I'm spicing things up on the blog! Not really, just doing some fun writing. Prompt time! Or maybe a semi meme... you decide. No tagging allowed. As it just makes the rest of the blogging world feel bad if you don't pick them.

Describe six things you'll never be caught doing. [Oh and if you feel like sharing, feel free to comment, to link, to whatever]

1. Drinking diet soda. It just tastes icky. I've tried, numerous times. It'd help with my waistline and terrible will-power for the carbonated syrup. But no. It's just plain icky. So, I'm a regular gal to the core.

2. Wearing pig tails (even if my hair was long enough). I'm over 30 people. And if you've lived long enough to remember when gas was under $2/gallon--you shouldn't put your hair in pig tails. Ever.

3. Having sex in an airplane bathroom. I don't get the appeal. Or how it can be considered "romantic" or "daring." The whole damn plane will know what you are doing, especially since those things are smaller than the smallest closet known to man. Just not my thing.

4. Wearing skinny pants. Because quite frankly, they weren't designed to fit my hips. EVER. Even when I was a teeny tiny thing in middle school.

5. Berating my children. Never. Ever. Ever. They are children right? And even as adults, berating is never good. Discussion and conversation is.

6. Performing door-to-door sales. Do I need to say more? Not only do they show up at my door at the most in-opportune times ( just as I am getting out of the shower today. Which not only has me dripping wet, but wakes my baby, and spazzes out my dog. And then they keep ringing the bell, since you know, they can see me scampering around in a towel) but who ever buys anything?


*I've taken to using writing prompts every now and again to keep these posts a little less stagnant. And since this place at least gives me creative (if not zany) prompts, I figured I'd stay with it for now.

Labels: me, writing prompt

9:26 PM | Permalink | 1 comments

What doesn't make my life complicated? I'm a woman--that comes a with a slew of monthly complications doesn't it? A wife that loves her husband, a mother with 2 kidlings--one who is starting school and will have a ton of questions and changes this year and another that is under 1. She's nursing, needs to be fed, cuddled, coddled, and snuggled. She's not even a year, that's what she does.

Add in a worker bee role during the day job. One that has me juggling a kid on my hip, another asking for chicken nuggets, and a conference call all at once. Not to mention tight deadlines, adding in my baby-sitter's schedule, bringing my son back and forth from pre-school during conference calls, and getting my butt into the office with my "face-on" ready to handle a whole slew of other fire drills.

And how could I forget my writing! The dream of success in publishing. I can't say that I have always had this one up in the forefront, but in the last few years... it's there. It HAS to be there, or I'll lose it in the shuffle of the rest of this.

Here's the thing. I know as a woman/wife/mother--I can do two things well. I love and care for my family. No holds barred. I do whatever is necessary to make them the top priority. No excuses. Well, except for my own health. This is a known fact and I plan to keep it this way. Whatever complications happen at home (deaths in the family, sickness, milestones) are to be dealt with. Always.

As a corporate employee, I need to learn to let things go, lower the bar, and be normal instead of exceptional. Basically take out the complications. The drive I have expended in Corporate America, needs to be put into my own dreams of writing and publishing books. I am a firm believer in the idea of "what you put in, is what you get out." Which means, I need to focus more on my writing, my branding, my book projects (whatever they are). Because... well, you know. The more put it, will mean the more I will succeed at this goal. Or pull out of that dream. There is no sense in doing it half-assed, I will only get half-ass results. And I just can't have that. Not with my name attached to the title.

Seems easy doesn't it? Taking the complication out of my life. It isn't. I still have all of the same balls juggling at the same time, just refocusing them. And then I'll have to readjust again. And again. That's life. My life. One in which I am not willing to compromise. And neither should any of you.

Which brings us right back to the original question--complications. They ARE a part of life. No matter how you slice and dice it. It is how you choose to uncomplicate them and make them a part of your routine. That is the real tricky part. And the part that can really unhinge you if you let it. So don't let it rip you to shreds. Take it one complication at a time and prioritize. Is this the most important complication to tend to? If yes, tackle it first--all others fall to the wayside for a while. Rinse and repeat until all things are less complicated for a while. And I promise, another complication will come back. But it isn't like you can't handle it. You've had practice. So, re-evaluate, re-adjust, and re-prioritize.

And just like that, all that Corporate stuff I am pushing aside, it's come right back to the forefront. I'm prioritizing.

*I've taken to using writing prompts every now and again to keep these posts a little less stagnant. And since this place at least gives me creative (if not zany) prompts, I figured I'd stay with it for now.

Labels: writing prompt

10:19 AM | Permalink | 1 comments

This writing exercise is fun! List six true sentences that begin with the words "I should have never..."

I should have never decided to lose weight. I'm spending too much time beating myself up for bad choices.

I should have never tried to fit in during the 8th grade. Seriously, it wasn't worth the effort to impress them.

I should have never yelled at The Kiddo today for spilling the Gatorade (he was only trying to help).

I should have never tried to bake those sugar cookies faster than the suggested time. Really. You don't want to taste them. Trust me.

I should have never given up performing. I still miss an audience.

I should have never picked my nose. I got caught.

Can't get enough? Than you try. It's harder than it looks.

*I've taken to using writing prompts every now and again to keep these posts a little less stagnant. And since this place at least gives me creative (if not zany) prompts, I figured I'd stay with it for now.

Labels: writing prompt

8:10 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Since my brain is more than a little fried (at the full time day job again, taking care of The Peanut, The Kiddo back at pre-school but running him back and forth has got me in a bit of a tizzy, attempting to eat more home-cooked meals with less time to prepare them..), I am simply going to respond to the writing prompt (below). It will make this post more bearable than the moaning of a work at home mom.

PROMPT: "Compare one or more people you know to sources of light in a piece of writing. Who is a 20-watt bulb? 100-watts? Who is a spotlight? A strobe light? A nightlight? A Christmas light?...*"

People have mentioned to me that if I'm sorta like that bug-light that hangs outside on my parent's back deck. The one that is constantly humming, but zapping mosquitoes that are frittering around our heads, necks and exposed ankles and toes in the summer months in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (the mosquitoes are the unofficial insect of the state you know). Now, I'm told that comparison is not because I zap and hurt people because they get close to me--but, I might warn you that might be the case if you find me too early in the morning without my coffee. I am told, however, it is because I often draw people too me. Maybe because I seem to be full of endless energy and fun ideas. That I am constantly pushing people to do more with their lives and with themselves. Or maybe because I can't just let people sit there and do nothing--I'm a natural motivator. One who does what she hopes everyone should do with their lives: constantly reach for their dreams.

But this post isn't supposed to be about me (is it?)--it's about my perception of others. Or at least my perception of their lighting moods whether they are figuratively or physically. So, I will start with the easiest of them all. Christmas lights. Specifically the white ones that flash. Those, are clearly, made for my daughter, The Peanut. That girl, only 3 months old, can flash her gummy smile at any lost sole, and the twinkle shines so bright, you can't help but smile yourself. And I am not kidding you. She is the most smiley kid I know--as well as the most twinkling. Don't trust me, come on over and let me have her flash those toothless gums your way. She'll have you wrapped around your finger in no time.

Now the colored Christmas lights are my son, The Kiddo. Sure you say, take the easy way out and assign one kid to colors and one kids to a different type. Well... of course! If you have kids, if one is one hand, then the other is the other. Get it? I mean, you can't think of one without the other. It is motherly (and fatherly) impossible. I've tried. Like today when The Kiddo went back to pre-school (all day) for the first time since my daughter was born. I couldn't look at her and not think of him.

So back to the lights. Yes, he's the colored ones. He's got every mood possible, and let me tell you--I know about it when he is blue. Or green (you haven't seen power puke, until you've seen his). Red--his favorite color--reminds me of of when he is happy. And orange, for when he is ever so cheerful and he doesn't know I am watching. I could go on and on. Basically, the kid wears his feelings on his sleeve. And each and every color on those strings of lights, could be one of The Kiddos moods. And if they twinkle, well I know he's in for a good day.

Now for the cheese factor-- 100 watt bulb = The Husband. Seriously. He is the light of my life. The man who deals with my shit, lets me be me, and well, keeps me in a straight line when I am wandering off the path. And when I am wrung so tight I can't get off that path--he pushes me aside so I have some fun. Sometimes so much fun, I forget we've known each other for over 15 years (been married 8). And if that can happen after that long--we're in it for over 50--easy. Not to mention, that 100 watt bulb that he is, doesn't let me hide behind a damn thing. He's seen it all. Literally (and figuratively). And he's still hanging around. Who knows what I did to deserve him.

Now that 40 watt decorative bulb (you know the one that is used in chandeliers with the fun little tip that looks a bit like frosting)? Well that one is sorta special. It's for a friend that has whispered to me for years to write. To keep writing. To write until my fingers bleed. And to never give up hope... of course, with writing. No matter what happens. Even when I didn't even know that I really (really) did want to try my hand at writing novels. Or wasn't ready to admit I was. She knows who she is. She claims that I've always had it in me. But, well, I needed a bit of encouragement (who doesn't?)... and she's always there cheering me on. That little curled tip on top--is her, giving me a little wink to keep writing, she'll light the way.

Lava lamps? Those are my sister. I love her to death. In fact, I think I don't tell her that often enough (hear me sis! I love you!), but she's got her own way of doing things. And that she does. Never one to follow the lines, or do things "properly" (her words, not mine), she just goes about her business. Right or wrong. And thus, I can't give her any normal lighting bulb. She's got to be a bit unique. And retro.

Now, there is one last light to talk about (at least tonight, my head hurts).... the low-watt night lights. The night lights are always glowing there in the dark trying to figure out life. Even though days pass into nights, well, this one particular person (sorry, can't give a way the identity, I might hurt some feelings), can't quite get it right. Or doesn't want to. Or maybe, just doesn't know how. Even though they've been around for a while. In fact, longer than me. Right now, unfortunately, they are a bit lost. And hoping some guiding light will just blast by to share some vision. Or at least some vivid path to go forth and prosper. Unfortunately, as we all know, those lights don't always happen. I just don't want to call her a burnt out bulb in the future, so let's cross our fingers for some enlightenment soon.

Oh and one more (my mind is working. At least slightly)! And this is hilarious to probably only me--but definitely true. My boss. She's funny and a bit zany. So me saying she is like the blue LED light found in a Bluetooth (R) headset-isn't as ridiculous as it sounds. She really is the glowing light that keeps on shining when she's charged. And, if we all don't need that at work, I don't know who does.

So that's enough. I've worn out any creativity that is left in me tonight. [In an Elvis voice: thank you. thank you very much.] As the end of the prompt said, "Be illuminating and write." Give this prompt a shout out on your blog and write your own Light of Your Life Post and let me know about it in the comments.

*I've taken to using writing prompts every now and again to keep these posts a little less stagnant. And since this place at least gives me creative (if not zany) prompts, I figured I'd stay with it for now.

Labels: writing prompt

9:16 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Along the lines of Everyone Having a Story, well, not every life story is eventful (or fun/interesting/horrifying) to write about. Honestly.

My life? Boring as it comes. And to prove it, here's the top 10 reasons I should never write my life story:

1. The main plot would be about a girl from a pretty normal family, who goes to school, gets good grades, goes to college, gets decent grades, meets a boy, graduates, gets a job, moves, boy moves to where she is, they get married, have kids, etc, etc. See? Boring has it comes. Not a lot of drama or life experiences there

2. I'm a mother of a newborn (and an almost 5 year old). Every other thought in my head is either about bowel movements or the latest cartoon/children's movie release and residuals. Seriously, did you know that the Bee Movie toys are are McDonalds?

3. Blogging. Seriously. This blog, is as interesting as it gets. And as you all know, there ain't that much going on around here.

4. I might actually have to divulge how much I really weigh. And admit I have a slight weight problem. You know, to make it interesting. Admitting to a size 18 pant size, just isn't that much fun. And it just makes it seem like I should have had an eating disorder or something. Which I did not. Just a bunch of yo-yo diets. Which is pretty normal these days (unfortunately).

5. My unluck of not meeting or knowing anyone famous. Sure I sat in the audience at Oprah's show. Twice. And sat in the back row when she talked with Martha Stewart about folding sheets so that none of the seams show outward--oh and made a comment in one of her After Show things. But, really, I don't know her, or anyone else famous enough to make my life more interesting.

6. When looking back in the last 5 years of my life the most exciting events are either births of my children, selling a home, and visiting Disney World. Not some exciting prose generation there.

7. Going to bed after midnight is considered a late night for me. I mean, to write my life story, I'd have to be more adventurous than that right?

8. My husband and I get along--still in love, still best friends, and yep, still get it on every now and again.

9. We live (and have always lived) in the Midwest. Which makes us extra-ordinary. Unless you want to hear about the 4 seasons, there is nothing exciting or extraordinary with the locale. Unless having a Starbucks within 1 mile of my house for the last 10 years or so means something.

10. I've done nothing miraculous or even unusual in my personal or professional life that would warrant a full 300 some odd pages of text. Oh unless of course you include that I am a writer. A writer that is still querying to get published. And that would lump me in with the 1000 of other wanna-bes out there.

Labels: life, writing, writing prompt

9:48 AM | Permalink | 3 comments

Charlene over at crazedparent has been busy. She's challenging her blogging friends and writers (I am not sure which category I fit into yet, but am aiming for friend, but am ALL writer right now), to write for 10 minutes with no editing. That means, set your timer (mine is on my nifty cell phone), put your fingers to the keyboard (or pen to paper), and write. 10 minutes. About her prompt. This week, it's I remember...

I'm late (as usual these days), but I am still joining in the fray. But with one other caveat that Charlene didn't make as her rule. MY RESPONSE to the prompts are all FICTION. That's right. I want to write fiction as a career, and what a better way to practice that part of my creativity. We all know novels have to be written well... but what about the ideas? What about the characters? Plots? They all need freshness. Originality. Oh and a whole bunch of other stuff I just don't practice enough. So this time around. I'm aiming to use these 10 minutes exercises to kill two birds with one stone. Improve my writing by using the 10 minutes to do just that and WRITE. AND to use my imagination and improve my creativity. How do you like them apples?!?!

So here we go. Writing for 10 minutes. Fiction. Made-up fun. Ready. On your mark. Get set. Go!

I remember when I enjoyed sex. The hot, stickiness of the sweat. The animal attraction. The idea that my husband wanted no one but me and was proving it to me with every pounding rhythm into my body. Oh and the spontaneity. In the living room. On the floor. Bedroom. Bathroom. While trying to have a conversation on the phone. Well, it was wonderful once. Until we had the baby. And I wanted nothing more than a few hours of un-interrupted sleep and no hands pulling at my already sore and chaffed breasts.

"Hon?"

It was Dan. He'd just come out of the shower after his workout. He's second work out of today. Even though it was after ten o'clock at night. I'm convinced he's a maniac. I haven't left my pajamas in three days.

"Have you seen my back button down?"

That would be the shirt I ironed this afternoon. After the baby had power puked on it over the changing table only a few hours before. And then I had washed it. And dried it. And then finagled the urchin down for a late nap so I could iron it before Dan graced us with his presence after working a full day at work.

"It's on the chair. By the closet." I pulled the burgundy bead spread closer to my body making sure to tuck it in on each side. The constant breastfeeding chill hadn't left my body since the feeding a whole hour ago.

Dan nodded and headed straight for the chair. Naked.

I know that dampness of his body--well toned body at that--should turn me on. Or at least bring some sort of stirring into my nether-regions. But instead, I am blase. And tired. And most of all, craving sleep. And for every moment Dan prances around the room, getting necessities ready for his morning routine, it is a moment less I can enjoy sleep. And with every minute passing, I am a minute closer to the next nursing routine. Only mine is about fifty-two minutes away now.

"How was baby today?" He grinned tossing the towel into the hamper and sliding the mirrored closed door aside.

"Penny was fine. Corrigable anyway."

His eyebrows furrowed. I couldn't tell if it was from the lack of clean trousers in the closet or at my modest attempt at sounding cheerful (if not humorous).

"She had a little rice cereal today. Has to be the first time she hasn't just spit it out and smeared it on her face."

I carefully left out the details. The part of admitting that she then did spit up the cereal on his new shirt.

Dan nodded, ignorant of the earlier mishap.

It's over! It can't be! I was just getting on a roll too.... I knew it. Charlene was all into this trickery to get me writing again. Well, it worked. And that's fab in my book!

You too can join if you want, just pop on over to crazedparent yourself, and join in the fun. And hey, don't worry about not keeping up, I'm already behind!

Labels: fiction, meme, writing prompt

5:09 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Mrs. Chicken over at Chicken and Cheese made an offer: write a piece of a collaborative story via blog posts. I foolishly accepted. And below it is--in all its parts, by all its participants. If you want to join in, go ask her. The more that play, the more fun it will be!

And look! They named the cute kid after me! How thoughtful. Or coincidental. You decide.

Let the story begin....

(by Mrs. Chicken @ Chicken and Cheese)
I thought I saw him at the grocery store. It was raining that afternoon, and he had an umbrella. The red and white triangles that made up his portable shelter partly obscured his face, but I caught a glimpse of his eyes. Those eyes. Huge, blue and empty.

When he left me I remember searching their vast cerulean expanse for some sign, some flicker of love. It rained that day, too. Why does it rain when you lose someone you love? My tears left him unmoved. I don’t know why that surprised me.

The baby kicked in my cart and I let my gaze fall on her face. Her father’s eyes stared back at me. Green eyes, warm and full of life.“Mamma?” she said. “Mamma!”

(by Binky @ 24/7)
The question-turned-exclamation jarred me out of my reverie. There was pressure in my temples and behind the hazel tint of my colored contact lenses. "Mamma's here," I cooed. My voice was a manufactured kind of soothing. I leaned in and brushed a kiss over Bethany's forehead, where a drop of rainwater hung like the tiniest Swarovski pendant. Its chain was made of fine blond locks.

"What do you think, baby girl?" I asked as I pulled her into my arms. "Is it time to go home?" Her searching legs and center of gravity found all the right contours as she settled atop the jut of my hip. I tugged at her coat until the hood framed her face, then I stepped into the rain. A small deluge of water streamed off the curve of the lowercase "o" on the Save-A-Lot sign and landed at the back of my neck. I could feel the tag from my shirt sticking sharp and soggy to my skin.

I sighed against Bethany's face and tried to avoid the bigger puddles on our way to my twenty year old Civic, which was miraculously close. One row over and three cars ahead, I saw a familiar red and white umbrella spanning the gap between an open door and the driver's seat of a rusty 4Runner that had to be as old as my own piece of junk. They guy I'd mistaken for Paul sat sideways and watched the rain as he talked into a cell phone.

(by Tony @ Creative-Type Dad)
Hastily reaching into my purse holding Bethany firmly, I could faintly hear the sound of his voice. His mumbled words were almost too reminiscent of Paul’s. The way he laughed as he said “Gouda” into his plastic phone brought back imagery of the two of us, sitting together last winter on the living room floor, sipping Merlot watching “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous”. Occasionally Paul would jokingly burst out vocabulary in his comedic English accent – expressions like “Don Perignon!” and “Caviar Dreams!” oh, how I loved Caviar and that faux bear skin rug.

With keys finally in hand, stumbling to open the rusty car door, I could sense this stranger's stare against my cheek. His phone chatter abruptly ended and I could hear the sounds of squeaking cowboy boots crushing the wet pavement.

(by Occidental Girl @ The Occidental Tourist)
My mind was suddenly full of so many thoughts vying for my attention at the same time that I couldn't think straight.

It can't be him, I thought, no way. What would I say? What do I look like? What am I wearing???

The answers came in rapid succession: It could be him, it's okay if it's him because I'm not angry anymore; I could talk about my fulfilling life that I've enjoyed since knowing him, like this beautiful child I created with someone else, without him; I look like shit but since I'm too hard on myself in general, I probably look just fine; men - especially Paul - don't notice what women are wearing unless it's nothing at all. Then, they notice.

When you coincidentally encounter someone you loved once, a long time ago, the traitorous mind tends to retrieve only the good memories and leave the battles and frustrations out of it. This leaves us to wonder what in the world we ever thought was wrong and maybe it was a mistake to end the relationship. After all, doesn't every relationship have ups and downs? Ours certainly did. It was passionate, without a doubt, but in every area: the loving AND the fighting. It was when the fighting overtook the loving that we fell apart. I wonder if he ever thought about all of that, even now. Paul didn't seem to notice many thing unless they were stark - naked or otherwise.

And yet, here he was - maybe - coming over to talk after all this time.

I took a deep breath, then turned around.

(by Meg @ Mainely-Megin):

"Hey." He practically whispered.
Oh. My. God.
"Hi." Was it relief or despair?
"I wasn't sure you'd remember me."
"No, I..." Not Paul. Not Paul. Not Paul. Who the hell was it?
"Peter Johnston, I sat behind you in statistics freshman year."

Peter freakin' Johnston. I felt my pulse in my neck, and I focused my breathing the way I had 15 short months ago in labor. Not Paul.

Peter held his umbrella over me and the squirmy Bethany. Idle chat. Wife, 3 kids, new job, just moved into town, wife hasn't met anyone yet. Not Paul. Not Paul. Peter was bursting with the need to share his happiness, which allowed him to simply see an old acquaintance, not someone's former lover plagued by mere memory.

"Dinner sounds great, I'd love to meet Lisa and the kids."

With the baby buckled in and my door as close to closed as it got, I watched Peter close his own door. The rain rushed down the window and distorted the images. It blended the head and brake lights of the cars winding their way through the parking lot.

(by Bethany @ mommy writer):

The seven-thirty hour, the one right after dinner, is always the worst. Waiting for Daniel to come home, feeding and changing Bethany for bedtime, cleaning the kitchen. It's a nuisance and a routine all the same.

That is, until Daniel comes stumbling into the back door in nothing short of drunkeness.

"Hi honey," he chirped balancing himself against the cracked linoleum counter kicking off his shoes, "Sorry I'm late."

When isn't he late?

"S'okay," I look up from the over-used skillet I'd been tackling with a worn Scotch pad for the last 15 minutes, "Had a good time tonight?"

Daniel only tripped past my shoulder to the spaghetti, waiting in the stained Tupperware and fixed himself a plate of dinner.

It's just as well. I didn't have the energy to congratulate him on an obvious vaccuum sale. Not today. The office post-sale drinks in celebration are too habitual, if not an excuse. And it isn't as if he'd just made a commission worth writing home about. It was more like we'd be able to splurge on groceries. Or buy Bethany the expensive diapers.

"This is good," he chewed, spilling sauce to the edges of his lips. The edges I used to adore when he spent more time smiling.

"Bethany went to bed easily tonight," I said more to myself the Daniel. "For once anyway."

Daniel shoveled another tangle of noodles into his mouth. He was either too drunk to realize I was trying engage him in conversation, or plain ignoring me.

I rinsed the pot and placed it beside the sink where the drying rack should be, the one I was too lazy to take from the bottom cupboard. Patting my hands on the stretched blue jeans that hugged my legs for the last two days, I pecked my husband on the forehead and walked towards the bedroom.

Just before leaving the hallway, I called back to him, "Your nemisis, Peter Johnston is back in town. We're having dinner with him, wife, and kids this weekend."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Now, it's Heather's turn!

You guys are next:

Christy
Michelle
Mrs. Maladjusted
Kristi
Desitin's Child
Tater And Tot
Word Girl

Labels: blog, meme, writing prompt

7:37 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Dear Mr. Claus,

It will be a sad state of affairs in the coming months as we all mourn the loss of a true world icon, when you hang up the ole red cap in retirement. Please be sure to celebrate appropriately after this year's Christmas season--as it will be your last. Next year, the holiday season and the Dec 24th all-nighter will be just a memory. One I am sure you will be relishing for years to come. As will Mrs. Claus. She will finally have you all to herself after all these years.

Your most recent announcement has caused quite a stir in the Holiday Mascot circles (I hear the Tooth Fairy through more than a hissy fit. And the Easter Bunny almost lost all his eggs), but be assured--I'm here to help. We're all here to help. And it is in the best interest of all the children of the world, that a successor is chosen as soon as possible. We'll need to make preparations beyond those of logisitics to prepare for next year (marketing campaign, movie re-makes with the new Santa in town, and of course a whole new focus on brand. The Brand of the New Santa). So without further ado, let me list the qualifications I would bring to this position.

First and foremost, I love children. I have one of my own you know. And honestly, I didn't know they could be so much fun (when he isn't pulling a tantrum day. Or when his superhero clothes are all a dirty mess in the hamper). Being a mother, I've become quite attune to the whole being *good* and being *bad* part of childhood. That radar needs to be on full tilt in the Santa position--and who knows children better than a mother?

Secondly, if you've ever been to my house, you'd know. Mom's are extrodinary multi-taskers. Hell, on any given day I have 3 conference calls, a doctor's appointment, lunch, dinner, school project, and work deadline to tackle--and that doesn't even include and emergency vet visit or a hair color I am in desparate need of. We mothers are great at covering it all--and as Santa, that is big part of the job. Isn't it? Even more so than the Dec 24th hoopla.

Speaking of which (and again with the mother thing), I am in desparate need of a night off. And what better to fill it with, than visiting homes of millions and dropping off a few gifts. I know, I know, a night off? But it is. See, I could get bundled up in some red shiny thing, tall heeled boots, get my hair done, make-up, and jump on the old luxury sled--let the deer steer the ride and fancy myself on some wine making pit stops along the way to eat a few cookies and drop off a few presents. In my world, that is a night off. And a wonderful one at that (you do have some wine on that sled don't you?).

Which brings up a valient point-- the male verses female thing. Yes. I'm a woman. So sue me. What I can do about that. It was the way I was born. But I think as far as the "changing of of the Santa Station" this could do a world of good in the new branding efforts. Take a look at it this way, the public will have to get over the fact that your leaving anyway, so why not take it to an even farther level and replace you with a woman? Think of the possibilities!

Oh don't worry about changing the round and jolly image. I got that covered. I am far from model skinny (or even skinny in general) and I got the laugh down. Just ask my husband. Think-- round housewife with a fondness for laughing and wine. See? You have me pegged. And I have you pegged. And it is a perfect match!

Enough with the fashion and looks qualifications. There is so much more I can do for Claus Enterprises. We'll expand your computer networks, hire a few consultants, and farm out some of the services overseas. Isn't that what the rest of corporate America is doing anyway? Then when the new season arrives, we'll hire a few thousand contractors to make up for lost time and get that gift production branch of your business booming (keep you out of the market of shopping at Best Buy and Target for the good stuff) and back on track.

Online we'll brand out as well. We'll get a Santa blog set up, snag you a few posts a day, get some regular readership and maybe get you a side PAYING gig to make a few bucks for the rest of the year. Keep up the Santa hype through the rest of the seasons as well (didn't you know those damn Halloween witches are hacking into some of your decoration territory?).

Look, I can't promise you the world as your successor. Just hard work, a bit of rebranding, and then eventually a well-oiled business that will not only tackle Christmas, but keep you moving into the rest of the year. You and I both know that eventually this one time of year splurging for the holidays can only last so long. So why not make it a year long affair. With a little extra edge mind you. Between you and me, who wouldn't want to see a mother having a good time once a year?

So there you have it. Qualifications, business plans, and even a long term outlook for Claus Enterprises. Is it enough to push you over the edge? Hell, you have 20 days left until the deadline. You sure you don't want to give up the seat early? I work well under pressure.

Sincerely,

Your aspiring successory.... Bethany
a.k.a. mommy writer


*Remember this little post? Yep, it was time to share the exercise in answering a writing prompt. Again, this one was from the WritersDigest.com. You remember it don't you? For the forgetful folk, follow the link, scroll to bottom portion of the post for the details. But, of course, I took liberties. It's my blog isn't it?

Labels: christmas, writing prompt

8:33 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

I'm always asked how I get my ideas for my novels. And I don't have a straight answer. Sometimes I get inspiration while washing my hair in the shower. Or driving to/from work.
When I am lying next to my feverish son in the wee hours of the morning. Or even just as I am about to drift off to sleep myself. They come from everywhere.

Blog posts on the other hand--since I try to post daily--are a bit harder to sustain. As you can see from some of the dribble I write here, aren't always as planned as I would like (or thought out). So, from time to time, I've turned to the blessed Internet to help me. And boy, is there a lot to be had out there.

Right now my favorite daily writing prompt site is from the Writer's Digest (link here). I haven't publicly posted any of my responses on this blog yet for fear of laughing myself silly, but this site is a real treasure.

First, the writing prompts aren't full of that rudimentary crap. Oh you remember them. Think back to high school English or Creative Writing 101 in college. Writing assignment number 1: Free write about the word Love. Ready. Set. Go.

...

Did you feel like grabbing a pen and spiral notebook and writing til your wrist hurt?

Neither did I.

So, since I started this little ole blog of mine, I've been on the hunt for a good writing prompt generator. Something that is clever, entertaining, and motivates one to actually write more than the free write classic, I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. I don't know what to write. (For those of you not familiar with the free write exercise. You write for about fifteen minutes, NONSTOP until some timer rings. I cope with the I-don't-know-what-to-write dilemma by filling the page with the exercise mantra).

Anyway, back to topic. I love the Writer's Digest Writing Prompts because they are above all else motivating. Original. Funny. And hell at least a bit more intriguing than the old classics. Don't believe me? Well take a look at today's little ditty:

Santa Claus is considering retirement and is looking for a successor. You’ve decided to apply for the gig. Explain why you should be the next Santa, and what changes you’d make to the North Pole workshop.*

Don't tell me your mind wasn't reeling after the first sentence. Santa Claus. Successor. Hell, that could be an ENTIRE novel at this point.

....

Right?

Well maybe it is just the writer in me. But hey, give them a looksee trust me. You'll find at least one of the prompts that strikes your fancy. And what's writing 500 words when I write 80,000 word novels?

* My response to this prompt is incoming. I think I may have found a new obsession. It might even entice me to start a regular writing prompt response feature on the blog. What do you think?

Labels: Internet, links, writing prompt

7:14 PM | Permalink | 0 comments