I really, really hate it when I have half of my dinner stuck in my teeth and no one shares. I'm that person. I don't think less of you just because you enjoy yourself some pepper or parsley. Heck, I love me some of that stuff, too. I will, however, make sure that people don't think you have polka-dot teeth if I see something amiss.
Share the love, peeps. Shaaaaare the love.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
The Difference of a Year
I am still not back on Facebook. But I enjoy you sneaky little things who keep sending me messages to try to entice me back.
This week I've managed to roll out chapter 11 of my second draft, and now I am undertaking chapter 12. This would be so much easier/faster if it was just editing for grammatical errors instead of chopping it all up into bits and pieces, throwing most of it away, and rewriting to fill in all the holes.
~ Last year I felt a whole lot more adept with words.
~This year I feel more like a cavewoman, grunting and pointing (and sometimes jumping up and down and waving a club).
~ Last year I was all about the blind, no-questions-asked romance.
~ This year I pushed my way through far too much of the "Fifty Shades of Grey" trilogy to convince myself that blind "romance" was boring; and unrealistic dialogue was, to me, the literary equivalent of an unmedicated root canal. I know I keep picking on this book, but honestly. That's about all I can say about that. I hope to have just an ounce of the success E. L. James has, but without all the drrrrrty.
~ Last year I was just trying to make that 50k word mark in one month.
~ This year I realize I want it to be 50+k words someone else could read without wanting to poke their eyes out at some point.
Always looking for willing readers who want to give feedback of any kind. Who knows? You might end up with a town named after you.....
This week I've managed to roll out chapter 11 of my second draft, and now I am undertaking chapter 12. This would be so much easier/faster if it was just editing for grammatical errors instead of chopping it all up into bits and pieces, throwing most of it away, and rewriting to fill in all the holes.
~ Last year I felt a whole lot more adept with words.
~This year I feel more like a cavewoman, grunting and pointing (and sometimes jumping up and down and waving a club).
~ Last year I was all about the blind, no-questions-asked romance.
~ This year I pushed my way through far too much of the "Fifty Shades of Grey" trilogy to convince myself that blind "romance" was boring; and unrealistic dialogue was, to me, the literary equivalent of an unmedicated root canal. I know I keep picking on this book, but honestly. That's about all I can say about that. I hope to have just an ounce of the success E. L. James has, but without all the drrrrrty.
~ Last year I was just trying to make that 50k word mark in one month.
~ This year I realize I want it to be 50+k words someone else could read without wanting to poke their eyes out at some point.
Always looking for willing readers who want to give feedback of any kind. Who knows? You might end up with a town named after you.....
Friday, June 29, 2012
Writers Are Crazy. No Duh!
I came across this lady quite by accident the other day, and thought this blog post of hers was interesting. Interesting as if I'd been suffering with an unexplained malady my entire life, and then a doctor finally diagnosed it. I've yet to figure out if what I suffer from is good or bad. Hopefully it's a pleasant swirl of both.
As I am on this journey to write my own book, I have been reading and watching more things from authors.... and it excites me that so much of what I come across resonates with me in some way. It makes me feel a certain kinship with these artists, even though it's highly unlikely that I will ever have the opportunity to meet any of these people. It's also hard to say whether I will ever share in a fraction of the success that many of them have earned.
Time will tell, I guess. In the meantime, if you see a car drive past me real slow, I'd appreciate the heads up. Kthanxbai.
As I am on this journey to write my own book, I have been reading and watching more things from authors.... and it excites me that so much of what I come across resonates with me in some way. It makes me feel a certain kinship with these artists, even though it's highly unlikely that I will ever have the opportunity to meet any of these people. It's also hard to say whether I will ever share in a fraction of the success that many of them have earned.
Time will tell, I guess. In the meantime, if you see a car drive past me real slow, I'd appreciate the heads up. Kthanxbai.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Hay Man, Nice Shot.
Not that any of you care, but.... I just did hay by myself LIKE A BOSS.
Ninety-one degrees, but I'd argue it was roughly at least 30 more degrees than that. It felt like the devil's armpit, for realz. Forty bales up a flight of stairs (elevator? Psssh!), ten-ish extra stacked on the ground because they were about to fall apart. My mom had a fit, sure I would give myself heat stroke. My step-dad said, "Some people would pay a lot of money for a workout like that." Well, if they would, then they are dumber than a bag of rocks. Just sayin'.
My good deed for the day. I saved the husband from death by hay inhalation and my step-brother and step-dad from an early morning good time.
NOT TODAY, evil-doers. Super-me is here!
....Maybe God was sending me all those hints about Philippians 4:13 because He knew about the hay. I hope that's all it is.
Ninety-one degrees, but I'd argue it was roughly at least 30 more degrees than that. It felt like the devil's armpit, for realz. Forty bales up a flight of stairs (elevator? Psssh!), ten-ish extra stacked on the ground because they were about to fall apart. My mom had a fit, sure I would give myself heat stroke. My step-dad said, "Some people would pay a lot of money for a workout like that." Well, if they would, then they are dumber than a bag of rocks. Just sayin'.
My good deed for the day. I saved the husband from death by hay inhalation and my step-brother and step-dad from an early morning good time.
NOT TODAY, evil-doers. Super-me is here!
....Maybe God was sending me all those hints about Philippians 4:13 because He knew about the hay. I hope that's all it is.
Balancing Act
This morning I am waiting for "the call", the one that tells me it is time to go be with a family as they welcome their newest little one. I'm crossing my fingers that today is really the day because I have one waiting in the wings and a couple other families who I'm to help postpartum. It's making me feel like next week (or this weekend) could be the week that never ends. I can see how easy it is for doctors to schedule births for their convenience. These babies really need to get synced up on my Google calendar so they can get things straight, knowhutimean?
My kids came home from church Sunday night with a memory verse to practice -- Philippians 4:13 -- "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." The kids learned it without my help, even Isaac. On Monday morning, as I was staring at one of the papers, I checked my phone to find that the random daily Bible verse I'd been sent was also Philippians 4:13. I felt like God was trying to prepare me for a tsunami.
"You've got this, right, kid?"
No, God, I don't got it! A little help, please?! Preferably a clone, pleaseandthankyou.
Anywho... Last night I attended a murder mystery dinner at the Melting Pot with my good buddy Beth. It was originally supposed to be six of us, but as the day went on, the number went down, down, down. I'm not bitter ladies, even though I had to make the reservation-update-call-of-shame several times and I started to question my loserishness quotient. I'm happy to say that, against all odds, Beth and I persevered, in the name of all that is cheesy goodness. Beth got to be a loyal secretary named Trish Fish. I stopped paying attention to most of the clues somewhere around the food showing up, so when it was time to guess the killer, everyone was guilty. Our group got the distinguished award for "Best Worst Answer" because I couldn't be bothered to get my nose out of the fondue pot. Guilty till proven innocent--that's the way it works, right?
I've got this lawyer thing on lock! Oh, yes, I do!
...I blame it on not watching enough Law & Order or something. I feel like making that statement about L&O will probably cause me to be disowned by my grandparents. If you know my grandparents, hush.
Currently, I'm on a self-imposed Facebook fast because. Yes, just because. It may or may not have had something to do with PMS. But, also because my husband doesn't believe it's possible for me to cut back. Also, because I'd like to hammer out my second draft by the end of July. Why? Because I am trying to do absolutely zero on this summer break, that's why.
It seems that having Facebook open in a tab on the side of my screen while I'm writing shouldn't be a big deal, but it is. My eyes are drawn to it, and clickety-click, there goes my productivity. I love my Facebook friends, I do. It's not you, it's me.
It seems that having Facebook open in a tab on the side of my screen while I'm writing shouldn't be a big deal, but it is. My eyes are drawn to it, and clickety-click, there goes my productivity. I love my Facebook friends, I do. It's not you, it's me.
That being said, Facebook Fast of 2012 is more like Facebook Diet of 2012. I've had to log in once each day to check on events that were supposed to happen today and yesterday. Seriously, I'm fasting. It just doesn't look that way if you're stalking me closely enough. I think I've shown enormous amounts of restraint. I mean, I've had a lot of funny status updates in my head these last couple of days. Stuff I know you'd "like". I'm a people-pleaser. I like it when you "like" my stuff. To not have anyone to give me a thumbs-up in real life is kinda a downer.
Do I know when I will return to Facebook full-time? No. The husband prays it's never, but I think it's inevitable, what with needing to market a business and eventually a book.... and, goodness knows, talking to adults on Facebook is sometimes the only adult conversation I partake in ALL DAY. Wrap your mind around that, lovelies. The witty repartee we have about coffee obsession, Johnny Depp, creepy things people do with placentas, etc. Sometimes that's all I got. The rest of my day is full of talk of Legos, Angry Birds, chocolate milk, and the multi-faceted use of the word "poop". Okay, so maybe my so-called adult conversation isn't that big of a step...
It's about balance, of which I have little to none. Balance in my doula life, and balance in listening to clues while stuffing my face, and balance in social networking. It's a good lesson to learn, and I hope you'll bear with me as I figure it out.
Especially if it means fondue.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
You Might Pass This Way Again
Today I had a strange experience. Okay, I often have strange experiences because, well, that's life surrounded by boys in their varying states. Today's strange experience, for once, didn't have anything to do with them, Angry Birds, or the stupid Internet connection.
In my other life--the one where I'm not writing and yelling and endlessly picking up socks and Legos, etc.--I am a birth worker. People actually pay me to come watch them give birth. I mean, I'm supposed to be calming them down and stuff, but if I didn't already do this for a living, I'd probably not believe it, either. But I digress...
This morning I was called to do a home visit with one of the midwives I work with. At a home visit we are checking out the lay of the land and what supplies the family has gathered to welcome their little bundle of joy in the comfort of their own casa. Shoelaces? Check! Boiling water? Check! When the midwife told me where this family was located, I was elated. Almost literally a hop, skip, and a jump away from the Ohboyohboyohboyohboy house. That like NEVER happens. Literally, everything is 30 minutes away from me, if not more like an hour. There's not much more irritating to me than when someone complains about having to drive somewhere 15 minutes away. It practically takes me 15 minutes to get to the end of my street! I have to trek everywhere, and I'm pretty ticked off that I've seem to have misplaced my sherpa somewhere along the way. I guess even he was getting tired of all the driving.... But, again, I digress.
So, I drive to this house. I already know exactly where it is based on the street name, even though I've never been there before or even heard of the street. It's like a really, really identifying name--like if you lived in the middle of an apple orchard and you lived on "Orchard Lane". This particular subdivision was built in an old stone quarry, so you can do the math on this one.
I pulled into the drive and looked across the street to a big pond. That's when the deja vu hit, big-time. As a bratty teenager, I'd ridden one of my horses here. It was still a stone quarry then (and, honestly, way cooler than the subdivision, no offense suburbanites!), and the water used to collect right about where the pond is now. A good friend and I had bravely waded our horses into this water, somehow, and lived to tell the tale. Now that I think of it, I am pretty sure that was the one and only time I've been able to take a horse in water deeper than a couple of inches. If I tried that with my horses now, I'm pretty sure I'd be the one wading and the horse would be clinging to my back. Yeah, it's like that.
I remember going home that evening and telling my mom about our riding adventure. Her eyes widened in horror and she shrieked, "That's so dangerous! Those quarries can be hundreds of feet deep! You could've been sucked all the way to the bottom! Doom and gloom! DOOOOOM AND GLOOOOOOOOM!" That's my mom, Mrs. Worst-Case-Scenario. I love her, I do. And now I always wear my riding helmet and worry about liability releases. I'd say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but falling is dangerous and someone could sue.
Anyway, coming across this place again felt so significant, especially on the heels of a day where I was feeling like it was all wrong, wrong, wrong. The quiver in my tummy made me feel like I was on some kind of sacred ground taken over by minivans and landscapers. Maybe I'm in an odd place in my life where I'm looking for a deeper meaning in things that really don't have one. I dunno. What I do know is that in a few weeks I will be part of a birth team welcoming a baby into this world in a place I remember so vividly from such a different time in my life.
Part of me wishes I could go back, like some kind of weird time warp that only happens when a lady has a baby surrounded by hoodoo witch doctors (that's me, right????). I'd like, again, to sit astride the horse that I never really knew how to care for or even appreciate as a kid. I'd like to hug my friend one more time, knowing I'd probably see her and her spirited grey mare in a day or two. I'd like to tell myself that things all work out in the end, and not to waste my energy on the people who weren't wasting their energy on me. I'd like to be reborn.
But I can't be reborn--not in the way I wish I could--and I guess that it's okay. I'll live, though some days it feels a lot less likely than others. In the end, I know that's just my overactive imagination and jumpy nerves from a house full of whiny ohboys talking.
If you could go back, would you? If so, what time would you relive if you could?
In my other life--the one where I'm not writing and yelling and endlessly picking up socks and Legos, etc.--I am a birth worker. People actually pay me to come watch them give birth. I mean, I'm supposed to be calming them down and stuff, but if I didn't already do this for a living, I'd probably not believe it, either. But I digress...
This morning I was called to do a home visit with one of the midwives I work with. At a home visit we are checking out the lay of the land and what supplies the family has gathered to welcome their little bundle of joy in the comfort of their own casa. Shoelaces? Check! Boiling water? Check! When the midwife told me where this family was located, I was elated. Almost literally a hop, skip, and a jump away from the Ohboyohboyohboyohboy house. That like NEVER happens. Literally, everything is 30 minutes away from me, if not more like an hour. There's not much more irritating to me than when someone complains about having to drive somewhere 15 minutes away. It practically takes me 15 minutes to get to the end of my street! I have to trek everywhere, and I'm pretty ticked off that I've seem to have misplaced my sherpa somewhere along the way. I guess even he was getting tired of all the driving.... But, again, I digress.
So, I drive to this house. I already know exactly where it is based on the street name, even though I've never been there before or even heard of the street. It's like a really, really identifying name--like if you lived in the middle of an apple orchard and you lived on "Orchard Lane". This particular subdivision was built in an old stone quarry, so you can do the math on this one.
I pulled into the drive and looked across the street to a big pond. That's when the deja vu hit, big-time. As a bratty teenager, I'd ridden one of my horses here. It was still a stone quarry then (and, honestly, way cooler than the subdivision, no offense suburbanites!), and the water used to collect right about where the pond is now. A good friend and I had bravely waded our horses into this water, somehow, and lived to tell the tale. Now that I think of it, I am pretty sure that was the one and only time I've been able to take a horse in water deeper than a couple of inches. If I tried that with my horses now, I'm pretty sure I'd be the one wading and the horse would be clinging to my back. Yeah, it's like that.
I remember going home that evening and telling my mom about our riding adventure. Her eyes widened in horror and she shrieked, "That's so dangerous! Those quarries can be hundreds of feet deep! You could've been sucked all the way to the bottom! Doom and gloom! DOOOOOM AND GLOOOOOOOOM!" That's my mom, Mrs. Worst-Case-Scenario. I love her, I do. And now I always wear my riding helmet and worry about liability releases. I'd say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but falling is dangerous and someone could sue.
Anyway, coming across this place again felt so significant, especially on the heels of a day where I was feeling like it was all wrong, wrong, wrong. The quiver in my tummy made me feel like I was on some kind of sacred ground taken over by minivans and landscapers. Maybe I'm in an odd place in my life where I'm looking for a deeper meaning in things that really don't have one. I dunno. What I do know is that in a few weeks I will be part of a birth team welcoming a baby into this world in a place I remember so vividly from such a different time in my life.
Part of me wishes I could go back, like some kind of weird time warp that only happens when a lady has a baby surrounded by hoodoo witch doctors (that's me, right????). I'd like, again, to sit astride the horse that I never really knew how to care for or even appreciate as a kid. I'd like to hug my friend one more time, knowing I'd probably see her and her spirited grey mare in a day or two. I'd like to tell myself that things all work out in the end, and not to waste my energy on the people who weren't wasting their energy on me. I'd like to be reborn.
But I can't be reborn--not in the way I wish I could--and I guess that it's okay. I'll live, though some days it feels a lot less likely than others. In the end, I know that's just my overactive imagination and jumpy nerves from a house full of whiny ohboys talking.
If you could go back, would you? If so, what time would you relive if you could?
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