I've been feeling a bit closed in lately. Like my days are pre-destined for a lot of work and child care and not enough time to reflect, be me, and catch up on the 800 projects that feel like they are lying around the house. It might be the oncoming summer weather, more time in the office, or my yearly Clear-My-Head Session.

This "session" isn't something planned. Or something I set aside time to do. It just happens. I find I'm overwhelmed with an urge to create, but can't really figure out what. Even if I take a guess at the what, I find myself contemplating how to start. And in the end, I don't do a whole lot of anything.

Resisting this Clearing is really useless. It comes every year, coincidentally, about this same time. Right before summer. It has just taken me years to actually accept it instead of plowing through into some new project (or old one). Last year I just spent the summer enjoying the slowly dwindling days of being a mom to one. My daughter showed up at the end of August and let me slide a few more months. And suddenly come December I was over flowing with new energy and ideas (even though I was more than exhausted with a newborn around).

And now, I think I'm at that time again. I let go of projects that aren't routine. I let work slide a bit instead of living the life of an over-achiever. And in the end, I spend quality time with myself, my family, and sorta experience life in order to "fill the well."

Sure, I'll still be blogging here. And reading. And writing. But no pressure. No substance. And hell, you might even get some delayed postings around here. But, it's all part of my process. My brain re-wiring itself for more creativity. Or at least I tell myself that so that I don't think of it as "lazy." Because that will only lead to some heavy duty ice cream gouging. And I don't need the extra 25 pounds.

Labels: life, me, writing

1:22 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

I'm not writing.

Really. I've been doing a lot of day job stuff. And mom stuff. And wifely stuff. Not to mention home and car owner crap. And everything else that means living--including watching television, cooking meals, reading (and reading), and walking, and buying clothes that fit me instead of pinch me, and well, everything but working on my next book.

Some days this is frustrating. Or infuriating. Depending on what I wanted to do when I woke up in the morning (yes, I am one of those people that sorta have a day plan when I wake). But, then all hell breaks loose--a kid gets sick or hurt, or hell a husband breaks a rib (true story)--and suddenly the plans are out and survival mode kicks in. When I am the throes of book writing, it doesn't matter, I'll just keep writing until the wee hours of the morning. Obviously, between books means something else. What that 'else' is? I'm not really sure.

It's not for lack of ideas. I have files of them, others that are still simmering somewhere in the back of my head, and I have weekly fiction column pieces and the book recommendations that I keep up with. So, maybe it's just because. Or summer. Or my typical calm before the storm. Whatever it is, I'd like to finish this next book--it's time for *it* to hit the proverbial curb.

Labels: me, writing

11:55 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

All right, so I've been gallivanting online again. Check out Chapter 7 of the serial fiction story LIFE AS GRETA over at Hybrid Mom. Hell, if you comment on that chapter, you could win a free year subscription to the print magazine! So please go over and play.

Labels: fiction, Internet, LIFE AS GRETA, me, writing

11:12 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

I'm always good for a cry. Not one of those sobbing let downs that give you the icky squished face because you are so upset you can't handle yourself. No. I mean, the after-a-good-movie cry. Or the one after you give birth to a child and you just can't utter a word worth a grain a salt. Or say, you're so proud of your baby/sibling/spouse you just can't express it any other way. Those are the cries I am talking about. The good ones.

So, in my effort, to make Father's Day special for the The Husband, I bought him the Gift He Always Wanted. Well, this year. One we planned he's get for his birthday in July--but a few months early. Not so much a surprise I suppose, but a gift he loves nonetheless (and yes, the sacrilege, he's had the gift since Friday night. Hell, what good is a gift if you can't enjoy it ALL weekend long?).

Anyway, with this gift I had intended on writing him a letter. A sappy one. I admit, I wanted to invoke tears of the good variety. But not because I like to see a good man cry. Because, honestly, being caught up in the day to day of our lives, tends to make me forget all the little things that make me love the man. Sure, I say, "I Love You," each morning, and most nights (if I don't fall asleep with The Peanut). And all the times in between.

I wanted to share all the moments over the past year that have made him, My Man. My Husband. The Dude to which I owe a bit of who I am to each and every day. Without him, well... I wouldn't be the same me. Sound sappy enough? It is. Because marriages are like that. Even when you get ticked off for the seventh time in two days because he left his pants at the end of the bed again. I still love him, and can't imagine a day going by without him by my side. Which, brings me again to the letter I have yet to write.

I'm a writer. So, in my feeble mind, I figured this is one of the best gifts I could give him. A letter, written by me, for him, about us. All of us. The children, me, him, life... how I appreciate him and want to be his rock as much as he is for me. Sap, sap, and sap. But with the best laid grand plans--I failed. Friday was to be the day of writing. I had my afternoon blocked off from work to dedicate a little writing time to The Sap Letter. Only work got in the way. Then nap time. Then a couple nebulizer treatments for my son. Tears that we weren't signing up for T-Ball. And then a meltdown from the baby. Sound ridiculous that all can happen in two hours? Then maybe you aren't a parent of two young ones, because it is exactly what happened.

And I was left Friday afternoon at 8pm, when my husband walked in the door from work, with an overly priced purchased card from Target, and a handwritten note on the inside that was about 10 sentences long (give or take a few). It had just as much heart and soul poured into the words (in fact The Kiddo asked why it was taking me so long to write the card), but it wasn't The Letter.

So my plans tomorrow? To get that Letter written. Or drafted. Or at least bulleted out onto some form of a document so when I do find the time, I really can write it the way it was meant to be. And slip it in that secret pocket for my husband to read when he least expects it. And hopefully shed some of those happy tears. Because, to me, then he knows that we all do love him. But especially me. Even when I forget to tell him.

Labels: holiday, life, The Husband, writing

11:14 AM | Permalink | 2 comments

I'm a big fan or writing goals. Granted, I don't make them daily any more (with children getting in a shower on a daily basis is hard enough), but I do try to make them weekly. It keeps me writing and at least aiming for some amount of content to get done.

Now, before you even think I am some sorta Super Mom (far, far, far from it), I rarely make these personal goals. Not unless it is a deadline sorta thing and I might lose a gig or say, miss an appointed timeline for an agent/editor. Then I do EVERYTHING I can to make those goals. The other ones? Those are personal writing goals. Stuff I try to make myself do in order to one day get a book published. Or get my name out in the world of authors, agents, editors--publishing. So "making" the goals are based on my self-evaluation. And with two children in tow and a day job. Well, we have to be a little flexible in these parts.

But, when I DO make them, well it is cause for celebration. Which, for this week won't be really happening. I had wanted to outline out (by outline, I mean loose plot points) a new book idea. One that is a bit of a break for my normal writing but fun at the same time. And by pure luck, I just realized it's Thursday. All that is written is a title in a word processing document and a few items of note on a notebook piece of paper. Wish I could tell you that is an improvement from last week, but it's as far as I had gotten then.

I have a ton of excuses if you want to hear them (new preschool arrangements, grocery shopping, the day job, a clingy baby on a new schedule, a 5 year old getting ready for day summer camp), but I am sure they will pale in comparison to other writer schedules who actually wrote this week. So, I will leave you while I eat some humble pie. And see how I can manage to actually write this weekend while I am single-parenting it (husband's off for fun, sun, beer, and golf) and have the two kids in tow on my own. Then again, I could hire a sitter for a few hours...

Labels: goals, parenting, writing, writing life

11:44 AM | Permalink | 0 comments

I started a post tonight about how I wasn't writing. How ideas weren't flowing and I was stressing and moaning and just being out-right nasty because God Damn It, I wasn't writing my fiction. Which is the dream that keeps me going. But, alas, in my moment of despair--and a moment of mommyhood, the baby wanted to nurse. I sat with her happily cuddling in my arms, and alas and idea spun into something a bit more than a spark.

Is it a full fledged idea yet? Not quite, but it is enough to at least jot down a few notes and hope that I have a few moment tomorrow to do a few brainstorming chart thingies (which are just a bunch of circles and notes and lines and more circles and scribbles and dialogue and character ideas) and see if this one is going to work. Because it has to. I'm getting to bored with my own woes. I need some characters to keep my busy.

Labels: me, writing, writing life

10:23 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

LIFE OF GRETA, Chapter 4: A Clue, Now What? is up at Hybrid Mom. Yep, pimpin' the serial fiction column again.

This week it's fun and easy. All you do is read and CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE! Remember those fun books from when we were young. Reading of the clues, adventure, and the mishaps--and at the end you get 3 choices (go downtown to try to solve the clue? Go and talk to Grandma to figure out what Johnny was really doing on Saturday? Or just decide to investigate yourself at the library). Yes, YOU get to decide what Greta does next! Please, go check it out.

And don't fret if you haven't read thus far, read from the beginning here.

Labels: Hybrid Mom, LIFE AS GRETA, reading, writing

7:55 AM | Permalink | 0 comments

Yep, it's time. The announcement. I'm now the official writer for a serial fiction column for Hybridmom.com. Can you not tell me how fun that is? Because it is. Seriously, ridiculously fun. The series is called LIFE AS GRETA. That little thumbnail image on the right side of the blog will take you there... or just keep reading for details:

Meet Greta. A 30-something single-mom living in Chicago proper and ghostwriting for a man she has never met. She’s stuck in the fashion of the 80s, obsessed with food, Oprah, Do-It-Yourself television, and Internet shopping.

If that isn’t intrigue enough for you, then know this—Greta is going on an adventure of love, life, and motherhood. You’ll be along for the ride. AND you can add your two cents into the storyline. That’s right! I’ll be taking comments, suggestions, and sometimes incorporating them into the plot.

And honestly, don't let the teaser speak for itself. I really want you to see the whole thing, and chapter 1 so, please-- go check it out here! (while I crawl under my desk and take deep breaths). Hope you like it!

Labels: fiction, Hybrid Mom, LIFE AS GRETA, me, serial fiction, writing

11:55 AM | Permalink | 6 comments

Behind this blog scene, I've been doing a lot of writing. Some publishable, most just to get the thoughts out of my head. Concentration and focus have not been kind to me this week. It might be that my baby won't sleep alone, let alone take a decent nap or the fact that my mind is overwhelmed with work problems. Almost to the point of consumption. Either way, the good part is that I am writing. And I can't sneeze at that.

Though it poses the age old question of timing. There are days I wake up full of gusto to start my day. A to-do list planned, kids behaving, tasks going swimmingly... well, until they plunge off the deep end and something goes awry. Most days lately it is a work crisis that sucks all my time away for the day. Other days it's the baby. The one who wants to nurse constantly. Yeah, her. And suddenly it is midnight, I'm bleary eyed, wondering how the hell the hours passed so quickly, and also curious where that story idea I had at 11:12 am went. Because sure as shit, it's nowhere to be found or recollected when I need it most. So, I sleep. Wake the next day and do it all over again.

Writing and motherhood sometimes are a great mix. I can truthfully say I will never run out of mommy lit material to write about (Thank God that is my genre of choice at the moment). However, it poses a time issue. Especially since I am a working writing (you know, one with a day job). There is never--no matter what I do to try to maximize it--enough time in a day/week/month/year.

I steal moments here and there. Lose so much sleep I don't even want to count. And I even ignore my husband 80% of my evenings. Not that it does any good. My word output at the moment is embarrassing. At least to me. But--I do have virtual files everywhere. And they do count for something (or so my logical brain says).

The bigger conundrum is that even if I wanted to give up this writing thing. It's too late for that. And I don't think I could. If you've seen me after I've "given up" writing for a week. It's not a good sight. I'm breathless. Vague. Glossy eyed. And just plain old bitchy. A bear really. It drains me more than writing into the wee hours of the night. So... I write.

Plain and simple. I must write to live. Is there any other way?

Labels: life, me, motherhood, writing, writing life

9:55 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

So, I've been cheating on you readers. Sorry, but I couldn't resist a little writing elsewhere on the web--mostly for vanity sake. I can write away here and publish whatever the hell I want. But if I were to write for an editor, would they choose my work? Apparently, some will!

Here's a sneak peek @ Hybrid Mom:

"Rewind about five years, I'd given birth to our first child, a son. His birth was a lot more painful, stressful, and tore me in more ways than I thought humanly possible. With still healing stitches and a high-demand nurser on my hip, The Talk was the farthest thing from my mind. I was delirious for someone to clean up the dinner dishes and let me lie down for 4 hours of continuous sleep. But the only thing my husband was delirious about was the possibility of sex."

Read the full article here.

Labels: Hybrid Mom, Internet, sex, writing

11:55 PM | Permalink | 1 comments

The Peanut is feeling better (thanks for asking). Though I'm afraid to tell the world she is actually sleeping right now-ALONE--and for over her 40 minute sick allotment. One could even go so far as to say that her congestion has been alleviated enough to breath clearly through her nasal passages, making sleep a viable option. Which, all in all, makes a mother happy. At least one that isn't blowing her brains out of her own nose. I just can't win around here, I nurse (literally) a child back to health and then land nose first into the virus myself.

But, this cold isn't keeping me from using these precious free moments for good. I've written another chapter in my book. Corresponded via e-mail with a few close friends, and am writing this blog post. All kid free! Who would have guessed that those few accomplishments would bring a grown woman to her knees in tears. Alas--the truth is out. My first few moments of sanity today! Because if you didn't know, screaming kid and work don't mix well. Especially when said kid only wails louder when you put her down anywhere that isn't cuddled in your arms. Or facing the cat.

Anyway, back to the writing progress. Or work madness. Either way, I've had an hour of "free" time already and I feel like I've thrown a whole days worth of work (either day job or those of my hobbies) into it. And I'm feeling pretty damn good about myself right now. Well between the sniffles. Now, if only I could keep up this intensity for the next 48 hours, I'd be golden. And have my to-do list back down to a manageable level. And of course an entire closet worth of laundry to get done. But who's really counting the housework.

Labels: house, life, me, writing

8:21 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Today, I found myself driving to work in silence. Well as silent as a car ride can be with wind noise and the wooshing of water at the wheel wells. But the funniest part was that I didn't notice it until I was moments from my office. It was suddenly quiet. And I liked it.

Maybe it was because there were no children in the car. No conference call chirping away in my ear. Radio/CD/iPod safely tucked away and in the Off position. Or the plain fact that it had been ages since I was alone in my car. Utterly alone with my thoughts.

Most of the time this is a good thing. And the fact that I can "hear" my thoughts? Even better. And today, well it was good. I found myself thinking about work projects (mostly), my day's agenda, what I needed to get done when. How I was going to find a parking spot. Lunch. The kids and the sitter's schedule. How I was going to leave the office at 3pm (the latest) and get to the grocery store...

Fun thoughts huh? Not really. But definitely a common dialog that I have with myself. Almost every day. But with a lot more background noise that usually involves at least one crying kid.

Now the ride home was better. I intentionally left the radio dials alone and let my thoughts wander. All that work stuff was out of my head. At least for the time being. And sure I was muttering the grocery list and dinner items off in sequential order until I arrived at the grocery store. But at least I did find a few moments to think about my latest book. The chapter that has been on my to-do list since Monday. The thinking was all around the characters that needed to show up when my fingers hit the keyboard. The plot. What needed to happen. Where it needed to happen. And what I wanted to feel when I was done.

I'd say the book got a good 15 minutes of my drive home. And those were a damn good 15 minutes. Let's hope they are as good for the characters when I write that chapter tonight.

This post brought to you by Two Writing Teachers and their Slice of Life Story Challenge. It's a challenge where two writing teachers (love 'em!) are asking bloggers to post bits about their life in a blog post--and then announce it on their site. It's fun. It's through the end of March. Go sign up if you want! I'd love to see you there!

Labels: slice of life story challenge, writing, writing life

5:52 PM | Permalink | 3 comments

Typically I don't make a habit of looking at my writing past. You know the virtual closets of Word documents that line the hard drive of my computer. THAT past. And today I am reminded why. My writing was bad. Not a little bad, but horrifyingly bad. Wrought with tense shifting, cruddy topics, and just plain old redundant stories. I'm tempted to delete them forever.

But, right at that last moment, finger hovering over the fateful Delete Key, I stop. This is what I came from. Those files have made me the writer I am today. The better writer of today. I'm learning by writing. And who can beat that?

So, to keep you entertained, as well as prove my point. Let me share a few book "openers" here. Not necessarily the worst of the bunch, or the best, just writing that reminds me that the books I write now are better. Oh and for more entertainment, take a look at the various pseudonyms I "tried on for size."

For a long time I blamed my flirtation with these fake names on the non-pronounceability of my real name: Hiitola (phonetically, you say my name as Hee-tola, emphasis on the first syllable). But today, I know I was just afraid to put myself out there. Funny aside is that the minute I started using my real name, my writing became more my own. And miraculously more accepted. If there is a lesson in there... well, read between the lines.

Anyway, for your amusement, the works that will likely never see the light of day (or the ones that I just won't pull from the virtual void to rewrite in full)

WORKING TITLE: Life In Rhinelander, 7/24/2005, written as Bethany Reed

Jan sat at the kitchen table, draped in a bedroom sheet, head in her hands. It was midnight and the windows were open. The September wind was slowly rising into the air, and the dampness of the cool Northern Michigan air was brushing her bare shoulders.

“How could this happen?” Jan whispered to herself as she rocked in herself on the kitchen chair brushing her auburn highlighted hair from her tear soaked cheeks.

The plain note on the college ruled paper lay on the floor by her feet. The tears blurred her eyesight as to not read the writing on the page again. She knew it had been her fault. From the moment she had allowed John to lie to her about the phone number of the kitchen table 5 short years ago. She knew she would end up alone with their three children then, but she chose to ignore the signs. The secretive kisses, the hidden phone numbers, missed kid’s performances. The time he out-right lied to her about the woman he was with at lunch. And the affair Jan caught him in after the Halloween party about 5 years ago. The stolen kiss in the cobwebbed stairway. The moment of passion she mistook for a drunken stupor… the kiss she blatantly ignored. Jan had prayed that John would return to the marriage they had once shared alone in Utah. Jan had wished he would know what he was doing was tearing her apart. Ruining her life.

Then we promptly cut to the moment those two people met. At a party nonetheless. Yack. Tell me about it.

WORKING TITLE: My Life As You, 3/9/2002, written as Bethany Harden

It was pink. Sitting on a toilet in a Walgreens’ bathroom on my lunch break, a positive pregnancy test stares at me from the wall mounted disposal unit. A girl screams outside the bathroom door.

“Honey, hold on… there is someone in there,” the mother croons. I can see her holding a little blonde girls hand and pulling her from the narrow door handle. “I’m sure she’ll be out in a minute.” The handle of the door returns back to its original position. I reach for the test and place it within inches of my face- verifying that it is indeed pink- not purple, not blue, and not my imagination. It was definitely pink.

Sighing I placed the test stick, empty box, and receipt in the plastic bag. Stuff it into my purse and stand up in front of the standard bathroom sink. I turn on the water and cup my hands filling them with cold water and splash my face. Running my hands through my hair, I look deep into the eyes of the woman staring back at me. Shaking, I turn to the door and hold my breath. Absently, buttoning my blue vest, feeling for my name tag, and push the door handle.

In the doorway, the blonde girl stares up at me, “Finally!” she said exasperated. Her mother touched her shoulder and glanced at me apologetically, “I had to pee.” She ran past my left side into the bathroom and dragged her mother beside her. I forced a smile.

Ahhh, the pregnancy dilemma. Not that this can be overdone, this topic, but I didn't move the story very well did I? And that little girl? I hope she made it.

WORKING TITLE: Untitled, 8/21/2001, written as Bethany Hayden

Mom told me once that life is shit. I refused to believe her ‘cause she tells me crazy stuff all the time. When I was 6 she told me we should always pee in the water park pool so no one knows how much beer we've drank and that farts smell prettier in water. I started dating and her motherly advice was to stay away from men with hair on their backs because they are lousy in bed. The day I started my period, she insisted that we tell the grocery store clerk of my new private hell- then she proceeded to grab the microphone to lead the entire store in an “I Am Woman” rendition that needed polishing. I left the house when I was 17. I graduated from high school and headed off to college- searching for normalcy and running from chaos. But without fail, it didn’t arrive. Grandpa died, I almost got married and my father committed suicide, all within my first year at college. It’s a shame that it all seems normal now.

If I had known when I was driving home from Chicago for Thanksgiving 2 year ago, that I would lose Grandpa the very next day- I wouldn’t have gone. It is difficult to lose someone close to you when you almost made it in time to see them, to talk to them and to say your last words. However, when you are miles away- you remove yourself from all the what ifs and could have beens.

Oh boy. Grieving and a mother with a few screws loose. Actually, this one got better sorta once you got a bit into the family dynamics. But then again, the crazy mom and crazier grandma? A bit overdone.

Are you laughing hysterically yet? I was. Am. Will be. Trips down memory lane can be cathartic and sometimes painful. I think this one was both. At least this might have given me a bit of motivation to continue my CURRENT work in progress tonight after the kids go to bed. At least I know what a shitty first draft really is. And this time around, it likely won't be as bad as writing's past.

Maybe we could play a little game, sharing past writing projects and see who wrote the WORST possible first 100 worst. Anyone game? Post, comment, and let's compare...

Labels: me, writing

5:39 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Who loved nothing more than a hot, dark espresso drink, a good book, and a laptop to write...

Throw in a 5-year-old who's more than ready for a stint at Kindergarten, a 5-month-old with a love for her mother's arms, and a husband who's had a hard few months of tragedy. What do you get? A wife-mother-woman in Wisconsin who's pretty damn tired. And today? Sicker than a dog without a spot to piss (is that even a saying?).

But here I sit, working the day job, bouncing the infant on my knee, and coughing my way through a pretty ordinary day in the life of me. Laundry tumbling in the dryer a room away, and the television blaring some home reality show to add to the various white noise of the house in hopes that the baby will fall asleep sooner rather than later. Granted if this were a Monday or a Friday you could throw in the adventures of a Super Hero into the mix, because The Kiddo would be galloping through the house causing a bit more white noise and a lot more chaos.

It sounds sorta awful doesn't it? The chaos. The multitudes of multitasking, the possibilities of one activity interrupting another or completely taking over another. Let me be the first to say, yes, it does happen and it ain't pretty. But today? Today it is sorta nice. The normality of it all means things are finally getting a bit... normal. And that is very much a good thing.

It also reminds me that I am lucky. Lucky to have a job I enjoy (for the most part). Extremely lucky to have my family who I completely adore (even on bad days). And even more fortunately to have dreams I am striving to make happen for myself (and yep, even on the bad days). And this post is sounding more and more like a Lifetime Movie event (or those Hallmark After-School Specials). But it's the truth (damn it!), so bear with me...

What I am really getting at, is that I am an ambitious soul. One who gives up nothing to become what I want to be in life. I keep churning, moving, reacting, pushing, and even sometimes bombarding my way to what I call a "better" life. Along the way I take great pride in not stepping on toes or walking over anyone to get where I am at. But, being that I am not perfect, I am sure it has happened. And will happen.

I'm afraid, it could very well happen with the project I am currently going to shop around. See, it is a bit of a memoir. About my life in one specific part of parenting. The book is true, from the heart, and honestly, one of my best writing (if I say so myself). But.... there is always a but... it does sorta imply (if not directly state) that some family members hurt me. Believe me when I tell you it isn't the "bad stuff" (as in physical or mental abuse), but little things. Some comments. Brief but fleeting actions. And some small minuscule stuff that... hurt. And here, I am going to publish it for the world to read (maybe if the stars and moon align correctly).

How do memoirists deal with this? How am I going to deal with this?

Yes, the story does need to be written. Because the idea, the thoughts, the topic--whenever I have brought it up to others like me--it's been to rousing applause. Even to strangers. People love the idea. Love the memoir quality. And can relate to the (mis)adventures, comments, and situations. All of which, could, how can I say this, hurt my family member's feelings. Or at the very least they might take a little offense. Because, really, they were only trying to help. I know that in my heart.

I'm a Midwest girl true and true. Born, raised, and now living on my own here. We don't mess with our family members. We keep peace in the family. And most of all, we don't accuse anyone of doing anything wrong (well not to their face). With this book, I feel like I am spilling some family dirt. When in reality, I am sharing a normal Thanksgiving meal conversation. Or what happened last week while we were visiting the farm. Or last summer's vacation. Nothing serious. Nothing deep. Definitely not something detrimental. Just a little something that hit a nerve with me. And apparently with other mothers that are around my age.

Well, let's open the flood gates! Because, the time has come to face the facts. Books about real things, hit home. And hit where the heart aches. Let's hope this book has what it takes to break out my writing... and opens the eyes to my family and friends.

Labels: me, memoir, writing

12:01 PM | Permalink | 1 comments

Yep, that's the timeline I'm demanding of myself for this ole writing gig. Or the whole Corporate gig. Depends on how you look at it. By the time my daughter is rearing for preschool, I'm aiming to have my head above water with my fiction writing, as well as some articles under my belt (read editorial contacts) so that I can quit the Corporate thing and be on my own.

Yep. On. My. Own.

Do I love my job? Sure, I like it plenty. I get charged by it. Sometimes super-charged. But most days? Well, I get annoyed with people. I wonder what I am doing spinning my ever-ready wheels about the tediousness called marketing, writing, and product groups, when really, I want to be writing. Or talking about writing. Or talking about talking about writing. And not just any old writing--MY writing. So why not give myself a lofty goal. Then I have to commit to the insanity. And admit to myself that this writing thing is not just a night-time hobby. But a real, live goal that I will have to accountable for.

So, who's with me? Ready to kick some virtual ass? Because I swear, this little goal of mine, when it happens (notice the positive thinking there), it's going to be one hell of a celebration. And you'll be the first to know about it. Let the countdown, begin... now.

Labels: goals, me, writing, writing life

11:00 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

It's been a whole 3 full days since I've returned to work--and I'm exhausted. To the point that I could almost fall asleep sitting up. That is, if I wouldn't drop my daughter who is peacefully nursing after a rough night of going to bed. She's in a little routine of waking at night to be held and cuddles. Or at least that is what I think is happening--as 3 out of the 4 times she wakes she doesn't want nourishment. And, oh yeah, she screams her head off when she wakes up. So it's not like I'm able to sleep through any of this.

I chose to work from home with my son when he was this age as well--and its just as hard the second time around. If not harder--I really don't want to miss a thing with the new one. So I am attempting a bit of a lowering expectation exercise with myself. You know, for perfectionists, when you take a step back and realize you can't do it all... and let yourself let something go.

I can say I am doing well so far, but that is only because it has been a few days. I feel myself being pulled back into projects and the office politics. Even without a push. Or the desire to do more. So, right now, I am blaming exhaustion. My brain cells have been battered around with less than ideal sleep conditions, so it's worn down my drive. And that is a good thing. At least I think.

Where this new attitude has hurt me is with my night job--fiction writing. I am typically too worn down from the days rigmarole to even attempt writing any scenes or chapters. Thurs, my laptop sits open on the table waiting for me to start. Or my notepad lies open on the bed with my latest bullet point reminders. Which makes me a bit frustrated with myself.

Some might say getting up an hour or so early in the morning would help. But do you have an infant in the house? Because getting up earlier means possibly 4 or 5am. And then I have to attempt to work a full day after that. While chasing two children around simultaneously. It is a near impossible feat. I'm serious. I've tried it. And well, I'm sitting here bleary eyed and closer to drifting off than I'd care to admit. So, I'd say that is proof enough--serious writing is out of the question right now.

Let's just say, I'm aiming for the weekends. Hoping then the writing will come to me easier, and then at least when my phone rings or e-mail chimes, I'll know it won't be work calling me away from the two loves of my life. The children and the writing.

Labels: motherhood, working, writing, writing life

12:06 AM | Permalink | 4 comments

Remember those writing goals? Well, yeah. It's been over 4 weeks and I wish I had more to report. See, that is the thing with reporting to the world your goals. Your held accountable. To which, I can now report I am (still) behind. But at least the outline is done!

Yes, numero uno on my list is finally complete. Sure I set a 2 week goal (meaning Nov. 16) and I am... ummm...more than a few days (weeks) late--and was hoping for a one week completion date. I would have been ahead of schedule. A nice little trick I learned from Corporate America. Set expectations that are very doable and then beat the expectation to look fan-tabulous.

Well, okay. It doesn't always work that way. And it really doesn't matter with this book, since I'd only be impressing myself. But hey, it was a goal. What is a girl to do? Anyway, at least I am still somewhat on track. And with Thanksgiving and my start back at work this week. Well, I'll need all the positive thinking I can muster. The end of the year is approaching and I have the first half of the book to complete.

Labels: goals, writing

12:02 AM | 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

Being more than a bit dismayed at how fast 10 weeks and some few days of maternity leave has passed, I've become a bit melancholy. Or if I really think about it, depressed.

In fact, it is quite clear that there are some sour feelings about the change that will occur come the third of December because I am eating us out of house and home. Sure, I'm nursing and that takes up-- what an additional 500 calories a day or so. But when I am eating an additional 3 times that amount in snacks, chocolate, and flavored mochas? Well, you see the problem. At least weight-wise. The real problem though is emotionally.

I'm all for mothers working--however they manage the child care and make it work for themselves. And in fact, my son from the time he was 2 years old until today--I worked in an office full time (and part time) and it was all a-okay. But this time around, with an extended absences from work with my daughter? It's really (really) hard to return.

It might be because I have been able to be home with her for so long, I've actually relaxed (with my son, I'd only taken 6 weeks off and then dove right back into work full time). Or it might be that I have actually "found my mother self." Or all of the 800 reasons between. However, any which way you look at it, the chaos of my life when work gets thrown back in--is not something I am looking forward to.

If all my conference calls could be done via instant messaging and e-mail? Well, I might be happier. Oh, and deadlines would have to be a bit more lax. And those pain in the ass projects (you know the ones you hate but have to do anyway)? Well, I'd just rather not do them.

On so many levels, as much as I need a non-mothering outlet, I'd love to focus on my writing. I mean, sure, I've had all maternity leave to write and NOW I am deciding to get serious I get melancholy about it--but the truth is, my brain couldn't focus on a whole bunch except these short blog pieces and some odds and ends writing until now. I mean, I'm producing milk to sustain a child and waking at all hours of the day and night--who can put together long, strung together thoughts?

Now, I'll have to get back on active duty at Corporate America and it is likely to suck the little ity bit of energy that has stirred in the back of my brain into all that work stuff. The insignificant crap that gets me a decent pay check. My writing will again be put a bit farther down the list of things to get done (don't worry--not too far down the list, just one--or two-rungs lower). And that makes me more than a bit sad. Unless of course I write like a banshee for 15 days and produce half a novel.

To which, I won't even try to set expectations like that. I know better. With the holiday and all... well it is impossible. Right?

Labels: motherhood, working, writing, writing life

1:03 AM | Permalink | 2 comments

Here's some trivia about the writer's strike, and why writers are pissed (from the writers of The Office):

1. Writers were not compensated for the work they did on the ten webisodes now found on NBC.com. Which were beyond hilarious, btw.

2. The webisodes writers won an Emmy for their outstanding work on the web-only content, but don't have an actual statue because NBC won't pay the $200 to get one made.

Read the full article here. Oh and watch the video.

And yes, I support the writers--as a writer, and a believer that the *next* wave for television/movies/music IS electronic media. Including the web. Give the writers some love. God knows we don't get paid enough all around--or the credit we deserve as creators (masterminds) of all this entertainment stuff. ESPECIALLY in all creative outlets (like television writers, movies scriptwriters, novelists...).

Labels: world, writing, writing life

4:41 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

This isn't the first time either--or the last. It comes with the territory or writing, publishing (someday!), working, motherhood, and that little thing called marriage. We are continually bombarded with things to do. And for me, blogging has always been my warm up exercise.

I use blogging to drag the muse out of my brain and free thoughts from brain to fingers. Some days it works, others, not-so-much. But I do know it is forcing me to attempt to write every day--and that one advantage, will keep me blogging. Does it take time from my real writing time? Sure, but so does watching television, reading, playing the the children, eating, sleeping, and all the things we do every day as humans. Just add blogging to the rotation and continue on to the next item on the list.

And if you think I am kidding my morning has been full of all things motherly--nursing a child, diaper changes, making meals for children, playing Candyland with the eldest, more nursing, a trip to the grocery store and post office, nursing again, and now finally I was able to get the youngest to nap and The Kiddo occupied with markers and paper at the table beside me. I shoveled in the warmed can of ravioli that I had simmering and now? I write. And this is how I start. Which, with a new infant, shows you how erratic my schedule is right now. Sometimes I am writing at midnight, five in the morning. Or basically any hour of any day to get some writing done. And with that--well, I need to get writing. You know, real writing.

Labels: blog, writing, writing life

1:25 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

If your a writer who's searched the web for info and not landed on HollyLisle.com, well, you haven't been searching that well. She's got a trove full of information on her website for aspiring authors--very practical and realistic advice that anyone (even seasoned writers) can glean a ton of information from. Her back story (how she became a full time writer) is by far the most interesting--and biggest lesson for writers. She doesn't sugar coat a thing, and gives it to you straight. If you want to write (and you just can't stop), it isn't an easy road. It takes HARD work, persistence, and time. And of course the tenacity to sit down and keep writing.

Anyway, Holly is fabulous. I have visited her site more times than I can count and still go back for a visit whenever I need the motivation to continue. It just reminds me that I can do this publishing thing. I mean, I'm gonna write no matter what, so let's make something of it. Which brings me to these writing goals. I'm on Holly's Update List. It is a newsletter of sorts. And in it she shares some inspirational stories, essays, writing exercises. It is an extension of Forward Motion, the first writing community she started on her site and of all the various resources she offers on her website. Her first call to action: Write three writing goals. Achievable goals. Two of which are short term and one that is more long term. So, publicly, I am going to write my goals for you to see:

1. Finish outlining my current novel in the next 2 weeks. I am not normally an outliner. But I have a world to build. I have a plot line I need to make sure entwines correctly. And with two children in tow now, I don't have time to let the story just go where it wants to and cut out un-needed junk later. In other words, I need a plan. One I can read, think about throughout my day, and than write when I have the time.
2. Get the first 3 chapters done by the end of the year. I need to have them done, and polished and ready for submission (to a new potential agent).
   
3. Have the entire novel in full submission (as in to editors) by August 2008. I am hopeful I will actually snag a new agent by then and then be ready for the big time! And as much as that seems mountains away to all of you--to me, a mom of an 8 week old--that is right around the corner! Ha!

So there you have it! I'll have to remember to post updates when and if I meet these goals. They may seem a little tedious to you, but you have to have goals. And I've found, the more specific they are, the better. Then you know if you have met them or not.

Want to join in on the writing inspiration (and tasks) Holly has to offer? Go sign up here (newsletter sign up on the left side panel).

Labels: writing, writing life

1:31 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Ain't that the truth. If you think waiting for your muse to strike you with the best novel idea ever (read evah)--well you are in for a huge surprise when and if you decide to publish that bestselling novel. Not only is the road to publication (whether novels, magazine articles, or a newspaper byline) long and twisty (finding contacts, submitting, revisions, and then of course deadlines)--it is painstakingly slow. Sure there are exceptions, but the bulk of us--wait a really long time to see our name in print under or labor of words.

Firs there is the writing the first draft. You love it. Cuddle (and coddle it). Treasure each and every word. Or if you are like me, painstakingly sit down almost every day and write with as much fever as possible (you never know when you'll get another minute). And that is if the muse is with you. If not, I still sit my ass down at the computer and try to write something (anything) to make it to the next day. Not only is that a long process, but when you try to reach near 300 pages--it can be grueling (not to mention daunting when you are on page 1).

But then the inevitable happens (well, if you are writing each and every time you can)--you finish the first draft. And boy, if you've never reached that point yet, let me tell you, it is the BEST high one can imagine. I would compare it to sex if my husband doesn't read the blog. Your work is complete. The hours, days, weeks of your time finally in form of a book.

For me, I was in the fiction writing closet for so long, I have a weird counter-action to it, wanting to share my writing immediately. I mean, right then when I type The End. Sure there is that one scene near page 45 that I didn't quite finish, but I have note right there that says what will happen then. And yes, I know the protagonists boyfriend's name changes half way through to James (because Jim was too informal). Believe me when I tell you, going back to only fix those little errors? It isn't enough. No one (and really there isn't) can write a decent first draft.

So what does one do (especially when they really--and I mean really--want to share and start jumping the agent/editor search, like now, since the idea is so HOT? You wait. Honestly, give yourself a break from the work. Some people say they can give it a week and revisit. For a novel, I can't do this. I have to wait a month (if I can). I've lived with these characters for months, I can't just forget them in a week. Hell, they are still talking to me, questioning some of what they did. Bothering me that I didn't represent them right on page 124 because they would never (and I mean never) say such a mean and snotty thing to their mother (but trust me, they did and do... it is called character remorse). But everyone is different. You need to leave the writing alone. Get it out of your head. Enjoy your family, the weather, some good old movies. Anything that can get your mind OUT of the book, for a change. And when that finally happens, then go back and start rereading with the critical eye. Rework, revise, revamp, and rewrite. It is the only way to polish your work.

For novels, it takes me a month or more to get a fresh perspective on the storyline and characters. For articles? Maybe a day or two. But that isn't what matters. Revisions make the writing better. I know that, you know that, we all know that. Hell, I taught that when I worked at The Writing Center in college. But, they really are damn hard to pull off. Especially write after you spent your blood and tears getting it on paper in the first place. But don't think otherwise -- you MUST rewrite. There is no other way. And rewrites--you guessed it--take time.

For me, about 4 rewrites (at least). My last novel that took 9 rewrites. And then another to top the cake (and now no one will read the thing). You'll know when it is of the caliber to show your prospective agent or editor. It will make you proud--you'll smile just thinking about. And criticism will slide off you back. Want to know why, you know that book is the way it is because you purposely wrote it that way--intentional and with entire abandon.

But don't let the importance of first readers go un-noticed. You need those too. The people you trust (not your husband or mother or sister) to read your out-of-the-gate first draft readers. Likely another author you trust to take a look and tell you if there is a real story in there somewhere. And those first readers? The minute you type The End, you sure as hell send them an e-mail--literally hot off the presses. Because that is what they are there for. And then wait for them to read it. (see? Waiting. The theme of this post).

Now onto my favorite topic, the agent/publisher search. This is where it gets even harder. Response times in publishing are slow. Really slow. You search for an agent, you get your top 10 list. And then your top 65. And if you are really still persistent a top 100 list. Then submit, following all the rules listed on the website, Writer's Marketplace books, or e-mail. And wait. As in weeks and weeks of waiting. Sure sometimes you get a fast response (by fast it is usually a week or two), but most of the time, it is near 2 months. And even more if you get a full manuscript request.

But hey, this gets better if you and your agent and submitting to editors too. Editors have day jobs too--that are what they are paid to do, edit books. So, reading another manuscript. You guessed it... takes time. It is all about waiting in publishing. If you think you can sneak by with easy and fast yeses from an agent or editor--don't expect to see your book on a shelf in under a year either. The waiting will get to you eventually. This time it is about 18 months on average before you just contracted book hits the shelves. It is just the way of the business. Not that in the meantime you won't be waiting for revision letters, edits, cover images and copy, author photographs to come back, advanced reviews, oh and of course release day. It is waiting, waiting and more waiting.

It's okay though, right? We spend hours writing our novels. Figure it takes just as long (and longer) to actually get that writing out into the world. If you want instant gratification, sign yourself up for a blog (or go get one). Write to your hearts content, and then press PUBLISH. It's instant. And sometimes you even get instant feedback.

Labels: author, publishing, writing, writing life

2:14 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Shhhh. The baby is sleeping. The Kiddo entertained with his action figures in his room. And husband outside staking out the fence we hope to install in the next month.

What am I doing? Writing. Sticking together the Post-It notes from this week and last. Tossing in a few notes I had lying around. And praying I'll find a way to make this story work the way I imagine it in my head.

So, pardon me, while I get back to it. I can't steal a better moment (or three) than this. And boy, I don't want to waste it.

Labels: writing

3:08 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

I've got at least three dozen notebooks and journals lying around my house (car, diaper bags, office) for those moments of muse clarity that cannot be ignored. Where I must write down an idea, plot item, dialogue, character sketch.... well anything that might be used as a writing catalyst in the future. But lately? I'd be nothing close to a writer if it weren't for my trusty post-it notes.

And I am not talking about special post-it notes. Nope. Just any plain old original post-it note, or my son's Scooby Doo post-its, or those from my office that haven't quite found a home in my desk yet, or well, any post-it note I can get my hands on in my time of need (scraps of paper will do if nothing else is available too).

My "ideas" are fractions of what they used to be. Likely because I am distracted by being a full-time mom. Or the fact that my lack of REM sleep has finally kicked me into exhaustion territory. Either way, at least I am still getting ideas to kick around for my writing. And when I get them, I better write them down. Or I just might doze off for a quick nap and wake up with not a clue about the previous events. Including that gem of an idea for the latest work in progress.

So, these post-its are collecting under my laptop. And now is a stash beside it. Some are numbered in a particularly pleasing order. Others are just a "junk pile" of dialogue. And then there is the starred set (think gold star but instead a pen marked asterisk). These are must-haves in my latest story. Items I must include in one form or another. The hope is that hours (okay, days or weeks) later I will sit down and write the full idea. Get it in place for the whole story, and find myself with a finished manuscript. At least someday.

Somewhere deep in my subconscious I am sure this is indicitive of life with a 6 week old kid. Or maybe I am just scattered on a good day. Either way, it is a form of writing I am just taking for what it is worth and seeing if it will work to complete a manuscript. It can't be any worse than not writing at all.

Labels: me, writing, writing life

9:31 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

I've dusted off the keyboard, grabbed my idea notebook and stuffed it into my ever-faithful diaper bag, and grabbed my most favorite doodle pen and put it in the inner pocket of said diaper bag for the ceremonious occasion called inspiration. Or more literally, for the many "not-at-my-computer-writing moments" that tend to follow the birth of a child (and through that first, rough, and exhausting first year).

Hear that writing muse? I'm ready to start writing again. For real. And I'm not going to let interrupted sleep and a few minutes (hours) of a crying child stop me from my dream. Even if I am starting from ground zero. Again. Even if I am a bit deflated emotionally (and by the paunch of postpartum belly that leads me around, I'd say that is physically deflated too).

Look out writing world--here I come. Again!

Labels: parenting, writing, writing life

3:54 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

For the first time in over 9 months, I was cell phone free. Yes, you read that right. I turned off my cell phone for over 12 hours. In fact, I actually used the power button to turn off the phone and plugged the thing into the wall outlet to charge. And that was it.

I felt completely untethered from work and the world for the first 5 seconds, and then breathed a huge sigh of relief and tension. No realtor would be calling to schedule a house showing. No lawyer calling about an issue on the house sale. And, THANKFULLY, no one would be calling me about an urgent work issue that just couldn't wait until normal working hours to be resolved.

It was glorious. And freeing. Now if only I didn't worry the entire time my literary agent might call with some unexpected news.

Labels: life, writing

3:32 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

I play this little game with myself... you know the one, "What if."

What if I was independently wealthy? I didn't need the money a job would give me to eat/live/survive. I could spend money without a thought. Travel as if it were going out of style. Make big purchases on a whim. What "would" my life be like? Would I have taken a turn toward Paris Hilton or Nicole Richie? A life of clubbing, city, men, and designer clothes? Or would I dedicate my life to charity and a life of giving to others? Would I still enjoy writing? Would I be driven to write (still)? Or would it be the past time that no one knew about?

Granted the Wealth What If doesn't change even the smallest part of my reality. Because, as you all know, I am far from that sort of wealthy. But, I must say, that particular What If is still one of my favorites. One I come back to at least a few times a year. Just to make sure I am at some level trying to live my life with some sort of spark. I mean, I might not be able to afford $250 pair of jeans like a celebrity, but at least I can add in a trip here and there to make my life "feel" a bit glamorous right?

But that brings me to the Tough What Ifs. The part of the game that really could be a reality--if done right--and could change your life. These What Ifs, if pursued, could really become The Changing Point Of My Life.

I'll admit it, that What If isn't as fun sometimes. It's down right scary as hell. I mean, who wants to change a comfortable life? The routines that keep us happy, even keeled, and well floating... they can keep us sane. If we rock the boat, life can become choppy. And I freely admit, I don't always want that in my life. Well most days.

But the game is still a lure for me. And believe it or not, I've even played along a few times to see what life would bring me. Example one, the kid. I admit it, we thought we wanted kids (sorry, but I wasn't one of those sure types. I was always leery of the cost and responsibility). And we played the What If We Had A Kid game. We questioned whether we would be good parents (whatever that means), if we had the financial means to support one, what our marriage would turn into, what our kid would be like... well you get the idea. This one, was a wonderful What If. Albeit, sometimes difficult and trying, the overall feeling is that we got a great kid out of the mix and are still trying with all the parenting stuff (no one's perfect right?).

The second What If came soon after the kid for me. It was my writing. I've always written. Hell, I was a closet writer most of my life. Writing poetry for unsuspecting boyfriends. Songs about lost love. And journals that could heat a home for at least 15 years. But I held onto the fiction dream for well over a decade. I didn't have any experience worthy of an entire story and the world really didn't need another coming of age teenage life story to resurface (especially one that was loosely based on real life). Until of course I found myself a Work at Home Mom for Corporate America spewing marketing jargon out my nose with constant conference calls. For whatever reason, I started playing The Game again. What if I didn't want to work for Corporate America, what would I do? What if I had a chance at a dream job (one that conveniently merged parenthood and livelihood), what would I do?

This was a hard one for me. I mean, now I can look back and say, "Writing my book! Of course! It shone like a sun beam from above and hit me squarely in the eye..." But the reality of it all was I had no clue. I'd been writing since I was four. I was writing in my profession (sure it was only user guides and technical specifications, but it was till writing). And had at least 500 novel ideas hopping around on my various computer hard drives. None of which were finished. Or even ideas I felt strong enough to finish.

But I kept looking at my son. My current life (and work) habits. And what I felt was lacking in the form of support from other mothers and family members. And what I wished my life and career was like. And I felt out of control. A bit nervous. And risky. So, I took a leap of faith in not only myself and writing ability. But in my little dream that wouldn't go away. Writing a novel.

What If I Could Actually Write a Novel? That was of course step one. And you can see the natural progression here right? It turned from a simple task, to one of a much larger scale, What If I Wrote a Novel and Then Could Sell It? And then the next natural step, Could I Make A Living Doing The Novel Thing? Those last two are still in the works. Needless to say, I am definitely trying. Even after two and a half years. And working. And family. And all that stuff that makes you want to quit every day because it sucks up your time and energy.

But all of that, still isn't my latest What If topic. This one is even a bit more edgy and life-altering. In fact, I am not so sure I would have thought of this one on my own--at least not at the moment, without the help of the husband.

Pre-decision to sell our house we talked of dreams (we often do). What we wanted to do with our lives. What is important. What isn't. What is making us happy. What is driving us insane. Our life goals in 10 years. 20. And what really we wanted to do. I won't bore you with the details of all of this discussion--because it would quite literally bore you to tears--but here's the gist of conversation that led to my current What if debacle:

The husband: "This new house will be good for us."
Me: "The lower house payments will be wonderful."
Him: "I can start my own business."
Me: "Finally. You've talked about it since college."
Him: "I know."
I give him a wistful, proud look.
Me: "And I can, maybe some day write my books full time."
Him: "You will."
Me: "Someday maybe."
Him: "At least you can work from home now. That helps doesn't it?"
Me: "It makes working for corporate America with children a bit easier."
Him: "Well you would be bored not working at all."
Me: "I would?"
Him: "I can't imagine you just staying at home with the kids."

And this is the point I think I either protested or sat back and started playing The Game. I mean, could I stay home with the kids? That is, without any other work-like obligations? I hadn't ever thought about it before, because, honestly, I didn't have the option. I needed to work to pay for our house, our food, our bills... but just staying at home as a mom? Well, that was intriguing. If not, almost relaxing (and yes, I know what work children are! Remember, I worked, from home, and worked full time with my son for 2 years... with no help from a sitter during the day. That balance of working and caring for a child can wear anyone down. That balance... well not having to deal with it, well can be considered relaxing. Or at the very least less stressful).

Now sure, this little What If I Didn't Work At All scenario did have a work side... it would be writing. Working on my novels. Giving up more of my day hours (in 15 minute chunks of course) to writing my fiction instead of conference calls. Taking time off to head to the park and not worry about e-mails. And well writing fiction. It would feel like I had HOURS of time compared to the Corporate/Mommy/Writer juggle I am currently doing! Could I do it? Did I want to do it? Was there an in-between solution that would work to make my life less stressful (and more fulfilling)? Because really, the long term goal is to ditch the day time Corporate gig. But do it before I could support myself on writing novels? I mean, if I took the risk, wrote my fingers to the bone, and used my once Corporate Day Job time to write, would it pay off?

...

And that is as far as I have come to a conclusion. It remains an open, unanswered question. Sure, I do like my day job right now (on most days). I like responsibility and of course the pay check. I love my kid(s), and often wish I could spend more undivided time with them. And of course, I want my husband to pursue his dream of working for himself (or ourselves as the case may be). All of which add up, to a bunch more questions. Life-altering questions. Ones that could make one lose sleep at night (that is if they weren't carrying another child in their womb and working a day and night job). But What If? What If I Was Able to Knock Off the Day Job and be a Mom and Writer (Only)?

Labels: life, writing

12:25 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

I really do believe the everyone has a story to tell. Is the story real? Not necessarily. Does it deserved to be published? Well, no. Not everyone is a writer. And not everyone can actually weave a plot. But a story worthy of sharing? Sure, we all have them.

I just don't know why, since I call myself a writer, I am being asked to write them. It is amazing how many Boy Do I Have A Story You Could Write responses to the age old profession question. In all my life, I never told another writer I had a really good story for them (or even one that I was sure they could get published). Reminds me of the after wedding procession of meeting guests question. You know the one, "So, when are you having children?" People assume if you are a writer, well then you need material to write about.

Truth be told, I have more ideas than I know what to do with. Most in bullet form sitting on my hard drive waiting for the right moment to open into a full length book. Others even have a full plot line mapped out. And others are just chapters, or snippets, waiting for a spare moment of lime light.

So, really, next time you meet a writer and think they must write your story, please, just take a deep breath and remember, we writers are full of ideas. And most of the time, your story is just that. Yours. If I took over. Well, I wouldn't tell it the way you'd want it. I'd make it my own.

Labels: writing, writing life

9:37 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

I always have problems with endings (as in ending my novels). For whatever reason, even though I know the story has to end, I just can't ever seem to get the endings right. Or comfortable. Or not cheesy. Or well, just complete. And there lies the current dilemma.

My current working novel is about at that point of ending. Or sorta close to it anyway. I know where the story needs to go, and I am heading in that direction (thankfully) but, how do I end it satisfactorily? How do I find that happy balance of conclusion, cute, and a feeling of completeness?

A lot of writers have issues with beginnings. Not me. You should see my hard drive, I have so many beginnings, it's scary to actually count. I mean, I LOVE beginning new projects. The possibilities they have! The dreams! I can barely contain myself from diving in and giving each character a chance to prove they are worthy of an ENTIRE book. But then, after I achieve that start, the middle drags me down. At least initially, and then I start a steady pace towards the end. Or at least that is in an ideal writing situation.

But endings. Well, I continuously worry I will not satisfy myself, my characters, or my readers with them. And that is likely why I can spend at least 3 weeks on getting that portion of the book just so. Let's hope this time around (and with this latest project), I get it figured out soon. Not only am I losing patience, so are my characters. They want resolution. I just want to take a little celebration break (finishing a novel always deserves one of those!).

Labels: writing

8:58 AM | Permalink | 0 comments

Someone is coming to visit this very blog. Yep... [whispers/screams] Meg Cabot. The author of everything from THE PRINCESS DIARIES Series, 1-800 Series, oh and SIZE 12 IS NOT FAT/Heather Wells Series, and SHE WENT ALL THE WAY !

Can you believe it? I'm still drooling and spitting all over myself after trying to articulate myself accordingly for the interview.

Anyway, here's what's awaiting you in the next few days (one blog post once I get all the info together):

• A personal interview with me (well, if I didn't make a fool of myself).
• Some ravings about her latest novel, QUEEN OF BABBLE.
• And more than a hint into the secret lives of authors (or at least a peek into some of her inspirations and most disliked word ever).

Isn't this just The Coolest Thing Ever? Because, really it is.

Labels: interview, reviews, writing

11:49 AM | Permalink | 0 comments

I'm not a journalist, but a technical writer, but it doesn't matter. We still write on deadline. Sometimes unrealistic deadlines, and others, very realistic but we procrastinate. It's the nature of the career. And it is very much like writing fiction. What other career can you write over 14 books in one calendar year?

It's true! Really. Have you read a user manual lately? The page count ranges from near 80 pages to over 350. In my career they've tended to be near the 100 page range. Add up those numbers and I am producing--officially--1400 pages of text. At least. And what better way to prep myself for being a novelist. That and the deadlines of course.

I've learned from many non-day-job-writer type friends that the motivation to continue a book they have started is hard. Or the fact that they have to rewrite a book at all is discouraging. Or, God Forbid, they get edits back and realize the entire last half of the book is crap. For me, well, I've been managing that life for years. I sit at a corporate desk routinely to write when I don't want to, under a tight deadline, and under the scrutiny of at least 30 people reading, reviewing, and correcting my text.

Does all of this sting? Sure. Does it hack away at my motivation. Of course. But do I let it stop me from moving forward? Hell no. And THAT is what it has taught me about my fiction novel writing.

Stories can always be fixed, tweaked, leveraged, reworked, and revised. Not everyone is going to like your voice/angle/style. And, most importantly, you really don't need motivation to get started, continue, or finish. Just do it.

Labels: writing

10:59 AM | Permalink | 0 comments

I used to get caught up in all the little things--the margins and fonts used in the manuscript, the cover art (someday), back copy blurbs, the formats of queries, what to say in cover letters, and how to respond to a response, and how long to wait before following up for all steps of the process--but the longer I have been around writing, the less important any of this seems. It's sorta like the whole one-page resume rule when graduating college. A whole 10 years later, I have a hard time cramming the good stuff into that short of space. And guess what? I don't.

What I'm getting at, is just like any other business, sure there are guidelines and recommended practices. Please follow them. But if this week, you are having a bad week and forget the 1" margins, you'll be forgiven. And shit, if your book is good or in-market right now, you'll snag the agent or publisher. Sorta the old adage-if it is meant to be, it WILL happen.

All these little things are great distractions for the big thing in front of all writers--writing the novel. And believe you me, when I say they are distractions for me as well. But when it comes down to it, the writing must speak for itself. No matter how trite, anal, pretensions, or snobby I sound. The writing is the writing. No matter how you format it and wrap it for presentation. Sure doing the proper things might garner you a few more head turns--so follow these little rules--but it won't sell your book for you.

I'm still in the beginning. I am still an unknown-a wanna be-and a working writer (with a day job), but I do have an agent. And I worked hard to get her. I researched. I scoured Internet sites, I purchased agent-getting books, and I read novels. A lot of novels I loved. I kept my eyes peeled--and I eventually snagged someone who loved my books as much as I did. But that didn't mean I didn't do my homework and work my ass off to get it. In fact, I rewrote an entire novel .

Nothing is that unusual about my story. I don't think that I got *picked up* by an agent that early on in my writing career. And I made God awful mistakes when I started querying. But that is how we learn. And grow. Nor did I take any sort of easy route. I wrote. And I rewrote. And queried. And then did the whole process over again at least three times until I got a yes.

And now I am writing another book. And hopefully another after that. Am I worried about all the little things still--the things that have yet to affect me? Sure, in the back of my twisted little head that is still holding onto the dream. But I am concentrating on what I can make a difference in. And that IS the writing. So, if I can offer any nugget of advice for anyone hoping for any sorta dream: work damn hard at your craft. No matter what it is. And make sure that one thing is as good as you want it to be--or better. And then worry about the little things. Those are easy to fix once the big one is in as good as shape as it can be.

Labels: writing

9:38 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

It's been a drag-ass spring so far for me. Sitting on two homes til one sells, dealing with a floppy haircut because of a schedule that is just busy enough I'm not willing to squeeze a half hour of salon time, dragging all XXL large clothes from the corners of my wardrobe to stretch over the ever-increasing pregnancy belly, and avoiding a thing called housework for yard work to, you know, keep me busy. And the list of avoidance and procrastination can go on and on... until, well, something sparks the fire.

For me, it was a week ago or so. I felt the need to create. Or a need to do a change-up on a normal routine of work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep (oh and cook and childcare, and laundry, pay bills, worry, etc). So I decided to NOT take a nap one afternoon. And then to write some again late in the evening. I started jotting post ideas in my handy-dandy moleskin notebook. And what do you know? It pushed me to actually continue writing the next book. To actually show my agent the first 100 pages (she'd great for a sanity check... make sure the book is worth finishing). And to well, write more consistent blog posts again. Not to mention read the stack of books on my bedside table, finger paint with the kiddo, try cooking a new meal, and even attempt a bit of shopping for the new bod. Hell I even got a hair cut!

But I could feel myself falling away into the routine again. The yearning to veg out and ignore all creative endeavors until I felt... inspired (and between you and me, that doesn't happen very often). Thankfully had a little nudge tonight to get me back on track. Or at least fired up to stay on track. Brainstorming. Talking. Thinking. Combining ideas. And well, just making up shit for the hell of it. A friend needed my assistance--for what she says is my creativity. I didn't have the hear to tell her it had been leaking out of my left ear for weeks and it was likely I had none left. So I agreed. And two hours of chatting later (maybe it was less. I lost track of time), we had a list of ideas. Good ideas. Fun ideas. Ideas I would be proud to call my own--but even happier to hand off for her needs. Because, hell, now I was fired up to work on my own creative endeavors.

And there you have it. An unexpected, but wonderfully needed, kick in the ass back into the swing of things.

Thanks Mo. I'll likely need this treatment weekly. So get ready.

Labels: life, writing

11:10 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

I don't consider myself fearless. I haven't sur