing it and going to sleep. Then I convinced myself to read one chapter more, which quickly turned into three. There are intermediary scenes in the story that made me laugh out loud. Good thing DH is a sound sleeper.

Gabriel assumed an identity as part of his mission. This pseudo-character was a combination (in my mind) of Lionel Hardcastle, Basil Fawlty and Diana Trent. If you don't recognize the names, please don't feel bad. They are favorites from the Britcoms I watch on occasion--As Time Goes By, Fawlty Towers, and Waiting for God. He was larger-than-life with his attitude and demands, but that was his purpose. To be someone so memorable that the other characters forgot to be watchful, forgot that Gabriel Allon was out there trying to put the kibosh on their plans. What a brilliant tactic!

Gosh, I wanted to ask Daniel Silva so many questions. Is he a Beeb lover like me? Did he create that particular persona based on someone he knows, or was he the manifestation of a dream? I am constantly in awe of authors who seemingly have it all together. A tight story, fantastic hooks that draw the reader from sentence to sentence, scene to scene. And the intelligence that leaps from the page. Sometimes I wonder what exactly I'm playing at by masquerading as one of them-- a real writer. If only you and your mom think you're funny, I don't think it counts. Insert any adjective for funny there.

So what is it that draws me to his books time and again? And what makes his work different from that which I'd be more inclined to leave on the bookshelf than actually read?

I don't know...Well, maybe I know a little.

My Dad bought lots of the Reader's Digest Condensed version books. I LOVE them, by the way, because it is such an effective way for a person like me to sample various works by various artists. Because I grew up with those books, when I moved out, I bought them too. In one of the first volumes I received, Daniel Silva's Unlikely Spy was a featured story. I was bored one day and began perusing my bookshelves, and for some reason, that book jumped out at me. There was no chorus of angels or ray from the heavens, but I knew I had to read that story. I was hooked. I went to the library and checked out everything they had from this phenomenal author.

When I read his books, I'm immediately transported to lands I only know of from ancient holy books and what I may catch on the World News. He makes them real--reminds me of the people who live half a world away who have family, careers, aspirations and far-out dreams just like me. It is so easy to remain tightly locked behind an isolationist bubble. So through these books, I not only see Jerusalem, the South of France, a centuries old chapel nestled in a small Italian village, but he allows me to feel the swirling dust kicked up by a convoy of armored jeeps. I taste the wine, smell the cigarettes outside an intimate cafe. That is why I read his books. He takes me someplace I've never been. Plus, who wouldn't want to be a spy? Spy guys get all the hot chicks, and spy gals have the best wardrobes.

What will I read after this? Who knows. Hope I figure it out soon because this book won't last through the night and I'll need a diversion. I started this blog whining because I didn't sleep last night. Truth be told, I got about 45 minutes of sleep and am seriously considering going right back to bed. Why couldn't I sleep, you ask? Because I was too hopped up from reading Prince of Fire. Because I drank coffee before I went to sleep, which doesn't usually affect me. Because of the raging heartburn I got from drinking the coffee I shouldn't have right before bed. Such is life. Gotta make pizza crust for dinner. I'll let everyone dress their own, but my dough must rest. And I know what I'm going to read when this book is finished. My backlog of critiques and contest entries.

Catching up...

Over the holidays my friend recommended that I read a book--the omnibus by three authors. You may remember my little discussion. This is the story that my friend couldn't get through and was vehement in her dislike. At any rate, I did read the story, but completely forgot to submit my thoughts here as promised. It was not terrible. I was concerned about the heroine's larger-than-life experience for her tender age, but that was explained in a reasonable manner, so I was okay with that. The hero was to die for--a family man who loved his mama and would do anything to please her. Hey, I'm a mom of three sons. That's my favorite little daydream. Fine. Not really, but it sounded pretty on paper. The one story I read was decent enough. I don't know that I will pick up that author's work on purpose, but at the same time, I wouldn't be averse to reading her work again.

Now that's all caught up, I feel much better. The chapter of RWA (pick me!) to which I belong is sponsoring a jumpstart to get us writers in the groove again after tubs full of eggnog and tins of fruitcake. My goal is to write four pages a day. If I surpass that, great! But I must write, write, write. So far, so good. The last challenge we did saw me through the finish of my second manuscript. I look forward to similar success. So I'll have to keep you all posted as to my progress.

Sorry, no witty comments today. I'm feeling oh-so-dull, but alas, my story won't write itself. Hope your first Friday of 2007 is a smash hit!

Starting with a bang...

I haven't gone to bed yet. I started doing a second read on my contest entries and watching new On-Demand episodes of The L Word and lost track of time. It was 5:30 am before I realized that a smart person would have been in bed hours ago. Apparently, I'm not that smart today. I feel ridiculous for getting so caught up in what was happening on my show. It's been about a month since I last watched every available episode, and I actually got giddy over seeing the new ones up. As usual, there were funny bits and parts that just made me think. The characters had my full attention. It was almost like re-visiting a favorite book. The people on the screen were more than a set of actors playing parts. They were old friends who dropped by to catch up. I was fine with that--reveling in it, in fact, until someone died. Forgive me for the spoilers. I won't name names, but suffice it to say that it was a painful one for me to watch. And I can't begin to imagine how it felt to embrace that role and live that moment, take through take. Again, I have to offer kudos to the writers and actors for amazing work.

I don't know what other fans thought about when they watched that particular episode. I don't know what the writers wanted me to think. But I know I did. Think. Why do the people we love and cherish most in this world have to die? I am young enough that I still ponder this question in earnest and old enough to know that one day it will be my turn. There is no escape. That is reality. I thought about my Dad. The anniversary of his death looms, and I can't help but think of how he died and if he really knew how much I loved him--love him. He died alone. I lived an ocean away and couldn't visit him when he was alive. Every time I managed to get near enough that it was possible for me to see him, he would turn me away. He'd been deteriorating for years and was prideful enough that he didn't want me to see him as less than the man he'd always been. I respected his wishes. We talked on the phone. He was the second to know of my accomplishments (DH was first), and to this day, he is the first I think to call when something big happens in my life. He was my biggest fan. Loved me when I was bitchy and believed I could do anything I set my mind on doing.

He taught me what courage means, what it means when you have a conviction so dear to your heart that you can't see not fighting for it. Because of him, I learned to do my best everyday. Maybe today's best will be different from tomorrow's, but all that matters is that I put forth the utmost effort I can muster in that day, that moment. He wasn't the best person in the world. He was human. He made mistakes, was man enough to admit them, and he loved me unequivocally. That was all I needed.

Thinking about Dad made me think of my own parenting. I remember being young and vowing that I would never do this or that to my child. I was going to be the perfect parent, never say a hurtful word and have kids who always wanted to be around me. I've blown two of the three goals. Guess which. For some reason, though, my kids still like to hang out with me. They look forward to seeing me in the morning, or at least, they do a damn good job of acting like they do. As I showered this morning after watching hours of The L Word and thinking about my Dad, I thought about the transience of life. How really, every minute does count.

I thought about my last words to my kids. Did I tell them I loved them before they went to bed? Did they know I would be excited to see them bumble through the halls after I woke them? Tired though I am, I watched them eat breakfast, fixed them tea and chatted with them. I brushed their hair before they headed out the door. Still can't believe they all let me do it. And I told them how much I love them--even when I'm angry with them for whatever reason. I love them. And I told them I know the day is coming when they won't want to hang with their crabby, cantankerous mom. When they'll want to cuss at me and punch the speed bag, imagining it's me. They all sweetly said they can't imagine such a day will ever come in their lives. I know better. And I love them.

Today, I started with a goal. To do what I'm supposed to do. Easy enough. I made phone calls, but at every turn met some sort of difficulty. I've done my part. The rest will fall into place, I thought. Then I got a phone call. At first, I was excited, thinking it was a return from one I'd made. When I saw it was the University calling, I was thrilled because my class is scheduled for next week. I deflated as the program director explained her reason for calling. My class has been cancelled. Though it is one almost every student is required to take, no one signed up. She felt horrible for having to give me the news, and believe me, I felt horrible hearing it. I'm fighting the disappointment. The bottom line is that it wasn't meant to be right now. So I'll smile and return to my writing where eventually, someone gets a happy ending. No ifs, ands or buts. My characters made me promise. Can't have a rainbow without rain...

Happy New Year!

At risk of being cliche, Happy New Year! We made it!

This year was different from the last few. Though I have to admit that time is beginning to blend so that it's difficult for me to distinguish one year from another. Last year, my house had more people in it. I had a job that wasn't my favorite, which meant that while I made more money, I wasn't entirely happy. I'm shallow enough for happiness to be a requisite for outside employment. The bottom line is, I'm going to die one day, and I'll be damned if I've purposely made myself miserable by doing what I know I don't want to do.

This year has been a great year in so many ways and in others more trying than I could have expected. But for now, I will focus on the positive. In 2006, I finished writing two books. The first was an exercise in starting and finishing a manuscript. And it shows all the signs of a first novel. Maybe one day I'll revisit that work and make it work. Maybe not. The second manuscript made me proud to say I am a writer. I started it while finishing my master's degree. Another wonderful accomplishment for 2006. I finished that degree with a 3.97. The only reason it wasn't a 4.0 was because I got an A- in a computer science course. Not bad for a mother of three who was working full-time.

2006 also saw the start of my third novel. It is a new avenue for me and prompted the start of this blog. My characters weren't exactly cooperative initially, but they've started working with me. I am so excited to see where they are going to take me this year. I have two more books on-stage as well. I took steps to scare myself--sending my work to agents and contests. From the former, I got a request for my entire manuscript. Would it be crass for me to repeat how stoked I am about that? I will learn about the results from one of the contests this month. I am nervous and excited to hear what objective people who know nothing of me and my writing have to say about my work.

Gosh...what else has happened this past year? So much good stuff that I know I can't remember and post it here. I travelled, met people I've known online for over a year, partied like it was 1999 and remembered every minute of it! In one of my travels, I was privileged to meet a couple of authors who so enjoyed my work that they worked to build bridges for me that I couldn't have done without their support. And they validated me--made me feel as though the time I spent writing wasn't wasted. A gift I will cherish always and hopefully have the opportunity to repay. I also met one of my favorite authors. She was gracious and just cool to spend time with. I am sure with all the fans she meets, I was one face among thousands; but the time she gave me is another of my cherished memories.

One of my fondest memories of 2006 is the time I spent with my family. This past week, we played, cooked, read, watched movies and just spent time together. We didn't buy masses of presents or have elaborate parties, but we enjoyed each other's company. As my children get older, these times will be less frequent. They will have their own lives and families one day. And maybe they won't want to hang out with their old mom, but this year--and our time together--is something I won't soon forget.

As you approach 2007, please dwell on the good and let go of the bad. I hope you all find more to remember with fondness about the past years and have much better in this one. Blessings, love and peace to you all. Happy New Year!