Truths about Writing

I can't think of a better name for my blog.

This is not a truth about writing. It's me complaining about the title of my blog.

I figured I'd start off with a reminder I need a new blog name sometime soon, eventually.

But here's a picture of some crazy flowers first, because flowers know how to live. These are my favorite flowers. So tough, so wild. Kinda crazy. They embrace their beauty even if their petals aren't quite even.

Playing in the wind, were we?

And before I get to truths about writing, here's one more picture  I took this summer. I love it, because you can see Wild Horse Island sort of fade into the distance like a painting, which is exactly what it looked like that day.

Truths about writing.

I think I’ve done a similar post in the past, but I think about writing when I’m writing a novel, and, as most of my friends/four blog readers know,  I’m writing a novel.
It’s true that writers want their work published, and preferably, to make a nice dime or so on it.

It’s also true that writers don’t need to have their work published to feel accomplished with writing. That may be my truth, but I think I’m not the only one. Publishing is an outward sign of success, of course, but publishing is the end of a long process that no sane person would go through just to make a nice, shiny dime.

Or, put simply, writers don’t write to make money. Not the best writers. Many writers make money. There are a bunch that make hoops of money. Most writers would love to be those writers. Some of those writers write specifically to make money, and would argue with my philosophy that writers write for the love of the craft. I fall into the ‘of COURSE I’d love to make money’ camp. Since, then, I could write and write and write…. I don’t write for that, though. That would just be a nice side effect. I write because I have stories in my head, and I’m compelled to write them down. if I don’t write them down, I start feeling guilty, because there are characters, real characters with stories and lives, and if I don’t put them on paper and give them breath and a chance at life, they will haunt me for years to come. (I’m talking about you, random dwarf with an axe chasing a dragon.)

This is writing. You start out on a sunny day on a trail, one you know. Then, it rains, the temperature drops, fog rolls in. Suddenly,  nothing is the same. Now it's a rainy, chilly foggy day and you now need a coat and hat and coffee. Even though you are in the same place, everything is different. Even though it's chillier and darker, it's somehow better. That is writing, if you do it enough. Kind of. You have to appreciate the not-sunny days.

They are funny, like Try to Be Human. Try to Be Human is unpublished, and probably will be forever, because I finished it at the same time that the market for that genre dried up. Which is a shame, because it’s really kinda funny, and perfect for the market of women who aren’t 30 and single or 45 and divorced!

They are fantastical. My very first unpublished novel, a fairy tale,  is fun, but not at all something that was written well. There were moments of great genius in my first unpublished novel, but the plot holes were black holes, and I was trying to tell two different stories in one. It went through so many rewrites it no longer resembled what it was meant to be. I could fix it, but my mind has moved on to other stories. I don’t even know if I sent this one to agents; probably not, I didn’t think it’d go anywhere.
My space/end of time first draft, which I edit sporadically, is lyrical. I love  some of the phrases I use in it and I love some of the characteristics of the race I created. It’s going to take me a few more rewrites to get it right, and I’m not sure I can finish that in a year, but I love the space saga approach of the story, so I’m sticking with it for now. I think this one will prove true through the end, but I don’t know. I never really know until it’s done.
My current work-in-progress is another sci-fi piece. I’m excited about it because I’ve finally got a handle on the pacing for the story. Pacing is tricky, and I’m writing a YA novel, so I have to get it right. I read mystery novels for pacing, which is really funny, since I’m writing a sci-fiction piece, but I like the pacing of mystery novels and this one is a kind-of detective hunt. Well, and now, also,  I really want to write a mystery now. I’ve got a plot, characters and location down. After science fiction, it’s going to be murder.
I’d love to get published. One day, if I keep at this, I probably will. For me, though, as a writer, it’s really about the journey and the process.

A better blog. Not the new name. But there's swearing!

I can't think of a better blog name this week. Maybe I can just name it A better blog.
Or...
Maybe I'll try again next week.

My big thought today is about cursing, swearing and doing so to be well, real, or whatever.

Swearing in blogs. 

All the cool people do it. Except me. I think if I did, I'd probably have more readers, because I'd be the cool anti-mom who swears. Only most moms I know swear, so I think it's the pretend cool anti-mom all the other moms love to read because they all pretend they don't swear. I actually don't swear a lot. But I think-swear a lot. And I like to use British words that are close to swears. Like, Bollocks. I love Bollocks. I love the way it sounds when said right. It sort of rolls of the tongue and sounds much more definitive and authoritative than bullshit. Bollocks is a word that makes you notice the ridiculousness of something whereas bullshit is just something people say when they're angry about random things like going to a theater and finding out all the tickets to your favorite show are sold out because everyone but you reserved a seat three days ago. Bollocks is reserved for when you're at happy hour and the one guy/gal that knows everything is spouting out random thing like the next virus to kill the majority of mankind will come from hamsters. A good, hearty "Bollocks" (because bollocks must always be said in bold) will end the conversation right there, whereas "That's bullshit" will invite a retort ' "No, it's true, hamsters are in households everywhere, innocent carriers of the next incurable virus... death pets." I also love Spatchcock. That's not an actual swear word, or even British, but it sounds like one. It's a legit word referring to ripping the spine out of poultry and crushing the breastbone. I'm going to start using it. "Look, you knock this heck-n-crap off, or I will spatchcock your ass." But I would mean, really, spine, and breastbone. And I just said ass. So I do swear. See? I'm cool. But not anti-mom. I'm not mom or anti-mom. I'm just relieved my boys are in middle school and can get their own snacks and be left alone for a while so I can think of clever ways to use spatchcock without making it look like I'm trying deliberately to use the word spatchcock. The best smoked turkey we ever had was spatchcocked. That's an appropriate use of the word spatchcock. But I like using it as a threat. There really isn't a response to being threatened with spatchcocking.

Segue.

I was chatting with a friend and we were talking about how we don't realize how much we actually get done in a day. This is true of everyone. Except people who lay about on couches and watch daytime television all day. And then the people that lay about on couches watching nighttime television all night.

Things I've done this week:

**Went to Target and did NOT buy a journal... it was an awesome journal with an image of a typewriter outside with butterflies flitting around it. Walking away was hard.

**Came up with a new angle on my other sci-fi story, the first draft that's completed thank you very much. Will work that out later today or tomorrow. Have to get the first chapter polished by Feb. 1 though, because I entered a contest. My concern is this story is so unique and 'out there' that I don't know if it'll go over well. Because, I'm deep.

**Wrote more my YA Space Adventure story which is a story that reflects my inner-adventuring-12-year-old and isn't deep at all.

**Ran! And attempted Julian Michael's Yoga Meltdown. Totally melted down during the dolphin.  Like a tuna melt only with dolphin meat. Like I was the dolphin trapped in the net, and now I'm covered with cheese and melting in an oven while Jillian Michael's doing weird body contortions on screen and I'm like, that should be me!

Things that happened in the world that I care about:

Grizzly Adams died, too!

Bowie, Rickman, and now Haggerty? I loved Grizzly Adams. Think I've seen every episode. It was the first time I thought about running away and living in the mountains. I think, truly, I was misplaced at birth. I do not think I was ever meant for urban life. If I didn't have the mountains and trails here, I'd probably die of urban-exposure. I know Haggerty isn't quite up there with Bowie and Rickman in terms of changing the face of music for a couple of generations of music lovers, or showcasing phenomenal acting skills as a villain you can't help but hate so much you love him. But for me, personally, Grizzly Adams with it's two-year run has left a permanent mark on my life. I also wanted a pet bear for a while.

Politics.

Well, this is a 'safe space' so lets just leave that out there. Except if Trump wins. Then I'm moving to Canada  because then all hope I ever had in my future or my children's future will be lost. Oh, and my friends. They'll need a room, too. I mean, really, there's a lot of land in Canada that isn't populated due to inhospitable cold and such, but I think there's a few million of us who'd be more than happy to give it a go if needed. I mean, Siberia's got people... And I feel bad for Canadians, because I recognize they probably don't want a million Americans running north infesting their lands with our Americanism, which is why Canada should do it's part to encourage all Americans living in their lands not to get lazy with their voting habits this election. Mail-in your ballots.

Powerball sadness

I commented to a friend about how awful it would be if you think you won the powerball, because you had the winning numbers but for the week previous. That actually happened and I feel for those people because I couldn't imagine believing that all the answers to whatever problems I thought the Powerball could solve were solved, and then have to wake up and realize that nope, your life is still yours.

This is life

How does that work for a blog title?
This is life.

I mean, it's not everyone's life, but it's mine. We'll stick with it for a few days but I'm not in love with it.

I think I mentioned my journal problem, and how much I'm addicted to them, but I can't possibly fill them all up... I found a new use for one of my spares. I'm ridiculously excited about it. It's going to be my 'day end' journal, where I note the things I achieved and accomplished that day. My new personal revelation (which everyone else already knows) is that to do what you want to do, you have to take action. The problem is action can sometimes be vague and ambiguous, especially if you're in-between things and starting new and also playing the role of the person-who-stays-home-while-managing-a-mid-career-life-crisis-and-has-to-do-all-the-crap-home-stuff-too. This will help keep me on track of accomplishing my goals of being an author, being employed either in-home or out-of-home, and of running/working out/not-eating-cupcakes. It'll also fill up this extra journal I have. It's black with gold type-writer style numbers all over it, and just not suitable for poetry or prose. It just screams business.

All the most successful people kept journals. And they wrote in them all the time. In the morning. In the evening. It was part of their daily routine. It's a solid, valuable part of a successful life success plan. I'm trying really hard to fill all my current journals before I find new journals. I haven't met a blank page I haven't wanted to write on....

Other news:

I didn't win the Powerball. For about five minutes I thought I won $4, but it turns out if I had these numbers last week, then I would have won $4.

Random people I find inspiring this week: Penelope Trunk (because she's real. and mostly right. I don't care if you don't like her. She's kinda got a point.) The Bloggess (life is hard, she's surviving, but she's got a better sense of humor about it than most of us). People I Want to Punch in the Throat (I am not capable of expressing that much violence, because I'm trying to be kind and mindful and all that, but I relate to her pain and she's funny and honest, because honestly, I'm probably not as kind and mindful in my head when I run into people that should be punched in the throat) The Pioneer Woman. Beautiful photographs. The main reason I want to live on a cattle ranch are the images she captures.

In the world outside...

I know David Bowie and Alan Rickman both passed, and I am fans of them both. David Bowie was an even larger part of my life than I realized. Once I look back over my teen years, I realize he was there at almost every moment. I'm one of those people who think Labyrinth is a classic movie we should raise our children on. Alan Rickman was a phenomenal actor - Harry Potter just showcased his amazing talent.

Everyone else has already said everything you could say about their passing. They were 69. My mother was 62 when she passed from cancer. It sucks. I know. It's as though there's all this energy that belonged to them and their lives that can't possibly end because their just is so much life, but then, they being mortals, they died, and their energy dissipated somewhere and all we have are the memories. It's heartbreaking and it's sad and I wish we had a better way of celebrating the lives of those we lose.

Is this really my life? Is this my life? My life, this is, truly? Are you sure?

I got some suggestions for a new blog name.

Asillisa which I really liked, but only clever introverts like me and the friend who suggested it would understand.

Turning over a new Li, which I also liked, but since I didn't get it at first, I don't think I'd be able to sell it... 'so, ms. famous blogger, what is 'Li?' "Why, I"ve no idea. Let me put you on with my cleverer friend who suggested it to me to explain what Li is, and why it means so much to me.'

I like one of them:

Is this really my life?

I'm just not sure about the question-in-a-blog thing. Maybe... This is really my life. Or. My life, this is, truly. Or WTF is this my life? Or, This is my life, like a statement or an accusation.  But, I might try it out if nothing better comes up. Because sometimes, I think, really, is this really my life?

I went to the hairdresser for a much-needed hair cut. The boys didn't notice, but I look more put together and less well, less un-put together. Usually when I'm going to start a new venture in life, or just feel like I need change, I go for something new and completely different. This time, I didn't want that, which surprised me. I thought I'd go in and say something like I usually do, like 'I want a short, sassy bob with long bangs and make me look like I have a heart-shaped chin and lose 10 pounds off my cheeks.'  Then, I dye my hair a new color. Oh how I love hair colors! Violet! Cherry Cola Red! So I stopped at the store and looked at all the Feria colors I love so much that I can't carry off because, honestly, you're saying something when you have violet hair. Not anything bad, no, it's just not the hair color for someone who wants to hike and run and is excited because of all the new journals she can write in. It's more for an artist or angry rebel or someone with cool tattoos who doesn't care about running or hiking. But maybe someone who would like journals. Definitely a writer type who specializes in romance. Which I do not. At. All. Not that I haven't tried, there's great money in it, it's just I'm not romantically imaginative enough to pull it off.  I like to think if I re-did life, I'd have violet hair and tattoos. Still probably wouldn't write romance though.

Then I realized it's really about change. The hair cut, not the lack of romantical imagination or desire for violet hair and gekko tattoos. (Romantical is now a new word.) It's how I don't want or need a very big change right now. A lot has happened, yes, but there's only one small change that I need, one small thing. Everything else around me is fine: family is good, friends are good, hobbies are good, running is good, hiking is in spring and will be great... I love the life I'm living. It's not my life that needs to change. It's the income I need to bring in that has to change. One isolated problem I can solve in time. Not something I need to completely alter my look for.

Well, except sometimes, I run into people and hold my breath thinking if I don't exhale, maybe they won't see me... then, I think, I should color my hair! And wear big sunglasses! And heels so I'll look taller! Then they won't recognize me! And it's nothing against those people, it's just they are strangers now, well, and mostly were then. Just shadows and ghosts of another life I care never to return to again. Except they keep cropping up in coffee shops all around town. Seriously, find a cemetery to hang in people, I'm trying to live a new, nondescript drama-free life here!

Lets have a redo!

My blog needs a new name.

Mostly because La La Land represented me at a time when things were kinda La La... I had my adorable young children to raise while I was writing and it was fun and light and the children were cute and huggable and pudgy. It's a great blog name for someone with small children and writing and so forth, but my children are past the La La phase. They've grown into the 'out of high school but not the house' and 'turning 13 and getting pummeled by puberty' stages. Just in time for that, I'm having a heck of a mid-career crisis. Okay, I know, so aren't like, a bajillion other people. It's just I'm making a thing about it. My mid-career crisis is more emotionally tolling than yours because, because... because it is. But if you're having a mid-career crisis, I totally get you, and I understand, and I'm there, and no, I think it's perfectly fine to say screw it and become a barista... it's kinda my c-plan. We'll talk about my b-plan another day. Just don't bring up the a-plan, cuz that totally bombed.

La La Land doesn't quite fit me anymore, because I'm headed in another direction. Unless I win the Powerball, which, in that case, I'm moving to another country without a forwarding address so no one can beg me for my mad riches.

The first two weeks of 2016, according to my horoscopes, were amazing. Ripe with opportunities! People love me! I'm spectacular! But in reality, so far, two weeks in, 2016 is a bit of a let down. Kind of a tosser of a year. If it stays this way, I might have to return it.

There was the incident with the resolutions. I made a bunch and then promptly broke them all with one accidental cupcake(s)(box)(boxes). Then, I discovered I still don't have a job. Huh. Kinda awkward. On top of that, today, my sense of where I was in time and space didn't match, because apparently your inner ear is important, and I ended up with both a crazy ear ache and a complete sense of dizzying vertigo which resulted in everyone having pizza for dinner, but not, as it turns out, my impending death. Yet. One never knows for whom the bell tolls, right?

And that's why I need a new blog name. One that explains life after toddling pudgy boys and their pre-teen singing sister. One that covers the mid-career-life-crisis when you're jobless after 40 but still have dreams and plans and drive and ambition. One that makes sense of boys going through puberty (ick. they're going to get hairy.) One that gets when you say you run, you mean at 11:45 minute miles and only above 32 degrees. One that isn't so, well, adorable.

Happy New Year to everyone!

Did I ever mention my journal addiction?

It's real. I can't refuse journals. I struggle to not buy one when I walk by them in the only bookstore left in Boulder County. I do fill them up,  at least, because I am a big believer in daily journaling, but I never fill them up quite as fast as I buy them. So I dedicate the 'extras.'

I have one journal dedicated to story ideas for a fantasy novel that I may or may never write. Another one is dedicated to the sci-fi story I'm working on. I have another one just for random notes. And I have the daily journal one. I still have three other blank journals. I think I'll reserve one for my forays into poetry. Sometime last year I bought a bunch of poetry handbooks and guides, and this year, I'm going to spend more time playing with poetry. No real reason for it, it's just something I've always enjoyed and wanted to delve into more.

This time of year everyone is writing about their resolutions. I'm not going to :) because lets face it, you don't really care. I mean, did you even care about my journal addiction, really? It's okay. I understand. It's not that interesting unless you also happen to have a journal addiction, and now you know, you're not alone.

I did something different, though, this year. I made the resolutions, then I made goals from them. Under the goals, are the 'how to get this goal.' So, for instance, my resolution to Be healthy has goals: Exercise every day, eat better, be more mindful. Then, those have 'how to' so exercise every day w/ Jillian Michaels or a run during week, and a hike or long run on the weekend. Eat better has eat fish 2x a week and plan monthly menus, and mindful has meditate in the mornings for 15 minutes, starting with five minutes every other day and working up. See, now they are all doable. There are other resolutions, and I did the same thing with those, as well.

The last year was interesting in terms of personal development. I think it's rare that we actually stop to realize we'd actually had some personal developments happen, especially internally, where it's more a gnawing, slow realization that you've changed than some sudden external event, but it quickly became very clear to me that I'd been living out of tune and out of sync with who I am, what I wish to do and how I wish to be, and the last few months I've spent time really putting thought to how I want to express myself through my life. Genuinely. Not like an Instagrammed life where it's all an image, but a true expression of myself. I'm really looking forward to being able to put some of myself out into the world while I've decided there are other things that belong only to me.  Other things haven't changed. I still need to run. Still love to hike. Have to write. Am obsessed with finding ways to keep dinner time healthy and not from delivery... But there is more. I think there is more to all of us, and we all owe it to ourselves to keep trying to find the higher expressions of our selves.

Happy New Year!

Quick rundown of random things:

Six months in, new Middle School is still the absolute best thing that happened for Turbo and Bear. Those two have just attained new levels of maturity and growth through the higher expectations. 

Drama Girl is still in childcare, but I think she's going to explore hair and cosmetology which we all think would suit her so much more! Fun, cute clothes to work and get to do other people's make up for money... c'mon....

Husbear loves his new position, and pretty much has found his calling. No one who knows him is surprised by this, but it's one thing to be told, another to learn it for yourself.

I'm still working on a profession, but I have a better, clearer picture of my life in both my career and in my writing. 2016 will be exciting in terms of both, but I don't know yet what either will fully look like. It's a statement of inner knowledge, belief, and that intuitive whisper that says you're on track I'm going off of here.

I've become addicted to digital loaning from the library.

I'm still in lounge-wear and have yet to find a hairstyle I like aside from braids, side ponytail, high ponytail and low ponytail.

Quick week in review, featuring wisdom, trust and other such things

Teeth Drama!
I had teeth drama. I suddenly discovered a new tooth had sprouted! I could feel my gums aching, and the tooth pushing. I pulled back the edges of my mouth and used a flashlight to see what was happening, when I saw it. A bone where I had never seen a before had pushed itself out. I went over all the likely reasons, aided by goggling dental anamolies:

•  Triplet that I absorbed in the womb now making a late appearance. 
•  Tori, these bone-growth-like things that occur when you grind your teeth a lot, like I do. 
•  An abscessed tooth that would infect me and kill me unless I removed it with the blade of an ice skate. 
• Tooth tumor.

A few days later, after realizing it wasn't going to go away on its own if I just played loud music and ignored it, I called the dentist and went in. I explained my dilemma, and the dentist tech chic person poked around a bit.

"This?"
"Yes."
"This, this right here?"
"Yes, that is it! What is that?"
"...."
"I mean, it just showed up."
"It's.. um, it's your tooth."
"What tooth?"
"Your wisdom tooth."
"Oh, did it come in? Is that what happened? It just finally erupted and popped out?"
"It's, well, it's been in." (for years, apparently).
"Really? I never knew!"
"So when are you getting it removed?" (Dentist who's seen me for the past 8 years and has been trying to get me to get rid of it for the past 8 years, but of course I ignored her because I thought it hadn't actually come through yet.)

So that was fun. My wisdom tooth, which has fully come in and been taking up space, probably may have a cavity, but no one can really tell, because it's really hard to get to. I was sent home with pain meds and a reminder I really should get it pulled before it actually does become a huge source of infected rancid tooth pain.

This entire tooth thing took up most of my mental energy this week and is the reason I didn't blog. (Too busy googling teeth things)  I was a bit disappointed it wasn't anything exciting, like an absorbed triplet.

Random Snow Day!

I heard El Nino meant we'd have a milder, drier winter in the Front Range, so I stopped paying attention to the weather reports. Every day is mostly the same. Sunny and unseasonably warm or Sunny and seasonably cold. So when I did hear some chatter about snow I ignored it because every snow prediction other than 1-3 inches is wrong. If my weather app says we're getting 1"-3" of snow, we're getting maybe a dusting that can equal around an inch and a half. If it says we're getting 4-6 inches, we're getting 1-3. If it says we're getting 5-10, we're getting 1-3. If it says we're getting a blizzard, we're getting rain. It's just how it is. So I was fairly surprised to be woken up at 5:30 a.m. on Tuesday for our school district to call an unprecedented snow day. Which of course was the best kind, for my boys, who didn't even know it was going to snow. We spent that day in our pajamas, Husbear worked from home, Drama Girl was home from work because despite my best advice to her EVER, she still insists in working in childcare, and not a lot was done all day. It was beautiful.

Trust issues!

My friend and I discussed this over Indian food. She was talking about the precautionary measures she took when selling things on Craigs List: Call the neighbors. Pack a knife in your pocket, just in case. Arm the eldest child with a hockey stick or baseball bat. Her eldest popped his head out, and said 'I think it's safe, there's a baby." I looked at her, and said 'The baby's just a distraction." At which point she jumped up and yelled, in her very calm, not-yelly way, 'That's what I said!" Because trust.

Then,  Chase Fraud alert texted my phone to tell me my debit card may have been placed at risk by a third party vendor (I'm going with either the Chinese delivery or the gas station - thanks a lot, guys!). I called the number on the text, and then was all like, but wait, what if THIS is the scam? Eventually, the customer service rep kinda figured out I was THAT person, and was like, 'I can tell you feel uncomfortable telling me anything, but we are Chase Fraud. However, you can always just call the number on the back of your card, or visit your branch...." Leaving out the obvious, that the only reason I got those text alerts is because I myself enabled them... It's a rough world out there.

The can of hominy in dreams and careers (note: they are completely unrelated)

  This is hominy. Hello hominy.

It looks like popcorn, but it's not. It's hominy, and harder to find than it should be. I think it's made from corn. It is, it's made from corn kernels (thank you Wikipedia). Hominy is an important ingredient in a white chili stew that I make that my entire family loves.

Think about what I just said there. That my entire family loves. This is a family where, on a good night, two out of five people enjoy the meal cooked.  This is because the universe has a bizarre sense  of humor and has created a group of people  genetically predisposed to liking different foods from everyone else in their immediate genetic tree family. No one in my family has the same taste in anything. At all. It made meals difficult until I changed the criteria for a successful meal to "at least two people liking it," because the list of meals that all five of us will eat and enjoy can be counted on one hand, not including the thumb. No one complains anymore because I tell them straight away that only 2-3 family members will approve of this night's dinner. White chili is one of the few meals they all enjoy. But it requires hominy. Safeway didn't have it. Sprouts didn't have it. Target didn't have it. I had to go to the dreaded uber store, the King Sooper store, which, in this area, is the big grocery heavy. Everyone goes there. At all hours of the day and night. It's always crowded, I can never find what I'm looking for, and I always run into people I'd been hoping to never see again, as well as people who were hoping they'd never see me again. But, hominy is necessary, and I bought it.The thing is, I had to buy it today. 

TODAY.

Because I had a dream about hominy. It was a really important dream. In this dream, I got the sad news I didn't get a job I applied for like three months ago, but it was okay because I was hanging out with an old friend from High School I hadn't seen in ever who just dyed her hair some lavender shade (we so need to catch up lady!) and after all was said and done, there was a can of hominy. With a capital H. Hominy. It was a big can. And I knew, I just knew, hominy was the key to my future career success. Hominy.

Which confused me, in the dream, because how hominy is remotely related to careers wasn't made clear.  It was the last image of my dream. I woke up thinking, hominy.

Then, today, I had to get it. HAD TO. It's going to snow tomorrow, and I want to let the white chili simmer in a crock pot all day. I became a bit obsessive about it. I pulled myself out of the house despite my huge 'I'm giving up diet coke cold turkey' headache and went and scoured the world for hominy.

I'm still not entirely sure why I associated hominy with career success in a dream. I mean, hominy isn't even in the dream dictionary... but, when I came home, I did get an e-mail about a job that just opened that is exactly the job I want, exactly where I want,  that meets all my needs, and the one where I meet all the qualifications for including the weird skill set most people in my field don't have. I'm unique, people, unique... 

So I applied, thinking about hominy.

(Note: I personally think jobs are like a lottery these days, and you either get extra chances because you know someone, or you get lucky because it's Tuesday and everyone else who applied Tuesday misspelled their own name...)  
(Note 2: I already have a back up plan for when the hominy-dream connection doesn't pan out and I never hear from the mysterious people known as HR, but if it does pan out, I'm saying I called it.)

Pre-writing thoughts on other writers who weren't famous until after they were dead, which, on balance, kinda is a bum deal.

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Writing, writing writing…

My favorite thing to do. Right up there with running, hiking, snowshoeing and cross country skiing, though I don’t get to do nearly enough of the latter two.
I think a lot about writing when I’m not writing. Every now and again I think about self-publishing and traditional publishing and when I would consider the former and why I am leaning toward the latter for the current story I’m writing.
I also think of the point of writing and why I write when there are so many other easier things I could do with my time: Farscape, BSG, Mr. Robot to name a few. When I read the Writer’s Market, and when I follow the twitter feeds from Literary Agents, and when I see the articles ‘what you need to know to be a successful writer’ I remind myself it’s relative.
Here’s what I think about writers:

• A new writer doesn’t need a platform. A new writer needs a finished manuscript.

• A  writer who has something to say doesn’t need to think about the market, they need to think about the story they are writing, and how they will tell it. They probably need a traditional publisher.

• A writer who wants to write rollicking fun campy stories or beach reads can probably self publish, and needs to be able to write multiple books in a year, and fast.  

• There are more romance novels than can satisfy the romance reader. I wish I was interested in writing romance.

Today I thought about all the authors and artists and thinkers who weren’t recognized, discovered or celebrated until after death and wonder, did anyone send them a postcard? Maybe visit their grave or tomb and just let them know, that, hey, not that it matters anymore, but you’re kinda a big deal?

Maybe that should apply to other famous people like world leaders and interesting historical characters. Would they even get it? Does Cleopatra know about the fuss made over her? Is Caesar like, ‘I’m so much more than the moment of my murder?” Would Davey Crockett be like, wow, I hated that hat… Pocahontos would probably cry about Disney. Would all these obscure-in-life poets and novelists and artists and characters even care?
Of course, it’s not really the point, what you do in a life. It’s not for when you’re dead. It’s for while you’re living. So they probably would just think ‘figures…’
But it’s what I’m thinking about, since I’m about to spend the next couple hours writing about a space-adventuring teenager.

Happy December

This is a smoked turkey.

It's what we had for dinner last Thursday.

I took the week off from blogging and doing much of anything because children, spouses, cats and yams were underfoot.

Yams.
For 21 people.

My candied yams were heavy on the butter and brown sugar. I had to use a colander. I think colander needs two ls, but apparently not.

That's the point of Thanksgiving, though, to get people to eat more yams.

I was going to get right back to it all, the blog, the writing, the job search, the freelancing yesterday, but it was the boys' birthday, so I had to run out and buy cupcakes and presents and spend the day making a weird cupcakeosaurus that was vaguely inappropriate, and one of the main reasons I don't Pinterest my creations.

Nope. Not sharing that pic.

But it tasted delicious.

Today I got back in the mode. Apparently a week off did something, because the story I'm writing just came pouring into my head and I can write for weeks on end. Which is good, because I want the first draft of this story done by mid-January. (Space adventure teenager is what I'm working on next.)

Happy December everyone - let the holiday festivities begin!

Four cons to being home all day with solutions that turn them into pros! (and not-really-related stories about passing out)

I'm getting ready to write up one of the queries I need to do for a professional development course I'm taking. That's a fancy word for 'learning skills I once knew but forget, in the hopes they'll help me make money.'

Over the past two days I've been reading all sorts of pros and cons lists. I've been looking for a job for a few months now (don't judge, it's a rough world out there) and have been working on building a writing career. My theory is that whichever one happened first would be the path I took. It's probably the most passive-aggressive way to make a career decision, but I like to think of it as an income-based decision, as in, whichever brings in income is good... so far, no income from either, but this month, this week especially, I've begun to get some responses to both that will lead to *dramatic pause* employment. Or paying work.

I am pretty confident I have the drive to freelance, but I also have the dedication to my field that will land me full-time work. I'm constantly applying to jobs in my field, and I love love love my field, so it's not like when I was 17 and I took this summer job at a factory where I counted black rubber bands until I passed out and had to quit. (Actually, I passed out at the doctor's from having to get a tetanus shot, but it was after I spent all day in the hot factory breaking down boxes. It was also the first clue to my father that I, unlike the other members of his family, would not be able to ever make a living working in a mill. It was also my first clue that I may or may not pass out when getting shots. Passing out is a valid life experience I think everyone should have at least once. Preferably on carpeted flooring.)

Since many of the responses are from companies that are 'work from home' companies, I created a list of cons, and solutions to turn them into pros, because I'm a problem solver and an optimist.

First con of working from home: No real reason to wear cute clothes and own excessive shoes. It's more of a problem than I'd like to admit. I mean, my sweatpants are C. O. M. F. O. R. T. A. B. L. E. but it's kinda sad that I really only wear one outfit all week, and just as sad my first con is so shallow.
Solution: Cuter yoga pants. Coffee-shop work days. I can totally solve this problem by working at coffee shops and visiting friends.
Pros: Still comfortable. There are lots of cute flip flops. 

Oh, once, I almost passed out in basic training in the Air Force after getting a shot and seeing blood, but the drill sergeant yelled at me so much to not pass out that I didn't. He basically yelled me into staying conscious. It's a unique skill, I imagine.

Second - It's ever so lonely. There is a mom on my block who works from home all day, has for years. She manages projects out of some company in Minnesota, they sort of farm her out. It's a gig I'd love, except I hardly ever see her and that worries me. When I do see her, she's pale, wears capris all the time, and is accompanied by two children and a dog. But she loves it. I'm pretty sure if this becomes the new norm for me, I'm going to have to go join things.
Solution: Join things. With other people involved. That isn't online. It's a dangerous world for an Introvert, working from home.  And a dog. I'll probably have to get a dog.
Pro: Interactions with people are meaningful and not forced. A dog would help remind me to go outside.

I also passed out once when I was taking my friend to the dentist to have her wisdom teeth pulled. Somehow, the chemicals they were using were so strong they ended up in the hallway, and I sort of sat down, and then passed out. Everything ends up going all yellow. The cute guy that lived on my floor worked there, and ended up helping me to one of the rooms where they put that weird super-stinky stuff under your nose to wake you up and let me throw up in a trash can. Cute guy thought it was hilarious. 

Third - Food. I eat too much at home. I've gained five unhappy pounds and now am spending my afternoons with my friend Jillian Michaels, while studying how to make not eating holiday snacks fun. If it was spring or summer, I'd just run or hike it off, but it's cold out now, and I think I mentioned before, I'm not a good cold-weather runner.
Solution: Hang with Jillian Michaels. Learn to run in the cold. Eat green things that aren't kale.
Pros: Toned and a great salad-prepper.

Another time I passed out was getting blood drawn during a routine physical in England. The air conditioner in the building was not working, and it was really really hot, and so after the shot, I felt a little lightheaded and sort of just laid back down. 

Fourth - The 'what do you do all day' conundrum. Everyone, and by everyone, I mean my family, expects that I'm home just blogging, eating cookies and making random fun-runs to the 7-11 on the corner for my diet coke fix. This causes them toa develop expectations. Expectations that involve me cleaning things, or running errands. The truth is, I'm working on job applications, letters to companies and queries to magazines. And it takes all day.
Solution: Pretend to not hear them. Run out the door to work at coffee shops. Or, my favorite, convince them you work in an office. I mean, my kids probably wouldn't ever know the difference.
Pros: Tell them you're working late and you're really at the local pub with girlfriends for happy hour.

I haven't passed out in years since. I go in and make big scenes about how shots and blood and random chemical smells in doctor's offices make me pass out, and they get all ready and give me sodas and cookies, and then nothing happens and they look at me like I'm a jerk for not passing out because they were promised an incident they could laugh at, and they gave me their soda.. I also stopped making appointments in summer. 

Next week it may change. Next week, all the opportunities may come from corporations with actual offices where people are expected to show up. If that's the case, I'll have to do a second set of cons and pros.

Three: Jobs applied/applying to today - one in my field, one close to my field but with a company I've been researching and think is really really cool, and one that involves food.
Two: Follow-ups to jobs applied to where I'm in conversations with a person that led to an actual meeting which may lead to an actual job, and one who only responds at 3 a.m. because he s in Canada. Or an insomnia. Or both.
One: Child still home who's now working on something that doesn't involve a solid background in gears.

My daughter never passes out from this stuff. She's terrified of shots and having her blood drawn, has to have it done fairly regularly in her childhood, and as a child screamed her bloody head off, demanded cold drinks, and insisted my husband suffer with her. She's never passed out once, even though I'm pretty sure they lab techs kinda hoped she would.

Children ruin productivity (everyone knows this)

My son is home from school.

Building has been banished to the garage. 

This pretty much ruins productivity. I think anyone who works from home, and happens to have kids, knows this. I've been interrupted a bajillion times to try and help solve a gear problem with his great ball contraption he's building out of lego.

The problem I have with this is a) I don't know anything about building simple machines. I once built a mouse trap car for a physics class that only went backwards. b) I'm trying to work on an article query that I've so far spent two hours on. I blame the bajillion interruptions, but there's a small part of me that thinks perhaps the idea isn't that solid, meaning I need to find a new angle or new idea entirely. Cue crying. So I'm doing a post instead, because I ran out of ideas and angles, but I'm determined to be productive today since I ended up taking yesterday off.

This morning, I tried telling Husbear he was part of the reason my morning productivity was so low. He likes to chat before he heads out the door to work, unfortunately, this occurs right when my brain kicks in and I'm at my desk working on finding a job, finding clients, finding rainbows finding the things that will lead me to the life I'm pretty sure I'm meant to be living. A life where my work matters, my essays and blogs and writings are valued, and I actually get paid. He said that last night in his nightmares, he slayed demons for me, and that I could at least talk to him over coffee. This is why I never win. I don't think dreams should matter the next day, but it seemed to be today's theme, since Drama Girl woke up late, missed the bus and had to catch a later one because she had nightmares that made her not hear her alarm. Which is ridiculous because everyone in the house can hear her alarm. Maybe there's a giant dream monster roaming around messing people's mornings up, I don't know.

Bajillion and one interruptions. It sounds like the gear problem has been solved. He's going to be using a pulley system.

It's too windy for today

I took the day off inadvertently.

It's the wind's fault. I had a lot of plans arranged for after my run, but the wind picked up and now I'm huddled inside my wind-battered home hoping my patio furniture doesn't blow away.

I mean, I don't work right now, so it's not like I didn't show up anywhere, but I have a schedule and goals and projects and job applications I'm working on...

I got distracted by the idea that I missed out on the big blogging days of a decade or so ago, because I'm pretty sure blogging as a business model has pretty much ended. I'm also pretty sure that's not true, it's just that blogging as a business model for me will never happen because I'm not branded, social media aware, or super- motivated to make big bucks here.

Here, a picture of a cat!

Sir Cogsley. His blog makes millions, I hear.

Then I read I need a mailing list or subscribers. I'll have to google that.

Also, no one will let me write about them. I mean, c'mon... Sooo many stories...

It's because my life isn't interesting. Even my hobbies are half-assed hobbies. Running, for instance. I'm a runner who runs less than most other runners. I separate myself from joggers because I run more than joggers and have all the cool running tech gear, but it gets a bit chilly and then I'm all like... ugh... so cold... And YouTube videos. Everyone has that hobby.

Today.

Today, I'm home with my son who was sent home from school for playing with a pointy stick. Rules kids, you have to follow rules. Don't bring sticks to school. Or stones. Especially pointy ones.

I followed up on a job lead which was exciting because it was an interesting one, but I'm living in the present, and that was so 10 a.m.

I looked at the kitchen and had a mental argument with my husband where I'd remind him later tonight when he complains about the kitchen that I'm not a stay at home housewife/mom person, and as long as I'm looking for jobs/freelance clients/rainbow chasing it's considered working. I expect to win that conversation...

I watched the Zoolander trailer coming out. And then I re-watched the Star Wars trailer. Then I watched this trailer about a cave digging guy who does amazing, fantastic sculptures in caves in New Mexico that he digs out with only a dog for a companion, and felt utterly pointless in life. I mean, he's doing art in the desert. I'm in a caffeine-withdrawal looking for the last diet coke in the fridge... Also, I really want a dog.

I decided to run today but then the wind knocked all the garbage cans down and I decided I probably weigh less than the garbage cans and couldn't safely run.

Then I thought randomly I could blog about my weird life in an Italian family tenement building as a sort of tribute to my family, but all I could think about is how I missed out on most of the cool stories, because I'm pretty sure they all happened in like, the 1920s.

I went to school here!

Obviously way later than this pic was taken. And we had more trees.

And that's today.

Sunday nights are drama nights

It's Sunday night!

That means it's time for me to watch shows that only old ladies watch, or people who aren't old ladies but watch the shows in secret and don't tell people watch because only old ladies watch these shows. It's like when I found out that I was the youngest demographic viewer of Longmire. As in, I wasn't even as old as the youngest viewer... anyhow I still stand by that decision.

Tonight, it's my PBS Drama night. I'm addicted to Home Fires, and pretty sure that I am living in the wrong time. I belong in a quaint English village running a tea shop or something, pre-all-the-wars, or maybe between the wars. I think it's inescapable but, I can't help it if the perfect time for me happened to be between two major wars.

Today, I also realized that I need to stop eating so many cookies.

I read the Bloggess' book, Furiously Happy, which I recommend to people who don't think they have it together, basically, mostly everyone. I told my husband I thought we could make a bunch of money if I created a blog based solely around our arguments, but he said no. Then I thought I could redo my blog to talk all about how crazy my family makes me, but the kids said no, too. Then it hit me, the reason I don't have an amazing, fantastic blog is because all the interesting stories happen to involve people who don't want any part of the fame of publicity.

The thing I love about this blog, with it's 12 readers, is that it doesn't have to 'be' anything. I can wax on about trying to be mindful, my newest addiction to adult coloring books (adult- as in complex patterns of flowers and English cottages, not Benedict-Cumberbatch-adult) and my love of BritComs, or I can talk about running, and how I haven't, so really need to re-start. Again. I can talk about Turbo and Bear and Drama Girl and Husbear in vauge, non-offending terms.  I can talk about how I'm working to sort of 'reinvent' myself as the person I want to be, doing the work I want to be doing, vs. just kinda having a job, or I can talk about how I woke up today and decided that I was a writer, which, to anyone who knows me, this isn't a surprise, but every now and then, I have to remind myself, which seems odd only if you're not a writer who hasn't actually sold a book yet. Which would make me an author, which, as of yet, I'm not. Okay, so it is odd.

One day, I'll be an author, and that entire line about reminding myself I'm a writer will make way more sense.

The point is, this blog is going to be going through some random, non-niche, non-focused rambly-style posts over the next few months as I play with the type of voice I feel most comfortable with on the blog. I'm going for humor, but it could end up just being maudlin, which is a great word. It could also just be droll. We'll all find out, now, won't we?

I didn't mean to work in slippers all day

I didn't really mean to. But, slippers happen.

It started after the morning cup of coffee, or maybe after the third. I realized I dawdled too long and my day was wasting away. I sat down to write a cover letter a corporate recruiter requested for a position I applied for. Don't lets get into why I didn't write the cover letter in the first place. (Isn't that sentence a beautiful mess?) It's a complicated job market out there, people. Then, I sent out some requests to people I know for some story ideas I'm thinking of pitching. A couple got back to me quicker than I thought so I jumped on it. Then it was noon, and I was like, oh, I'm still wearing slippers. They are comfortable. I mean look at them, they're adorable and comfortable. I looked at the clock and it was noon. No big. It's, almost still morning... So I checked my e-mails and wrote up a couple more story pitch ideas. Then, around 1 p.m.,  I decided I couldn't go through another 'why are you still wearing slippers and sweatpants' conversation with anyone in my family and made the conscious effort to actually get up and get dressed for the day because no matter how I explain it, or how many times I try to tell them, the REAL reason I end up not getting dressed is because once I start the day, I keep going, and often, forget to, well, slippers are so comfortable, it's really so easy to forget to toss them and the matching sweatpants for more, normal, attire. It's the bane of those who work at home. Up, out of bed, at the computer, and somewhere between that morning cup of coffee and dinner, comes the realization you're still in pajamas and slippers. Is there a solution to this? Does there even need to be? Maybe we can have daytime at-home-worker wear - maybe, business casual pajamas.