Dreamin' in Dallas

the spanksters are headed to dreamin' in dallas (DID) tomorrow!! i can't wait to chat with the girls, hear the speakers on board, and get some free books!!! forgot to mention the food - i'm sure it will be good.

memories from a past DID ... one of my favorite authors borrowing my pen, then keeping it. i think chellie and i still laugh about that today. it was so worth it and just a pen - of COURSE the author could keep it.

see everyone tomorrow!

where's my ship?

yesterday i had a million topics i wanted to write about, or rather rant about, but today i feel a bit like a space cadet coasting through the morning sans much sleep. yesterday i could've written a dissertation on my intense dislike of the USPS and how i believe they are illiterate pirates. i could've written about how senior citizens seem to revert to infantile tendencies. i could've written about how frustrating it is to pick up a hard cover book by a past favorite author only to realize within the first 10 pages that he has broken several "no-no's" i have been taught at writer conferences on craft. but, yesterday is yesterday and today i am in la-la land as a little man is lying on the floor of my office waving his arms and legs. since i am not babylingual, i do not know what he is saying ... but i can likely figure most things out. anyway, i have one story i am in the middle of writing, another one i am trying to edit for the gabillionth time, only i'm finding myself - loving the f word today - frustrated in the path to publication. not a bad frustration - just a frustrated frustration that you get close to having your finger on the nail only to have it slide off as if someone has laced it with butter. one day you think you just need to find an editor, the next day you think you need to find an agent ... depending on the market, you may have to go to a conference just to communicate with either or - and the closest conference may be states away. and i go back to the crappy book i just started reading that makes me scratch my head - how did it get published? the first six pages were on the setting of the story - a U.S. city. sorry, i got bored after one page, and since i've been to this city, i really didn't need all the background info. it's just frustrating to keep up with the changing market, to do all the research, then add on top of that the craft itself of writing and editing ....

but

it's what i love. guess i'm allowed a lazy day, especially after a night sans sleep, but i know i'll have to buckle down tomorrow, or the next day, and do some work. one thing i have learned is that this road is a slow-traveling one and writers must have patience. i keep telling myself that there must be the mother ship of all deals out there for me because i have been patient a long time.

here's till my ship comes in ...

article on e-books

just a quick post to include the link to an article i read in the new york times in regard to e-books:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/15/technology/companies/15amazon.html?pagewanted=1&hpw

up in my grill

i have discovered, not recently, that personal space is a phenomenon, when it comes to me. where to start. first of all, let me preface this blog with the fact that i am only child. i am also a writer, which means i tend to have introverted tendencies. so, i am quite comfortable being alone. in fact, i revere it daily.

so, let me tell you while i am beguiled and perplexed about my personal space, or lack thereof.

scenario #1
when i go to the gym, i make it a point to find a machine where no one else is next to. why? i will tell you why. most chicks and dudes that go to my gym are not there to work out. how do i know this? well, when a chick comes in wearing freshly applied makeup with her flat-ironed hair down, you figure it out. but, this does not bother me, much. what does bother me is that they talk on their cell phones while walking on the stairmaster! and i don't mean like taking a quick emergency call - i mean they have 30-minute conversations at full-voice volume! seriously. but here is the phenomenon - there could be 50 open treadmills - i am not exaggerating on that number - and excessive chatty cell-phone chick comes and gets right next to me. why? there are like 49 open treadmills! a lot of times i take a book with me to read and i also wear my ipod, so i'm trying real hard to block out all the huffing noises people make when they run or whatever, then here comes charlotte-chats-a-lot and i'm wondering why - why does she feel the need to be all up in my grill when i'm clearly trying to multitask by reading and exercising? at that moment my grill should be seen as a public library. shhh!

scenario #2
public bathrooms. picture six stalls. let's say i walk in and the entire bathroom is empty. which stall do i go into? i go into stall number three - smack dab in the middle. that makes me think my odds of the next person who comes in and spreading out is pretty good. WRONG! it always happens. someone comes and gets right beside me and it never fails - they are not there for a short pit stop. so i have to rush to get out of there or else i gag.

scenario #3
there is this lady. i'm not saying who she is or where i know her from or when this happens, but oh my gahhhhhhhhhhhh! she is all up in my grill and then some. i get that she just doesn't get that it's way over the border too close to my face. in fact, sometimes i wonder if she is in need of a hug because why else would someone get so close to me? i know what you're thinking, but no, she is married. to a man. it just makes me very uncomfortable because the chances of getting spit upon are tremendously increased as well as the likelihood of me smelling metallica breath.

i'm not sure what this invasion of personal space is all about. it's not my imagination. it happens every day. maybe i have some rockin' pheromones? maybe people see me as a challenge - "ooh, that girl's reading a book, i bet she'd find my conversation much more interesting." or maybe ...

people
people who need people
are the most annoying people in the world

just kidding! i love people. not the barbra streisand song, but i love barbra streisand and i love people, as in a large quantity of individuals. while i love people, i just don't want to listen to wah wah wah, hear their grodie bathroom, no-shame noises, or be able to smell their breath up close and personal.

so, if you have any clue why my grill seems to attract bugs - get it, bugs - lemme know. just don't get too close to my face when you tell me.

disclaimer: no member of the spanksters has ever gotten too close to my grill, so no worries. you guys are totally in compliance with personal space and i commend you for your cognizance of others existing in this universe.

Killer Kites

Yesterday we out in the backyard to fly a kite. The backyard’s pretty big and it seemed like a good idea. There wasn’t enough wind and it would only stay up for a few minutes at a time. But the kiddo has a determined streak and wanted to keep trying. It was fun until we got it stuck in the top of the neighbor’s tree. Oops. Maybe they won’t notice.

So, today we bought 2 new kites. After learning a valuable lesson yesterday, we took the new kites to the soccer field to fly them. Today was really windy and a great day for flying kites.

The hubby told us about when he was a kid they would have kite ‘fights.’ I thought that meant they would try to whack each other with the kites but apparently that wasn’t the case. They would duct tape razor blades to the edges and then fight them in the air. He also admitted to duct taping nails and anything else they could find and then fighting the kites.

Of course, their parents knew nothing about it. That made me wonder how often they needed new kites, and that was pretty much every day. He said they would search the ditches for Coke bottles and sell those to make some money. Then they would purchase a new kite for forty-nine cents and off to the kite fights they’d go.

Being a mom, my first thought was that razor blades and nails on kites seemed like the perfect way to loose an eye or get someone’s throat cut.

I can see the headlines now, “Be on the lookout for a Killer Kite. It’s Pink and white with Hello Kitty on the face but don’t be fooled by its cotton candy coloring, this kite is deadly. Last seen heading north on a warm front of high pressure air.”

Life Sucks...And Then You Write...

This is going to be two posts in one. A buy one get one free, except we don't charge for these magnificent words of wisdom...but that is an idea...

The great thing about being a writer is: it's an excellent source for venting. The quote on my blog site is, "by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." Sylvia Plath wrote that. I have no idea who she is, and I should probably google her, but isn't she right?

If you have that wonderful over active imagination, any single moment in your life - good or bad - can become the next best thing on the book shelf. But you also have to have the guts to do it and just get over yourself.

Isn't that easier said than done?

I'm a big chicken. I love to write. I write all the time but up until I joined this fabulous group we now call THE SPANKSTERS, I never, ever let anyone read a single word I wrote. Well, that's if you don't count the sickening poetry my BFF and I wrote in high school. I can show you that anytime, if you need a good laugh. I didn't want anyone to read all the other stuff because, what if they didn't like it? What if they laughed at these things that had become so personal to me? What if they didn't - eek - get it? Get me?

But here's the thing, someone has to read it sometime. Someone has to give you their opinion so you know if your getting it right. That's where the guts part comes into play. I lived in my own little writing world until one day I realized, I only had me and my overactive imagination to tell me it was good, or that it sucked ass and I shouldn't quit my day job. That's when I found DARA and went to my first conference. Then a short while later, Angela (at least I'm pretty sure it was her) sent out the one email on the loop that I read about forming a critique group. And now I have this wonderful group of women that I can't imagine not having in my writing world. Everyone one of us is unique with our writing styles and I have learned so much - from the correct use of ... to all the different ways to use/say the word 'cock'. Okay, that's just the funny stuff, but in the two years or so we have been together, I see a difference in my writing. I've gotten over my chicken lily livered ways and look forward to every reply email that has suggestions or rewrites or grammar errors that probably has Christie grinding her pearly whites...but it's all so very appreciated.

2009 in a new year. A new beginning for all of us. A time to layout some serious goals and whack that freaking crap-o-la out of them. WE GOT THIS!!! Karilyn's recent wonderful oh-my-god she's getting published news, is such an inspiration. It made it so real to me, so within our reach. WE GOT THIS!!!

Okay, part deux. I recently became addicted to facebook. This is a result of a friend calling me and laughing hysterically. I won't go into details, because I don't like to hurt peoples feelings, but I got logged in and youtube was replaced by looking at high school chums and what they are doing now. That's not really my point, but it leads up to it.

I'm a journaler (is that a word?). I've kept a journal since I was probably about twelve. So, with this influx of high school memories, I pulled those old volumes out and began to weep from laughing so hard. Being a teenager really sucked if what I wrote is any indication. Seriously, I don't recall being so melodramatic but there it is...all written out for me to see. I even found tucked in between the pages the phone number of the first boy I loved. In his first grade hand writing...even though he was seventeen when he wrote it. (take that jackass!) Sorry that just felt good.

I started reading in the journal that captured my 16th, 17th and 18th years. Oh, Lord what good times that was. If I could get a publisher to read this, I know they'd buy it and publish it as, "Yeah, I was 16 once too." It could be a guide to teenagers when they hear that line from their mother. I know I heard it. Some of my favorite dramatic moments are outlined below.

- my mother did say to me, "You don't know what love is." This was after she told me that I was no longer allowed see the juvenile delinquent I L-O-V-E-D 4-EVER. Turns out...she might have been right. But don't tell her I said that.

- "Why can't I just get over him?" This said about above mentioned idiot, the same entry goes on to say I've been seeing someone else. Hmmmm.

- "Like the song says, there's a danger in loving somebody too much." Yes, yes. I did say that.

- "I'm so alone." This entry then goes on to talk about how I'd done this with that person and that with this other person and how I had plans to hang out with someone else. Yeah, I was sooooo alone.

- "Whatever, he's young anyway." This said about a boy that was maybe, 6 months younger than me and about a foot and 100 lbs heavier than me. Nevermind this comment came from him pissing me off. So there! I was very mature for my age...

Oh, I could go on for days. It's comedy gold those old volumes of my life.

Which brings me back to the title, life does suck sometimes but you write it down, you get it out then you look back at it 15 years later and laugh. Because everything is life is writable. EVERYTHING.

Even mean boys that tear your heart out and stomp on it in front of his friends...hey, I'm not bitter. Mostly because I'm bigger than that but maybe a little because I know how his life turned out...hehehe.

I may pass out, but I'll get to the top!

A couple of years ago we went to Savannah, GA on vacation and we drove out to one of the islands to tour a light house. Do you have ANY idea how many steps there are to the top of a lighthouse? There’s at least a million. I couldn’t count past that because I think I passed out for a while.

The stairwell is designed with leprechauns or Gwyneth Paltrow in mind because for the average adult it’s like trying to squeeze into a tube of toothpaste. There was a long line of people going to the lookout at the top. I was the leader of my family and an older gentleman was in front of me. About a fourth of the way up I thought this isn’t too bad. We can do this. A little further up and I’m getting a bit winded but I don’t want to appear weak so I keep plugging along. The man in front of me is moving at a pretty fast pace.

Half way up and I’m pulling myself along by the handrail. If I let go I’ll tumble all the way to the bottom. I smile (grimace) back at my family, because we’re having fun. Right? RIGHT?!

Three fourths of the way up. Is this damn lighthouse ever going to end? Whose dumb idea was it to climb a lighthouse anyway?! The stupid SOB in front of me is skipping! Geriatric Freak! I’m sucking on my inhaler and I honestly believe I’m going to die, but I can’t stop. My heart is pounding at an alarming rate, and my lungs have already collapsed.

The 70 year old cyborg in front of me is jogging. I think he must have taken Viagra or something. I’m going to die. Wheeze… My vision is going black. There’s no air! I can’t breath. These stairs will NEVER end. Wheeze…

Finally. We reach the top and there’s a tiny door that opens onto the lookout. I’m close to death but relieved to be finished with the stairs. I squeeze through the door and hope there’s enough oxygen this high up so that a couple of my brain cells will continue to live. At least there’ll be something left to hook up to a ventilator.

I look back for my family thinking they’ll want to enjoy the beautiful freaking view and guess what? My husband won’t come out on the deck. Suddenly, my 6’1” hero is afraid of heights.

Seriously!!!????!!! I climb the Mt. Everest of Lighthouses and he won’t come out on the deck! So I have to admire the view with the old geezer. Stupid robot.

Wheeze…

How does this tie into writing? And what’s the moral of the story. I don’t know. Maybe it’s that we shouldn’t compare ourselves to others. For all I know that old guy climbed those stairs everyday.

As writers and people we have to remember that each person has their own journey, and it’s not going to be down the same roads as someone else. Maybe it runs along side someone’s road for a while but there will be different obstacles for each of us.

Or maybe the moral is: Take Viagra and climb to the top!