What If Baby WANTED to Be Put In A Corner?

She might have, if it was anything like my corner. I have one, you know. Fifteen square feet in this world that is all my own. I don’t have to share it with anyone. My husband fixed it up for me, and I love him for it. Want to see?

It’s the best, isn’t it?

It has everything I need, and most of the pieces have a story of their own. The bistro table is from our favorite coffee shop. When they closed their doors, my husband bought me “our” table. There are two chairs. If you’d like to sit and talk books or writing for a bit, have a seat. You would be most welcome!

The blanket hanging on the back of the chair was a “dirty Santa” gift from a work party. It’s huge and warm and, hello? LIZARDS! It’s like it was made for me. I may or may not have peed on it to keep anyone else at the party from trying to steal it. I’m not saying. One trip through the wash and good as new, right?

One of the little cases on the table contains my MP3 player. I have writing playlists. There is no better music to listen to when trying to write intense, dramatic scenes than this. For real. Buy it now, thank me later. The other case contains my glasses. We won’t go into that right now.

The cork board was a gift from my husband, and it literally has a story. My story. Pinned to it is the layout for my newest project. The work is not exactly new. I started it for NaNoWriMo this year, but I got stuck and continued on with something else. Now it’s time to revisit. This tale gets my blood pumping. My goal is to finish the first draft by Mothers’ Day. Though it is half-finished this timeline may be a bit ambitious since this will be my most technical work to date, and there are some fiddly bits that I haven’t finished working out yet. By tomorrow, the note cards will be color-coded by story line, character notes, plot twists, and questions I am trying to answer. And then the real work begins.

This space mine, and I love it. I spend hours here each night after kids are in bed. I don’t have have to share with anyone. Except my old cat. She’s the most demanding editor, fussing at me to sit down and write so she has a cozy place to perch. It’s good for both of us, really. She’s my muse.

I finished my book this weekend. At 51K, It’s not a huge tome. It was never meant to be. It was just a story that was begging to be written. It made me happy to write it. It was exhilarating to watch it grow with such speed, uncovering one surprise after another. Is it good? Probably not. Yet. There are still rewrites and such. But it doesn’t matter because it’s just for me, anyway.

So what is your writing space like? Are there notes from a current project you’d like to share? And what’s on your playlist? I’m always looking for new musical inspiration! So many questions! The wheels in my brain are run by a hamster strung out on MoonPies.

 

***If you’re under the age of 30, the title may be meaningless to you. If so, run, do not walk, to the video store, or stream it, or whatever you crazy kids are doing these days, and get this movie. It is key to understanding my generation. No, you darned kids, get off my lawn!

 

Charting New Territory

I’ve never done this before. I’ve been a writer for a lot of years, and even in my heyday when I was churning out short stories and novellas at a rate that stuns me now, I never tried this. But I’m doing it now, and I’m kind of liking it.

I finished my first novel in 25 years last week, a novel that I started back sometime last summer, before I saw Avengers in the theatre. That landmark is significant to me, so I remember. It was a fun ride, sometimes frustrating. Typing “The End” was the most exhilarating experience I’ve had for a long time. I remembered what it means to be a writer.

How I have missed the writing process; the characters, like badly behaved children, never doing quite what was expected of them. It took 2 days and ten thousand words to work around a surprise thrown into the works by one of my characters. But she was right, I think. In the end, her actions made the story stronger, tied things all together in a way I had never imagined.

I love the magic that is writing. Starting a new work is like footprints in fresh snow, creating something there that never was before. A few days ago, I started a new project. Its beginning was a little less romantic, more like doing a face plant in a snow bank. It’s a story that was demanding to be told. But here’s the kicker. I will never show it to anyone. Ever. This time, it’s all for me.

The story has grown to over twenty five thousand words in six days, the words pouring like water. It’s easy right now. I know this story. I don’t know how I know it, but I do. It’s there, and it wants to be created, demands it. And because it is for my eyes only, I worry less over the turn of a particular phrase, or whether I’ve used “said” once too often in this chapter. It’s liberating and exciting.

I have never done this before. Previously, I created for an audience. I thought about what might interest others. This time around, I don’t care. I am more than willing to admit that no one cares about this particular story except for me. And I care a lot. Suddenly, my previous goal of a thousand words a day is laughable. The words don’t stop. Two, three, four thousand words seems inadequate. The story simply must be told. It’s telling itself.

The hard part is coming. I know that. I suspect that I am heading at breakneck speed to the place when the story dries up. A few thousand more words, and I may be hanging over the edge of the cliff. With my previous novel, the last sentence was written in my head before I ever typed the first one. This time around, the ending is out there in the ether. I can’t see it.

I may get stuck, may leave this story behind for a while at that point, may let it stew in its juice and work on something else. I have ideas, lots and lots of ideas. But I’ll come back to this one eventually. I want to see how it ends.

 

And Now The Moment You’ve All Been Waiting For

And by “you all,” I mean my husband and children, who are hoping to one day have a decent meal and clean laundry.

Here it is. The big announcement that isn’t an advertisement for deodorant. Last night, after four months of work, I finished my first novel in 25 years. I’ll pause here and let that sink in a minute. For me, not you. I am floored. 25 years.

It has been:

309 full moons

175 dog years

a quarter century

6 terms of presidential office

6 Aerosmith albums

The shelf life of a package of Twinkies

I knew early in the day that I was set to finish. I was giddy and gleeful all day, until I typed those magic words; “The End.”  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’ll go for both.

Anyway, this is just the beginning of a long and painful process. I’ve put it away for now, letting it age like a fine wine while I work on some other things. I say wine and not cheese because I’m really hoping I don’t open it back up and find out it really stinks. And then come the rewrites. I’m not fooling myself. I have a lot of rewriting to do.  And then I find beta readers. And decide if I’m going to pursue this one as my debut novel. I thought no at first, but now I’m not so sure. This may be the first one I put in an agent’s hands. It’s hard to imagine, like thinking about sending your kid to college when they’re still small enough to sleep in a crib.

It’s just a little baby novel yet. I’m going to give it a kiss and stick it in a drawer for a few weeks. Just like the baby books tell you to do.

 

Falling Out of Love

If you’ve ever been in love, you know how it is.  A relationship in the first flush of love is so exciting. Your heart beats faster when you think of your dear one. You make up any excuse to be together, and all your free time revolves around them.Your circle of friends expands to include theirs, and with their encouragement you try some of the adventurous things you never dreamed could. And your friends and family are so happy for you.

Time passes and things change. You begin to discover not only who you are, but who you are in relation to them. Some of it is good, some of it not as much. And then they change a little, too.  You begin to see who they are and learn what you can expect of them. And it’s still good. You can adapt, accept them for their flaws.

And things change still more. Communication breaks down. You’re spending more and more time trying to fix things and make them work as smoothly as before. It’s not easy. Because of the time you’re investing, you begin to feel more isolated from the ones you love. The warm glow you used to feel has disappeared and been replaced by anger and frustration.

And you wonder if it’s worth it. Do you fish or cut bait? The rubber has met the road, and you see that you have come to a fork in the road on the path you have walked together. Will you take different paths, or will you stick it out and see if you can make things good again?

That’s where I am with WordPress this morning.

The functionality that drew me to the site in the first place has either disappeared or has been buried. When I first left Blogger, I chose WordPress because I could actually explore the site before I ever registered. I didn’t want to waste my time signing up for something that wasn’t what I was looking for. At that time, I could read blogs, get an idea of some themes, I had access to the now-defunct topics and Freshly Pressed page. Now in order to explore the site, a user must be registered and logged in. Topics and FP are reduced to a reader, which I can’t load, since every image in each post is loaded into the reader. Some of the food and photography blogs contain 40+ images, and I must wait for each of them to load..

I am having to create workarounds for functions that I used to have. It doesn’t make sense. My dashboard has become buried in a deadly blue that hurts my eyes. What happened to the clean black tool bar? What was wrong with that? I know. Google uses blue. And that is clearly why Google+ is so incredibly popular. I don’t go to my dashboard at all anymore. I visit a friend’s post and get to my toolbar that way.

Communication is but poor. I don’t like to go to the forums at all. The sticky threads are closed to comments and contain very little actual information. I can read a little of the what, but never the why. And I do not like to post my questions in the help threads because those are patrolled by a volunteer who is often rude and condescending. I don’t know if the volunteer is the mouthpiece of WordPress or not. I hope not, but she seems to think that she is. Customer service isn’t her strong suit, and I don’t like to feel less-than for asking a question or airing a grievance.

The WordPress community is shrinking, and bloggers are becoming more isolated from one another. When I had free time, my favorite hobby was to prowl the topics pages and find new blogs to read and follow. I can’t load more than four posts in the reader, so I don’t even bother anymore. And now even Freshly Pressed as we knew it is gone. I am very blessed to have the community that I do. Don’t ever go away, friends. We’ll huddle on this island together and wait for rescue!

So where does this leave me? I don’t want to spend my time figuring out how to build a self-hosted blog, I want to write. So write I will. I’ve got three novels in the works at the moment, and they have asked me to come back to them. I can’t say no to that. I still have my daily joys, and I’ll share some Squish stories, don’t you even worry. Just not daily. Maybe with a little space, WordPress and I can learn to love again for what each of us has become.

My daily joy: My husband took a day off last week so we could celebrate my birthday. The weather was simply gorgeous, and we went for a three mile walk that turned into a five mile walk. We had lunch at a local restaurant I loved as a kid, and I still do.  My boys were in a Christmas program at church. The Padawan has an amazing speaking voice, and Squish kept his clothes on for the most part. And he dance.Oh, how he danced.  A friend offered to send me a copy of the performance since I forgot my camera. And I have three novels in the works that are competing for my attention. Three novels, when a year ago, I didn’t even have one! Life is generous to me.

 

I Haven’t Changed.

I’ve been MIA for a couple of days because I’m pounding out words like a psychotic trained monkey. I know this is supposed to be a Thanksgiving post and all, but what I am most thankful for is currently a state away from me. No, you romantic thinkers, not my 2001 minivan. Although I am infinitely grateful that she hasn’t dumped me on the side of the interstate in at least a year. It’s what’s in the minivan that I’m grateful for. And kind of missing.

But don’t cry for me, Argentina. They’ll be back later tonight, and I’ll be doing my Snoopy happy-dance. In the meantime, I have for you a Black Friday post. Read it here.

Click the link and the zombie in the middle lives again.

I haven’t changed a bit, and I doubt I’ll be invited back. I’ll let you know.

 

A Case of Mistaken Identity

Ever have one of those days where everything goes wrong? Where you oversleep and miss breakfast? Where you’re late for work and are on the boss’s bad side? For the third time in a week? I watched a day like that unfold, but not from a safe enough distance.

I swear it wasn’t me. If it had been me, you would never be reading this. I was an accomplice of sorts, but I didn’t start the whole mess. Please believe me.

I’d like to introduce you to my co-worker, Stephanie. She and I shared an office a few years ago. Names have been changed to protect the innocent, or in this case the not proven guilty. Stephanie was a sweetheart, though maybe a little flighty. She meant well, and she tried hard, but our boss was not her biggest fan. Stephanie was the one who showed up late at least a couple of days a week because her car wouldn’t start, and she had been sent home a couple of times for Dress Code Enforcement, but she never did anything really bad. Except for once.

I remember her dashing into the office, late and breathless. I don’t remember what the excuse was. I do remember that she was complaining because she missed breakfast, and she’d had to pack one. She’d have to be super sneaky because we weren’t supposed to eat at our desks, and our boss was just around the corner. I was busy with my own stuff, so I tuned her out. Until…

“Oh, my gosh! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!”

Considering the source, that could mean anything from “I just sawed off my leg and fed it to a shark,” to “My roommate ate all my Captain Crunch,” so I still didn’t pay her any mind. I think it was the frantic whispered swearing that finally made me look up from my reports.

Stephanie’s eyes were as big as grapefruits, her face bloodless and pale. “I am so fired” was all she could say.  And she was right. Violation #346 sat right there on her desk.

On her way out of the house a few minutes earlier, she had reached into the refrigerator for this:

Refreshing! Delicious! Orange juice!

But sitting on her desk was this:

MMM. Tastes like hops. And unemployment.

.

Yeah, that. And did I mention that we worked in a preschool? A federally funded preschool with rather a poor view on its employees consuming alcohol for breakfast? With a boss sitting just around the corner?

I didn’t know whether to laugh or pretend I didn’t know her. That’s not true. I laughed. Quite a bit, actually. And then I got worried because though our boss’s sense of humor had been surgically removed years before, she was pretty darned good at sniffing out shenanigans. We heard her coming down the hall.

I like to think of myself as a quick thinker, but honestly, the Three Stooges would have handled the situation with more aplomb than Stephanie and I did.

Given that Boss Lady lacked  mind-reading talent and the ability to see through walls, we could have:

a) stuffed the can in a desk drawer until Boss Lady went to the bathroom and then taken it to the dumpster

b) put it back in the bag and walked it to the dumpster

c) hidden it in a purse or brief case

d) dropped it into a garbage can and covered it with, well, garbage

Here’s what we did instead:

She freaked out and threw it to me like it was on fire. I threw it back at her like I didn’t want to be on fire. Or fired. She fumbled and dropped it on the floor, then accidentally kicked it. I grabbed it and pushed it into her hands, she thrust it back at me. I was quitting anyway, so couldn’t I just take one for the team? Finally, I tucked the thing into my bra (don’t ask) and walked very carefully outside and tossed it in the dumpster.

Never let it be said that I don’t work well under pressure.

 

You Knew I Was Crazy, Right?

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I have a thousand compelling reasons not to do it. My husband and kids may pack up and head for the hills when they find out. I shake my head in disbelief that I would even consider it. But I’m going to do it, so there.

I am, of course, talking about NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month 30 days of novel writing madness. It kicks off in 22 days. EEK!

I must be crazy. I should not do NaNoWriMo because…

I’m already at work on one novel. The goal of NaNoWriMo is to write a novel from start to finish during the month of November. No fair bringing work to the table that we’ve already started. So I’ll either need to put this baby to bed for a month while I work on something new, or I will have to work on them concurrently. We have already established that I am nuts, so guess which one I’m going to have to do.

I scrapbook in November. I do the family scrapbook every, single November. The last one I did contained 600 photos and took me three weeks. I can do it in December, I suppose, but that means that I can’t give it to Nonni as a Christmas present. Maybe I should just stop taking photos of the kids.

Squish has grown weary of the “Play quietly while Mommy writes” routine. If I’m going to get this done, I’m going to have to carve out time in new places. I don’t need to eat, right? Or go to the bathroom? Think of all the time I will save if I make the switch to diapers!

I am an early bird. As in, I make my nest as soon as the sun goes down and don’t stir forth until daylight. No night owl here. I’m not so good at stretching my evening into hours of productivity. I do my best writing (and everything else) early in the day, and then my brain is toast. Hmm. Two novels and a scrapbook. I can swing it, right?

Oh, yeah. I have a little blog. I love my blog. I have used it as a daily exercise in self-discipline for the last year or so.  I can’t completely abandon it. So two novels, a scrapbook, and a blog. I can do it!

I’ve got all these really great reasons not to do this thing. So why am I doing it? I’ll blame Jennifer and her post this morning for getting this wrecking ball swinging, but really, there’s only one reason.

BECAUSE IT’S FUN!!! Though last year was my first year participating, I can’t imagine skipping it ever again! Those sleep-deprived, coffee-addled days, nerves jangled as I try to hammer out 1666 words in a single sitting. The hours of watching my Twitter feed, giggling at the prompts, spirits lifted by the encouragement.

I started running a few weeks ago, but I am no runner. There are no road races where I would not humiliate myself and everyone related to me. NaNoWriMo is my marathon, it is my opportunity to be a part of something much larger than myself, to engage with other writers, sharing struggles, celebrating victories. My rough as sandpaper draft at the end is my medal.

I’ll do it a little differently this year. Because I have so much on my plate, my goal is to just have fun. I am going to follow as many of the writing prompts as I can. No plan, no expectations beyond 50,000 words. I’m also going  to attend at least one local write-in so I can make connections with actual, living people, even if it means I have to listen to jazz (curse you, Panera Bread!) to do it.

Coffee’s on. Who’s with me?

 

Excuses, Excuses

I’m a terrible person. The last several weeks I have been really slow to respond to comments, and I am so far behind on blog reading. I even *gasp* missed posting two days last week. I can explain, really!

Excuse #1 I have been working! Like, seven days a week. I kid you not. The only day that I’m not actually working is Tortoise Day because that’s volunteer work. But it still means I’m gone for most of the day. I’ve picked up some extra hours at the zoo doing educational activities and programs. Need proof?

Me and Daru the blue tongued skink. Remind me to tell you about him sometime. He is so cool!

It’s about the most fun job there is outside of tortoise work. I get to teach people about animals that I love, and my coworker is the best! She took the picture and doctored it up for me.

Excuse #2 Puppies! My friend’s dog had a litter of beautiful puppies, and Squish and I sit for them during the day, at least three days a week. I know. It’s not actually work because they are so precious, but it’s something else that keeps me from home and my computer.

You’d skip a blog post or two for that face, wouldn’t you? You know you would.

 

Excuse #3 I’ve been writing! Like maybe-one-day-pay-the-bills-with-it kind of writing. I finished a prototype for a children’s book a couple of weeks ago and I’m planning several others. I was hoping to actually have the finished product to show you, but it is in transit. Sad face. I’m saving for a really good camera so that the photography for my kids’ books will be solid, hence all the working.

I’ve also been working some on my novel for people of the grown-up persuasion (I can’t bring myself to say “adult novel” because that sounds dirty and my work definitely is not). It’s slow going because I get in my own way, but it is taking shape. The characters live in my head all the time now and nag me quite a bit to finally commit them to paper.

Excuse #4 I’ve been sick. I have a weird illness that comes back to visit me when I least expect it, and it tends to stay for awhile. This time it hung out for two weeks. Two weeks. Half of September. Not that I am bitter or anything. I just need to take better care of myself so that it doesn’t sneak up on me again. Or maybe put a bell around it’s neck so I hear it coming like I used to do for my cat.

The important thing is that I’m here now, right? I’ve got some fun stuff lined up. I even have a secret that I am keeping. I can’t share it with my readers yet because it’s not my news to tell (I’m not pregnant, sj. Don’t even go there!), but I’ll spill as soon as I get the go-ahead.

I’m trying to catch up on all I’ve missed. It can’t take me longer than a decade, right? What’s new in your world?

 

My New Hobby

I started running recently. My husband is an avid runner. He is doing a bit of training with the Padawan, who has now appointed himself my personal trainer. As if I need one. You don’t get this stunning physique from sitting at the computer writing and eating MoonPies. Okay, maybe you do.

So the Padawan and I run to school each morning, which is saying something. When Bill Cosby wrote his bit about his dad claiming to walk to school and it was uphill both ways, he had our neighborhood in mind. Whichever direction you choose, there’s nowhere to go but up. But I do it because it makes the kid happy, and it makes me tired, requiring me to fortify myself with an extra MoonPie. What? I said I was running, not adopting an entirely new lifestyle.

I know lots of writers who draw inspiration from their runs, mulling over chapters, blog posts, short stories as they exercise. I am not one to let such an opportunity pass me by, so here you go. The poem inspired by my morning run.

Beautiful morning! Wow!

Cool breeze. Fall is here.

Padawan is so fast.

I’ll never be that fast.

If he makes fun of my speed again,

I will pound him into the ground.

I need running shoes.

These Chacos just aren’t doing the job.

Are we there yet?

Good Lord, this hill is long.

My legs hurt. I need to pee.

Why did I drink all that water this morning?

Goodbye Padawan! Have a good day!

I will never do this again.

Why are those people staring at me?

I hate them. All of them.

If that car honks its horn at me,

I will flatten their tire.

How long is this hill?

I think I may die!

No, seriously! Someone call 9-1-1.

I am not going to make it!

Help!

Catching my breath.

Stopping.

Never moving another step.

Ever.

But I still need to pee.

Over in those bushes?

No, the neighbors are watching

After the last time.

Moving on.

I see the house!

It has never looked more beautiful.

 

***

And scene.

 

 

Allow Me To Explain

Sometimes you need a GPS to get where you are going. For you old fashioned folks, a map comes in handy. But to get to my blog, you just need the secret code. Or codes. Or just use these handy search terms. And then scroll through 40 pages of results.

Life will throw you curveballs meaning urban dictionary - You know it’s a bad day when life is throwing dictionaries at you.

Becoming what you eat – It could happen.

Me as a MoonPie. Notice I’m kind of happy about it. Usually my hands are not misshapen claws. Usually I’m not a MoonPie, either.  Interestingly, MoonPie remains my top search term.

.

Galapagos + cliche -There are so many Galapagos cliches that I hardly know where to start.

Kill me cat birthday - Happy birthday, friend. You need a better party theme. May I suggest Hello Kitty? She’s at least a happy cat.

Should I pierce my ear boy - No. Ear boys hate being pierced. Or yelled at.

Chick in sweaters - You were probably looking for this:

No animals were killed in the making of this sweater. I don’t think.

But I’ll give you this:

Typically, chicks have two legs. Typically, they don’t wear sweaters, either.

.

Work boots on wrong feet - To the two people who found me this way,  I don’t know what interests me more: the fact that you’re old enough to own work boots and yet they are on the wrong feet, or that you then needed to research it on the internet.

Hi tech bucket - You won’t find what you are looking for here. I have enough time managing regular buckets. I am not allowed to have high tech ones. I might hurt myself.

How to sneak urine into a drug test - You are the people who are ruining things for the rest of us.

He loves to be undies -  Who doesn’t? Apparently it’s a thing because I got three hits from this term. Be what you want to be when you grow up. Even if it’s undies.

How to curl your hair with a wand -  For starters, that’s a total waste of magic. Curl your hair with a curling iron. Save the wand for turning people into frogs.

Boa constrictors high school - I’m a big proponent of education, but I’m pretty sure that economics theory and gym class would be lost on a snake. If you can get funding, more power to you.

Ask me and I’ll kill you - Ask you what? Oh, poop…

***

I did something rash and daring. I entered a blogging competition! That’s right! I’m hoping to be the next Blogger Idol! Auditions have closed, but it’s not too late to vote for me to be the wild card. Because I am wild. I sometimes eat a MoonPie for breakfast! To vote, just visit their Facebook page and mention that you want Becoming Cliche as the wild card. If you’re a tweeter, you can do the same thing here. Help is appreciated but not required. I’ll let you know on Friday if I’m a finalist.