Random Musings...

Learning Curve

2011-05-13T16:21:00.006-06:00

No work today meant I could take care of a few things needing some TLC in my happy world. I touched my characters and they touched me back. Today, my protagonist and I had a heart-to-heart while I allowed a gentle breeze to play over my skin as I absorbed the sun's rays. It truly was a beautiful day in my neighborhood. I swear, I could almost hear her talking to me. The good news is she isn't entirely upset with me about what she's about to experience. Bless her, she's a fighter!

Strangely enough, my quiet gave my protagonist a chance to assess her life. And you know what she discovered? She ain't half bad. We kind of played "Do you remember?" ala Claire Huxtable. Remember how she would ask Clif that very question, and he knew he was in trouble? Not so with my heroine. She laughed at how foolishly her insecurities prompted her to behave. Granted, she's not out of the woods, but today she felt strong.

The characters beckon. As I return to their world, I'd like to think I'm not the only writer who's learned something from a cast of fictional friends. What's something your characters have taught you?

I'm ba-a-a-ack!

2011-05-07T09:17:00.001-06:00

Almost a year since the last post. Good grief! I can't even call myself an intermittent blogger. My book is really taking shape, and though they scare the devil out of me, I love where the characters are taking me.

Last weekend was a big writer's conference, and I was extremely fortunate to have been in attendance. I didn't pitch anything because my work in progress is just that. For the first time, I participated in a read and critique by an agent. I didn't end up with this agent as the work of random chance. I've followed this woman's career for YEARS and watched it and her agency grow. For this read and critique, participants were allowed to submit the first page, which should have been no more than 16 lines.

I was nervous about that limit. Would the agent have enough time to get a sense of my protagonist? Would those few lines set the stage adequately for the rest of the novel? And why, oh why couldn't I have a full page? The third question was answered for me when I sat in on some R&C's in a previous workshop. The editor hosting that one was was tough, and her insight into the industry made me even more nervous. She told us she knew whether or not to buy a book based on the first page. I'd heard the first line bit before, but that was always couched in writerly encouragement along the lines of making every sentence count. Everything with pores on my body began to sweat. I wasn't sure I was ready.

Let's be honest. Sending a query to an agent or editor is daunting, but there's a distance that makes the entire process bearable -- even the rejection piece. Standing in front of either an agent or editor and in front of a group of writers who also know the rules, is plain butt-clenching. I was the second reader up in my group. I read my log line (which I'd made hours before) and launched into my first page. I got laughs! The agent said my work was good and fit within the scope of the genre. I started with action. Her praise went on, and I felt more nervous. I will query her with the finished project.

Conferences are awesome. Creativity ignites, and the writer in me loves to be surrounded by others who hear voices! Now, it's time for me to get busy about the work of writing. I've got more ideas about how to help myself be more productive, and I'm putting them in play. Write on, writers!

What's the best take-away you've ever gotten from a conference?

One Fell Swoop ...

2010-05-29T20:55:00.002-06:00

In one fell swoop, my life has changed. Didn't I say this a few months ago? Nevertheless, it is true. This afternoon I had the opportunity to listen to voice mail I received Thursday morning. Yes, I'm a tad behind. Hopefully, that gives you an indication of the kind of week this has been. It was graduation, my friends threw me a surprise going away party and I completed my last day of work at the school -- hence the going away party. Really, all those transitions were plenty for me to manage today. My goals were simple -- turn in what needed turning in, and avoid tears at all costs. Submitting my materials was easy. I've been ready. Since I'm not a crier, I didn't expect the tears to be an issue, and they weren't at work. It was when I finally returned home and checked the voice mail that I lost it.

Please, someone tell me how you respond to a message heralding an impending death? My friend, who has been ill, called and left a message to let me know she should be dead by Saturday. Tears sprung to my eyes as I realized that today is Saturday. She asked me to please check the obituaries so I would know when her service would be. I want to be there -- even if that means putting off my vacation for a couple days. It seems that the good people die young while the bastards of the world live on to make life as hellish as possible for the rest of us. What is important to note is that her life was not for naught. Without her influence, I would not be the lady I am. I would be less willing to embrace growth opportunities and still be steadily beating up myself for every mistake I make. I would not have had the courage to hold up my head through the loss of my job. I would have only been able to view this change as negative instead of seeing it as a chance to stretch my legs and skills in order to find something more suited to my passions and aptitudes. Via con Dios, Rose. Please rest in peace, free from pain and wrapped in love. Thank you for everything!

Glancing Around Corners ...

2010-01-11T19:56:00.004-07:00

I'm counting down again -- not for anything flashy or significant in the writing world, but because I'm approaching a welcome transition.

Over my break for the holiday, I wrote. Perhaps not as much as I wanted to, but I was and am proud of what I accomplished. My dear friend Kay read what I produced and proclaimed it worthy. Why is it I return to my blogging when my characters have worked their way to the bedroom? Maybe I'm nervous and am seeking validation. Okay, let's be real; I'm a writer, so of course, I am seeking validation!

Those seventeen pages were some of the most challenging I've written to date. What's it like writing again after so long a break? It's like learning to ride a bike when you're 5, not touching a bicycle except for shifting it about in the garage to make space for junk, and then going for a five-mile ride at the ripe old age of 30. Not impossible by any means, but definitely a venture requiring effort.

In a wild moment Sunday, I decided to go to a local coffee shop and write. First, I went on a walk and played with some random doggies. Then I had to shower -- for the benefit of myself and all those fortunate to be downwind of me. Finally, I dressed in bright colors because they felt right. Off I went to the shop, ordered a coffee and a nutritious cupcake. The couch was empty, and I took it as a sign that I was meant to pause and spend time with my characters. They were naked -- right where I left them. Kinda makes me wonder if their action is really in suspense when I neglect them for months on end, or if I peeked in on them while they were unaware, would they be living their lives without me, waiting for me to catch up with their progress?

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-25T23:57:00.002-07:00

I spent the day with my little people who are becoming increasingly large, and it was awesome for lack of a better term. We chilled and just enjoyed each other's company. As the time drew near for them to return to their dad's, the tension was palpable. I saw them looking at the clock; the baby repeatedly asked for updates on the time. It's kinda like knowing you're going in for a root canal -- time takes on this steady canter, and nothing you can do slows it's progress.

Rather than sit around feeling the emptiness of the house, I ventured out for a movie. If you're thinking about seeing It's Complicated, stop thinking and DO! That's one I would like to see again, and I've only just left the theater! Women age gracefully, and men -- well, I'm becoming attached to the opinion that men are probably grateful that a lot of women cling to pleasant memories when bellies lop over the belt, man-boobs become apparent and the chins increase. That must be love -- seeing through the imperfections to embrace the real person beneath the shell.

In many ways I'm the atypical woman -- can't stand shopping, I have shoes in two colors (brown and black) and I don't always have to fill airspace with meaningless fluff. In other ways, I'm very typical -- love make-up, love the telephone and am desperately afraid that someone will see my faults, be they physical, psychological, real or imaginary, and determine that I am lacking. If fiction writing is somewhat autobiographical, my audience will have a glimpse at not only my imperfections, but they will have access to a part of me that I work diligently to keep under wraps.

Once again, as a writer, I find myself standing before the world with my pants unzipped, hoping against all hope that the keen observer won't point and laugh but will help a sista out! My hope is that in writing I will see myself as I'm meant to be seen and that my readers will do the same. Not that our observers will deny the existence of these so-called imperfections but that they will see them and recognize that every stretch mark, every crow's foot is an indelible part of what makes each of us unique and beautiful.

Merry Christmas!

Driving the Short Bus

2009-12-06T19:25:00.002-07:00

While I haven't written much more than comments on my students' papers, I have been quite busy. Yesterday, my entourage and I did one of our favorite things -- went to the museum of nature and science. There's always so much to discover, and I've been dying to see the Ghengis Khan exhibit. So what in the world does that have to do with driving the short bus? That was how we got there! For the colleagues I like, there's nothing I won't do, so when I was asked to drive for a field trip, I was happy to say yes. I should have known the trip wouldn't be uneventful.

The trip up was easy. Coming home proved more of a journey than I'd expected. The students wanted to eat at a restaurant I'd never heard of, but I agreed to drive there -- following their directions. Any thinking person would already be formulating ideas as to how this little scenario went wrong. Stupid is as stupid does. Students who don't drive in the city and who don't really pay attention to their surroundings shouldn't be trusted to give directions, but I think the Boo-boo the Fool Award goes to moi for following said student's directions! We were rapidly approaching Wyoming when I pulled the plug on our adventure. I laughed, and frankly am still laughing because I create these situations often.

All of this made me think about the writer's journey. How often do writers take advice from the well-meaning clueless? Writing doesn't just happen, it's not a hobby; it is work that demands a high level of commitment, and comments from the peanut gallery are unwelcome in this writer's world.

I've decided it's time to re-acquaint myself with my characters. They recently finished Thanksgiving dinner and I left them hanging. C'mon, folks! Richard Simmons would be so proud of me! I'm pushing away from the table and am ready to write, write, write!

Cheer up, Charlie!

2009-12-02T13:02:00.002-07:00

How can I begin to sum up the activities and happenings of a year in one blog post? It's not gonna happen. You don't want to read it, and I don't want the hand cramp from writing it.

If the truth be told, a lot of what I've done this past year is hide from my work. Hide from the writing because it costs too much to labor for hours to find myself in a maze that seemingly has no exit. I wrote my characters into a corner, laughing all the way as I did. They've been stuck in the corner for months, and when I think about going all Johnny on them, "No one puts Baby in the corner," I find something else to occupy my time -- like cleaning piles of vomit. This happens and continues to occur because I'm afraid that if I pull up my big girl Underoos, I will have a major re-write ahead.

Just because I've hidden from my book doesn't mean the characters have hidden from me. Oh, no! Those ladies and gents scream at me as soon as they sense I'm surrounded by quiet. Just let the kids be sleeping in my non-ghettoland home, let the TV be off and the phone on silent. The characters call me out. Some of them are down right rude! I haven't been called heifer for real ever! To my knowledge. They asked for an off-scene character to have her spot in the sun. Maybe this is what we all need. To get out of my dreams and onto the page ... beep, beep. Yeah!

Enough silliness, I guess. Must get back to corralling kittens, otherwise known as mucking through piles of puke! And just in case it doesn't appear so, I am grateful for the opportunity of cleaning vomit. That just means there was plenty to eat. Now that's what I call a shift in perspective!

The Final Countdown

2008-08-02T15:24:00.003-06:00

So, it's only 3+ months since my last blog. Not bad for a slacker. Work and school have been CRAZY!!! Let me recap. No, I will sum up. I got the teaching gig, so rather than being a pretend teacher, I will be real!!! Just like the Velveteen Rabbit!!! I am so stoked. My last class required 34 assignments completed in 6 weeks. Had I no life, this would have been no problem. But alas, the kiddos had all sorts going on this summer. And I had to do some work at the new job as well. I've not written too much lately, though I did have fun critting some of my friends' work. Frankly, this makes me feel connected to the writer's world even when I'm not the one crafting.

Even though I haven't written a whole lot lately, I did do some submissions to agents on my previous works. So far, I've received two form rejections. C'est la vie. I must finish this book, get it polished and ready for its moment in the sun. How I will fit all this in with schoolwork and work-work, I don't know. What I do know is that November 20th is the last day of class. No more projects, no more writing insane blogs about my classmates. It will be great!!! Only 15 weeks and 5 days left to go.

How many rejections would it take to wallpaper your bathroom? I'll be nice; you can choose the smallest bathroom in the house.

Walking through the world with my pants unzipped ...

2008-04-23T08:52:00.004-06:00

Yep, folks, that's me. I'm beautifully coiffed (if I do say so myself) and dressed for success. Pink blouse, chocolate slacks that lengthen my legs and make me look like your typical professional female. I walked through the school, stopping to talk to teachers and smile at students. Despite the fact I didn't want to get out of bed, the sun burst through my windows, BBC world news played in the background and my body felt compelled to get dressed. I'm glad someone did, looking in hindsight, it would have been a little bad for me to show up to work this morning in yoga pants a sweatshirt and a busted hair-do. Once I got dressed, I felt ready to take on the world. Maybe it's the pink. Who knows?

So back to walking through the halls. I made my way from one wing of the school to the other. (My room's been commandeered for mandatory state testing.) I climbed two flights of stairs to reach the teacher's lounge, made some kool-aid to keep me happy, brushed off a dusty apple from the abyss I call a travel bag and proceeded to work. I graded a bunch of papers, managed to smile at the progress (not the grades -- prepping my speech for the class tomorrow) and glanced down. My pants were unzipped! This wouldn't be bad if I were wearing underwear that matched my trousers. That would have been too easy. Oh, no. I am wearing my Vickie's Secrets bright coral undies -- these things match neither my flesh nor my slacks. How many people now know me more intimately than I wanted them to?

This got me thinking about the writer's life. We writers constantly walk the world with not only our pants unzipped, but with our bare bums hanging out for everyone to criticize. Oh, look at that lump. Thigh master, anyone? People have no qualms about deriding someone's work because, well, because it's there. And you know what? I am totally cool with that. If I'm out there, or rather my work is, and someone wants to criticize they are welcome to do so. Bring it on!!! I'm sure I'm not the only contrary person who buys books on purpose because of arising controversy. In fact, that is why I initially read the Harry Potter books. And I'm sure she cried all the way to the bank -- NOT. Controversy breeds readership, breeds discussion and dare I say it, thinking!

And if that means I'm going to walk the ends of the earth totally unzipped, then I hope the world is ready for me. Write on, writers. Write on!

In the Words of Our Lord ...

2008-04-10T22:53:00.000-06:00

It is finished. Never were more poignant words spoken! Tonigh marks the last of one of the most tortuous classes I've taken. And to think! I paid for it!

So what's up? I've been working and writing. Big surprise, right? I've also reattached my cajones and entered a few writing contests. We'll see how that goes. Just once, I'd love to final and see my name in lights -- dim though they may be. Something Kay said to me tonight struck home. I don't want to be famous, just rich. This gal wants both! While I dread the thought of not being able to buy toilet paper unmolestes, I'd love people to stop me -- WHEREVER -- and say they'd read my book and for one moment been able to forget whatever trauma/drama life's thrown their way. How awesome would that be? To be the author of relief, the one people turn to when they want to curl up with something comfortable and consistent. Me and my aspirations!

I know the statistics. No, I won't share them for those of you who just felt your rear iris pucker. I know not all of us enjoy math. The odds are I will be unsuccessful. Not just unsuccessful, but an abysmal failure. Yet, I can't stop. The words pour into my head. I hear conversations and think of how I can simmer the themes into lines for my characters. The bottom line is that all of us want to be remembered, immortalized somehow. I am egotistical enough that I am not only willing to admit this fact to myself, but shout it aloud in the streets. Hell, if I'm not my own biggest fan, who else will be? That's why we procreate, and one of the many reasons I want to be in the classroom.

I don't want to fall into the abyss, forgotten. What are you doing to ensure your legacy? Who's life are you touching? Think about it! Each of us has the potential to impact the lives of 10, 000 people. Ten thousand! That's a lot of people, a lot of lives. By now, you're probably wondering how I came by this number. Warning, there was some math involved, but no brains were injured in the computation.

Look at it from a 6-degrees of separation perspective. I won't put down numbers, but if you can stretch your brain to think about the interconnectivity inherent in relationships, you'll see that my theory is neither inflated nor sheer rubbish. In fact, I may have underestimated the figures. So, recognize what you do matters. None of us chooses our race, nationality, sex or orientation (debate me later, it's my turn to speak now). What we can choose is our attitude. I can be hateful, and when I am (notice I didn't say if), it is my choice. That is how I've determined I will make my mark on the world. How I will touch thousands of lives.
Knowledge is power, folks. What will you do with it?

Where's she been?

2007-12-02T09:13:00.000-07:00

I talked to a good buddy the other day who asked what was up with my blog. Guess it's time for confessions: I've been a little unfaithful. Okay, how can one be a little unfaithful? That's one of those all or nothing things. I've been spending emotional time with my other blog -- saying all the things that I can't shoehorn into this one.

My goal was to keep this blog more writerly and less random than the heading implies. Writing, in general, is my way of venting, re-hashing and getting my thoughts in line with my present reality. My life has become a Lifetime Movie of the Week, and while I've got lots of writing done that's not what needed mulling over. To catch you up, my [blind] mother has moved in, my brother-in-law is staying with us for a bit, and my kids still haven't figured out how to hit the porcelain bowl that's filled with water. Forget movie of the week. More like a Porto-potty.

Let's move to the writing because that's much less depressing than real life. I'm finally feeling as though I know where the story is going (thanks, Kay!). I know the characters and can see them -- in some cases, smell them. So much is swirling through my head, I'm afraid my fingers won't be able to keep up with my thoughts. Unfortunately, I've put off some of my schoolwork and have to play my favorite game, catch up.

Still no word from the agent who has my full, or the editor to whom I sent pages. Gosh, almost forgot about that. Today, I will write the critique I promised, read another contest entry and go back to the hospital to have my wound cared for. Beyond that, I will try to keep the threads of my sanity from unraveling.

What have I been up to?

2007-11-14T20:25:00.000-07:00

I've been MIA for a long while, so I figured I owed you a rundown. Since my last post, it's been more of the same: school, work, writing and hanging out with friends. Somewhere in there, I made time to refinish my table (again). Now, I'm ankle deep in contest judging. The Linda Howard Contest is in full swing and I have been reading and re-reading entries. This contest is awesome because they actually want the judges to offer input rather than simply assigning a score and moving to the next piece. I won't say which category I'm judging, but I will say it is one I'm keenly interested in.

Getting in on this side of contests is important to me because I not only get to see what fellow writers are up to, but I gain perspective on my own work. Before I write a comment, I put myself in the writer's shoes. How would I receive a comment posed in such a manner? Am I trying to play God? Is my response related to jealousy? Judge doesn't mean unchecked power; it means responsibility. Probably a naive sentiment, but true for me nonetheless. Seeing these entries has made me want to give my newer works a go through the contest circuit. Maybe this year I have a chance.

Happy birthday, brother

2007-11-08T23:58:00.000-07:00

Today is my little brother's birthday. I don't know where he is, and the sad part is I don't want to know. Somewhere along the road he chose a path I can't condone. One I hope he comes out of. Until that time, I will love him from afar and wish him all the best. And I pray that today he knew somehow that he was on my mind. That he wasn't forgotten and isn't unloved. I hope that he managed to eek out some birthday cheer from whatever hell he found himself in. And I pray that this is his best year ever. Makarisomos, T.

A peek inside the mind of man

2007-10-28T20:07:00.000-06:00

Here's my disclaimer before I even take a ride down this street: This blog relates to the guys I know, so the behaviors/actions/whatever I describe may not be typical.

Last night, I got to spend time with some great folks. Granted, it was a bit heavy with guys at first, but I was there with my girl so it was all good. How do I know these people, you may ask. Well, mostly through the former job and school. These guys are so awesome. For one, they kept an immaculate apartment. You see what I mean about being atypical? Once we got around to conversing, I learned things I didn't expect about the other sex. Men feel more than I gave them credit for. They want to be in committed relationships and are in favor of the old stick 'n move as much they enjoy root canals. Okay, so sometimes stick 'n move works but they really do want to have one special person who will care for them forever. They idolize their moms, and call them repeatedly just because they love them. And you know what? They know they've been dumb at times (with their parental units) and they actually admit it to their parents. Even though their friendships differ from ours, they are dead loyal and care for each other as much as women care for their friends. And have I mentioned they like the ladies with intellect? Stupid and hot will only take a girl so far with these fellas.

Who'd have thunk it? Now, as I approach my writing, I have to consider these things. It would be more than unfair for me to fill my stories with callous jerks. Not that those don't exist. I've met more of them than I care to recall. My buds give me hope that happily-ever-after isn't a myth. I know these guys will make fantastic spouses one day, and I can't wait to see them find bliss with people who are equally fantastic.

Good times, rough reads

2007-10-19T21:41:00.000-06:00

One of my nearest and dearest friends had exciting news this week. Kay, you know who you are!!! Her screenplay, one that I was dead lucky to read, was optioned! Yea!!! For those of you, who like me have minimal knowledge of the screenwriter's path, think of optioning as selling to an editor. This is big time, and I am so proud of her accomplishments and glad to skim the circle of greatness that surrounds her. Let me tell you though, this has been no easy road for her, nor is this the endpoint. She's worked diligently. Always writing, always producing, editing and doing the things someone who claims to be a writer must do. Have I mentioned how proud I am of her yet? I am looking forward to seeing great things for this lady, and you know I'll keep you posted on her success.

In Elayne's world, I'm still waiting to hear from the agent on my manuscript. I still have a week or so left before I should hear back, so I'm chilling for the moment. Tonight, I opened the suspense manuscript that was requested at the September conference. It needed more clean up and still does, but I made it through about 80 pages. Something that hit me in the midst of edits was how much I genuinely love this story. The characters are solid, and with touching up, I've made my heroine more transparent and relateable. My hero is still a hottie, and I heartily admit to being a little in lust with the guy. Isn't that the point, though? I've written dribbles on the current project -- don't know what else to say on that score.

All I know is I'm exhausted and sapped of creative juices. Tomorrow is supposed to be a fun day -- fall party with the old workmates. I adore them, so I know I will have a blast. But I'm so tired now I feel like an old lady. For the celebration, I made one of my infamous cheesecakes. Going with the fall theme, it's pumpkin gingerbread. It smells amazing, and I'm not too humble to admit it's one of the best looking cheesecakes I've made in a little while. Hopefully, everyone enjoys it. Okay, I'm pushing against stone here. I'm going to take my butt to bed, but not before sharing about my recent reading experiences.

I just finished a book by a local author that I'm hedging about. The premise was interesting. Sorry, I won't share the concept or title here, but you can ask me in person if you're that curious. What bugs me about the book is the bland writing. In fiction, I expect more interesting prose and imagery. I want to read something that sticks to me like the drippy caramel from a freshly dipped caramel apple. That's not the case here, and I am so disappointed. On one hand, I celebrate the author's ability to garner the attention of an agent and editor -- to get her work on the shelves. On the other hand, I wonder what it is that the experts saw in the book. A title does not a book make, and after all, the publishing house probably changed the title anyway. But I can say this in all certainty, I've never seen the subject matter therein presented in contemporary material as it was in this work.

Maybe I'm jaded because I'm looking through romance eyes. That happens more often than I care to admit, my being biased because I've been steeped in one genre before leaping to another. I will have to re-read and re-evaluate. I am currently reading a paranormal romance. Again, a local author, and again a bit disappointing. The words/world/concept seem too closely related to so many others I've read before. In this author's defense, I really like the characters. So much so that if I LOVE the ending, I will read the rest of the series. All this weighs on my mind. How can I like one book so much that I'm willing to invest more of my time when the other made me wonder who I could pawn it off on?

I guess it all boils down to characterization. The characters in the first book I mentioned were AWFUL. I hated all of them and had the most terrible time trying to figure out who to cheer for or align my support with. They were all pretty wicked except for the one who ended up dead, and she wasn't stellar but I could at least understand her behavior. I don't think a re-read will change my perception of that, but I'll give it a few months and give it another go. Have you ever read or watched something that left you feeling empty at the end? How did you handle the disappointment?

Things a mom doesn't want to know

2007-10-15T23:32:00.000-06:00

So by now you all know I have a pre-teen male child. I still remember changing this boy's diapers, for God sake. Well, dear friends, he ain't in diapers anymore. DH came down to my dungeon to tell me he'd just found my Vickie's Secrets catalogue safely ensconced in said male child's bed. It's no secret that my husband and I have different ideas about all sorts of things, human sexuality included. He was having fits about our son "using" my catalogue. I laughed. It's all about the cycle of life, isn't it? And as long as I don't end up a way-too-young grandma, I'm content to let him do what needs doing.

We talk about sex in my house. I can't say I enjoy broaching the subject with my boys, but the thought of babies making babies is so much less appealing. Looks like I get to have a talk with him about self-pleasure. Goody, goody gumdrops. Hints and/or suggestions from the crowd? I don't want to leave him scarred for life like I was.

As to the writing ... things have been too good to be true. The KIA Marathon over at RWAOL is in full swing, and because I can't let my team down I've been a writing fool. My characters are so grateful. But here's the thing. I've come to a place where the person I thought would be dead is looking like he might stay alive. These people have taken on a life of their own. Isn't that always the way? So now I'm here trying to figure out what in the world is going on. My goal at the end of the month is to have 20K words complete on this manuscript. That means I have 12,000 to go. 48 pages. I can do it. I'll keep you posted.

On other fronts, I just finished Susan Elizabeth Phillips' Ain't She Sweet. If you haven't read her, what in the world are you waiting for? This was such a beautiful story; I was heartbroken to see it end. Perhaps it was the Mississippi setting that got to me since I lived in Biloxi for a year. Certainly, her way of crafting multi-dimensional characters pulls you through the story. I felt as though I knew those people, and in some cases felt as though SEP had stolen my angsty teen diary. No wonder she's on the NYT Bestsellers list. Now, all I have to do is figure out why I loved that book so much and get my writing up to par. Small task that. Ri-i-ight!!!

What have you read lately that's made you take notice?

All night long...

2007-10-11T22:43:00.000-06:00

Don't get excited. I'm not channeling our good buddy Lionel Ritchie. Just lamenting my Thursday night obligation. With these four hours I will spend tonight, I could be writing all the pages that need done to meet this week's goal. Holy hell! Ten frikken pages. I've written a total of two paragraphs. Instead of writing my blog I should be thinking about my characters, but here I sit.

My mind spirals with all the stuff I don't do or am really and truly too chickenshit to attempt. Why is rejection so hard to deal with? Why is it so much easier to pretend that everything is grand than to jump? It's the question of the unknown. I need to know what's going to happen. I'm not one of those folks who's into surprises -- good or otherwise. Surprises make me nervous. The crazy thing is that I will do almost anything on a whim or a dare. I LOVE spontaneity. I LOVE doing what feels right in an instant, and I'm never surprised by what I decide to do. But I can't cope with not knowing the outcomes of other people's impact on my life.

You know you've been there. Remember the guy you were crushing on in high school? You liked him so much it actually hurt your heart. It thumped so hard in your chest when he passed within three feet of you. No matter how intelligent you were, all grasp of reason, thought -- hell, LANGUAGE, left you because he was just in the vicinity. But never would you talk to him. Never would you approach him with the idea of pursuing a relationship beyond that longing glance across the hallway. And why? Because at this point, you have something. Even if it's unrequited love, lust or passion, it's enough to sustain you. There's hope in embracing that bit of chickendom because at least, you can fantasize that he could one day be yours. When you see him with another girls, you'll even tell yourself that he's only involved with said chickadee because he can't muster the courage to talk to you. And THAT feels good.

One day, you decide to grow a set of balls. Maybe you borrowed them from a friend or took them down from the jar on the shelf. It doesn't matter. You wait until he's alone, shuffling your books because you must have something to do with your hands. And finally after much throat-clearing, you take the plunge. You ask him to do something -- maybe going out for a burger or something -- and he makes an excuse. He doesn't want to go out with you. He has friends, sports, whatever that's more important than you are in that instant. The bell rings, and there you are still holding your books. Now, you want to cry in that hall. You want to curl into a ball and die, or if God truly was merciful, He'd allow the floor to swallow you to spare you from the hurt and mortification.

There's no mercy. You have to pick up the shards of your heart and move on. It hurts, and the pain doesn't stop. Yeah, it dulls or else how would anyone be able to survive? We do. The hurt makes us strong; the pain lets us know we're alive. And we plod along. If you're like me, you take that sliced up part of your heart and vow to NEVER let anyone do that to you again. The problem with my philosophy is that eventually, you run out of heart. You cover yourself in callouses and bullshit so no hurt can enter. But you know what? No love enters either. Trust me on this, it's a shitty way to live.

Tell me, dear friends, what do you do with hurt? And is there any way to remove the crust from your heart without employing one of those scraper things? Help a girl out!

TSTL

2007-10-10T20:13:00.000-06:00

Think about it for a moment. What do those letters mean? Is it another stupid acronym that will mean nothing to you tomorrow? Gosh, I hope not.

For those outside the romance writing world, TSTL means Too Stupid to Live. Lest anyone take offense, I'm not talking about anyone in particular -- or at least not you in particular -- unless, of course, you fit the criteria. One of the things writers rage against as they put pencil to paper is creating a heroine that makes the reader want to thrust the book at a wall and stomp on it madly. I sure as heck don't want my readers to get their sole pleasure in reading my work to come from a not-so-random act of violence committed against the paper and binding. Sometimes, though, don't you meet those people, the stupid ones I mean, and wonder how in God's name they survive from one day to the next? I know I do. And I would love to gloat and count myself amongst the intelligent ones. Those famed few who never fall prey to making the wrong decisions or hurting people because they are not grown up enough to do the right thing in the first place.

But I have to confess here and now. Today, and I am sure there are more days in my future, I joined the ranks of idiocy. You know what's terrible about the "dumb club" is that they're always looking for new members. Their list is never too full. Wouldn't it be great if there was a cap? Sorry, Elayne, we're too full this time around, so you're going to have to make the right choice, do the right thing. Unfortunately for me, no one says this aloud. And I've gotten so good in my old age at stomping down the still, quiet voice that I can numb myself to right and warmly embrace wrong. An old friend of mine would call this a case of loud and wrong. What's interesting about loud and wrong is that it's not an all or nothing deal. For example, I could be 90% right in my anger, frustration and motivation, but that leftover 10% can and WILL screw me every time. What's a girl to do?

We rage against these people when they show up in books. And God help us if they pop up on-screen. Been to a movie lately and screamed at the hussy who decided to run from the monster deep in the woods armed with nothing but her good looks, skimpy lingerie and some damned high-heeled shoes? Who does that? We get upset because it is so clear what they ought to do. Take off the flippin' heels, put on some damned clothes and don't trip over the tree roots. See, that was easy! But how hard is it when you're confronted with Mr. Right Enough and Mr. Right On? How much more difficult is it when it's about keeping your temper or flipping out because someone dared show fallibility?

For you aspiring authors, this is the tip of the iceberg. I promise. Your characters will do something so stupid you will want to give them a boot to the head. Guaranteed! The people you love will fail and hurt you so badly you will want to abdicate from the human race. The question is what are you gonna do about it. Will you be smart enough to trust that the people in your life, be they tangible or fictional, will do what is right? Or will you be like me, lining up in the ranks of the TSTL? As Captain Planet would say, "The power is yours!"

Homecoming revealed

2007-10-07T16:11:00.001-06:00

I went on so much about Homecoming yesterday, and totally forgot to share what happened. My college buddy and I went to the game a little late because I had some minor drama at home. Drama in my house takes only a few forms and centers around either my husband or the boys. I guess on more fun occasions, all of them gang up on me to drive me to crazy town. With as much time as I spend there, I've got frequent visitor rights. But I digress. No, I'll share the drama because it's all a part of the story.

My eldest has decided to skirt his chores. Nothing major or abnormal for an almost teenager. By the way, I got told today that I am hip for being a mom. Dude! How cool is that? Anyway, I was having folks over Friday, and while the house wasn't a mess, there was definite work that needed done if I was going to have company. I arrived home at six to find that my kitchen was wrecked -- dishes piled, the floors a rubbish heap, and the trash overflowing. My eldest tried to run the "I love you, Mom" scam on me. Complete with hug. Unfortunately for him, I wasn't wearing my BooBoo the Fool sticker. So while I appreciated his love, he was going to do the cleaning he'd skipped out on.

I had him start on the dishes while I changed into my cleaning clothes. You know the ones that are only good for working with bleach and NEVER for being worn in public. Oh yeah, I was a real hottie Friday night. I had just slipped into my gear when I heard my husband shout that grandpa was at the door so my son had to leave. I ran out of my room screaming that he shouldn't be rewarded for sneakiness by getting to leave for the Homecoming game early. My husband told me not to worry. Our son would come home and do all his chores. Right. After I was done doing all the work. Not a huge surprise that I was pretty pissed.

I started working and then my youngest came out of his room sans glasses. Of course, I asked where they were and he told me he'd lost them at recess. I just bought those glasses. When I asked my husband why he hadn't told me about the missing glasses, he said he hadn't noticed. I've got one word for you. RAGE! His concession was to send the little one out to the school to find them. Somewhere in the midst of all this chaos, my friend arrived. I'm so sorry, Patricia!

Fast forward to the game. Yes, more family drama ensued, but I'm going to leave it in the past where it belongs. My friend found us seats, and I was stoked about being able to watch the game and one of the hottest football coaches I've ever seen. Hey, before anyone gets their knickers in a twist, I'm married, not dead! And until my eyes stop working, I will appreciate beauty in all its many forms -- especially if it involves said coach. I need to freeze frame here to make sure the rest of this little tirade makes sense. Sorry, folks.

My friend and I went to a high school football game a while ago with another good buddy. After that game, I developed a reputation for being rowdy. I honestly have no clue how that all got started. Jeez, you get a little participative at a game and next thing you know, you're castigated for getting into the game. No fights broke out, and we all had a good time so nothing else matters.

So, back to this past Homecoming. My friend and I had great seats -- until we got kicked out of them. Lest you get too excited or think I am exciting, we didn't do anything outrageous to lose our seats. All the empty spots we found had been reserved for the band. Shucks. It was a blow-out for our school at any rate, so we retreated to my place for chili and the first season of Coupling. After all the day's drama, chilling out was just what I needed.

Now that it's nearly at an end, what did you do this weekend?

Good times

2007-10-07T08:31:00.000-06:00

It's official. Yes, I know I gave my notice a while ago, and Friday was my last day at the job but it didn't feel real until last night. An amazing send off with some of the best people in the world. And hey, there was karaoke involved. Can you tell me what would have been better? Actually, there are some things that could have been pleasant additions, but I'll keep those to myself -- fodder for the fiction. So after a great night out, why the hell did I wake at 7:30? The weekend is for sleeping and being lazy, yet I sprung from bed like I had somewhere to be. The real shame of it is that 7:30 is sleeping in for me.

Usually, I'm moving too fast to see my morning as anything more than a blur. Today, I remember my first thought. It's over. Are any of you performers? You know that feeling you get when you're waiting in the wings. Trapped between wanting to chicken out and being so excited that if you were a puppy, there would be a big ole wet spot in your seat. That's how I feel right now. Why? I have a manuscript in the hands of an agent. I am no longer a full-time employee for anyone or anywhere. And in 2008, I will be a licensed teacher. Parents will put their children in my trust and expect me to give them something. I keep wondering what will happen when I get my class. Will I stand in front of a room of freshmen and totally forget why I'm there?

When I subbed last year, except for when I was in the elementary schools, I didn't actually teach. And I never worked in my content area. When I finish this degree, students and their parents will have the right to expect me to know what I'm talking about. One thing I am immensely grateful for is the amazing set of colleagues I've met in class. All of us aspire to be in the classroom working with secondary level students. Most of us will do really well, too. I just wonder how many of my mates are sitting around with their stomachs churning. Waiting in the wings, as it were.

But it's definitely good times. My friends can hear the lightness in my voice when I talk. My best friend told me I sound the best I have in months. So much for me trying to ride undercover. I tried so hard to keep my shit storm from raining on those around me. Guess I'll buy everyone bigger umbrellas next time. Yeah, there will be a next time because there will always be people in the world who will work to screw you over even as you're trying to keep your head above water. It's all good though because I needed the reminder to take care of me. I was being everything for everyone but Elayne. My martyrdom ceased at 5:00 last Friday afternoon.

Okay, I'm off to write and finish off my breakfast of onion dip and potato chips. I'll be back, and I'll try to sound as elated as I feel. Tell me, folks, what do you do to take care of yourself?

Zoned out

2007-10-06T15:21:00.000-06:00

You can say I'm wrong, but some people -- maybe it's just the sound of their voices -- make my ears want to take leave from my head. I know I say this often. Actually, every time I start a new class. Good grief! Isn't there a way to absorb necessary materials via diffusion or osmosis? Forget calling me wrong. Call me tired, impatient, frustrated and excited about the weekend. Can you say Homecoming? Not mine, but that of my DH. Funny thing is he's not nearly as excited as I am about the game. In fact, he's almost dismal. I listened to a rant about how Homecoming is not what it used to be. It's about the alumni returning -- not about dances and parties and God knows what. Three minutes into his rant, my brain glazed. I could feel that nasty-looking red jelly stuff people insist on pouring over ham, oozing over every brain cell.

Have you ever felt like that? It seems to happen on a weekly basis nowadays. Every Thursday to be exact. And in no time flat, I'm back to bitching. Husbands always wonder how wives do it. I'm telling you here and now, it's a gift.

Got another question for you. What is the world's record for one person monopolizing four hours of class time? Bet Guinness doesn't have the stats.

Counting down

2007-10-02T21:58:00.000-06:00

Not much time left at the present job, and I am so happy. The pressure to finish all my tasks in time so as not to leave my esteemed colleagues holding the bag is immense. Something I've learned from blogging is how public it is. Yes, I know I put myself out here. I have no intention of going back to my little box, but I feel like I've left my butt flapping in the wind. Kind of reminds me of the time one of my friends paraded through church with the back of her skirt tucked into her pantyhose. I had no idea of her plight because she and I were walking side by side, but her embarrassment when someone righted the situation still haunts me. So much so that I never leave the lavatory without making sure that all my business is covered. But once the world has seen your behind, it's too late to cover it. So I will plunge ahead -- glad that I have no shame about that aspect of self. I guess it's good that everything I've spewed here is true.

On the writing front, I'm feeling pressured to produce. I'm a committed participant of the KIA Marathon over at RWA Online. What I do or fail to do impacts my team's success. It's not a competition against the others, but more of a challenge against my will, my laziness and a chance to demonstrate to myself the level of commitment I have to my craft. Tonight I wrote, and in all honesty, I could write more but am afraid. Bet you knew that was coming. I don't want to write crap. I want to be happy when I open the doc tomorrow, so I will stop while I'm ahead. Told you I'm a chicken.

The day's been long. Filled with baking, observing and working, so I am off to bed with a GREAT book, The Alchemist. It's been a while since I've felt able or even worthy to read the book. Please, if you haven't read it, do. It makes me want to revert to childhood. In a good way! Children know what their dreams are. They don't allow themselves to be constrained by the slavery of shoulds or can'ts. Children dream unabashedly, unashamedly, without fear. That is how we are supposed to be! Living without fear, not merely existing because existence is the easiest course of action. So I will revisit childhood dreams, weep for denying them a fair chance and working to create sense from the senseless.

What did you want to be as a child? Who did you want to be? And what's stopped you from doing it?

Doing what I do ...

2007-09-29T16:23:00.000-06:00

How much could you accomplish if you focused your energies on one thing? That's the question some of us at RWA Online will attempt to answer in the month of October. Every October, the members gear up for one of the biggest writing challenges of the year. Some of the members write for all those challenges, but one a year is just the start I need to tune my brain to productivity. Now, with our teams aligned and an objective at hand, we romance (and other esteemed) writers will do what we do. We will write because it's in our blood. We will honor our dear departed sister in the craft by living our dream because her life was cut short due to cancer. By the way, it is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Ladies, please check yourselves regularly and be agressive in guarding your health.

Even if none of us wins a bid for publication from this writing exercise, which I sincerely doubt, we will have done our best and stretched our wings. And sometimes exercising the faith involved in living dreams out loud is more than good enough.

What is your dream? And what are you doing to weave the threads of that dream into reality?

Forgot... shame on me!

2007-09-28T00:36:00.001-06:00

I received a request for a full of my manuscript this week! Yea!!! The agent thought my title was cute. She was the first to say so. I think it's pretty good, but what do I know? I'm stoked, and so glad that I sent it out. This manuscript was about to join the book of my heart in the realm of dustbunnies, but something told me to give it another try.

I still haven't sent out the partial requested from the conference I attended a week, or was it two, ago. Man alive! This week is going to be creative hell, but I am so looking forward to it because writing is my passion!!! Okay, I'm really leaving this time. My eyelids have lead weights on them.

You know you want to know...

2007-09-28T00:02:00.000-06:00

So today was my court date. Or should I say the court date of my fictional heroine... At any rate, I arrived at the courthouse at 0746. I fed the meter and went inside. After being processed airport style, I entered the room with about 70 others like myself. We watched a little video on how to work with the state judicial system and then we were issued plea documents. The whole process was interesting, and of course, possible fodder for the fiction. Now, I've never been a fan of daytime television. Got too much to do when it's on, but this judge had jokes. My favorite was when he told the senior citizen that she'd been charged with vehicular manslaughter in a school zone. All of us were stunned. It was one of those moments when a collective group can be said to have held their breath -- audibly! Of course all the dear lady was guilty of was speeding like the rest of us. I should be ashamed to say I laughed, but I haven't quite worked myself up to that level of maturity. Fair enough, we all needed a giggle before signing off the equivalent of vital organs in fines.

Tonight was the last night of class. At least this class. There will be many more as I am not scheduled to graduate until 2008, but you best believe I am perched in my recliner with an obscene amount of vodka to celebrate the end of the beginning. Sadly folks, tonight's post is short as I am dead dog tired and amping up for Salsa Night. There are bound to be more stories, and I promise to keep you posted. Buenas noches, friends!

I don’t need an anvil to fall on my head…

2007-09-21T14:42:00.001-06:00

So, I believe in signs. Wonders from the deep. Omens, all the freaky stuff you can see on Supernatural Saturday on BBC America. Well, here is my sign. You be the judge, though because I could be wrong. And hey! You lurkers, I want to hear from you because my brain is too addled to process much of anything that doesn't come with a diagram.

Last Monday, I went to work early so I would be able to get off early on Friday for the writers' conference. On the surface, this was a great plan – kosher with the bosses and my customers. Things were fantastic. I got so much done, and then one of my systems bogged. As they do, I thought. I shut the program and rebooted. Of course, the system failed again and had nerve to give me a personalized error message – "Call technical support." So I did. Together, the techie and I did the normal shut down/reboot routine and nothing worked so he put me on hold. FOR FIVE MINUTES!!! When he came back on, the hitch in his voice screamed I was in for a more complex fix – like crawling under the desk to unplug the beast. Finally, much throat clearing later, he said, "Do you have a manager in the office today, Elayne?" I said no and he had the displeasure of telling me I had been terminated.

Obviously, I work in an office, so it's not like the company is in the position to send me packing without following protocol. The big boss had in fact told me the Friday before that I was a good worker and they didn't want to lose me. The techie was prepared for a meltdown after the bomb he'd dropped on me. I could feel it through the fiber optic phone lines. Instead, I laughed and thanked him for helping me out. Then I went right back to the big boss who'd told me the company values my contribution so she could prove it. She got right on it and was promised a two minute fix. They may well have told her the check was in the mail for all their empty promise did. SIX hours later I regained access. For this "accidental termination," their words, not mine, I was given a half-assed apology and no congrats for superseding my daily goals despite being without my tools. Accidents happen, right?

Yesterday I was sent for training in Denver. From where I live, this is an hour-and-a-half drive on a good day. My life philosophy, at least for this week, is plan for the worst and hope for the best. I left my house just after 6 am. I'd got three hours of sleep (a sweet story for another time) and that drive was nothing I was looking forward to. Armed with the largest cup o' Joe I could find and a tank full of gas, I headed north. I made good time – arrived on site at three minutes after eight. That meant I had enough time to finish my homework for that night's class and chill before the seven hour training Eight-fifty rolled by and I didn't see anyone. My boss, who is a stickler for time and was also supposed to be there, wasn't; I got suspicious. I called my home office and reached no one. Nine came and people started arriving at the training site, but they had no clue what I was talking about when I referenced the day's training.

Now, I was pissed. Had I been lead on a wild goose chase? I called the boss and all he could say was "Oops! I thought you knew. Sorry. Hey, why don't you find a computer, log on and work while you wait until 10:30 when the training is scheduled to start." Is it possible to be double-pissed? My co-worker had been given the correct time, so he strolled in all nonchalant. Maybe triple-pissed is a more apt description.

While I was steaming over being misled, my husband called and told me my benefits team called him and said he'd been removed from my waiver list, which meant he was no longer a beneficiary. They were demanding payment for services rendered that should have been covered for anyone listed on my benefits plan. Remember that accidental termination? They told me there wouldn't be backlash for the company's "error." As usual, they lied. I cannot trust someone who lies about the simplest of things, let alone the bigguns.

So what do you think? Is all this a sign or am I reading too much into this?

Send in the Clowns

2007-09-16T00:32:00.001-06:00

Have you ever been so alone in a crowd of people that your heart began to cry because it would be too shameful for your eyes to burst in tears?

I feel crazy today. Absolutely out of sorts, in adequate and 50,000 other adjectives that swirl, spiral, cascade negativity. And there's no good reason. This weekend has been amazing I've met authors, agents, editors who buy what I want to sell. They are positive, forthright and honest about what differentiates the mediocre from the fantastic. I don't know where I fit, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I fall closer to mediocrity than to being a superior writer. I now this craft is hard, and it's not something one chooses as a hobby.

One writes because the soul doesn't know how to exist apart from the words. One writes because there is no other choice – short of death. My fear of fears is that I have nothing of merit to offer, dear friends. Tell me which writer on this planet has never had this fear! Yet at this moment, it's crippling and discouraging and makes me wonder if I've set myself up to dwell in the 7^th circle of hell the way I set my characters up. At least with them, after I've had my power trip they get a happy ending.

It's a negotiated promise. We sit at the table of my psyche and I promise them that if they trust me, and I mean really trust me, that I will make them happier than they ever thought possible. Yes, I'll take them to the dark moment, and they may have nightmares about it from now 'til eternity, but they will have their silver lining, the rainbow, a fucking parade if it fits the story. Okay, that's chuckle-worthy – a parade.

I was in a parade once – one of those small town homey things where the floats are more like catastrophes piled on the back of a homemade pickup truck. I was already on crutches at the time so I didn't figure anything that would happen aboard Bubba's truck would hurt me. Thankfully, I was right. A memory forgotten and retrieved because for some reason, I needed to remember. Me on a float, and people actually waving to me because I waved at them. People waving at me because they hoped they could catch my attention and that for one second our eyes would meet and I could assuage a drop of the loneliness that tugged at their souls while they stood feeling like I feel today.

Forgettable, un-wantable (I know that's not a word), and totally undeserving of any kind of attention. I hoped I was hiding this from outsiders because it's my private pain and my private shame. I think I was successful. Who knows? Maybe that's why I met an angel in the hall. For you fiction fans, I'm about to give you an exit from the dark moment. Yes, friends, our heroine escapes the mire. A lovely gentleman walked up to me while I was browsing a stand in the hall. He introduced himself to me and invited me to a concert he and some of his friends were doing. You see, they sing the blues, and my man JD plays the trombone. How could I refuse? Maybe he talked to me because he could tell I'm too senseless to avoid getting in conversations with strangers. Don't our parents warn against that? I like to think he was my angel. Maybe my insecurities were leaking and he had a moment to choose between leaving me to figure it out and sending me a lifeboat. Those of you who know me know I'd have got my act together eventually, but I am so glad he came to the rescue.

So today, I challenge you: be lifesavers, see someone – really look into another person's eyes and be willing to feel with them, for them. Be an angel.

Ode to a jerk

2007-09-08T00:46:00.000-06:00

So the title is a vain attempt at keepin' it clean here. DH just came in and told me he had to help a sibling resolve a domestic matter, one that will likely end in police reports, drama and dissolve in tears. One of my very good friends pointed out that I have a severe dislike for men, more like a problem respecting them. I have male friends -- always have, always will. But those fellas have earned my respect by not being assholes. And to be frank, I think they are such a small percent of the male population that I don't know that I count them for being male -- other than the obvious differentiating factors. Don't you love how I drop slang, cursing and proper English all in one paragraph? Part of my twisted reality.

Now, this domestic drama my husband has ridden off to help with is one that's been brewing for years, and one technically that shouldn't even be happening. At least that's what the magic of divorce says. No such luck. Apparently, a man who was a dickhead in marriage maintains the propensity to be a dickhead in divorce. So many things I'm learning this week. I never liked the bastard -- not when he hit on me when I was pregnant and not when he found a way to secure time with me alone years later. Men like him are what make me suspicious and hateful. And the terrible thing is I hate who I become when I spend too much of my precious time thinking of these jerks. Abuse is not okay. PERIOD. The people I love are mine, and God help anyone who hurts them.

Jerks of the world, consider yourselves warned.

More coffee, for the love of God!

2007-09-06T22:47:00.000-06:00

So once again, I'm behind in my blogging. Sorry, faithful friends. Back in class, back to the grindstone, back to wanting to tear my eyes out! You know they say time flies when you're having fun. Does that mean time sucks ass when you're bored? Should I have warned about gratuitous swearing before letting you read this post? As it's a bit late for that, all I can do is ask for forgiveness.

I've chugged my coffee, am desperate for another cup but I can't now! Argh!

Now, three cups down and I'm hummin'; don't ask me to select one piece of paper from my notebook or to do anything that even remotely requires fine motor skills. I am all hopped up, which means I'm all out of logic, patience, the ability to moderate my behavior. If you're still reading, you do so at your own risk. You've been warned.

So... Picture this... driving down the highway, cruising as you do, a young lady dressed in black discovers a cycle cop aiming a ray gun her way. Now, said young lady stomps her brake, praying that when she and the cop locked eyes that it had been a mere glance. No such luck for our heroine, dear friends. Our, I mean their eyes locked and next she knew, she held a summons for a court appearance in her hand. Who knew doing 71 in a 55 was illegal? Fuckin' A!

Back from the realm of fiction to my current reality.

How does one counteract too much coffee? Wine, of course! I've got two bottles chillin' at home, a gorgeous Merlot and a Gewurztraminer. For those who haven't tried the latter, come on over! It's one of two whites I can drink without suffering heartburn. Or maybe of the two whites I will gladly suffer heartburn for. So here I sit, Merlot by my side, typing away at my blog. I'm tired and avoiding thinking about next week's assignments and the weeks to come. The big picture is awesome-- the grande finale of all the effort. But it's the details that will get me there. How much is that like writing a novel?

I'm such a big picture person that I sometimes have difficulty presenting the details. Those can be glossed over, right? WRONG! The details are what transcend a flat character to the full-blown friends I've found between many books' covers. So I know one of the things I should work on. What about you? Do you see the big picture, or is life all about the details?

The wood between worlds

2007-08-28T23:36:00.000-06:00

Ten points to anyone who figures out the allusion referenced in the title. Don't ask me where you can use the points, though!

Normally, I write my blog in class. Today's Tuesday, so no class. Yet, here I am. I'm in one of those places where I don't know quite what to feel. As though my feelings need definition or permission to come out. How presumptuous of me to think so! I should be tired... and I am, but not mind-numbingly exhausted, though I think I should be. I'm still on my routine -- observing classroom behavior, going to work, coming home. Schoolwork fits in there somewhere, but there's no defined space. Days are long. So why am I still awake? Maybe because instead of blogging, I wrote a few paragraphs on the new manuscript.

A few paragraphs on bell-ringing. Almost in a Pavlovian sense, in that when a bell sounds, we expect to move. Perhaps to a new thing or whatever. We American students of a certain age equate that happy buzz with getting to the next class. We know we have mere minutes to get from point A to point B. Every step is calculated -- down to the potty break between classes. The snaking tentacles of that noise touches teachers too. A new set of faces and the drama that accompanies change. In my story, the bell is for the teachers. It never sounds when students are in school because these students are la creme de la creme and don't need anything as trite as a bell to signal them to move on. I don't know if this is going to remain an element in my book, but it's there today. For my heroine, it's a signal of mounting discontent -- a signal that she needs change. A theme, if you will. Mind you, she's never been afraid of change but it was much easier to roll with the punches when she wasn't under her mom's watchful eye.

Let's recap. So far, I've told you it's a multi-cultural cast with a drop dead sexy implant from England. They work at a posh school in C-Springs, as some of my dear co-workers call my new hometown. And there's a murder. I'm excited and nervous about where these folks will take me. I want to write so bad, but in my scant snatches of time that's just not possible. Yes, I know I could be writing that now instead of the blog but that takes more mental power than I have at the moment.

My question to you, dear readers is what is your bell? What is your signal to move onward and upward? And how do you respond to the buzz? Does it niggle at you and create a stirring of resentment or do you formulate a plan to use that few minutes between classes to do something productive? Inquiring minds and all...

Garscon! Some cheese with my whine please!

2007-08-23T22:42:00.000-06:00

I'm exhausted.

And I have only myself to blame. Last night, my DH decided he wanted to go out to eat. He was happy and wanted to celebrate, and honestly, what better way to celebrate than to eat? Enter the whine... Now, I work late and I had a term paper to finish. How in hell did I finish the first Master's? I told DH about my workload, but he wanted so much to go out. I figured I could lose an hour and still get to bed by midnight.

Yeah. How 'bout no! I lost three prime hours of study time. THREE frikken hours! And then DH said he was tired. Those of you who've met me know I'm a little bit crazy. When we're having a good time, crazy translates to fun. When I get angry, I'm a true nutbag. I snap. My head spins and DH swears I speak foreign languages. Well, I spoke Greek last night, boy. Little ears were around so I wasn't speaking advanced Greek, but DH got an earful.

Then I got to go downstairs and work on my paper. And that is the extent of my writing for the last two weeks. I've thought about my books and I even think I know who my murderer is and who's the victim. That excites me so much I may forgo an hour or two of sleep just to get those scenes down. Then again, maybe not.

What do you do when Mr. or Ms. Jekyll pays a visit? Maybe the better question is what do your loved ones do? I got my murderer out of it, so maybe I should thank my husband for taking me to crazy town. Can you write angry?

Who shall I be when I grow up?

2007-08-11T23:42:00.001-06:00

The last post was absolutely dismal. I make no apologies as it was honest, but man alive, I hate being depressing! So what's new on the writer front? Another rejection. The last I had out. It was a nice rejection. Of course, I have yet to receive one that says don't quit your day job. Instead of ranting and whining about why I suck, I sent out more queries. This writing business, and I do mean business, is a test of resilience. I am getting excited about the coming conference in November. I can't wait to leave work and do something that's all about me. All the weekends of overtime were killing me, and I've got more ahead, but instead of those hours equating to extra groceries or gas money that money will be dedicated to my coming excursions. After all, writing and sci-fi conferences don't pay for themselves!

On the work front, besides the overtime, I'm still vacillating between hating it and being in like. I spend more time with my workmates than I do my family, and as a mom that's difficult for me. Two sides of myself are fighting at all times and I don't know how to reconcile them. I work with people who plan prospective children around the peak seasons at work. Since I have only one planned child, to say I don't understand that sort of calculation is an understatement. As I drove to work this morning, I thought about my life and realized I've been a mom forever. Now, we all know this isn't true, but there aren't too many memories I have that aren't about or involving my children. I think I will be the most boring person alive when I don't have little people to cook for or admonish/cajole into cleaning their rooms. Sure, I can maintain my fledgling career as a karaoke diva but that will only take me so far. Eventually, people will stop indulging my need to be on stage.

Without a life and the people who propel me forward, what kind of writer will I be? One of those who writes dry books even I don't want to read. Good grief! So I'll have to do something amazingly interesting that will fuel stories for years to come. Recommendations anyone?

Moving forward

2007-08-04T02:07:00.000-06:00

My apologies for this incoherent post. My mind is Swiss cheese, so read at your own peril...

The writer's life is a difficult one. In the past month, I've dealt with death and disappointment. The latter stemming from both a lack of writing and more rejection. Yep, the dreaded R's came through the PO box this week. Yes, I'm disappointed by the turn-downs, but I'm even more disappointed in myself for not writing as much as I would have liked. What's funny is that I don't know when I could have squeezed the novel writing in. Between the school work and work work? Going to school is my bridge to the future I desire, so the papers must be done. Work pays the bills, so I can't exactly give that up either.

I'm running out of agents to query. All my faves have returned rejections. I know they are busy, but I can't help wishing I knew why. There are so many BRILLIANT writers out there whose work faces the same fate as mine. I know realistically my dream may never find fulfillment, yet I write. I can't stop, but I wonder if I should just focus on my day job. I think my writing is good, but I'm biased, aren't I? My husband say my last book, well the book before last, is good. He's flabbergasted as to why no one wants to see more of my work. His support is beyond nice because I know he won't lie to me. He told me pretty plain out that my first book sucked. I was okay with that. Maybe not okay because it was the book of my heart, but it is so skewed and un-ready for publication. I appreciate his honesty, and maybe one day I'll re-work the book and it will be the YA novel I envisioned it to be. For now, I'm focusing on moving forward and trying not to get swamped in the mires of PMS.

I am tired of rejection. I get it everyday at the job and I get it from people in the world I so desperately want to be part of. Life would be so much easier if I could give up and accept the fate that the Universe seems to be dealing me. Why do I have to be stubborn? I wanted to go to my writing conference this year. Finally, it looks as though that might not be a dream but reality. My dear husband finally got a job. I will have money to go-- to pay for last minute plane tickets and the conference fee even. But what do I have to offer? I feel like I should be able to present something if I go. It dawned on me that since the last conference, I have written another book. I do have something to show for my year. I started writing the third book on the plane home from that conference in fact. I've tried to avoid looking at the conference website because I didn't want to get excited for nothing. I am excited though. Maybe everyone will hate it as much as the last. Maybe someone will love it and want to see more. I don't know. What I do know is that if I don't give myself a chance, I'll be in the same place I am now. Wondering what I should do with my life. Wondering what I'll be when I grow up. I hate not knowing. So Miss Julie, it looks like I will see you in November. If for no other reason than to touch the energy of people like myself -- writers who write because that is simply what they do.

That stupid inner voice is telling me to give up. To switch jobs because deep down I want to be venerated and loved by the people I deal with. To stop writing toward publication because who in hell would actually want to read my books. To just plain give up. Maybe I'm too stubborn or too stupid to listen. I can't stop writing. The job may go but I won't fight the writing diva. Last week I wrote half of my first chapter and I was excited about the book. I have no idea where it's going, but I'm excited because it was fun and the release I needed. The release the characters needed. I don't know where to query, and I keep seeing the words of the contest judge who told me the time for my story is now. I cling to that response because that judge is in the industry and knows what's hot. At the same time, I have to wonder why none of the agents agree. Perhaps it's a case of querying the wrong people at the wrong time. I'm spinning my wheels here, folks! I have one query out. A query to a publishing house. God, I would feel vindicated if they said they wanted to see more!

I feel so fortunate to know writers who've stood on the crux of success, bearing the weight of sticking with their day job and writing. Those who have stuck with it through the disappointment and moved forward are now enjoying fulfillment as real published writers. It could be that my last book is the one that connects with agents, publishers and the reading public. Maybe the book before last is destined for dust bunny heaven like the first. Who knows? But I will never get even a semblance of a clue by remaining sequestered in four walls... or my cubicle at work, or any confined space. I'm afraid, but I'm moving forward. So what do you say, dear readers? What do you do when facing life change? Advice, anyone? I'm in desperation here!

Death stinks

2007-07-14T21:47:00.000-06:00

Just got back from a funeral. God, I wish people didn't have to die. The older I get the worse it is. My husband's uncle and his great aunt died this week. Today was his uncle's farewell, and next week will be his aunt's. His uncle was too young; his kids were too young to have to go through it too. I sat there, watching them cry and it reminded me of my dad's death. I felt too young to have to do everything--to plan a funeral and handle all the stuff that goes with death. I didn't cry when my dad died because there wasn't time for tears. I couldn't afford a meltdown. So today I cried for them as much as for myself. I know time is supposed to heal all hurts, but honestly all it does is cover them in more stuff so the pain isn't so sharp.

To Terry. A man I wish I'd been able to know better. Happy trails... until we meet again.

A pie, a cake and four dozen cookies later...

2007-07-04T05:54:00.000-06:00

I know, I know. Another crazy title, but this one is relevant. Promise! First off, happy Independence Day! Today I'm off. You probably guessed that from the title of this blog. Tomorrow, I may still be off mentally, but I will have my behind firmly planted in my chair at work. A lot has happened in the past week, so let me explain. No, I will sum up.

The day after I did my encore grad school performance (yeah, I know it will be another year, but I'm feeling silly, so I hope you'll roll with me), our office had a sports day. I call myself the old bat of the office. Everyone there is like thirteen. They've got crayons and dollies while I've got 50,000 kids. Ah, the disparity! They tell me I'm not old, but they're just saying that so I will keep slipping them coffee. I know the truth.

Anyway, back to sports day. I'd talked a lot of trash with my co-workers, sent emails to incite a blood bath between our north and south locations. The irony wasn't lost on me. We were scheduled for basketball, volleyball, corn holers and something else I'm sure. I don't play basketball, never been good at it. Volleyball, on the other hand, is my sport from back in the day. The only problem was one of my co-workers, the one who is a volleyball coach, chose to be on the other team. I got serious. So serious in fact that I will have new scars to prove it. After my trip to the doctor yesterday, I'm in much less pain. The doc said I don't get paid to dive, but the nurse told me to keep having fun. Guess which option I'm choosing!

What does this have to do with the dessert menu masquerading as a blog title today? Nothing if you think in a linear pattern, but tangential thinkers will appreciate this. Last weekend saw me armed with cheesecake and a gorgeous strawberry topping for a bridal shower. This almost weekend, I'm headed to my father-in-law's armed with goodies. He and my mother-in-law are hosting a potluck 4th party. Of all the things they know I cook, and I am an awesome cook, my FIL requested something patriotic--like chocolate cake.

Chocolate cake? That's not patriotic. I told him (through my husband) that I would make apple pie. Mom, baseball and apple pie. See, good ole American values. What my dear FIL and MIL don't know is that I'm bringing a chocolate cake and the awesome cookies DH stayed up baking. And I wonder why the nephews are always trying to come over to eat! Every weekend has come with a bigger and better dessert. What in the world will happen next week? I mean, seriously, how do I top cake, cookies and pie? And Cool Whip is not an option!

How are you planning to celebrate your independence?

Backpack, backpack

2007-06-28T22:25:00.000-06:00

Have I lost my mind? Of course not, dear friends! Tonight was my first night back in school. Nope, one master's degree wasn't enough. Your nearest and dearest author-desperately-seeking-publication (okay, one of your nearest and dearest) is on the road to a master's in education--secondary to be specific. No snickering allowed. I love the classroom! And I'm a damn good teacher, too. The only thing I lack is certification, so off I go!

It's been a long time since I've sat at a desk, next to my peers, listening to lecture while fighting to stay awake. None of the activity is boring. Quite the contrary. Tonight, I've discovered what the hero for my next book looks like. He sits across from me with hair so dark it's almost black and eyes like the ocean as it rolls into Haunauma Bay.

For those of you with more delicate sensibilities, you may want to avoid the next sentence or two. The next book opens with violence. Well, partial nudity and violence. But, dear friends, that little instance of violence is the flash introduction of our hero and heroine. [We now return to our scheduled programming]

Right now, she is a healthy-sized girl (woman)., one with curves who isn't exactly trying to lose them. He is dreamy, and not the type she'd expect to find even remotely attracted to her. All I'll say for now is HOT. And yes, it was imperative that it be in all caps. I'm back to a multi-cultural cast, unlike my last book. And the characters will have to overcome their differences to make what's fantasy oh-so-real. Yeah, somewhere in there, there will be a crime or life-threatening situation they must battle as well, but I haven't worked that out as of yet. I will have to keep you posted.

Should I be mildly embarrassed that I wrote this blog in the middle of lecture this evening? I'm not in the least, I assure you. My fellow classmates watched me scribe furiously, probably thinking I'm some sort of overachiever. If only they knew. What do you get up to when people around you think you're working?

Fasten your seatbelts...

2007-06-21T22:12:00.000-06:00

This is a blog about absolutely nothing. You see, I'm sitting here, eyes barely open from my late nights and early mornings, debating over whether or not I should eat. Oh, I don't want just anything, folks. I want a hamburger. Please don't ask me why because I can't answer that question for myself. It just sounds good to me. Almost as good as crawling (climbing, actually) into my giant bed for 50 hours of sleep. Wine just isn't cutting it.

The problem is if I cook, it could cause my husband an ego hit. He made dinner, which smelled a little charred when I came home an hour late from work. I love what he made--black-eyed peas--but I want something different. This is probably a lame excuse to avoid writing. I'll admit it. If I felt more awake, I might actually muster the energy to feel guilty about that. As it stands, guilt ain't on the menu tonight.

I did a classic no-no last night and opened an old manuscript for kicks. Yet again, I've discovered a personal flaw. I have no clue how to describe my stories. Like writing them isn't enough. Did you hear that sigh? As a solution to this newly discovered issue, I asked a co-worker who does not at all read in my genre to read my 2nd book with the purpose of telling me what she thinks the story's about.

I asked her first, didn't just dump the 400 pages on her lap. She was actually excited, poor thing! Last we spoke about it, she said the beginning of my book "totally captivated" her. Now, I'd told her to be brutal with me before she even agreed to read. After all, my goal is publication, not a pat on the head. I'm curious to know what she'll say about all the rest. This experience is sort of like querying agents. You want to know what they're going to say, but you can't ask because that goes against established mores. Instead, you wait for the slip of paper to arrive in the mail. Yes, I need to see more, or the more common big fat NO. There go those pins and needles...

Balance

2007-06-20T21:08:00.000-06:00

Yeah, I'm learning. This has been quite the test. Moving, becoming the breadwinner, and trying to maintain a vise-grip on my title as domestic goddess. Somewhere in there, I fit in writing and a dash of fun to keep my life in check. Invariably, I slip somewhere. Guess where it's been lately? My poor blog has been so neglected.

The writing has been fun. I'm filling in the middle, and it's not terrible. In fact, I learned something. My manuscript is nearly finished. I thought I had two chapters to go, but I'm wrapping it up now. There's nothing more to be said, no more poor horse to continue beating. A few more pages, and my characters will have shared as much of their story that they're going to. The good news is we're all okay with that. Soon, I'll begin a whole new round of queries, and maybe this story will tickle the fancy of those who couldn't feel the last one.

Each story is practice. An exercise of the imagination and skill. That's what I need to remember. If you'd asked me years ago if I even thought I could finish a story, I'd have told you no. I had gobs of ideas, but I never believed that I could actually do it. Yet, I never stopped writing. I just never finished. Fast forward, and I have 2.9 finished books under my belt. In each, the theme feels the same, but the stories are very different. How could I have doubted myself? Easy. I let fear be my guide. And what a treacherous guide fear was!

Fear choked my confidence. Stopped me from sharing my passion with others--even loved ones. Fear choked my hard-drive with incomplete novels, which only proved to serve that fear was right. So what pushed me forward? I'm still trying to solve that puzzle. A large part of overcoming for me had to have been finding a group of folks trekking the same trail. I won't be so PC as to say all of these people were helpful or had pure designs, but they did know what I suffered. Sadly, some of them chose to sit on the trail while others plodded on. Hiding their fourteen manuscripts under the bed, taking them out only to beat those of us in the single digits over the head when opportunity availed.

I took the beating and learned from it. More than not to trample on others' hopes, too. I've figured out that all of us who call ourselves writers do so with varying levels of purpose. There was a time I was just proud to finish a book. Publication was almost non-existent on my goal radar. I don't know when that changed. All I know is my intention changed. The burning that inspired me to write in the first place swelled to an inferno pointing me to see my work on bookshelves. Allow me to indulge some relativism here. I don't think any of these perspectives are wrong. Some of us bike the path, some will run, drive, wind sail; and some of us need to sit and take a break. It's all good. This is a journey that seems to be more about the why than the how.

What's your take? My feelings won't be hurt if you tell me I'm just blowing smoke, but I sure am curious. Happy trails ;)

Part Deux

2007-06-11T21:50:00.000-06:00

Okay, so it wasn't all crap. I wrote, edited and did what needed to be done. Those folks at Nike give great advice--Just Do it! I still don't know how exactly I'm going to get my character from curry to blood smeared hands, but it will happen. There are a few things stirring in my brain. Let's just hope they make it to paper before they leak onto my pillows as I sleep. Nighty-night, folks! And happy, happy writing!

Long time, no blog

2007-06-11T20:31:00.000-06:00

Jeez Louise! It has been a long time. Just about a week, and no I'm in my house all alone because DH and the minions have gone to Denver for the day. I should be writing now, doing all the things I've wanted to do for an age amidst the peace and quiet. And I'm afraid to open my manuscript. What if I don't have anything worth saying? What if my characters revolt and refuse to show up to play? Sometimes I wonder if I'm even cut out for the writing business. Like I said, Jeez Louise! I don't think I can call this writer's block. Hell, I'd have to open the manuscript, wouldn't I?

I've never stood down to any challenge, so I guess that means I'll open my book and write it. Can you hear the sigh? It was one of those big chest-heaving ones. Okay. Here I go. Wish me luck!

Rejection

2007-06-04T21:45:00.000-06:00

Yes, the dreaded "R" word. And I've got lots of experience with it lately. You see, dear friends, I have been a mad, querying fool. I've stayed up into the night sending letters to agents who handle what I write, and the rejections have come pouring in. It's all good, as my brother would say. I can't be rejected if I'm not exposing myself. Okay, so it sucks a little bit, but each response brings me closer to forging a relationship with the agent and/or editor of my dreams. Too many people in my path, people with credentials, have told me my writing is solid for me to quit because of some turn-downs. People say no to me all the time, but for every 50 "no's" there is bound to be a "yes." And I'm going to keep pushing 'til I get it.

I know I'm not the only one facing Rejection Hill. Perhaps the great thing about it is there's no such thing as walking that long mile alone. What's interesting to me is that it works differently for people in other professional writing arenas. Take my dear friend Kay. She's a screenwriter, and a damn good one. That community seems smaller than that of novelists, and it is more closed from this outsider's perspective. She presses on, calling agents even when they slam the phone down, to see if they're accepting queries. I respect that, and she will be my inspiration, my companion up the hill that runs up both ways.

What do you do when people slam the door in your face, hang up on you or put you on ignore? We all have the option to pull the covers overhead and pretend it's all a bad dream. We can rant and rail against the people who are keeping us down. Or, we can be the champions we know ourselves to be, pick ourselves up, dust off and keep on truckin'.

It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don't give a damn what you say, they're going to write. ~Sinclair Lewis

Secrets...

2007-05-31T23:19:00.000-06:00

So, yesterday I put on the mantle of silence. It worked. Listening is hard work. Today, my boss sat me down and told me I need to talk more with her. When I shared this with my friends and husband they asked if I was screwing up at work. That got a big, fat NO. I'm doing well at work. The problem is I internalize everything and feel that any snafu, my fault or no, is somehow a failing on my part. Now, I've got to re-learn how to function in corporate society. I've always been in places where I was responsible for my own knowledge, and as I'm a self-learning type, that works for me. That is not the culture of my present job. My boss is nervous because I don't talk to her enough. She said, in fact, that she sometimes forgets I'm there because I'm so quiet! That was my biggest laugh today. No one has ever accused me of being that quiet.

Balance, balance, balance. When I do talk at work, which feels like a constant as it is a byproduct of the job, people ask if I've ever considered radio. And if they're feeling really mischievous, they ask if I've ever considered doing phone sex for a living. Yikes! Now, I do always say I have a face for radio, but phone sex? Come on! My attention span is WAY too short for that. Guess it's nice to know I have a fall-back if this burgeoning career falls through. Phone sex...

I wonder if that's why my characters have such interesting lives. So far, on the outside they are innocuous women no one would ever suspect of being anything other than teachers, moms, or otherwise. These women are dark horses, be assured. I doubt I'll ever write a phone sex suspense, but it does sound like one for the "think box." What makes a character for me, fiction or otherwise, is that deep secret that becomes unveiled at the right moment. Like finding out your best friend for years was a champion ballroom dancer decades ago. Yep, that really happened. I already loved her, but I gained a new level of respect for her many talents.

Confession time... What are your secrets?

A slice of silence anyone?

2007-05-30T01:03:00.000-06:00

We have two ears and one mouth, in most cases. Yet how much do we actually use those features in proportion? I know I'm guilty of disproportionate use. My success at work is dependant upon my ability to hear what my customers say as well as what they don't say so I can give them the best options. I'm a talker by nature. Just ask anyone who's had the pleasure of reading one of my rough drafts! My trainer summed it up perfectly. "Elayne, you love words, but you talk so fast! Make sure your words mean something!" Talk about being put in my place.

My goal this week is to shut up. To make my words count. Sure, I heard it at work, but what's funny is that all of the principles I'm learning at work translate to my writing. See above comment. I do love words. Maybe because I've spent my whole life trying to prove my worth, I depend on words too much. Silence is equally impactful.

Tomorrow I'm going to be quiet. I'll probably bust wanting to say the unnecessary, but my goal is to let people tell me their story. Just like my characters want to tell their story. How much have I gotten in the way of my success? Can I pause for a beat and let people, be they real or fiction, speak to me? Only time will tell.

Not feeling so hot...

2007-05-25T14:50:00.000-06:00

You ever have one of those days where you feel like an absolute failure? Nothing happened that made today terrible. In fact, it was blase. My problem is me. I am a perfectionist, and when I feel that I've deviated from perfect, it chips away at me. I am good at my job, though I am still learning so it feels like everything is an uphill climb. My customers love me, and the feeling is mutual. I adore my co-workers and can't tell you how much time we spend laughing and keeping each other motivated. On the drive home from work it dawned on me that being successful is more work than just doing a job. Success in my mind means that I top yesterday's achievements. What if I just can't? But see, can't isn't an option because too many people depend on me to perform. Too many people believe I can do anything I put my mind to. As empowering as it is to know that my family and friends respect me that much, it is also daunting. And exhausting.

So I was feeling pretty funky when I slumped through the door. Going shopping for jeans after work did nothing to make me feel better, but that's a blog for another day. Anyway, I logged into laptop central and checked my email. My eldest son's teacher responded to the note I sent her late last night. Big sigh. I will sum up as best I can how I came to be writing a late night email to my son's literature teacher.

To start, DH and I have VERY different political views, and we are equally passionate in these beliefs. Add to the mix that we're both first born and watch the drama explode! My eldest came home one day and told his dad that the teacher was reading a nasty book full of bad words in class. His words, not mine. He said the book made him feel uncomfortable. After probing, my son told my husband what bothered him was that there was a boy in a dress who claimed to have "two pee-pees." I have to say to my husband's credit, he researched the book before writing a letter to the teacher. The conclusion of the letter being that he would let our son decide the best course of action.

The next day, the teacher sent home a copy of the book so we could review it. I was excited because I wanted to see what all the drama was about. Because the book had to be returned by the end of the school year, I put aside my TBR pile and plunged in. It was an amazing read, and I am so glad I had the opportunity to read it.

Let's go back to the teacher. I wrote her a note, thanking her for allowing me to read the book and for promoting more thoughtful student interaction. Yes, the book was that good. She not only wrote me back, but CC'd the Dean and shared my letter. She said my thanks made her week. The Dean emailed me to tell me that parents don't often thank the teachers for the good they do, so she appreciated me taking the time to do so. I was shocked, and probably will be for awhile because it was the right thing to do. What kind of world do we live in that thank you, two simple words, can make someone's week?

So when I went back to thinking about being an abysmal failure because I'm not yet perfect, I had to shift gears. Maybe if I can manage to spread sunshine when I'm feeling nothing but storm clouds, life isn't so bad. By the way, in case you wanted to know, the name of the book was The Misfits by James Howe.

Van Damme, it's Thursday!

2007-05-24T21:54:00.000-06:00

I'm so happy it's Thursday, I should be ashamed. All I can think about is how much sleep I will get this weekend. I'm sure I'll make some time for writing. After all, I have the middle of the end bits to fill in. And I think this book may require an epilogue. I know if I was the reader and came to the end as it stands, I'd feel cheated. I'm one of those people who has to know what happened to my good fictional friends.

Today at work, my co-workers asked us to share our song. Nope, not a romantic one. If you were to enter a room and music announced your arrival, what would the song be? Daunting, isn't it? Maybe not for you all because you are more savvy than me, but I am still stumped. I want to find something clever, not too common, yet something I actually know. I'm not really good with music, so I'm hoping they forget.

What's your theme music?

The end!

2007-05-23T22:36:00.000-06:00

I've been a busy little bee, friends. Tonight, after much toil and torment, I wrote the end of this book. I won't tell you that I skipped some bits. Nope, you won't hear that from me! It's not cheating, really, the end was ready to be written. It's violent and terrible, and perhaps even a bit shocking. I love it. My girl isn't displaying any of those behaviors girls of my time were taught--that whole demure grin and bear it nonsense. She's doing the one thing I think most of us have wanted to do at one time or another--paying back the one who's hurt us.

Maybe it's just me, but sometimes I do want to exact revenge on people who've taken the time out of their day to make my existence a living nightmare. That's such an unhealthy way to live, I know, which is why I don't indulge. My characters get to do it for me. Almost like that scene in The Man Who Knew Too Little starring Bill Murray. Anyone ever seen it? It's one of my favorites! Bill Murray's character is driving down a closed roadway, hitting the orange cones in such a way that they fly up in an arc before landing on the road again. He says he's always wanted to do it. The cops chasing him echo his sentiments. Granted my characters opted for violence rather than a fun bit of mischief. What does that say about me? Yikes!

A little whine, hold the cheese...

2007-05-21T22:44:00.000-06:00

My characters are getting married. Their friends and family are going to be furious I'm sure because the happy couple snuck off to do the deed. Is snuck even a word? I doubt it, but it seems to fit, so I'm not changing it. A while ago I wasn't sure what these people were going to do. They held their cards close to their chests, if you know what I mean. Lately, they've been more vocal. So now I'm up to the big scene, and I wonder how it will turn out. Sure, they're going to be together forever, happy in wedded bliss, but they aren't quite there yet. I've got about two chapters left, and a body to put on the ground. Things are about to get interesting.

Elsewhere in this writer's world, I continue to tweak my house to my specs. We've worked hard, and I'm tired of all of it. Where can a wife/mom/working gal go to retire? Jeez, I'd be happy with a weekend! Already this weekend is packed with more family events. Never mind that this weekend is our anniversary. We are supposed to travel the countryside at the family's whim. Can you tell I'm not pleased? It's not that I don't like them. I do. I just want one weekend where I sleep in and don't wake up tired. DH said I don't have to do anything I don't want to . He's in a ticklish situation--caught between his parents and me. I'm not ranting at him. For now, I'm pretending to have no obligations outside my home. It's almost working.

Fried, dyed, and laid to the side...

2007-05-19T22:18:00.000-06:00

Yup, it's another title that bears no meaning to the text herein. So, if you thought you were in for something exciting, prepare to be disappointed. Possibly. Saturday is my day to chill out. Yeah, there's yard work and housework to do, but I try to sleep in and pretend none of it exists. My children had other plans for me. At six-thirty, the sun stretched its fingers under the blackout blinds, the neighbors' birds chirped a "good morning" song, and my youngest son dragged himself into my room to tell me calamity befell him as he tried to get out of bed.

How hard is it to jump from the bed to the floor? In all fairness, he sleeps on the top bunk, so his trip is a tad longer than mine, but that's what the ladder is for! Not for my baby. No, he had to try to flip from the top to the bottom bunk. He managed to get his leg caught on the way down (didn't know the air had arms) and struck his head on a bookshelf. I'm still confused about the logistics of it all, but I was tired. The good news is he's fine. His big brother was traumatized by seeing the drama unfold. I've learned to be less reactive, as I know that boy is a drama king. Everything about him is animated. He's mouthy as all get out, and loves to attention. We're still in a quandary as to how he came by these traits.

A few minutes later he was using one of his dad's canes to vault through the house and terrorize my eldest. Told you he was fine. It's just funny to watch them all together--especially when they've got their minds set on no good. I love how they stick together. The way they all don the blank stare when I ask who ate cherries in the bed and threw the pits on the floor. That's love. I hope they will always be that way, minus the seeds, because life is hard but so much better/easier when one proceeds with company. Sure, misery loves company, but I've never had a good time that didn't involve human contact in one way or another. Besides, if my boys don't stick together, who will believe their crazy mom stories?

On the writing front, I've cleaned up a lot of stuff and feel like I can finally move forward. Yea! I'm supposed to be writing right now, but here I am pretending the novel fairies will come out and do the ending while I sleep. The way those faeries have been slacking around the house, I don't know why I trust them. Oh well. Must get to work. My characters are calling...or is that the dinner dishes? Happy Saturday!

The Happy Hooker...

2007-05-18T23:42:00.000-06:00

One of my dear writer friends paid me an extreme compliment weeks ago--one I'm still processing. She read what's available of my current work in progress and told me that each chapter ended with such a strong hook that had to read on. Isn't that what we want as writers? To write the book that won't let you go to sleep 'til you've finished it? I was tickled when she said that to me, but thrilled when I read her edits of my work. Now I must share why I love her critiques so much.

She is a screenwriter. What that means to me is that she has what seems to me an innate ability to remove fluff. I've tightened a lot of my work because of her recommendations. After my first manuscript, which she read, incidentally, I dropped the adverbs. Okay, so more like tamed them, but for me it feels the same. You'd never know by the way I write this blog that I can string sentences together in a cogent manner. This is my free space, so I indulge.

In my dreams, I possess the material of a screenwriter. The ability to write succinctly, yet rich with vivid detail. In my waking existence, I know I am a novelist. I feel as though I need all those words to paint a picture, so I guess I do. Being around my dear friend has taught me how amazing the craft of producing a screen or stay play is. I know at this point that is not my gift. Someone once told me that we admire in others those qualities we do not possess. For me, that is truth.

For a second I was tempted to think she was just being nice, but as I read her comments from page to page, I realized that she was being honest. She hasn't minced words or sugar-coated her critique to the point of oblivion. Have I mentioned lately how much I appreciate people telling me the truth? So when she told me she was hooked from one chapter to the next, I squealed, "I'm a hooker!" She laughed. I think I stunned her for a moment; an accomplishment if I do say so myself. I always wanted to be a hooker. That should be every writer's goal, right? I mean really, not everyone is going to read a book that doesn't captivate them from word one. Time is precious, so why waste it doing something you don't benefit from.

It's funny how this writing principle finds itself in other parts of my life--like say, work. One of the things we talk about on the job is what's in it for the customer. If you don't see the value of my service, you aren't going to buy it. Logical when it's put in words. So what's in it for the reader when they sit with my book? Shouldn't they find something compelling to keep them there, nose tucked in the pages? I know there will be people who don't "get" my writing. There are authors out there I don't enjoy, but I have this compulsion that makes me finish what I start. Every book on the shelf or in the remainder bin holds a lesson. More than a story, I am learning to to see that quality that differentiates one novel from another. Regardless of what happens to my books, I will always hold a deep regard for wordsmiths. I don't know if it's talent or training that makes a writer. I don't know that it matters, but I intend to keep on hooking.

What do you do to keep your readers reading?

One more, then I'm going to bed!

2007-05-06T22:30:00.000-06:00

Responding to Julie's and Ellen's comments got me thinking, and rather than write a ridiculously long comment, I thought I'd share here. I've got queries out there. Writing is an exercise in bravery for me. Each time I share my work with someone else, I'm putting my neck on the chopping block. I'm putting myself there! What kind of parallel universe have I slipped into? Purposely subjecting myself to rejection. Such is the writer's life. I could be a true wannabe, and never let my pages see the light of day, but I'm not wired that way. Even if it hurts, I have to give myself the chance to succeed. I don't want to be an old woman with stories of what I could have been. I don't want to have to explain to my children why I never chased my dreams. Yes, rejection hurts, but embodying failure in the eyes of my children is more pain than I'm willing to endure.

But I digress. I sent off two agent queries at the end of January--literally the end. It's May, and I've heard nothing. Part of me wants to be happy that it's taking so long. No news is good news, right? The other part of me is afraid that I've waited all this time for a rejection. Thanks to the Golden Heart, I've learned that my writing evokes strong emotion. That's a great feeling as a writer, though I wish it translated into better contest scores. The whole business is subjective, so I wasn't too disappointed with my results. The waiting was what killed me! So now, here I am again, waiting to see what these agents will have to say about my work. For the record, Julie, I took Linda Lael Miller's advice and submitted my work to Harlequin. I haven't heard from them yet either, but I only sent it off early March, so it could be a while. How am I supposed to stay sane while waiting for a response?

I do have a few ideas. There's a contest I plan to enter--Mid-Michigan RWA's "Happily Ever After." I love all of my manuscript, but the end is my favorite part. We'll see how that goes. Of course, I have editing to do on my RS. And I've got a new one in the works, which should be a funny suspense. At least the beginning is funny, so I'm excited about getting it going. Okay, that worked. I'll make it a few more days.

TBD

2007-05-04T20:32:00.000-06:00

I've run out of ideas for titles. At least titles that reflect the crazy, rested, happy mood I'm in. So TBD works. For kicks, I thought I'd cruise the web. I've hit a couple blogs and my favorite writing sites, with one exception. It's been a good night. Dinner was sour Skittles washed down with Diet Coke. Not for my kids, of course! So much for my diet though. For a control freak, my leniency with myself is beyond belief. I really ought to do something about that. Anyway, as I perused some good sites, I came across my favorite writer's conference, La Jolla Writers Conference.

Okay, that makes it sound like it was by sheer happenstance that I entered the website. Not quite true, I'm afraid. I went there with a purpose. I wanted to see who was attending this year and perhaps jinn up some courage to have a private read. I'm still working on the courage part, but I learned the coolest thing. They have a special rate this year for dynamic duos. This is already one of the most affordable conferences available to authors across genre spectra, but the new discount makes it difficult to pass up. By then, I'll have time to take from work and my short day is Friday anyway, so I wouldn't lose much. I know the airport and love La Jolla. Do you see how I'm having a difficult time telling myself no? Anyway, if you're curious about LJWC, please check out the link to the right. This year, I wanted to go to RWA's conference, but there was no way to swing it with the move. I've told myself to be content with the pictures and the workshop recordings, which are fabulous by the way.

So because I can't come up with anything savvy to say, happy Friday all!!!

Things that make you go hmmm....

2007-05-03T23:21:00.000-06:00

Life is funny sometimes... I love where I work. The people are amazing and I spend a lot more time laughing than I get paid to do. But hey, it makes the days fly! We just got these cool carafes for our coffee, and I was so stoked. I can drink coffee all day and night. Anyway, one of my dear co-workers decided to put a small coffee cup under the basket drip thingy and turned it on. Why oh why, dear friends would someone do this? I just don't know. Of course, the coffee streamed onto the floor and created a huge mess. This wouldn't be funny if we weren't all really intelligent people, if I do say so myself. My dear co-worker stayed and cleaned the entire mess. We all had a good laugh over it today.

Beyond the good times at the office, I've been thinking about my wild times in the Aloha State. There's no better place to party, in my opinion. I just relayed a story to a friend that I thought I'd told her about long ago. It has a profane title, so let's just say it involved male anatomy. Anyway, this slick rick thought it would be a good idea to slip his rod of glory into my hand while I had my back to him. Now, as nothing of this nature had ever happened to me, I was shocked. Too stunned to do anything more than scream and rant at him for his "indiscretion." Thanks to this rude dude, I now know what to do when faced with the one-eyed snake--at least when it's used in such a way!

But see, that's the funny part of life. Just like Forrest Gump's mama said, "Life is like a box of chocolate. You never know what you're gonna get." Never would I suspect that my co-worker would do something as silly as expect to catch 24 cups of coffee in an 8-ounce Styrofoam cup. And never in a million years would I have expected to have a close encounter of the penile kind, especially not in a public place! Yeah, eventually this stuff is going to end up in a book. You knew it would come to that.

So what's the weirdest thing that's happened to you?

Still Kickin'

2007-05-01T22:22:00.000-06:00

Can you believe it's already May? Gosh, summer is literally around the corner and I barely remember winter. Okay, maybe I won't go that far. Winter seemed to last a long, long time. But time has flown. The new job is absolutely fantastic. I get to impact people's lives daily in a positive way. I go to bed exhausted at night, which is why I've been the amazing disappearing woman as of late. The plus side is that I've been writing. Yes, I've still got about three chapters left to write, but I'm paring down the page count. I'm heading into one of the final action scenes, and I think I may get to write another wedding. Who knows? The characters are keeping mum.

When I'm not working or writing, I spend my spare time unpacking boxes. You know, one never knows how much stuff one's managed to accumulate until the unpacking begins. Dude! I swear, my California is leaking. The good news is my kitchen is totally organized, the kids' rooms are finished and the living room is great. The room that houses my dragons, like my bedroom is a work in progress. It could be worse. I could still be looking at wall-to-wall boxes. There's something about having a place to call home. Knowing that when I leave work, I'm going to a place where comfort awaits. I feel so blessed--tired, but blessed. While my eyes are open, I'm going to lay pen to paper. Book four is screaming to be written, and I won't do it 'til three is done. Time to get this dog and pony show on the road.

Am I the only person who finds the end of a story difficult to write? I'm like this when I read too. I hate to reach the end because I'm losing my friends. What do you do to cure the end-of-story blues?

When I grow up...

2007-04-20T21:22:00.000-06:00

Every now and again, I wonder who I'll be when I grow up. I know who I am at the core, but seeing into the future is a tad difficult for me. My crystal ball is in the shop. At any rate, I think about all the opportunity skimming my extremities. If you stop for a minute and just feel what's around you, you'll notice it too. In every direction, jutting from our bodies, is the chance to impact the world. Now I'm not saying all the choices are right, or even where we should go, but they are there.

Maybe I can blame Pay It Forward for this new round of soul searching. But it's not the only book that's made me step back and analyze my purpose. It's right up there with Paulo Cohelho's The Alchemist. That book was introduced to me by an old chum. She told me it was good and that it presented something new with each re-read. So I read it. On a plane to England. And I felt as though I'd been kicked in the gut. In a good way, if that's possible. Now, it's a book I give to people. Mostly people I see on the crux of a life change, or at the very least, people who will appreciate it. Please, please, if you haven't read this book, find it. I could have kicked myself for reading it in a public place. That was years ago, and apparently, I haven't learned much since then. I had to hold my eyes wide open so the tears wouldn't spill all over my blouse.

Every time I open The Alchemist, there is a new message. I have to wonder if the reason it touches me so is because I haven't done the one thing I need to do. I am reminded that my journey, including the pain that tags along, is not all about me. Most of the time it is, but sometimes, those lessons are opportunities for others to learn how to respond to what seems negative. Kind of like Mitch Albom's Five People You Meet In Heaven. Another keeper. Another dear, dear friend told me I had to read it. Because she's not a reader, I knew it had to be a stunning book. She was so right. She told me to read it at a time when I was asking why a lot. I was in a bad place. One where almost nothing made sense. And I was whining big time. This good friend told me, "Sometimes, it's not about you." Now, if you knew her, and could hear her matter-of-fact way of speaking, you might think she was a little harsh. No way. She told me the truth. Exactly what I needed to hear in that instance, and I am SO grateful that she loves me enough to tell me the truth. I read the book. Why do the great ones always reduce me to tears?

Each of these books has served to remind me how much of an impact the small deeds can have on our world. They make me feel capable of creating change, yet at the same time, they make me feel inadequate. For all the times I forget to do the small things for my fellow man, for all the times I set a bad example for my little people instead of a great one because sometimes, slacking off is so much easier, for all the times I complain about things that seem wrong in my life. It would also be so easy to revel in abject failure. After all, each of the heroes in the book did something--well, heroic! I don't do anything heroic. Not to me, anyway. Do you remember that movie, While You Were Sleeping? One of my favorite lines was the one Sandra Bullock's character delivered to Peter Gallagher's character. "It is to the person who sits in it."

It is the small things that make the biggest difference. Even something as simple as giving up my seat to someone who could better use it. So while those books sufficiently put me in my place, they also offer hope. Each of the protagonists were normal people, just like me. With normal problems, just like me. And they made mistakes--like I do. So who do I want to be when I grow up? I want to be the one who writes those books. The ones that make your face fight between laughter and tears.

I've got a long, winding road ahead...

More on the horizon...

2007-04-16T21:39:00.000-06:00

This is short. My apologies, dear friends. I'm in the middle of a GREAT book. You all have probably read it, so please pardon my exuberance. Pay It Forward by Catherine Ryan Hyde. Julie, if you didn't get to meet her last year, look out for her this year at the conference. I think she's teaching a course. I wouldn't have to think if I actually looked, but hey, I'm only human. Anyway, if you haven't read this book, stop what you're doing and find a copy. Okay, you're allowed to sleep and stuff, but this is a must read. Before you ask, I've never seen the movie. At this point, I doubt I will, but Ms. Hyde can tell a story so compelling I don't need to see it played out in film. If the cyber gods are generous, I'll do a review here. Crossing my fingers that it doesn't get eaten.

So, what have you read lately? Have you read Pay It Forward, and if so, what did you think?

Happy Friday... and I'm not just saying that!

2007-04-13T18:24:00.000-06:00

Okay, you all gave me great advice on the toxic person I was dealing with so at the very least, I owe you an update. Do I still think she's a bit of a wasteland? Sadly, yes. However, my group and I decided to give it another go. As hard as all of us try to be, not one of us could let her fall into an abyss--at least not without offering a hand up and out. We invited her to a study group because it was more than apparent that she felt insecure with the material we learned in class. Included in the study was an informal dinner. Nothing washes down stress like a good meal. Plus, if you're mouth's full, you can't say anything hurtful. See, we're smarter than we look.

Anyway, we all made it our duty to make her feel welcome and let her know that the rest of her experience was her choice. Before this lovely dinner, we surrounded her with positivity at lunch. Literally. Each of us discussed our own failings and personality quirks so no one felt singled out, and we worked on quality fixes for those little idiosyncrasies. Honestly, I wasn't looking for a solution to my hot-temperedness or snarkiness. I like those parts of me just fine, and until they stop serving me, I'll wear them like a cheap fur coat. The "take-away" from our lunch and dinner was the power of positivity.

Cross my heart, I'm not a happiness guru. I believe we create our realities. And in the face of fierce positive energy, this woman could not be negative. She was cooperative and didn't try to bulldoze us with stories of superiority. We all put away our ill feelings too, which was again, powerful! All of this happened because each of us made a choice. That is a power each of us possesses. To choose to succeed or fail, to choose to love or hate, to choose to make the world a better place, or to be a rabid consumer, sucking away at the good things that are waiting a simple choice beyond our grasp.

Alrighty then!

2007-04-09T20:35:00.000-06:00

Life is still on the fast forward track in my neck of the woods. This is my second week of training at the new job, and while I'm nervous about the amount of information being thrown at me, I'm excited. It seems like those two emotions should be polar opposites, or at least not manifest in equal amounts, but in this case, neither is true. Okay, so maybe I'm more excited than nervous, but the anxiety is still there. That's new for me.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I jump into my decisions with both feet. Deep water? That's okay because I'll learn to swim that much quicker. I don't know that the water could get much deeper. Some wise person once said, "When it rains, it pours." Most of the time, I see that handy adage applied to negative situations. Not so in my situation. I'll give you a quick rundown, and you can be the judge.

We moved from an undisclosed location to a disclosed location. My husband and I went from being employed to being job-searching fiends. I got a job, DH is still looking. The kids are in school. I've become reacquainted with the in-laws. Sooner than I knew it, my job sent me away for training. So now I'm away from home--aka my home on wheels. Funny aside. A home on wheels grows smaller the longer you live in it--especially if you're talking about living with four other people and all of their things.

Dude! No one tells you this stuff! So I thought I should be a font of information--just in case you ever wondered. So it won't be a Jeopardy question, but hey, I'm working with what I've got here. Anyway, the smaller the palace on wheels got, the more interested DH and I became in finding a home that was a bit more permanent. Preferably one with a basement and a full kitchen. We browsed the MLS listings in the area for the "perfect" place. And finally, when life got super busy, the perfect place found us.

Is it wrong to fall in love with an inanimate object? If it is, sign me up for Kitchen Lovers Anonymous. This is the largest kitchen I've had--ever. And soon, very soon, it will be mine. After living in a travel trailer, almost any home would feel like a palace, but this place is everything DH and I wanted. He had the onerous task of making the final decision because I've been away for work. Every time he asked if he was doing the right thing, I let him know that he would make the right decision. I trust him. Not just because there will be hell to pay if he does the wrong thing. No doubt, there always is when he crosses the wrong line. But in this situation, he had an interest in choosing a home that would be a haven for all of us when we need a retreat from the cruel world. I've told him and I'll tell you too, he did a damn good job.

On more creative fronts, I've not written much lately. Last night, I did two pages, which were fun. It's amazing when I know my characters how well I can write. They let me jump into their heads and roam around. I don't know the ending yet, other than it will be a happy one. Isn't that what people read romance for? I will write for a bit before bed and then wake, ready for a new day of learning. Only a few days to go, and I'm already sad to leave behind the wonderful folks I've met here. That's what email is for, I guess.

I'm still waiting to hear on a couple queries I sent off before the move, and the one I mailed since living here. Yes, I'd love to have someone say yes, you must sign up now. But right now, I just want to know that my work was reviewed. I am quickly reaching the ten-week mark on the first two and am getting nervous. What if they hate my work or think I'm a newbie who has no clue about the market or what makes good fiction? If that's the case, I'll have to cross those agents off the list and move to the next. But I really, really don't want to do that. I want to hear yes, so until I do, no news is good news.

Today I got a view of what I don't want to be when I grow up. I've heard that we don't like qualities in others that we detest in ourselves. Since I agree with that, at least 99% of the time, it makes me really wonder what or who people see when they look at me. I met this person who has one of the ugliest spirits I've seen in anyone in a long time. She is rude, self-centered and generally frustrating to be around. When I do spend time with her, I feel as though I have to be on guard for some sort of personal attack. Not that she strikes out at me directly. No, she's one of those who spreads the wealth. It's just that she's not the sort of person one feels safe around.

In my heart of hearts I don't believe that she is a terrible person. In fact, she seems deeply wounded. Her actions and words scream that she is someone who has suffered tremendous hurt. Yet, I'm having the most difficult time seeing past the surface ugliness to get to who she truly is. There was a time when I would work until that nugget of coal produced the diamond. Now, I almost can't be bothered. I know this woman wouldn't have been placed in my life if we weren't to have an impact on each other, but I'm still asking why. In the spirit of gratefulness, I'm going to thank God that I've been allowed to see what I can. In the meantime, I'm desperately seeking perspective.

So, for my dear beloved readers, what do you do when confronted with a difficult person? If your prior coping methods weren't effective, what do you think you could do better?

Who put the day on fast forward???

2007-03-29T23:04:00.000-06:00

I woke up this morning. That much I remember. I'm in bed now, typing away at laptop central. Pretty sure of that too. The rest of the day is a blur. One minute I was cruising a thrift store and sucking down Jamba Juice's new All Fruit Pomegranate smoothie. Yum-o, by the way! The next, I was cruising between dryers at the laundromat and folding clothes. How did it all happen? What did I actually do? Maybe the body snatchers finally laid claim to the time I owe them. All I know is that I'm dead dog tired and feeling like a wimp. Used to be I could stay up all hours of the night, writing on my manuscript while my coffee IV kept me humming. Now, I'm begging my body for one more hour, just like a child trying to get a bedtime extension. So I want to know. Who put fresh batteries in the remote and left the forward frame button mashed in?

Only a couple days before I head to Denver on life adventure #5693. Nah, I don't really have them numbered, but it sounded fun. Would that number make me boring or exciting? Denver means packing, which means I have to empty my garment bag of undies (you didn't think I was kidding all those days ago, did you?) and fill it with business attire. Sayonara jeans, hello slacks and skirts...and pantyhose. I can't wait! I've been feeling entirely too casual lately, so it's time to shake things up. My aim is to be really rebellious and run in the mornings before training. Guess that means I get to keep the Pullman of shoes.

Sunday, we are going to the FIL's house for Easter dinner. I know it's not Easter yet, but this is one of the byproducts of divorce--split holidays. He loves to cook. The kids have a blast. This will be the first time I've seen all the grandkids at his house. Should be interesting. Usually we're all at my MIL's house. I'm sure my step-MIL will keep everyone in line. They are typical grandparents. We wash up before and after meals, we use proper table manners and we walk in the house. Meanwhile, grandma and grandpa sneak the kids cookies and sodas, but that's what grandparents are for. I've heard reports that my kids have told the GP's that they shouldn't have any sweets before eating their veggies. I still beam with pride. If nothing else, I've taught my kids the value of green.

Sunday could be heaven or hell. Nine grandkids and three Scottie dogs could put a hitch in the normal order. Is it wrong that I'm enjoying an internal giggle over this? I know after I hang out with my little entourage and my nephews and nieces, I am wiped out. Mostly, I've learned to tune them all out. If no one's bleeding, crying or dying, everything's fine. And if all else fails, I can make an escape.

What a difference a day makes!

2007-03-27T23:12:00.000-06:00

Today I went on the walk I've been meaning to take for a week. My brain finally shut down, refusing to do any more until I kept my side of our little bargain. So off I went. The park is gorgeous--complete with a pond, geese, playground, heck, they even had a horseshoe pit. Lots of folks were out today, playing with their little ones, strolling like me and playing Frisbee with their pooches. Now, I have to tell you the weather wasn't all that great. In fact, I fully expected to be drenched, but I went anyway. Turns out all that got wet was my shirt from all the sweat I managed to work up.

My goal was to push through some of the crap in my head so I could function. I was stressed out about finding a job, worrying about my characters and about the example I'm setting for my kids. I told myself I would walk until I had clarity on all the above. Bet you're surprised I made it home before dark! My first lap I allowed myself to observe my surroundings. One of the first things I noticed was how grumpy the other walkers looked, and couldn't understand why. Who knows, maybe I looked grumpy too, but I didn't feel it. I was lost in thought for a good part of the walk, but no matter how many ugly thoughts popped up, there were always two or three wonderful ones that followed. Consequently, I couldn't fight the smile that kept tugging at my mouth. I mean really, when you eat everyday, have a place to live and a family who believes the best of you, what is there to be depressed about? I am so blessed!

When we embarked on this adventure--moving to Colorado, trust me, I've edited all the gory details out, I told myself we would be fine. I'm really good at pushing small, negative details out of mind when I need to. And that's what I did. After the job hunting commenced, I started getting a little discouraged. As a writer, rejection is as much a part of life as hours at the keyboard. For some reason though, not getting major bites on the job front felt like a rejection from the human race. I like to work. I worked for my education and I know what I'm capable of. I started wondering what I did wrong to be where I am. I worried about how I was going to care for my children and seriously entertained the idea that I was the butt of some cosmic joke. All the time, though, I kept up my positive face. Like putting on your good clothes and a touch of makeup can make you feel more together, the upbeat facade was healing. So maybe it was like putting a little band-aid on a big wound, but at least it kept some of the filth out. Still, the ugly thoughts would worm their way in and I needed more to maintain a good attitude.

I decided to control the things I could. Good ole Serenity Prayer. I went to Wild Oats and bought some good-for-me food. On the way out of the store, I grabbed one of the free magazines on the shelf. I didn't read it right away. It actually sat in my car for a few days, untouched except for when someone needed to sit on the passenger seat. One day, DH and I planned to shop and I had to wait in the car for him to get ready. I swear he takes more time than me to get gussied up! Anyway, I read the magazine. Some of it was interesting, but one article stood out. It was about cultivating an attitude of gratefulness. I like to think that I do that consistently, but it was such a timely reminder. So I wake, thankful for a new day, for my family and friends who love me. I go to bed, thankful that I'm not outside seeking shelter in a doorway. Some days it's hard to remember to do it--to find that one thing to be grateful for when the world seems shrouded in crap, but I do it. Because that is something I can control--my attitude.

There's an old saying: your attitude determines your altitude. Ten points if you can tell me where it comes from. It's true. How can I believe anything else when I've seen the truth in that statement time and time again? Yesterday, I was unemployed. Today, that is no longer the truth. Maybe I would have secured the job anyway, but I believe being open to thankfulness connected me to the opportunity. There's a lot of crap in the world, and it sucks to wade through it all, but there's a lot of good too. What would happen if we all decided to control what was in our power? What would happen if we truly decided to become the change we want to see in our world? What would happen if we just said thank you when we open our eyes in the morning and before we shut them at night?

Slaying time...

2007-03-26T21:09:00.000-06:00

More like wasting time. I've been playing the good auntie for the past few days. It was fun, but I forgot how exhausting it can be to hang out with kids who aren't mine. The kids were all great, but I am so boring that I wonder how my own children survive with me. We don't watch much TV during the week--Spring Break or no. I don't let them play video games for more than an hour, and that's only once every couple of months. So what do we do? We read, play outside or just hang out. In between we have meals where we again, sit together and share our day's events. See, not much happening. I was so looking forward to sleeping in today. My body and mind are exhausted from being chipper and hopeful.

It would be so easy to just be a pessimist. No energy to expend that way. Being positive is exercise. I will myself to see the silver lining on each cloud. I write when it would be easier to pretend I'd never heard of my characters. And constantly, I wear a smile for my babies because they deserve a smooth, drama free time. They didn't ask to be born, and I refuse to make their lives hell on earth. Tonight, I am going to spend some real time with my family. Who knows what we'll get up to, but it will be interesting.

Later, my characters and I will have a meeting of the minds. I've written myself into a neat little corner. I made one of my characters cry and can't remember why I did it. That's what I get for stopping in the middle of a scene. I re-read choice bits of the story this afternoon to reacquaint myself with the characters and the action. I like these people. If only I could remember why I made Katt cry.

Okay, the movie's on--Clue. Cult classic and one of my all time faves. This is what I'll call beta viewing. Catch you tomorrow folks. Same bat time, same bat channel.

Catching Up...

2007-03-23T08:06:00.000-06:00

So, what have I been up to for the past week? Job stalking, reading, cooking, cleaning. All normal stuff. Of course, I've spent a huge amount of time at the local library. It's a great place to escape--quiet, full of books. What else could a girl want?

Lately, I've been waking early--earlier than normal. Some of it's stress. Yes, dear friends, I'm admitting it out loud. There are chinks in my armour. Some of my early bird rising is because I've been reading fab books and couldn't wait another minute to finish the story. Then, there's always the fact that I'm wired to wake with the sun. When I lived in Alaska, I didn't really sleep in the summer. I just sort of paused and then did everything all over again. Man, I miss that place. For those who've never been, that's a do-before-you-die sort of thing. And do it in the winter! The snow sparkles, the Northern Lights twist in a ribbon dance across the sky, and you can taste the quiet. I didn't mean for this to become an ode to Alaska. It's just one of the few places in my life that's felt like home.

Home. Amazing how trite it sounds 'til you're searching for one. I've developed too-late syndrome. I fall in love with a house too late. Someone's already snagged it and I have to move on. I just remind myself that if it were perfect for me and mine, I'd have it. There are no coinky-dinks, which means perfection looms around the corner. Sounds scary. Even scarier is the thought that I'll have to unpack all my crap and find (you guessed it) the perfect place for it.

The point in my urge to blog today was to share some of the amazing books I've read. Once I had that library card in my hot little hand, there was nothing stopping me. I checked out Plum Lovin' and Twelve Sharp by Janet Evanovich. I laughed, and then felt sad when the adventure was over. Typical me. Good thing book 13 is around the corner. Next, I read Terry Goodkind's Phantom. Now, I used to be a bit obsessed with his books. Love the philosophy, though the author says it's not a purposeful injection. In my mind, this goes back to all fiction having some autobiographical roots. We can't help put that little slice of self into our work, and I'm glad. Otherwise I might have missed out on so many amazing thinkers.

I read through Phantom like it was my life source. I'd waited too long between books, you see. Plus, when it came out, I misunderstood that this was to be the last in The Sword of Truth series. I've never been so glad to be wrong. As I neared the end, I kept saying to myself, "There's no way he's going to be able to tie up all these loose ends. There are too few pages and too much stuff that has to happen." I was right. Guess it's good for me that he has the other book coming out this fall. I love the world he constructed, the characters, the conflict and the fact that it is more broad than the typical man-and-his-journey story. The appeal for me is that the characters are not unlike me--even though in their world magic is as real as the air they breathe. If you haven't read these books, please do.

Here I go Again...

2007-03-15T11:49:00.000-06:00

In my last blog I said I'd be writing from my home on wheels. Not quite. Though my vehicular paradise does have Internet (wireless, thank God), I decided to hang out at the library. My new home is nestled in the Rockies, overlooked by Pikes Peak. Ten guesses as to where I've relocated... At any rate, it is more beautiful than I believed possible. Adventure and fun are really around each corner. And the libraries are FAB!!! Every time we pass a library in one of our jaunts, I want to stop and have a look. The DH is smart and rolls his eyes, but says nothing. In my mind, it's a win-win situation for him, especially since he doesn't have to pay for a new parcel of books.

In the meantime, I am still writing. Granted, the move made that a LOT slower, but I can taste the end. Right now, I'm fantasizing about the edits. When it comes to the overhaul, though, I'm sure I'll be doing more cursing than smiling. Honestly, most of the book is good. I just have some holes I need to plug. Just like the little Dutch Boy. When I'm not writing or cruising the library circuit, I am seriously job hunting.

I've done the job search before. When one moves as much as I have, it becomes almost a recreational activity. Maybe it's because I'm older now or because I'm finally calling one place home, but the search is WORK! I know why it's called job hunting. First, you determine your prey. Then you learn everything you can about the target, and the chase begins. For a moment, you stalk after it--noting the idiosyncrasies missed in the initial research. Finally, the interview. You and your prey lock eyes, and for a brief moment come to an understanding. So you shoot. Maybe you miss, maybe you hit dead on. But you get one chance to do it right, or you'll be forced to repeat the process.

Obviously, I'm not a hunter, but the analogy seemed to click for me in a new way as I scoped out the place I was interviewing with yesterday. I will be glad to be finished with this process so I can move into the next adventure. At least that's what I'm thinking now. By next year, all of this will be a blip of time in my life. I just keep reminding myself of this when my entourage starts bickering, or the toilet stops working, or the laundromat's closed. The list goes on. One thing I've been thrilled to see is that the love in our little six-wheeled paradise flows strong. We still play together and take care of each other. Nothing like a stint in a confined space to show you what's real and what's fiction.

I really shouldn't be doing this...

2007-02-26T02:40:00.000-07:00

In less than six hours the movers will be here to pack up my life. I have worked all day, washing laundry, arranging rooms and making things tidy so their work will go quicker and my day will be less stressful. Unfortunately, to do all this I haven't been able to go to bed. I sent the DH and children away so they could rest and be ready for appointments and school, respectively. I decided to take a break and reassess what's been done and what yet needs doing. My friends offered to help, which I would have gladly taken them up on if only I knew what I wanted done. Yes, there's a master plan, but having done this moving business more than a few times, I know it's the little things that trip you up. No matter how I try, how many lists I write, I know I will either forget something or remember way too much.

I can see it now. My car piled to the ceiling with crap that would have been better left behind. And most of it won't necessarily be mine. How does that happen? I have to admit though, I did pack my garment bag full of underwear. As long as I've got clean undies and a toothbrush, I'll be okay. Must have books too. Can't live without them. And my toolbox, and my battery charger because I refuse to be a damsel in distress. I just wasn't cut out for that role. Think all that will fit in my trunk--with the case full of intimates? I'll have to give my little car a deluxe oil change after this trip.

On the writing front, things have been wonderful. I'm so close I can taste it. My characters finally had sex. They tried to months ago, but the hero's daughter came home sooner than expected. Isn't that always the way? Being me, I had to put them through hell before I could give them a glimpse of heaven. Kidnapping, a break up, the reappearance of the ex-wife and much, much more kept this couple out of the bedroom. Then, they got engaged. Awww... Now that they've done the deed, I wonder how their relationship will change. I don't see anything huge on the horizon. They are very steady, these two, but one never knows with my characters. Every now and again, they do the damnedest things. Keeps me on my toes.

Guess I should go back to work. Did you hear that? It was a great big, fat, hairy sigh. I don't want to do it! I don't want to do any more laundry or dishes or dusting or anything that doesn't involve crawling on the floor with a blanket and pillow and going to sleep. This is where I remind myself to be grateful. If I didn't have a home, food or clothes, I wouldn't have the opportunity to take care of my things. Off to be a good steward. Next time you hear from me, I'll be writing from my home on wheels! Woo hoo! I'm counting down in earnest.

Gone so long...

2007-02-21T21:30:00.000-07:00

Wow! Time flies when you're having fun. Isn't that what they say? I don't know if it's fun I've been having or what, but the time is moving like nobody's business. I figured since I haven't been here in ages that it would be good to reconnect, to stretch my writing fingers. Friday, my house will be packed--at least they'll start the process. And a few days later, I'll be in a new place being a whole new me. I'm so excited and nervous about everything! I just haven't been able to complete my current story. New ideas keep popping in my head, which I write immediately. I do a few paragraphs a day on it, though today has been MUCH more productive. No matter what I do on this story, I keep thinking it's all crap. Probably, I'm just being a typical, ar-teest drama queen. That's how I felt when I started this book. Then I gave it to some awesome critiquers (they were awesome before they read this piece, trust me) who thought my story was fabulous. Obviously, I'm not a good judge of my own work.

Today I received my feedback and scores from a writing contest I entered in November. I knew I hadn't finaled, but I was curious to know what non-biased readers thought of my story. Maybe I'm weird, but when I learned I hadn't placed in the top three, I assumed that my scores would be abysmal. I was prepared for the absolute worst. What I ended up receiving was far from terrible. Out of four scores, two were perfect, one was terrible and one was good. Not bad for a virgin entrant. Believe it or not, I'm excited about sending thank you notes to each of the judges. Not only did they share of their time, but they gave me perspective, which in the writing business, is invaluable.

I finished judging the entries I had from the Golden Heart today too. Scores submitted, and I'm done. Talk about an adventure. I am still so new to the professional writing arena. Still learning the rules and sadly botching a few now and again. Reading from a judge's point of view gave me quite a bit of insight into my own writing. Now I understand editor and agent responses to the flood of queries that cross their desks. I know how important it is to grab someone's attention and keep it from one sentence to the next. This is different from what I do when I critique someone else's work. When I critique, I do read critically, but at the same time, I'm trying to figure out how to help the writing improve. As a judge, my focus centered on the professional presentation of a marketable product. Certainly, the ends of both processes are the same, but the means are worlds apart.

All of the entries were polished in terms of punctuation and grammar, which was a huge relief. When I read editor and agent blogs, I'm often surprised by correspondence they receive that is poorly presented. Yes, some of us do write as pure hobby with no concern for publishing. But for people who would go as far as trying to win an agent with a sloppily done introduction letter or ill-formatted manuscript, their intent is more than a pleasant diversion. I guess that's why I can't understand not putting one's best foot forward. At any rate, I didn't have to deal with that. Each of my entries showed a lot of care behind the work. There were times as I read that I wanted to slip into critique mode. I wanted to make a suggestion here or there to make the stories stronger, or close a plot gap. Things that people have been so generous to do for me as I've worked at my craft. But I couldn't. I had to try my best to don an editor's cap and look at the work as something my livelihood depended on. If that doesn't put it into perspective, I don't know what will.

Can you imagine having to choose the right book or mix of books to put on the market? It may sound like fun, but when I think about it, my stomach churns! It reminds me of when I thought being the President of the US would be fun. Older and hopefully wiser now, I know that I wouldn't want that kind of responsibility--EVER! Okay, so editors don't have the weight of the world on their shoulders, but their choices influence culture, which in turn changes the way people interact with each other. Man alive! No matter how I slice it, the job sounds huge to me. Being a judge in this contest reminded me of how one person can touch another's life from thousands of miles away. Makes me feel big and small at the same time.

I know some of the entrants will be disappointed when the scores are released in late March. They have sent their best work in, and it may come back with less than stellar marks. Honestly, everyone who entered knew that there was a better chance of losing than winning. In fact, the people who final will likely amount to a little more than one percent of all the entries. Just like all of us who are in the query rush. The Bible says, "It's easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." Insert a wannabe published writer for rich man, exchange publishing for kingdom of God, and you've got the jist of the publishing arena. With odds like that, it would be easier to quit or at least find a profession with a better success rate--like teaching wild rabbits to parachute. The problem is, I'm not good at quitting. What can I say? I'm a first-born, and some words are not a part of my vocabulary.

Right now, it's easy to be the optimistic cynic. We'll see what happens when March 26th rolls around. Until that time, I'll focus on moving into a new place, finding a job that will blossom into a career and writing out my characters' stories as they share them with me. That sounds like enough to keep me busy for a lifetime--or twenty some odd days.

Eight more days....

2007-02-19T09:20:00.000-07:00

I have eight days left in my current house, and then the new adventure begins. Eight days to pack, clean and have the house fit for its new family. Anyone who's ever lived in a townhouse will understand how important it is to have good neighbors. I've been so very fortunate to have ones who were polite and kept to themselves. That being said, I don't want to live in a place where I end up packed in like a sardine. I need space to be me.

More nonsense...

2007-02-13T21:14:00.000-07:00

So, I've been away for awhile because I was sick and we've been looking for a house. All this time, I thought my husband and I were on the same page. Thought we wanted the same thing in a home. Boy, was I wrong! Turns out my husband is under the impression that we can buy a mansion while I believe in humble, affordable living. Can you see how this has become an uphill trudge in the snow--both ways!? As if the coming weeks weren't going to be hard enough! I've got Mr. Champagne-Tastes-on-a-Beer-Bottle-Budget to work with. Ugh!!!

Today was really cool. I worked with a group of special needs students at a local elementary school. Having been sick and trying to gear up the house for the move, I've been out of the working loop for a few days. Going back was refreshing. The kids were great--and it was nice for once to be called by my first name as opposed to my surname--made me feel like I was still a person rather than some sort of looming parental object. I love it when I get to work with kids and am asked to return the next day. No, I'm not wishing for teachers to be sick, but it's so nice to have consistency--and a paycheck. So tomorrow, I will be with the kiddies. They will be surprised to see me, but I think they'll be tickled too. For some crazy reason, children like me! Maybe they sense that despite the fact that I'm decades their senior, we're not unalike.

Sorry I've been away so long, dear readers. Surely I flatter myself by being so delusional as to think that someone other than myself reads this blog. But alas, my delusion hurts no one, so I'm sticking with it. As young as spending the day with the children makes me feel, I will feel like Methuselah tomorrow morning if I don't go to bed NOW.

What do you do to feel young and alive?

Scared spitless...

2007-02-04T22:35:00.000-07:00

Only twenty-four days left in the month. Just enough time to pack up my old life and move into a new one. We spent the weekend packing, cleaning and doing moverly activities. I surfed the web for new homes, jobs, et cetera. Today, a realtor called to get a better idea of what we're looking for. That's almost like having someone ask what you want for Christmas. What do you say? If you eat every day and have clothes to wear and a shelter to keep you warm at night, what else do you need? Can you tell I suck at answering the Christmas question? I was proud of myself for being able to describe concisely what we need. Now, we'll see how it goes. This coming weekend will be the moment of truth.

In other news, I haven't really spent much time writing. I've been crazy exhausted, and am now sick with what appears to be the beginning of bronchitis. As I don't have time for sickness right now, I'm fighting like a mad woman to keep my body working right. I have one contest entry left to judge--woo hoo! It's all finally winding down.

I keep saying I'm scared. It's like a running theme in my life lately. Actually, I'm not scared so much as nervous, frustrated and anxious. What if I fail? That question spins on a loop in the back of my mind. For the most part, my brain is quiet and lets me forget my fear of floundering. Sometimes, though, like when I'm sick and a captive of my bed, the negativity screams in my head. I can't afford to fail, and I've never been a quitter, so the loop needs to just shut up! I will be fine, my family will be fine, and this episode will become one of life's little benchmarks.

I've left my characters hanging, and I have to wonder if they've moved on without me or if they're having a bit of an intermission while I get my act together. I can just see them pacing the pages, taking a cigarette break, hoping to God I'll finish what I started. Poor guys! And now I've added something else to my cache of distractions--crocheting. I haven't done it in years, needed a scarf, and thought it would be great to make my own. Maybe if I'm feeling super brave, I'll post a picture of it when it's finished.

What do you do when life yanks the rug from under you?

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

2007-01-31T22:39:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-31T20:14:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-27T23:31:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-27T01:38:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-23T21:01:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-21T02:47:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-18T20:54:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-17T23:33:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-14T05:50:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-12T23:53:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-12T04:06:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-08T07:13:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-05T19:57:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-01-03T08:53:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-01-01T04:13:00.000-07:00

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!

Countdown...

2006-12-31T01:06:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-12-28T03:10:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-12-24T00:14:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-12-22T15:44:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-12-20T21:19:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-12-19T09:56:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-12-16T00:44:00.000-07:00

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

2006-12-13T16:46:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-12-12T21:09:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-12-10T22:54:00.000-07:00

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!

What not to do...

2006-11-27T03:06:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-11-25T02:24:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-11-20T22:13:00.000-07:00

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....

2006-11-18T19:57:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-11-18T02:01:00.000-07:00

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?

2006-11-17T02:55:00.000-07:00

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!

2006-11-16T05:04:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-11-14T23:07:00.000-07:00

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?