Unwilling Participant

My main character is giving me heartburn. She is reluctant to do the final confrontation with her former mentor, and is doing everything in her power to stall the inevitable. She's got good reason to be a feet-dragger, but it sure is making my life a lot harder than it has to be. Hurt, emotionally vulnerable, and fed up with her own behavior, the last thing she wants to do is visit someone who she knows will be more than willing to point out her shortcomings. What she doesn't know is that it will be all good, and that once she lays eyes on him everything will change. He's broken too, and in ways that are completely alien to him, but all too familiar to her. Whether either one of them likes it, they need each other to heal, and the finger pointing has got to stop. From both sides.
Can't we all just get along?????
Nope.
Cause if we did, where would good fiction come from?
Actually, I know why she's being such a pain in my ass. Once I finish this scene, put a final few wrap-up sentences on the end, and spell/grammar check the whole thing, I get to throw her and the cast to the wolves.
Don't wanna.
Really can't wait.
Conflict, you gotta love it.
I'm an unwilling participant in my own creation for today, so since I already have five pages and one of two major scenes out of the way, I'm going to give myself over to the goddess of good coffee, and let my main girl throw a hissy fit all by herself and get it out of her system. Maybe being sent to her room in my head for the rest of the day will have her willing and able to face her(our) fears tomorrow, and get on with her recovery.
Until then, coffee will be the only thing that soothes this savage breast.

Living With The "Man"

This week, my husband got a promotion, issued a Blackberry, and overloaded with boss-man work.
I'm so very proud.
However.....
Now I spend a disproportionate amount of time husband-less.
*sigh*
Oh well, a hot-blooded woman's gotta do what she's gotta do to make it through her day, regardless of the consequences. Don't tell me it's wrong, don't try and talk me out of it.
I know some people will think it's wrong, that I'm going to regret it eventually. Or the price will be too high, and when he finds out, I'm going to be riddled with guilt.


But I need it too much to deny myself.


The puppy might have to wait until spring, but I'm getting a DROID phone. And there's nothing you can say or do to talk me out of it.

Fluffy vs. Overstuffed

I have an addiction that so far I've managed to keep in the privacy of my own home. It's not that I'm ashamed of my condition, it's just that circumstance has kept me away from indulging myself in public.
Hi, my name is Heather, and I'm addicted to stand-up comedy.
I've had this problem for 17 years. It all began when I had cable installed in my first rental house. In my own defense, I've learned to become more selective in my watching, turning off the too sweaty, the obviously trying too hard, and the crude for crude sake performers. Somewhat of a connoisseur at this late stage, my list of favorite "hits" has been whittled down to a select few, such as Gabriel Inglesies--purveyor of the statement "I'm not fat, I'm fluffy!". He's a laarrrggee guy. Jiggles and is jolly when he laughs, which is often and contagious!
But he got me thinking today as I was watching his special. Going through my book with a fine toothed comb, I have discovered that there are many places that cry out for *more*. Some embellishment, or more description of the protagonist's mood or motivation, just *more*. The problem is, I find myself reluctant to add anything, fearing I will move beyond "fluffy" to "overstuffed". From sweeping majestic description to plodding overstatement. Flinching before an editor even gets their hands on it, expecting to cut it before it's even written. Intellectually, I know it's self-defeating, but there are days when there's no reasoning with my inner editor. There are work-arounds for it, but they're pretty rash. Most of the time, taking an hour or so break gets everyone back in line, ready to be reasonable with addition and subtraction. There are days that I have to get nasty, though. That's when the drywall mud comes out, the paint cans get opened, and I turn my back on the book completely. I ignore it so well that after a few days, my muse and her editor have re-negotiated and are ready and willing to play ball. Those are the days that I hobble away from the computer with hands curled into claws from muscle strain. It's wonderful, I float up the stairs on a cloud of euphoria and pain. That is one reason I write. And it's more addicting than stand-up comedians, and just as puzzling.

ghosts and machines

Deus Ex Machina..........
Traditionally, in days ancient and golden in literary fame, it was a machine that lowered godlike characters onto the stage, simulating divine intervention and the ability to untangle a sticky plot or impossible situation. Thanks to the encroaching nano-bot driven wave of science fiction, it has taken on another definition in modern language-that of spontaneous sentience within a mechanical/electrical device.

I need one of the first kind to influence the second.

My appliances, cars, and house are alive. There's nothing you can say to convince me otherwise. And they have way better hearing than they should.

Every time I have more than two nickels to rub together, the collective consciousness that are my "machinas" somehow know, and have whispered conversations late at night to decide who is worthy of the next generous outpouring of my wallet.

What I would like is for the godlike "deus" of all machines to cut in on one of these pow-wows and intercede on my behalf. Just once or twice would be good. Then maybe, just maybe I won't kick them so hard when they do break, thus improving human/machine relations, and thus preventing the slaughter of all mankind in a mechanized future world.

Or maybe I could go on vacation for the first time ever.

Either is good with me!

Fall-ing in Love

There's something about this time of year that puts a spring in my step, a twinkle in my eye, and a tingle in my heart. Some people might equate the sensations I get with falling in love. In a sense, it is a love affair I have every October-I go head over heels in love with Fall. And just like real love, it celebrates the good things, while not glossing over the irritating habits your partner may have. Fall's annoying habit of getting really warm and bringing out the yellow jackets and post-summer sweat is forgivable, as long as I get the crystalline days that bring chilled cheeks and the breath of fallen leaves. Coffee tastes so much better on days like that, and has me in the kitchen (not like I'm in there every day anyway ;-} ) baking and stewing like I'm preparing a feast for an arriving prince. Then come the grey rainy days where I feel almost like it is a requirement to spend the day in it's entirety inside, either under a blanket or madly typing plotline, oblivious to the world around me. I'm cosseted in the thick woolen blanket of greyness, and the sharp edges of the outside world are muted and distant, unable to poke me in the eye for the day. Today was a day like that, excepting the sick, home from school son. He's a trooper though, watching movies, eating ice cream, and playing Xbox. At 15, he's pretty well able to take care of himself, but I follow him around when he gets up, snatching things out of reach and telling him to "stop touching things!" Despite patrolling the house, I got the rewrites done on the first two chapters this morning. I am good, really good with the progress so far, and now comes what I think is the easier rewrites, the main body of the book. The first two chapters are the set up for the rest of the book, introducing my main character, and it's set in a different place entirely than where the rest of the book takes place. It's somewhat bifurcated from the rest of the story, so it had a short, fast groove that I had problems getting into. Groove was gotten, changes were made, all is good in the drizzly grey Virginia countryside.

Deux and Redo

Whoof. I think that's the sound I'm looking for. Taking the sage advice of seasoned writers, I dismantled my first chapter and rewrote it. I ended up with something so amazing, so different from the stilted construction that comprised my first attempt at a chapter, that it was unrecognizable. I was even asked if it was the same book. Unfortunately, I'm finding that I absolutely hate doing rewrites. Passionately. I'm ok once I get rolling, but facing that blinking cursor on a new document is harder than I had anticipated. It's not that I hesitate to rip the already written chapter apart, it's more of a "aw man, haven't we already done this???" discouragement. The results are worth it, though. I'm impressed, my proof reader is impressed, so I soldier on. Already working on chapter two, fixing problems with plot flow I created with the editing of the first chapter. Every day, into the trenches boys!
Next step is to submit the new material, and hope that an agent is impressed.....More on the various turns life has taken in the past month later, now I have to turn over the internet for the sake of the children. Homework. Glad I assign my own nowadays!

Dirt Farming

No matter how grandiose my landscaping plans might start out, I always seem to be doing more rock moving, limb trimming, or dirt moving than anything else. No wonder I hate gardening. I thought it was more weeding, watering, light clipping....no, that's for people who plan out their garden! I'm just keeping ahead of the virginia creeper and filling in holes from where I've been slowly dismantling the disaster of a garden that was left behind by the previous owner of my land. At least I had the joy of eating a bunch of just ripened, warm tomatoes off the vine (and I mean off the vine-most of them didn't make it in the house) this year. That was definitely worth it, even though I kind of cheated by planting them above ground in planters this time. My plans for next year are somewhat nebulous right now, but I've already warned my hubby that he either needs to dig around the foundation for "repairs" (he thinks there's leaks) early next spring or it's off limits. I want flowers or something nice around the foundation next summer, dang it. It needs some finishing. It all needs some finishing, but there's only so much I can do with a tight budget. Maybe a book advance can pay for a new driveway and deck.....Hint hint, publishers!!!!!

The Road To Rejection

Is not, and will not be paved with dejection. I know the odds of getting a manuscript accepted in the first couple of submissions, and I'm not holding my breath just yet. What I am doing, however, is starting the next book. Waiting around for an answer on the first book before starting the next is career suicide in my book. (hah! I do a funny!) If I want to be a writer, I have to write. At this stage, I must write. It's gotten to something deep down in my soul, and a day without pages is a day without breath. Some days life rears it's ugly head and book-blocks me, but that is unavoidable with three munchkins and a leadership role in the household. I will concede on one thing, though. Root canal trumps book every time. Something about the taste of Novocaine that puts me off the words......

Paper Chasing

I love office stuff. I mean really love it. I can take 20 minutes to pick out the perfect stack of sticky notes. Truly smooth writing pens can send me into an ecstatic gushing of praise. Firm, unopened packs of printer paper are so perfect as to be put on a shrine. But they all confounded me today. I have such a migraine from shuffling, printing, sorting, hole-punching, stapling, clipping, new cartridge loading, and other magic stuff that I give for today. It's not that the supplies have done anything wrong, per se. I have been such a twit that everything seems to flummox me today. Every time I think I was so done with a job, I realized I forgot to a)save a critical change, b)put it into the correct format, or c)print it in the desired font, you get the idea. Then in my formatting research, I just found out that this weekend we might get a tropical system swinging by. Ooops, I used to be so on top of that weather stuff. That's kind of an important thing to know, with the OCD kind of person I am. Ah, it must mean I'm happy and busy, too busy to be bogged down with details.
Uh Huh. Riiiiiight.
No, I just am losing the crushing grip I used to have on my life. Not that it made much of a difference on the outcome-my hands were just tired at the end of the day! Ok, time to shut it all down and watch Warehouse 13 before the kids get home and distract me!

Inconveniently, it seems that with the rest of the nation, my muse has gone on vacation. I think she got tired of the jumble of mundane rushing about, and took off for quieter climes. I don't blame her-it's getting rather cluttered in my head, what with school starting next week and all the assorted and sundry rushing about that it involves. I tried writing the first chapter of the sequel, and have brooded over it for a few days now, picking at a word here and there, writing then deleting a sentence, until it was so overwhelmingly depressing that I just saved the file and opened a new one. I won't delete it, but I realized that I hated it. No deleting because I never know when the idea might come in handy, but not right now. I'll start with another scene, and hopefully I'll fall in love with it. If not, I'll try again. I got some very good advise this morning about scene writing-if you don't love it, and are just trudging through it to finish it and move on to something much cooler, then your readers will sense it. Love it or delete it. Passion makes for better writing than a sensible collection of scene-movers. I cant seem to dredge up enough passion right now for a scene I love, so I may have to back-burner it and take care of the nitnoid details of life, at least for today. We're going to the mall! (collective groan)

Crazy Is As Crazy Does

I seem to be losing something in the last few weeks, I'm pretty sure it's my mind, but I'll have to get back to you on that. Reality is taking a hard fast chunk out of me lately, with the oncoming school year and all it's assorted and sundry things that must be accomplished in the next two weeks. Fees to be paid, books to gather, supplies to be fetched, doctor and dentist visits to attend to; the list winds its way along like some tortured Mobius strip. Add onto the merry-go-round the everyday nitnoid b.s. and my dentistry debacles, and I've got a platter full of fun here. I know that at the end of the month most of the ruckus will end with a thump, and the crickets will be audible again. Not much help now, but it's something to look forward to!
The good news is that I've kept my head in the game enough to sketch out the main plot points for the next book I'm writing, a sequel to the previously mentioned one. And to start the wheels turning in the back of my mind for another idea for a book that I had sketched out months ago. No spoilers on that one, it's too tenuous right now. I've some time tomorrow morning blocked off for writing, so I'm hoping to get at least a first chapter out of the sequel by lunchtime. Poor Erika, she really can pick 'em.......

Endings, Beginnings, and Everything In Between

I have the full, completed manuscript sitting next to me in it's three-ring binder, the plainly printed title sheet staring at me from the front cover. It's done. Added a preface and epilogue, decided on a title, and she's ready to go to an agent. It's time to let this one rest, and consider other stories. It's not that big of a move, though-I've had the idea for the sequel to the first book floating around in my head for a few months now, I just haven't let it bob to the surface. It might have made too many waves and crashed my muse's boat! I'm cautiously excited, but I'll save the true emotion for the acceptance letter. I know I'll have to ride out some rejections, that's just the name of the game. And I intend to play it a full court press!! So to bed, to sleep, perchance to dream of new characters to add to the new storyline....

Popcicles and Phun

What happened to the lazy days of summer?? I find myself at the end of the day reflecting on the incredible amount of things I managed to stuff into it. Like the soliloquy at the end of Stone Sour's album, I have a 'summer spent and a winter earned'. Winter is when I'll get the cabin fever, and start all kind of projects, just to keep me sane. Ish. Sane-ish.
I did 6 more chapters yesterday, edited and mostly to my liking. Cleaned up some dialogue, and simplified a radio frequency situation. Throat mikes are great, but they don't have the range to reach from Maine to Virginia. I was trying to make them do it on paper, but the real world tech just wouldn't support it. Came up with an alternative that both simplified the scenes, and made for less unnecessary dialog. I know, boooooring. It's so much more interesting when you get to look at the story. Hopefully, everyone in the known world will get a chance to sometime in the not-too-distant future!
Company is coming from out of town, so I must get back to swabbing the deck and chipping off barnacles. There's a few more things I'd like to rant about, but no time for it today. I promise to be incendiary in the next few days, goddess willing.....

Ripping Holes, Mending Tears

Restraining my urge to hit the 'select all' function then 'delete', I've spent the last few days doing some heavy editing on the first draft of the book, about 79 paperback size pages, ten chapters so far. I found some plot holes that I patched up, and made some room in other places for action that will happen later in the book. It's both harder and more gratifying than I imagined it to be. I've found that note taking is somewhat helpful, but I have to remember them for them to be of any use at all!
Meanwhile, my short term memory is stuffed full of 'gotta remembers'- he's wearing (fill in manly duds) while out in the (driveway? outhouse? where was he again?). No wonder most fiction writers are notoriously bad for carrying on a conversation-we're trying to maintain a presence in both the here and now, and in the then and where. I seem to say 'Huh?' alot nowadays....

Catching the Worm

I'm up and moving earlier than I have been for most of the summer, mostly because I feel a bit unhinged (more so than usual) if I sleep in past 7am. Early bird catches the worm and all, early to bed, early to rise; makes a mamma keep one step ahead of the curve. Sleeping in has never been an option for most of my adult life, and I'm OCD enough that now it makes me feel like I've gone and screwed the pooch for the day if I do. Missed opportunities! Slack work ethic! What's next, a complete descent into decadence? Will I lose whatever drive I have and become-*gasp*-a slacker??
Naw.
So for the sake of my whirling brain, I get up a bit earlier, quiet the voices in my head (they like coffee, are nicely distracted by it), and make a to-do list for the day. Pointedly ignoring the fact that I won't get to most of the list, of course. No matter how thorough it seems to be, I end up doing three times the work that was on it. Oh well, at least I can give myself the illusion that I'm organized. And that's what life is all about, eh? Living within your self-made illusions. Now if only I could get everyone else to live in mine, I could get a whole heck of a lot done around here!

I claim this ending of my book in the name of blood, sweat, and tears!

Epilogue still to write, but that will come after the first editing session, to be sure I wrap things up with some measure of coherency. The thing that surprised me the most is how difficult it was to actually finish the last scene. Of course, my characters were in a pretty hard place, personally. So they were a bit reluctant to tell any sort of tale. I dragged it out of them, without much kicking or screaming on their part. Me, on the other hand, I was bouncing in my seat, backspacing, staring at the cursor, and generally being a spaz. Muscled through it, and came away happily stunned at the ending. My heroine is such an unpredictable girl. She keeps me busy, and I hope she will continue to for a long time.

Conflict Resolution

Initial writes on the final scene are done, done, done. My muse really took me by the back of the neck and pushed my face into this one-I was so tense and into the plot that I got a charlie horse in my back as I wrote. Messy, bloody, and full of surprises; it brought to light some character traits that had been lurking in the background the whole time for my heroine, surprising herself about herself. Surprising me, too. I know my characters better than anyone, especially right now. But they still manage to sneak in an unplanned revelation every now and again, or do things that are definitely not in my notes. I try not to dissect the process too much, look too closely at the organic growth of the characters, but sometimes I wonder where 'surprises' in writing come from. Are they my subconscious rearing up and making me write things it's already planned? Is there a part of my brain writing the book right now that I can't access until I sit down to type? Or are the voices in my head finally getting around to having their own hobby? Whatever it is, if it keeps me laughing out loud, or covering my open mouth in shock and awe, it goes in and stays in. Even if it means a carefully planned scene will be thrown in the air like a deck of cards, and I have to play '52 pickup'.

Fictional Heartbreak

Today I am going to try my best to hurt someone I care for very much. Truly, it's going to hurt me more than it does them.
Now before you call 911 and have the constabulary at my doorstep, let me assure you that however real they may be to me, it's going to be entirely on paper.
But in the best interest of the plot, someone has to go down in a fairly dramatic fashion for my heroine to have the impetus to rush in and save the day. I had no idea when I began this book that I could become so attached to someone entirely in my head that it made me stutter-step in my writing. Actually, to be completely honest, the 'book' didn't start out as such-I sat down to write a short story to get the creative juices flowing so that i could start on a book later. It got so out of control, word-count wise, in the first few chapters that I threw up my metaphorical hands and gave myself over to it and rolled with it. Now I find myself thinking of my characters at all hours of the day and night, having revelations about them, learning things about their motivations, in essence falling in love with them, no matter how flawed they might be. So when i realized that one of them had to be hurt, it haunted me to the point of obsession. I kept trying to re-do the plot, adjusting the dynamic so that I could weasel out of it, but to drive home what I wanted, I couldn't find my way out of it. Thankfully, I don't have to do away with them completely. If I did, I would have to prepare a memorial service, be in mourning, wear black (oh wait, I already wear black most of the time), and mope around for days. But no, I just have to hurt them badly. Trust me though, someone's going to pay. That's the up side that will have me sitting down to write today. Plot driven pain is lamentable, but I can sure as heck make my bad guy pay in spades for it.

TMI

Or, Too Much Information for those not obsessed with acronyms. I love acronyms, and drive my family half mad with them. Anyway, I just saw another example of why I am soooo very paranoid. The news just had a story about Twitter, and how some people have had their houses broken into after they posted that they would be out of town for two weeks on the site. Oh wow. That's the equivalent nowadays of putting up a banner that says "I'm gone, the dog is a wussy, and don't forget the diamonds in the bedroom." on your house. Connectivity is great, but like anything, you have to be sure who you're talking to. Eavesdropping has expanded beyond sitting on your front porch and peering at the neighbors through the hedge.
So many people think that your computer is some kind of magic portal that only you and your select friends can access. No no nooooooo.....Every penny ante hacker would love to get their hands on YOUR stuff, if only to mess with it and make your life harder. Everyone needs to practice their hobbies; hackers and phreakers just have the unfortunate need to practice on other people's stuff. And sometimes it's not even necessary to be that computer literate.So much information is posted about people online, of their own doing, that it would be a cake walk to track them, just by joining sites and sifting through their blogs, pictures, profiles and tweets. I periodically google my name and the family's names to see what kind of stuff is out there, to keep track of it all. Try it on yourself someday. If you haven't been a master of disguise online, you might be amazed at what you can find. I once did a friend a favor and followed her husband's footsteps online, no passwords, no access to his computer directly at all. Let me put it this way; if there was a vice, he had it. And I found damning proof of it. I'm not a hacker, not by any stretch of the imagination. I'm very diligent, and know a few cool tricks, is all. And I always wear protection-several layers in fact-when I send the computer online. Firewall, private browser, pop-up/drive by/spyware blockers, all go active. NORAD probably doesn't have the level of paranoia I do. Like my mother always says: Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they're not watching me!!

On a different note, the writing is over the hump I created last week. I was feeling very Igor-like by yesterday morning, lugging this great growth around on my back, twisting my face up into a rictus of a smile and drooling a lot. I made myself sit down and push through it later in the day, and came away, well, not exactly smiling, but satisfied with the few pages I managed to put down. I seem to have a strange problem with getting my characters out of or into rooms. It's like they want to stand there for pages and pages, meticulously describing every little minute detail of where they're going and what they feel about it. After putting my hand on the small of their backs and pushing them through, they do just fine, the pace resumes, plot ticks along nicely, conflict and resolution flow and meld. It's almost like it's too much commitment for them to go somewhere else. Or maybe I've made them too comfy where they were. But, through the door they went, and now they are finally FINALLY face to face with the guy that pretty much started the whole mess in the first place. He tried the bait and switch already, and now he's cornered. Or IS he? *cue evil laughter*

Silence is Golden

And duct tape is silver.................

I couldn't figure out why for the last two weeks or so my muse has been reluctant to play, to say the least. I have written and erased so many lines, my backspace button is getting shiny and worn through. I finally realized it was.....

Mommy, can I have a Popsicle?
Mommy, can we go to (fill in store name here) so I can see if they have something I will bug you to buy me?
Hey mom, check out this cool thing....

And then when I've had enough, I say--'I'm going downstairs to write, you need me, come get me.' hoping I'll have some peace to think in.
And then I'll sit there for an hour waiting for someone to come and interrupt. When I give in an come upstairs, everyone is crashed in front of the tv, usually the stupidest thing on satellite blaring at full volume. Then I get irritated and turn it off, trying to put some good old fashioned summertime back in summer. 'Go outside, do SOMETHING!' I say.
Then the voices start.
'Mommy, what do tapeworms think?'
'Can I have ice cream?'
'What is your Visa password?'
'Can I order this cool thing off this dubious internet site?'

I love my kids.
Really. Truly. But sometimes I wish we lived in Mayberry and not in the sticks. Then they could go bother Mr. Greenjeans once in a while, and roll hoops down Main Street with the Rascals. Then maybe I might get some writing done. After I bake the pie, that is......

Indepen-dance

Independence can be a very personal thing. One person's slavery is another person's freedom in possession. Believe it or not, all people like to be owned. It's a very safe way to live. The only difference between anyone is the point where you draw that personal line in the sand and say "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that..." (thank you Meatball!) That line is where you dance, proclaiming your independence from ________. Fill in the blank with whatever "that" you won't do. Me? I've railed against all kinds of things in my misbegotten youth: The Man, conventional thinking, western medicine, you name it. In the last year, I have focused on one simple thing to fill in that blank.
Fear.
I have declared my independence from fear.
I've heard the advise that you should do one thing a day that scares you. While not quite going to that level, I've come pretty damn close. I've done things and had things done to me in the last year that I was so afraid of I couldn't even think about them without having a panic attack. I won't bore you with the stupidly mundane, but i will give the short list:
Dentist-haven't been for twenty years. Had my first cleaning and partial root canal this week. Didn't pass out even once.
Airsoft-Joined a group of uber-testosteroned young men and shot at each other, sometimes drawing blood, twice a month for a year. Even joined a team and played at an invitational.
People-I'm awkward. Raised by wolves. Can't have a conversation without inserting foot deeply in mouth. I've talked to more people and made more contacts this last year than ever before. Didn't get my house TP'd once.
Just Did It-Started and am on my way to finishing my first book. Learned how the mower works. Shaved my dog. Many many things I would have put off indefinitely, I did. Without thinking it to death. FBI still not taking away my birthday.

I know that all of this is just the beginning, and I'm both tired and glad. May the good times roll, and the force be with me.
And you.

Send lawyers,guns and money

Today, I was a fugitive from the law.
The law was unaware of it at the time, but it still involved sneaking around town using back roads and using my best evasion tactics.
It was nerve wracking and invigorating at the same time. Ok, maybe I was feeling a bit paranoid, but my expired inspection sticker seemed to be twice it's size and blazing neon yellow, screaming out to any police in a five square mile radius to "Bust her! Ticket the infidel!!"
And to top it off, I couldn't find an inspection station that wasn't packed to the rafters with the same shifty eyed on the run people as I had become.
I guess I have to start making better to-do lists....

Fear and Loathing in Northern Virginia

I don't get it.
Really, I don't.
I've lived here for longer than any other place I have ever lived for my entire life, and I still don't get NorVa.
Maybe it's my Long Island birth, or my Midwest upbringing. Possibly it's my lack of hometown, giving me a jaundiced eye on a place that seems to harbor an unusually (to me) high number of generational residents. Ah, let's not forget the untoward aversion to McMansions.
Or maybe it's the question.
The one that I've been bombarded with from the first time I had a conversation that went farther than 'how are you-fine-have a nice day'.

"So, what do you do?"

Now, you have to see this from where I was coming from at the time. We moved here right after 'Navy Days', ten years of ships, boats, and dockyards. Men were sailors, women (except for the odd clerk) were moms. That's just how we rolled. So the question of careers leaned more towards the ascent through the ranks for the husband, and had nothing to do with mothers leaving home to have a career. Oh, there were women who worked, but mostly that was just to make ends meet, and mostly involved the Commissary or the Exchange. Career? Hah, try moving to a different state every eighteen months and see how that works for you.
So when I was questioned about my occupation, I answered the same way I do on my taxes. Homemaker, or some variation on it, not thinking about the social suicide I just brought down on my head. The immediate dismissal that I invariably received startled me. I had people turn their backs on me, walk away, or turn to the person next to me and start a conversation in the middle of my response.

Whoa.
Hello.
Welcome to NorVa.

I don't care what you do. I'm not impressed. I couldn't give a flying flaming rats rear about your earning potential, college degree, or security clearance.What I do care about is 'Who are you?' How do you live your life? Are you a racist, atheist, sadist, devout Hindu? Do you hide your dreams, or share them with your cat? What is your favorite book and why? Is that your natural hair color? Did you ever have an abortion? Do you remember your dreams? How do you feel about pudding?

I would not do it differently if given a choice. I'm not sappy or sentimental for the most part about my kids. I'm too much of a realist for much romanticizing.It's not all about 'the children, think of the children'. I knew before my first was born that someone would have to raise her, and considering that I made her, I wanted it to be me. I give it my all, even though the kids would rather be given less time and more money with the age they are at now.
So I've come up with a coping mechanism. Every time someone asks me nowadays 'so, what do you do?', I turn around and walk away. I'm a big one for preventative maintenance.

I still don't get this place, though.

Benchmarks

Ever reached a goal and realized that it wasn't a goal at all? That it was but a benchmark, a place you put a tag into to remember the spot by, and keep going? I thought I had a goal to reach, and it has turned out to be a benchmark. Writing my first novel-length story, I knew I had to have a minimum of 50,000 words to be considered an adult sized book, and not a young adult . Well, I set that goal, thinking it would be a struggle to reach. That 50,000 is an awfully big number, said I. You're going to have to stretch some things, said I.

Nope.

I made that goal yesterday, and blew right past it.


The ending is forming in my head, but it is still in it's infancy on paper. Ok, word processor. Yet there are still things I know I need to go back and fill in, holes that I left in plots, emotions that still need fleshed out. Twice my original estimate is sounding about right, if I continue the way I have been. By no means will it have an unwieldy heft, like something akin to Tolkien, but I don't think I'm looking at a thin book here. More muscular, if you will, without going that creepy extra mile to bodybuilder covered in veins look.

Oh, and I have to thank Joe, who gave me some interesting conversation this morning-dreams are a magnificent thing. The houses you built in your sleep fascinate me.

Atlas sneezed

Cursed is the person who is adaptive, intelligent, observant, and engages their work ethic daily. I would like to say that the work on the bathroom is done and looks fabulous. Not far from it, but still not done. Several things managed to rear their ugly heads the moment I decided to concentrate on other things than writing, and mostly derailed my good intentions. Such as the innocent call to the electric company that resulted in the replacement of the entire breaker panel/hot feed into the house. Then the husband going out of town for a week and the yard growing a foot the day he left (I swear I could hear it growing!!) Mow, mow, and mow again...Oh, and don't let me forget the four pieces of wood furniture I got in a moment of insanity, unfinished of course. Self sabatoge, who me??
And what have we learned from this, boys and girls? No matter the intent, don't let anything talk you into abandoning a dream to take care of "just one or two small things". Those one or two will turn into a great sucking void that will take all of your time and energy until you have nothing left for yourself. I have had to force myself to realize I'm only one person, and can't do it all myself, not in a tight time frame. I have gone to the extent of walking around saying "I'm just one person, I'm just one person" to myself as I'm trying to take care of an entire weeks worth of contractor work in one morning, on top of cleaning up and planning dinner. .*sigh* Still getting used to the concept, bear with me.
I'm back to writing now, making room for it every day. Regardless of the progression on the rehab of the house, I make myself attend to my writing every single day. I can fix up a house, but if I let my dreams fall apart again, I don't know if I can put them back together anymore.

Taking a Break

I have done what I do best-get impatient. The bathroom/livingroom has taken too long to rebuild in my estimation, so I have taken matters into my own hands. Off has gone the computer and writing time, up have been taken drywall tools, joint compound, and primer. It's going well, but I am missing writing more than I thought I would. It gives me incentive to finish this and some other projects so that I can get back to what I think I could be good at. If I can get the house under control, then it actually will make the writing more enjoyable, so I can sit and write and not look up and see stud walls and dangling wires. Not my first choice for decor!

Money and Stimulus

I had one of those moments this week that showed me how much I have strayed from the American 'norm'. A well meaning guest on a morning news show was giving advise on how to save money. Fairly helpful and informative, right? She was showing us plebeians how to save on cell phones, groceries, etc. Then came clothing. There is a new trend nowadays (not really new, but I'll let that be) that's called swapping. You bring an armload of clothing to either a set location or a friends house, and you all trade clothing so that you can add some 'fresh new look' to your wardrobe. She estimated that you could save a boat load of $$$. Wanna know why? According to a national survey, the average American spends over $1700 in clothes per person a year. That stopped me dead in my tracks on my way to get cereal. Seventeen HUNDRED dollars??? Holy cow, I don't even spend that much TOTAL on my family of five. AND I have two teenagers. Granted, I'm definitely not a fashion plate. Give me sturdy, well made comfortable clothes, two pair of shoes, and a warm jacket, and I'm happy and don't give it a second thought. Clothes are such a disposable item, why would you want to pay good money for something you're going to throw out or give away anyway?
So that got me thinking about the American financial situation in regards to your average Joe, and how I differ. I realized that all those years living under a very strict financial thumb, first at home, then with the Navy, taught me needs vs. wants. I need a house. So I never never rented or bought something I couldn't afford. It put me in some less than perfect neighborhoods, but I had a place to rest my head. And gave me some really interesting neighbors. I need food. So I learned how to cook, old school. Take your less than choice cuts of meat, do what you can to spruce them up, tender them up, and get more than one serving out of a package. Do what you could with what you can afford. And really TRY. Put your best effort into it.Made my own bread for years, not because I liked to, but because it was cheaper to buy flour and yeast. Made the children's baby food from scratch. Turned out it was actually better for them, and cost almost nothing. You see, I spent so much time yanking on the ends to make them meet, I forgot to care about what everyone thought of me. So now all the accouterments that many people think are 'needs', are so far down on the list of 'wants' for me I forget about them. I can afford so much now, but I still don't buy. Because I dont really want them anymore. I've found the beauty of simplicity on the outside, complexity within.
So here are my thoughts on stimulus. Instead of trying to throw money at a problem, hoping it will go away, how about we start learning how to be still with ourselves. I'm not spouting a New Age mantera, but more of a sit down and shut up idea. Why do so many Americans think that shopping is an integral part of being happy? Why has it become a pastime? Shopping is for the aquisition of goods, not for the soothing of the soul.
How about every family, every day, come home from work/school, and STAY THERE. Eat at home. Talk to each other about how your day was. Share silly things. I tell my kids that friends are mutable, family is forever. If you can't get along with the people you share a house with, then maybe you ought to rethink your living arrangements.
And here's a novel idea. Use what you have. We have so much stuff that there is an entire industry centered around the storage of the stuff we cant' find a place for in our homes. Ridiculous. Absolutely mind blowing.
Stimulus. To me, it would be better if we as a country were given a reason to live and love beyond buying things. There are more things in heaven and on earth than we know. Go find some of them. And guess what--you cant buy the most precious things out there. Diamonds might make you happy, but they don't hold you when you cry.
Oh, and before I lose the thought completely, how about the prices on the necessities come down a bit? That's somewhat out of a regular persons realm, but maybe if we're loud enough for long enough, they stop telling us to EAT CAKE.

Dating Angst

Since when have my two oldest children, and I use the word loosely, been allowed to take notice of the opposite sex? I don't remember giving them permission to do so! I demand a recount!

*sigh*

They must grow up, I know. And part of getting a set of wings to fly is wading naked into the bloody pool of dating and significant others. So far, I've been lucky. I didn't have to lay down the law and say 'no dating till you're 16 (15,21 35), young lady/man'. So my luck, such as it is, seems to have run out. Both my oldest daughter and middle boy have expressed the desire to make connections beyond friendship with others. I vacillate between serious angst and excitement at this point. There will come the day when I find out about things such as:

*First Kiss (pretty cool)
*First Breakup (sad, but this too shall pass)
*Other girls/boys making cow eyes and passes at significant other (silly, but I'll try not to laugh)

and the dreaded one

*My First TIME

I wasn't a very good girl once I started down that road. Granted, I started down it fairly late, as far as my contemporaries went. But I sure tried to make up for lost time. And I was EXTREMELY paranoid about pregnancy and viruses. There's only so many talks a parent can have, slide shows included (thank you internet!) before you have to let go of the apron strings and trust that they have enough good sense to do the same. Oh please oh please let that be the case!! But talk about your giant can of worms. Not to mention on top of all of this, my oldest is thiiisss close to getting her drivers license for real. A whole set of new and terrifying experiences await me there. I don't know which one I'm dreading/looking forward to more. Quite a divided mind I have here! Yes/no, stop/go, do/don't, fly/crawl. I had no idea what I was getting into with this whole 'kid' thing. They never told me that they would grow up to be people, with wants and *gasp* DESIRES that went beyond Pokemon and stuffed animals!!!!

{aaarrgghhhpp}
=strangling on conflicting thoughts=

And to make it worse, like I said before, it all comes down to who they are NOW, and what I've taught them in the past. Nothing to do now but keep a weather eye on the horizon, checking for storm clouds and waterspouts. Avast ye mateys, here there be monsters!

Banana Bread and Snow

If I wish really hard, and hold my mouth just the right way, I think we'll finally get snow today. I know, I can hear the grumbling from here, but you gotta understand-it's kind of like having an itch and being not quite able to reach it. Then a friend of yours says they're coming over to scratch it for you, and they either never show up, or come with a feather. Anticipation of itch relief, then no satisfaction. I used to live in Florida, where winter means nothing but fewer flying cockroaches and going outside without bursting into a heavy sweat. I found myself missing the change of seasons. The year seemed to drag from one monotonous weather day to another. I like change, couldn't live without it. And if you're going to change seasons, do it with a sense of purpose, for goodness sake! NorVa winters seem fickle-one year snow, the next rain, then the next nothing but brown deadness all around. This year is a brown dead year, the most we have gotten was a thin coating of ice, then a dusting of snow. Everyone still freaked out (traffic reports=entertainment), but it wasn't what I would call a 3 loafer. So I'm trying to tempt the god of crystal formation, and am baking a loaf of banana bread. Its smell is wafting softly from the oven, up into the clouds when I open the door, and hopefully tempting the snow to come down and see what all the goodness is about.

Controversy

For the life of me, I can't understand why we just all can't get along with each other. For the goddesses sake, we're all in this life together whether we want to be or not. I guess it's a matter of perspective. From my perspective, a whole lot of people never see what life is like on the other side. What other side? Well, it depends on where you start. Young woman in college on dad's dime? Work behind the counter at a greasy spoon. Middle aged man with a 20 year white collar job? Stock the back room at midnight in a home improvement store. White middle class stay at home mom? Stand on a street corner with a hooker and talk to her about her kids. Warm house in the winter? Cut that heat off for a day or three. Bored teenager from the 'burbs? Dodge bullets downtown while you go pay bills with loose change. Trust me, you'll never be the same. Been there, done that, couldn't afford the t-shirt, so I got perspective like some people get religion.

That New President Smell

Ah, I can smell the festivities even this far away. The king is dead, long live the king. While I would, deep down, like to be hopeful and upbeat about our new leader, I find myself hesitating on the brink of positive thinking, then pulling back with a scowl. I was once an unquestioning and emotional patriot. Circumstances private and political have made me come to an abrupt clarity of vision. Unless you are content to be made use of, or are willing to live out your days with blinders, a sentient human is unable to maintain a high level of ignorance for long. I was blind. Now I see. And what I see outside of my family unit is ugly. I have seen the man behind the curtain. He's not my friend, nor yours. In these strange sad days I cannot afford to put my faith in anyone beyond my immediate family. I know these people. I don't know anyone else that well at all. So in essence they're wild cards, and i don't gamble anymore with my heart or soul. Maybe our new leader will bring about 'change' and spread some 'hope'. We all need some of both. My best wishes to him, but I still breathe deeply in my meditation, for I'm not holding my breath.

Wooo hooo!! Regardless of the fact that my hubby worked from home today, and we had a 2 hour delay for school, I officially passed the 14,000 word count mark today. I'm writing my first novel, and boy, what a different experience it has turned out to be than what I thought. I knew that it wasn't going to be a matter of 'sit down and write what's in your head and there's your book', but I had no clue as to how a simple problem with a story line can result in a five page rewrite. And I have found my muse (eep! I have a real live muse of my very own!!) taking me in directions I wouldn't have ever thought of deliberately. I have found myself writing myself into situations that make me literally sit back in the chair and go "whoa. where did THAT come from?". Reading back over the material is strange, too. I find myself amazed it was me that wrote it. Tonight I'm going to have the hubby look at it for the first time ever. That's extending the trust a bit more than I thought I'd have the nerve to. It's cool, I'm going to need feed back soon anyhow, and he can be pretty critical when needs be. He tries to make all of it constructive, bless him.

Cosmic Patterns

Although not a new concept to me, cosmic patterns are something that have been jumping out in front of me recently with more frequency than I have ever seen before. I love the concept of an orderly chaotic universe. It makes more sense to me, and gives me somewhat of a comforting sensation to know that there is a rhyme, and a reason. The fun part is finding the rhymes and matching them to the reasons. There is a lag in knowledge there, though. Most of the times, I can find the rhyming part, but am hard put to reason it out. For instance, I noticed that the patterns around the knots in plywood look just like the images of the sun's corona. Now how cool is that? The problem is that I can't find the reason why it would be so.The cells that grew the wood around the knot never knew the sun's rays, never saw the light of day. So what are the mathematics, the string theory, the REASON why those cells grow in the same pattern that a hydrogen fueled fusion reactor throws off excess energy? See, knowledge gap. I'll find more examples later, now I have to tuck in the youngest into bed, and hear about the Warrior Cat Clans. Most excellent series by Erin Hunter. 'Night.

A one, A two, A onetwothreefour!!!

Wheeee!! Testing out my new cybervox, can you hear/read me now?