Have YOU heard of Google?

I hate it when my phone rings, and the person who has made it do so (thus requiring me to pick up the danged thing) turns out to be working at a call center. It's even worse when the product on offer is patently inappropriate for me or my business, and two seconds' research could have saved everyone the bother. These days common sense is just too expensive; it's cheaper for the Suits if they pay poor people crap wages to waste my time. Like yesterday's gem:

"Good Morning, Itsy Bitsy Computers, Cindy speaking."

"Yes, Madame, this is Victor calling from Unintelligible Corporation. May I please be speaking with your general manager, please?"

"Speaking." At this point, the line goes silent for a moment while the caller frantically rifles his employee manual, searching for the section entitled What To Do When Confronted with A GIRL.

"Oh. Oh, excellent Madame. Perfect. I was calling today just to find out, have you ever heard of Google? Madame? Madame, why are you laughing?"

"Yes, I've heard of Google." (snort)

"Oh, perfect. We are calling today because we are hoping to make arrangement with excellent company like yourself, to advertise on the front page of Google. Madame?"

(chuffle) "I quite doubt I have the budget to advertise on the front page of Google," (as I'd have to cancel my Superbowl commercial and that would Never Do) "but here's my email address."

"Indeed, madame. That's just perfect. I will be sending you the information straight away, and then in one hour I will be calling to see if you received it."

"Yep. Have a nice day." It's nice when they give you a little heads up. I wrote down his phone number, to be sure I didn't accidentally answer the phone when he called again.

He did call back, twice. I missed him, because I was on a conference call with Donald Trump and George Clooney at the time. So sad.

To three or not to three?

Yesterday afternoon, I spent a little while working on a paint-by-number while the kids watched some TV.

"So?" You ask.

And this morning, I woke up to find that Pebbles had spent the entire night in her own bed, with no 3 am requests for cuddles or a bottle. That's been happening more and more.

"She's two," you remind me. "That's what we expect. And why are you still giving her a bottle at 3 am anyway?" (I don't know. Leave me alone.)

...AND I've noticed lately that there are times in the evening when - get this! - nobody needs me for anything. I could sit down, and it's almost like nobody would notice. Except maybe the cat, who is attracted to warm horizontal surfaces.

I was looking at pictures of Pebbles, and suddenly I'm realizing how much she's grown. That she really isn't a baby any more. She's a toddler, a person in her own right, fully equipped with her own agendas and opinions. We're arriving at that point where it starts to get easier. Or at least less intense.

So I hear myself asking, in a faraway, singsong kind of mental voice...do I want another?

HELLO? WHAT?

And then I glance nervously at my husband, to see if he heard me thinking that. Because if he did, I think he might actually cry. And then shake me. And then ask a lot of loud questions about my mental health. And I'd be waiting just as anxiously for my answers, because that's just...

(...it's biology, is what it is. It's a gazillion years of reproductive programming.)

...crazy. I've been working six days a week and I'm in no position to change that, I don't ever feel like I spend enough time with the Beloved I already have, I haven't been writing, or baking, or keeping up with any of my friends. So sure, let's have another baby. FABulous idea.

Says the little voice that started it all, "I didn't mean right this minute!"

"Oh, shut up," I tell it. "We are not discussing this." And we're not.

At least not right now.

Family

My uncle passed away a few weeks ago, quietly in his bed, with his wife sitting nearby. She said he took a breath, and then he just didn't take any more.

It's been many years since he was the man he was born to be. He had a heart attack and the resulting brain damage broke that filter most of us have - the one that keeps us from repeating the same stories over and over, telling rude jokes in front of children, and making deeply inappropriate comments. To be honest, I didn't...how do you say you didn't really like someone, when they're dead? How can I express that without looking like a right bitch?

My aunt (not the one who was married to him) remarked lately that the family here in Nova Scotia never really got to know the real him, since he only moved here after his heart attack. She remembered visiting with them in Toronto, and they had a picnic in the park, with hotdogs and potato salad. My uncle noticed a homeless man sitting off under a tree, and he went over, sat down beside him, and talked to him for a while. Made up a plate for him. That was what he was really like, she said. And he may always have had a tendency to speak in a loud voice and tell rude jokes, but he was kind and he didn't judge people. (wince)

That's how it is when someone really dies, for good. Looking back now, I admit that yes, all he ever wanted - all he was trying to do - was make us laugh. And now that he's gone, the obnoxious behaviour no longer defines him, and he comes into focus as the unique and ultimately precious individual he was. That we all are, frailties and warts and indiscretions included.

The Family has Come: my father, his seven sisters, and the various spouses and offspring and grand-offspring who all cared enough to make the trek from Ottawa, Toronto, and wherever. Tonight we'll all be eating supper together at the house built for them by their father. And while we're a big family and prone to gather like puppies in a basket, this will be the first time I recall all the aunties being there at once. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Meme

Because I can do this while I'm on hold...

TECHNOLOGY:What is the wallpaper on your computer?
A cat with its paw over its face, captioned "I cannot brain today, I have the dumb."

Does that make sense?
OMG yes.

How many televisions do you have in your house?
Two.

BIOLOGY
Are you right handed or left handed?
Right handed, but I use my left for cutting food because I hate switching hands with my silverware.

Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
Yes. A gallbladder, some wisdom teeth and two children.

What is the last heavy item you lifted?
A computer.

Have you ever been knocked out?
During (and after) some of the procedures above, yes, if that counts.

BULLSHITOLOGY
If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
No way.

If you could change your name, what would you change it to?
I wouldn't change it, strange as it is.

What color do you think looks best on you?
Brown, black, red and pink, bright green.

Have you ever swallowed a non-food item?
Yes. A button, in church. It fell off my blouse and I didn't have a pocket, so I put it in my mouth... hey, I was twelve. My brain wasn't really developed yet.

DAREOLOGY
Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
I think so, yanno, depending...

Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
Hell, no.

Would you never blog again for $50,000?
Yes.

Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1,000?
Yes.

Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for a million dollars?
Of course not.

DUMBOLOGY
What is in your left pocket?
nothing.

Is Napoleon Dynamite actually a good movie?
I have no idea.

Do you have hardwood or carpet in your house?
Both.

Do you sit or stand in the shower?
Stand.

How many pairs of flip flops do you own?
One. Do Birks count? Then two.

LASTOLOGY
Last person who texted you?
I don't have text messaging.

Last person who called you?
Pastor Ross. He wants to know about his laptop repair.

Last person you hugged?
Pebbles.

FAVOURITOLOGY
Number?13

Season? Summer.

Color? sunshine yellow.

CURRENTOLOGY
Missing someone?
Yes, my peeps.

Mood?
Cranky. The full moon is coming and people are acting weird.

Listening to?
Iceberg radio

Worrying about?
Work. Oh, and the size of my butt. (G)

Wearing?
black capris and a purple shirt, and a (very sexy) wrist splint.

RANDOMOLOGY
First place you went this morning?
The kitchen. That's where the kettle is.

What can you not wait to do?
Go home

Do you smile often?
Oh yes.

Are you a friendly person?
Yes, sometimes too much so.

What I did on my summer vacation (all 4 days of it)

It was only a few days, but sometimes that's all you get. Sometimes, it's all you need. So, how did I spend my precious few?

I drove across the province in a blue minivan with my kids, over the spiny ridge that runs the length of the mainland, past the airport to the summit where suddenly you can see lush green farmland rolling away to the horizon. We came back down to water level at Truro, a town at the tip of the Bay of Fundy, which smells like a combination of manure and fast food. That's where you'll find the Acricultural College, but for the life of me I couldn't tell you what else is there - except every food franchise known to man, crammed cheek by jowl on a 1 km stretch of potholes.

Pebbles, sensibly, slept the whole way. BamBam and I sang along to such timeless classics as The Cat Came Back, and The Big Ship Sailed on the Alley Alley Ooh, Crocodile Rock, and the Hockey Song.

After Truro we turned to the north, and drove uphill and down through more beautiful country. A new vista opens at the crest of every hill as the highway rolls away from you toward the Northumberland Strait. This is Nova Scotia, Appalacia's last sleepy murmer before she lays herself down to sleep in the ocean.

And at last, Pictou. The place where the first Scottish settlers landed, giving Nova Scotia her name. It's a wonderful little town, where they've built a museum and a replica of the Ship Hector, the boat that brought those settlers. (I love the souvenir shop, we go every year. We also eat lunch in Thom's Pub.)

In Pictou my imagination bubbles, warmed by the local history. I can feel these people around me, wanting me to hear their stories. Some day when the kids are bigger I hope to go down there to research and write.

Once there...

I walked on the beach at low tide with my kids and mom and sister, looking at starfish and hermit crabs. I also went for a long walk on a dirt road with Mom and the kids - who missed not one single mud puddle the whole way. Pictou has red dirt, high in iron. It doesn't wash out easily, but it was worth it.

I played Scattergories and Boggle with my mom and sister. We also worked on a paint-by-number.

I biked 10K on a hot day in hilly country with my dad and DH. DH and I didn't exactly keep up with the "old feller", but Dad was kind enough to stop and wait for us from time to time. Come to think of it, it's possible that DH was just hanging back to keep me company. And maybe to make sure I didn't die in the ditch. (On getting back to the cottage, my concerned family parked me in a lawn chair with some ice water. I guess my face was a little red. (G) )

We had a water balloon fight. Mom made us a gourmet lunch of watermelon, pepperoni, cheese and crackers, but it got a little wet when Dad and DH attacked her with the hose and a bucket of water. (She still doesn't know exactly who did that, so don't tell!)

My dad made a bonfire on the beach at dusk, and we swatted bugs and roasted an entire bag of marshmallows.

Pebbles caught a surprise wave right in the chops - and she was fine. She shivered convulsively, and said "Oooh, cold." Then, smacking her lips, "tasty!"

Finished reading STRAY, by Rachel Vincent. (I highly recommend it.) Threw a football with BamBam, and ate a hotdog that fell on the ground.

I went for a ride on DH's motorbike - something I haven't done for years, what with pregnancy and smallish children. Also went to the grocery store dressed in black leather - and bought ground beef, potato chips and toaster strudel. Yep, we're hoodlums.

We drove home on the sunniest day of all four, tired and full of gratitude for the time with my family, followed by DH on his motorbike. I entertained myself by cleaning my windshield unnecessarily, and watching him in the rear view to see if I got him with the spray. (The very best part of this was that he had no idea I was doing it on purpose. (G)

So anyway, I'm back at work now, and have been for a week, but I just wanted to share with you (and remind myself) what a really good weekend it was, full of little-arm hugs and marshmallow kisses, sunscreen and laughter. I can't wait for the next one.

An actual email

This, from one of my suppliers:

"Just in this fine morning All our free to air satelite recievers and accessorries have just arrived in stock. So get then now why we still have stock there going fast. "

Ow, my head.

Countdown to the weekend: 6 hours, 16 minutes.

Living the Coles notes version

It feels longer than two months since my awesome co-worker left, and I'm still trying to find a rhythm of work and home that functions properly. There just isn't enough time, I'm covering the bases, checking off the major points - shower, work, bedtime stories - and enjoying hardly any of it. It's the Coles notes version of my life.

At work, I'm three weeks behind on some of my administrative stuff, and I go from line 1 to line 2 to the counter, to email, and back to the phone again. I'm doing all right, I'm doing a good job, but I'm so rushed that I'm not getting the sense of accomplishment I would like to feel. I'm only tired.

Then I drive home, trying to shake the vaguely irritable, dissatisfied feelings before I get there, so I can walk in with a smile and enjoy the kids for those two or three precious hours before they go to bed. Work is over now, I am lucky to be going home to such a wonderful family.

I once heard a woman on a tv show remark "If the Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!" I remember rolling my eyes, and wondering just who in hell she thought she was, the queen? But now that I have a family, I see what she meant. It wasn't that she wanted everybody kowtowing to her every whim. It's just a simple truth - the household watches the mother. They take their cues from her, they calibrate their sense of peace and wellness according to her mood.

No pressure. (G)

Being away from them so much, I can't help but feel the full import of this priviledge - what an incredible thing, to be so essential to these people. And yet, it can be overwhelming. I don't always manage to get my sh*t together, and those days it's rough knowing that I'm letting them down. They need me.

And then my daughter goes to sleep with her little hand on my face, and I am forgiven, and healed.

But wait...see the calendar? It says that at 6 pm today, the door closes - and it's going to stay that way until Wednesday morning. We're going to my parents' cottage, which is far enough away but not too far, and I will have a break. Four days with no work, no telephone, just the Beloved and my parents and the ocean. We'll do a massive jigsaw puzzle, drink some beer, and laugh a lot.

Thank you, God.

I'm baaaaaack

I've pulled out The Witch of Badenock, blew the dust off it, and I'm currently reading through my most recent edit of the thing.

Yes, I said I wouldn't. I am, anyway.

I developed, over years of growing as a writer, a set of personal rules designed to help me meet my writing goals. The strictest of them was "No going back" because I had developed a habit of endlessly re-writing the first part of a WIP - during which period I neither progressed in the story, nor did I learn very much. It's a good rule, it worked.

However, it belonged to a woman with heck of a lot more spare time than I have.

I'm married, working five-and-a-half days a week running my own company and raising two kids. My schedule is packed with duties and obligations that really are more important than writing - and so when I think of writing in within the confines of my old "rules" it quickly loses its appeal. What I need right now is a little time spent doing something recklessly creative - just because I feel like it. So I've chucked out the rules, because they belong to a different era, and hey! It's the new me. Again.

Writing freely and without apparent aim, schedule or outline is still writing. My dreams of being published and seeing my name on the cover of a book are still alive and valid - but they don't seem quite as close, as reachable, as they did two short months ago, when I was churning out over 10K per month. (Wordcount for May? Zero. Howzat for ineffective?)

The thing is I miss my historical, and I feel like playing with it. So today that's what I'm doing.

I feel better already.

He's so lonesome, he could cry...

Had my third conversaton with the new "IT" guy over at the office of one of our long-standing clients. I've already explained to him how external hard drives work, and how to locate the video card in a computer - and yes, there are different types. Today's chat went like this (I changed his name):

Me: "Hi Alex?"
Alex: "Hi Cindy."
Me: "Yeah, so the problem with the PC here, it's the power supply. $49.00 part, plus an hour labour."
Alex: "I don't understand. There was no display."
Me: (What? Hello?) "Right. You had no display because the computer wasn't turning on. There was no p..o..w..e..r."
Alex: "Is that because I didn't send you the cable?"
Me: (Oh, buddy. How did you get this job?) "No, we have cables. The power supply, it's um, where the machine takes your current from the wall and splits it out to different rails, 3.3V, 5V, 12V, that the components need. It's that thing. It failed."
Alex: "Oh, that makes sense."
Me: "Mmmhmm. And there's a password, we'll need that."
Alex: "Oh."
Me: "So, it's…?"
Alex: "left out"
Me: (Oh, God.) "Uh, that's all one word?"
Alex: "Yes. One word. Leftout."

Now I'm sad.

Night life

The night before last, my two-year-old daughter woke up at 11:30 pm, just as my eyes were drifting shut. I waited to see if she would settle, and she didn't, so I went to bring her into the big bed. That always works.

Or, yanno, not.

My usual secret weapons - back rubbing, whispering the words to Goodnight Moon, saying good night to all her favourite TV characters - nothing I did was any help at all. I had some time to reflect that girls always seem to be angry with their mothers for something, and Pebbles seems to have picked out her reasons already. An hour later, she was still tossing and turning, fussing and complaining, and I was Highly Annoyed. It all came to a head when she suddenly began to crawl away from me, escaping my grasp in the dark, ignoring my warnings, and fell off the bed.

"Well, what did you think would happen?" I growled as I picked her up off the floor.

He-who-fixes-everything came in then, took the tired and weeping daughter from the tired and angry mother, and went away.

Half an hour later they returned. He was ready for bed. She…not so much.

For nineteen days we took turns telling her to go to sleep, groaning softly into our pillows and and forestalling her attempts to start up a conversation. "Where Nanny? Where BamBam? I go play now?"

At 4 am I declared an intermission, and we all got out of bed for a snack and bathroom break. Pebbles took the opportunity to pee out the side of her diaper (all over both of us), so we donned fresh jammies, shared some toast with Cheez Whiz and a peach. DH decamped to the downstairs sofa, and Pebbles and I read some board books. We (finally) went to sleep at about 5 am.

All day yesterday, it was 3 am on a deserted country road inside my mind. On an electric pole, standing sentinel beside a moonlit corn field, a transformer crackled and sparked from time to time, and the Bzzzt! Bzzzzzzzzt! was the only sound for miles around.

The customers here at work were thrilled to find such a good listener, and so expounded on their problems - computer-related and otherwise - at length, while I had deep thoughts like "Yanno, I think this guy has dentures."
Bzzzt. Bzzzzzzt.

"How do I import my contacts from my backup to to Outlook?"
I want popcorn. Popcorn would be really good right now.
Bzzzt. Bzzzzzzt.

"Hello, it's Mimi from Iffy Electronicals? Could I speak with your purchasing manager, please?"
Swimming, swimming, in the swimming hole, when days are hot…
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

"Yes, it's Edouard from the Massive Book of Overpriced Advertisements…"
when days are coooooooooooold, in the swimming hooooooooole!
Bzt. Bzt. Bzzzzz....….t.

Nine to Five...

Well, be assured that I'm doing a Fine Job.

The business is running smoothly, and we're implementing those changes and improvements that must always be there, in the works, for a business to maintain any grip on the so-short attention span of its market. (Ooh, shiny. ) I'm getting the rhythm and feel of things, and figuring out what it means to be doing all my own stuff plus the stuff I used to pay someone else to do. It's a lot, but I'm getting the hang of it.

My kids have my sort-of undivided attention in the hours between 7 and 9 am, and 6:30 and 9ish pm. I am slowly introducing them to the concept of Mommy sitting on the couch with a book. (Pebbles was highly perplexed. at first -"Why isn't mommy playing with me? She isn't cleaning or cooking or in the shower, so it's playtime, right? Mum? Can you hear me? Haloo?") I think they still know I love them, even if I am not actively engaged in the activity of their choice.

My husband, well, he gets the leftovers, such as they are. God Bless the man.

So, what I have to do now - my personal final frontier - is figure out where the heck writing fits in this new life of mine. I had hoped there would be time at work, but so far not so much. I'm not a late-night writer, so it looks like early mornings might be the thing to try next. I will fit it in somewhere.

Either that, or I will lose my ever-loving mind. Which, since I have so much going on, and children and all, really isn't the best option.

Has anybody seen the weekend?

This morning, as I was leaving for work, I waved and blew kisses to the Beloved in the window, as usual. Then I cut the wheel to turn down the driveway...

...tooted the horn....

...and creamed the front of the car with the side of the van as I passed it. Our vehicles now sport matching dents and nasty white streaks. Thank Dog for my husband, whose laughter kept me from bawling. Well, almost.

I am so very ready for a weekend.

Good morning, writer-mom

5:20 am: Wake up, because BamBam is up and singing to himself on the can. He always has, but not usually quite this early. I know someday he'll leap some developmental hurdle and stop, but I'm in no rush. I lay in bed, dozing and listening.
5:35 am: Get up, and tell BamBam that he should finish up and go back to bed. It's too early to get up.
5:50 am: Realize that I'm truly, irrevokably awake, and start thinking about getting up to write for a while.
5:51 am: Turn on the laptop.
5:52 am: Put on the kettle.
6:00 am: BamBam appears in the living room, turns on the television. I scowl, but kept typing.
6:10 am: BamBam submits request for oatmeal, because he's cold and hungry.
6:15 am: I am back at the keyboard, trying to get into the conversation Carrie and Luke are having.
6:25 am: Pebbles wakes up. She hates this part of her day, I hold her sleepy little self in my lap until she's ready to play.
6:35 am: Back at the keyboard, thinking about the father's rights in an unplanned pregnancy. Does he have any?
6:40 am: Take guitar and drumsticks away from the kids.
6:45 am: Remind adorable children that Daddy is still asleep, and now is not the time to be riding - or even pushing - the tricycle up and down the hall. Remind self not to grit teeth, it’s hard on the molars.
6:52 am: Make enquiries as to why Pebbles is buck naked. Go downstairs to rummage in laundry heap for matching clean clothes. Settle for clean clothes.
7:05 am: Back at the keyboard, thinking about Luke and the baby he wanted.
7:09 am: No, we have no bananas. We have oranges, grapes and apples. No, Pebbles, please listen. We have no bananas. We have oranges, grapes, and apples. Please be quiet, Pebbles, Daddy is…nevermind.
7:10 am: Out of time. Shut down word processor.

Word tally: 400.

Tom Mabe, my new hero.

Have you heard this? OMG, my sides hurt.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=un_PjRXV5l8

Yeah, I should figure out how to do that video thing.

Sometimes, Life is Like That

Hey, I'm back.

I spent April doing the things I felt were most important, and it just happens that writing didn't make the list. I wrote maybe 1000 words - and I'm trying not to think that if I'd made my goal, I'd be nearing 60K, instead of still around 45. Oh, well. (shrug)

In amongst the Important Things of April, there were other things that did not get done, like me getting my eyes checked. Consequently, I confess I did wrinkle my nose as I plucked my last contact lens from between letters S and D on my keyboard yesterday. (eew) I could reorder online, but my prescription needs to be changed, so I'll have to cram that in somewhere. In the meantime, Ibuprophen for headaches.

Also did not get my hair cut, and did not get to the dentist. Did not buy a new belt, or new jeans. (Went to the mall once, bought one t-shirt and baseball hats for my kids. I know, I know. I suck at shopping.)

Did not get a new hamster, although I wanted to. My husband seems to think the creatures have a better shot at old age if they live somewhere else. Hmph. This, even when I patiently explained that I have talked to the cat about this and he has agreed not to eat any more of the family pets. Even if I do leave the door open. Again.

My WIP is ready to go in a new direction, away from the sadness and toward happier things. I'm glad about this because I was starting to wrory that it just might be too damned depressing. I think I had to fully explore Carrie's losses - experience them myself - before I could achieve this next phase with her. I don't feel the need to express her pain any more, I'm ready for some laughter, flirtation...and yes, sex. Also a relief, because hey, books are supposed to have sex, right?

I hope you're all well and writing like mad!

Delayed reaction

Jenny tagged me, a while back. (Sorry)

The rules:
a. Link to the person who tagged you.
b. Post the rules on your blog.
c. Write six random things about yourself.
d. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
e. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment at their blog.
f. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

Okey-dokey.
1. While I was growing up, I had a pony named Peggy and then a horse named Mikie. I didn't name either one.
2. I studied sciences and then history at university, but left before I got my degree in order to work full time at the business I had started with my then-boyfriend (husband now.) Still doing it, 14 years later.
3. I hate pea soup, love cheese.
4. I like to travel, but I think I'll always live in Nova Scotia.
5. I'm the oldest of four children - we're spaced over 21 years.
6. I've just realized how dull I really am.

And sorry, but it looks like everyone I know has already done this!

on a sunny April morning

Wonderful co-worker leaves on Friday. I have today and one more day off, and you betcha I'm making the most of it.

I've spent the whole month of April focusing on my family, soaking up as much of the kids as I can. I know, it's not like I'm sailing away for three months at sea, I'll be home every night at six-thirty to play and read and tickle, and mid-afternoon on Saturdays to hang out in the backyard and push the swing. Still, I feel like there's a separation coming, and it's bringing a lot of little things into focus and stirring up complex emotions that I want to express, but can't. Sometimes there just isn't language to cover this motherhood thing.

I've written very little, but I feel the story happening. I hear my characters laughing softly under blankets, and I'm puzzled because they certainly weren't sleeping together the last time I checked in with them. Carrie seems stronger now, maybe she's putting her losses aside - if not behind her - at least not cradling them in her arms any more. She's finding peace, and soon I will sit down with her and she'll tell me all about it. She knows I need this time, and she'll wait.

Tonight for supper we're having Sesame Ginger pork on the grill.

How to have a good day

1. Subjugate your will to that of the nearest two-year-old. Sip imaginary tea from a cracked plastic cup that used to be yours back in the seventies. Read a board book three times over. Lay on the floor in a patch of sunlight with an orange cat, and listen to your daughter sing the alphabet, starting with the first letter, which is Q.

2. Dig something up - for instance, the tall yellow-flowered perrenial (latin name tall yellowus thingus) that, through lack of planning, got planted between the other two tall yellowus thinguses. Use your bare hands to fill in the hole, and don't forget to consult with your six-year-old about the best destination. He's right.

3. Be with your son in the moment when he loses his first tooth. If you're lucky, you'll get to pluck it out yourself, with no pain and very little blood. Cry a little if you need to, he is growing up so fast.

4. Take time to appreciate your daughter's imagination. Who else would think to paint a bedspread using a toothbrush and Vaseline?

5. Shut up. Stop trying to control everything. Leave the muddy footprint where it landed and pour yourself a glass of wine to sip while you cook supper.

6. Cuddle in the dark and watch a movie with your husband.

7. Don't worry that you only wrote a few hundred words. You did some very important stuff today, after all.

Huge Sigh

I've had some hard news this week - my wonderful co-worker is moving on the first of May. I'm really sad to see her go, we share the same irreverent sense of humour and she's good at the job. I'm also pretty sad about going back to a six-days-a week work schedule.

I'm not excited about hiring. I'm so tired of that process.

Anyway, I have April. I'm going to take some extra days off to be with the kids, and when that's over I'll do what I have to do. I have lots of support, it's not the end of the world.

It might be the end of my getting 10 000 words a month, though. For now.

So I'm a little bummed right now.

It's one of those days.

My bottom is on the bed. My computer is in front of me, and the cursor is waiting, blinking politely. Patiently. The door is closed, the Beloved all downstairs on more-or-less good behaviour. (There's no blood, anyway. And DH is there.)

It's just, my coffee cup is empty. I'm sure that's the reason I'm having a hard time getting started today. Once my coffee cup is refilled, I'll be brilliant, I just know it. If I leave the room, though, someone might see me and then I might not get back in here by myself. It's a lot harder to write with a two-year old jumping up and down next to your laptop.

So, it's another case of AITC, these things do seem to spread. I had it on Friday as well, and wrote only 142 words. Today I am planning to move even a little further past my goal, and I will. I just need more coffee.

Then, I'll be brilliant. (G)

Random notes

Finished watching Beowulf and Grendel last night, with Gerard Butler and Sarah Polley. Now, I'm never one to jump into discussions about what character looks like which actor, because every reader has his/her own private image of a character, and it's more or less immaterial to everyone else. I've gotta say, though, yummy Gerard in this film* is what my personal Jamie looks like. Minus the red hair, of course.

* I saw him in 300 as well, and he wasn't quite the same at all. Which is good, really, as he was playing a completely different guy. (G)

I've been looking at my word meter. I love the way it grows as I move along through my story, but every now and again it occurs to me that 80K is really an arbitrary number. When I think about the parts of the story I've developed and the things that seem to be growing out of it: the themes that crop up and need to be explored, and the thoughts I have that I really just want to express through my story and my characters, I'm thinking the actual number might be closer to 100K. Which really doesn't matter, I'm not going to eliminate anything in order to write a shorter story or be done sooner! It's just that I do love seeing that little red line up over the 50% point.

This afternoon I'm going to try a recipe I've found for a chocolate cookie with toffee bits and chocolate chips. Or maybe I'll go for the one with white chocolate chunks and cherries - you see my dilemma. Hmmm.

Oh, and I plan to write today too, so I'd best run along!

Halfway there...

My birthday was the other day, I'm 35 now. Yep. True story.

26 was hard, so was 30. I used to think 35 would be rough too, but it really wasn't. I think it's because I'm in such a good spot right now, with my two wonderful kids and my incredible husband, my work and my writing and the rest of my family. It's all right if I'm getting older, because I've accomplished this much so far, and I'm working on the rest.

Speaking of which, I crossed over 50%!!! That gives me a week to write 2500 words, and that shouldn't be any problem. I'm home for the next three days, after all.

Happy Easter!

The Big Reveal

Today I'm working on a scene that's going to create a turning point for Carrie, my MC. It came as a bit of a surprise to me too, actually. I didn't know how I was going to manage handing over this Missing Piece of Information, but I was driving somewhere the other day and realized that there *is* an existing person-in-the-know -overlooked because he was only an infant at the time. So I'll send Carrie off to find him, but today I'm skipping ahead to their conversation, because that's what I see right now.

It's cool how these things show up, isn't it? I don't think it'll ever get old for me. But then, I spent five years working on a novel in which this *didn't* happen - or at least not when I reallyreally needed it. It was a lovely story, but I'm afraid I'm the only person who will ever know that. Unless...

Not now. Maybe later.

It's very windy today. I can see the whitecaps on the ocean, even though we're miles away.

Now we're getting somewhere

Well, aren't we the regular blogista this week?

I'm finding that the more I let go of my control issues - nattering questions like: What is the purpose of this scene? Where, exactly, in the book does this scene belong? Shouldn't you be developing X or Y? - the happier I am, and the more the words flow. This is a hard lesson for me, because I'm having to un-learn some fundamental habits in order to stop getting in my own way. The biggest one is efficiency.

In my daily life I'm all about making the most of my time. It's a skill I've worked hard to learn. I have many hats to wear - business owner and manager, wife, mother - and in all these areas I've learned to organize, so that I don't have to do things twice, so I don't waste my time. And so when I put on my "writer" hat, I do wear it with some awareness of the passing of time and the other things I meant to accomplish today, and so it's hard not to ask myself the questions I've listed above.

Moving the computer into the bedroom when I'm writing has been a huge improvement, (how many times have I thanked you for that little pearl, Lindsay?) because it signifies to me on some subconscious level that I Am Writing Now. I'm learning to sip something hot from my favourite mug, take a deep breath...and RELAX. In that frame of mind it becomes much easier to merely listen and type, and lo! Suddenly a thousand words a day is no major thang. Suddenly it becomes possible that I might finish telling this story before I get bored of it. Suddenly I am less bored of it anyway, because things are going off in their own directions, instead of being crammed into my carefully crafted notion of the story.

Funny, I have to stop trying to get somewhere, in order to get somewhere.

Sunday

Only just got the baby to bed, she totally doesn't give a rat's ass that the time changed. And I'm going to have to stop calling her "the baby" too, she's nearly two. Ha. Nevah! She'll always be "the baby" around here. (crossing self, and saying a few fervent prayers)

Logged just over a thousand words today, in between making ginger cookies and pizza with the Beloved, playing with plastic food and just...loving Sunday. I've left my thumb drive at work again. That's not a bad thing, it stops me rereading and editing! Anyway, I've deleted some scenes too, and that cost me some wordage, so I'm not anxious to do the final tally anyway.

I'm home tomorrow, and hoping for at least another thousand words.

Word meter

My zotukou word meter quit moving a while ago, and I finally got around to finding another one, and this one works. It's very familiar, wouldn't you say?

The clocks went ahead last night, which is hard on a person.(yawn) Now it's Sunday morning, and I'm trying to write with both my children here on the big bed with me, which is not going very well. I'll evict them shortly. Pebbles is jumping and BamBam is - well, he's a six-year-old boy. It doesn't matter what he's up to, it'll be loud and it'll be something he's not supposed to do.

Today I'm driving with my MC, Carrie, to a tiny house by the sea, to meet a medium named Liz.

And it gets even better

...and then I got a surprise invite to Cora's for lunch with my mom and sister! And I ate this:




All right, I ate half of it. With a side of English custard.

Today is full of good things, I hope yours is good too!

Life is good

Gratitude is a powerful thing, and I try to remember my blessings all the time, but some days it comes easy. Like today.

Last night I got out of the shower to find my favourite pyjamas, folded dryer-warm, on the foot of our bed. They were placed there by my husband, who doesn't think that sort of gesture is anything special. I do.

This morning, the sun came out. We haven't seen it in a while. I danced to Why Georgia with Pebbles in the bedroom, and she laid her little head on my shoulder. Her hair is cinnamon, shot with sunshine.

BamBam wore a red striped shirt to school. I love him in red, I love him in stripes. My little man.

So, yeah, work can be a pain. But I have tomorrow off, and I'm writing.

The sun is shining, and I have it good.

I think I'm getting better at this

I made my goal of 8K for the month of February. Considering the month I just had, I'm very surprised by that. But yay, me! I think I'm learning to let go a bit.

So this month I'm raising my goal to 10K. That's just over 300 words a day, which sounds emminently do-able, does it not? (blink, blink) We'll see, yup. I've got my game on, now!

Congrats to Vicki on her one-year anniversary - SCENT OF SHADOWS came out one year ago! There's a give-away at Urban Fantasy Land, to celebrate.

Goal

I'm still a bit short of my goal for the end of the month, but I think I can pull it off. Some good advice from a friend - (get a quiet spot, dolt) - has been working out very well. I was writing at the kitchen table with my Beloved going about their business all around, and even though I thought I was fine, it was really interfering with my ability to really "get into" my character. So that's working much better now.

I'm also reading THE SPYMASTERS LADY, and lemme tell you, our Ms. Bourne has some chops. I'll be back to rave about that later.

In the meantime, eliminating distractions and making the most of my time remains key. I don't know what I'd do without my few buds though, this is indeed a lonely biz.

I have some funny stories I want to tell, but alas, the time...

Business as unusual

It's a full moon. Those of you who have worked in retail will understand what this means.

Take the man who called me the other day.

Him: "Yuh, hello? Zis the computer place?"
Me: "Yes, how may I help you?"
Him: "Yuh. I was just wondering, you know. My brother in law, he was goin' duck hunting. And he hadda get a gun permit AND a hunting license JUST to go duck hunting."
Me, reaching for the ibuprophen: "Right." And this has what exactly to do with me?
Him: "So, every time I turn on my TV I see people are using these computers to, like, steal money and mess up kids and stuff. I wanna know how comes you don't need a permit to have a computer."
Me: "Um. What?"
Him: "Well, yeah, like. So I called the RCMP, and they said call my MLA. And my MLA said why don't I call the computer people."
Me: "Wait, now. You resent that your brother in law needed a permit for his gun, but you think the 600 kids at my son's elementary school should require permits to have computers?"
Him: "Well, I don't see the difference. There should be a test you take to make sure you're a good person and stuff."
Me: (splutter)
Him: "See, you can use them both to hurt people."
Me: "I could use a hammer to hurt y...someone...but..."
Him: "Anyways, it's all just a money racket."
Me: "What?"
Him: "Yeah. I don't see why we can't just get rid of them."

It went on from there. I had actual brain damage. I think I still do.

mental space

Yes, I did it again. Three-four days went by and I did not write. Now I'm sitting here wearing a grimace and a dunce cap, trying to slip into character while the phone rings and customers come and go. What I really need is a door.

I've been thinking to myself about private mental spaces - retreats - that writers go to when they're working. I'm building mine now, maybe you can visit me when it's done. Jo has a nice spot (See December 1st, 2007 post). Where do you go to block out the world?

My poor little brain

I'm still wrestling with this, but it's not a grim, life-and-death battle, it's more like trying to get the top off the pickles.

Today I sat down and explained my whole story to my co-worker. This is a strategy I often use when I'm "stuck" - whether it be something to do with accounting, a personal dilemma, or my writing. "Come here and listen to me for a sec" is a request that my employees come to understand - they're really only required to pull up a chair and be a warm body with ears. Maybe nod occasionally. The act of explaining the problem to someone else often squeezes whatever synapse is clogged, and I am suddenly free again.

Anywho, this verbal synopsis did help to clear up some of my muddy-headedness in regard to the way I want to develop some of the suspense through the end of the first part of the story. Today I'll sketch out a few scenes to fill in that gap. Yay! It's working!

Writer, know thyself

I am now at the point where it all died the last time – the beginning of the middle. I know what went wrong with JUNIPER – the getting stuck, and the endless rewriting of the first third of the book - and I'm determined not to make the same mistake again. And yet, I feel the gears slowing.

What's happening? I'm losing track of my plot, and I'm feeling that impulse to go back over what I've written, to refresh my memory, to make sure it makes sense. Trouble is, I don't fool me. I know what's happening here. This is starting to look like a big job, and I'm getting intimidated. I want to reassure myself that I know what I'm doing, so I think it's a good idea to go back and look at what I've written. And I know exactly what I'll do, if I go there.

I'll fiddle. I'll pick. I'll rearrange. I'll stall. I'll do anything – except tuck in my chin, put my head down, and work through the doubts.

The first part of my story is like the shallow end of the pool, and I'll wallow there indefinitely if I give myself that chance.

So I've struck a compromise. I've got out the damned cue cards, yes I have. And I've written a brief description of each scene on one, right up to the place where Part Two definitely begins. Then I put a butterfly clip on that stack of cards, and set them aside. That process was my review, and that's all there's going to be for now. No setting them out of the floor and arranging them according to the tension requirements, no organizing them to best show the development of relationships. That's it, that's all. I've got blank cards now, and it's about brainstorming the new material from this point on.

And you know what? I think it's going to be ok.

Blowing chunks

I'm entering a new phase here - leaving the more-or-less linear pattern I was following, and reverting to my previous habit of floundering around in chunks of story which have no apparent destination in the actual book. I mean, of course they go somewhere. Hehe. I think.

Writing style - not voice, but strategy - is something that seems to happen TO me, rather than being a tool I use to get the job done. Sometimes I feel like I'm just here for the ride, just listening, just getting it onto the paper. This week has been like that. And since the characters are fighting for air-time, I'll take it! The trick will be to take control again when they stop. One ought not to be a victim of the craft, after all.

So for now I'll take it on faith that all shall be revealed to me in good time, and happily fling nonsense on the page until then. At least it's fun.

My January goal was (cough) not met.
In February, I will aim at 8K again, and try to get to the keyboard every day, even if it's only to write fifteen lousy words.

Whoa, Nelly!

I've got my love interest right, now...and how! Scenes are opening up faster than I can get notes down.

Yahoo!

Thinking, and thinking too much

These...God, is it really weeks?...away from my WIP have brought a few things to the front of my mind. Some are flaws in my Master Plan, some are niggling doubts that I'm tempted to ascribe to inactivity. The profession that I have chosen for my Handsome Fella is wrong, I think. And the way they meet sets up a permanent conflict that I'm not sure can be resolved the way I would ask my readers to believe. So I have a new plan for him, and I'm going to try that out a bit and see how it feels.

I got a few hundred words yesterday, and I'm at home today, so I'm planning a few hundred more. Still have my sights set on that 30% mark!!

A Hand to Hold

Today is about my writing, come what may.

Except for, yanno, customers and high-priority Work Stuff. (G)

But I'm in a chair in front of my computer and I have scenes stirring behind my eyes, and that feels awfully good.

I'm aiming to cross the 30% mark today.

UPDATE, 4:30 pm

Have so far written the word "My."
Have sold two kick-ass gaming boxes, received, checked, labelled and put away three shipments, and taken about 20 phone calls. Listened to complaints from a technician about the new line of computer cases that (apparently) are hateful and inadequate. I have left nine messages, I have collected some money and I have eaten almost a whole box of swiss cheese crackers. I've browbeaten one RMA department into returning some software I did not order even though the invoice clearly states that there are no returns on software. (I didn't ORDER it, for chrissakes!) I have rearranged half the store - DID NOT mean to get into that but we were fast running out of shelf space. Oh, and DH stopped by with Pebbles, so I stopped to kiss her neck a dozen times.

I still need to place five hardware orders, pay my Visa, and clear off co-worker's desk before she comes back tomorrow and finds all kinds of crap tossed there for lack of a tidier destination.

And so I have written one. word.

And such is the road to hell.

Still Here

I've been away from my keyboard too much this month and I hate it.

I do, however, have some new insights into the development of a major relationship, including where this relationship is at the *end* of the story.

I also understand better now why my MC is so angry at her (dead) husband, and I've begun to see the true extent of the guilt she has carried since the accident that took him.

More than that, I'll save for the actual WIP, freshly entitled:

A HAND TO HOLD

Joanna Bourne, and The Spymaster's Lady

There's a contest over at Jen's blog for a signed copy of Jo's new book! Get thee hence!

Look who came to visit!

These guys thought it was a good day to hang out at my house, too. Seven of them!

A day at home

Hello, fellow writers and moms!

Things have been busy and stressful and sleepless and there has been little-to-no-time for anything other than the absolutely necessary. Life does that sometimes, and that's all right. I can handle it.

But I am letting myself off the hook today. I am tidying up the last of the post-holiday mess, and I am playing aqua-doodle and Little People. I am baking cheddar cheese bread with jalapeno peppers and sundried tomatoes. I am still in my pyjamas at 1 pm, and I am staying far away from that bathroom scale. Today is about me and the kids, and when wonderful husband comes home, it'll be about him too. And maybe a movie and some buttery popcorn.

Back to Real Life

Can you spot the theme, here?

Scenario One:

Big family dinner (is there another kind?) at my parents' house. Uncle watches me lay Pebbles down on the carpet, preparing to change her diaper. He turns to my Dear Loving Husband, and asks, "So, is she a good eater?"

replies DLH: "She's getting to be. She was only about 110 lbs when I met her."

Hmmph.


Scenario Two:

New Years' Eve at our house. I have offered a snack to my little sister, who is thirteen, 5"4 and 95 lbs.

Me: "Toast?"
Her: "No, I don't really like bread."
Me: "You don't like bread? Well, that'll keep you thin."
- Pause -
Her: "So, you must really like bread, hunh?"
Me: "Oh, yes, I love br...HEY!"

Brat.

So anyway.

Pebbles has finally broken the 20lb barrier! She was 20 lbs from March to December, and finally weighed in at 21 on Christmas Day. I bet my DLH that she'd lose it by the next day, and lost. 21 lbs at 21 months. Go, Pebbles, my little firecracker!

My word goal for this months is utterly unrealistic, what with Everything, including my company's year end and the fact that I haven't written anything in THREE DAYS. The drought ends tonight.

For supper: Lasagne. For lunch: one overripe banana.

Off the horse

Did not write much at all this week, and therefore I'm having a bit of trouble hitting my stride today. Never fear - I will be making my goal, and that's that.

Right now I'm thinking about what is truly scary, in case this turns out to be a suspense/thriller - which it is shaping up to be. What do you think is the most terrifying thing evah?

Have made my chocolate fudge and my nuts-n-bolts snack mix, and I'm debating going back to do a white chocolate fudge as well. Butter tarts and shortbreads are in the freezer.

Pebbles is up, must run.

Thoughts in passing

I'm managing to keep my promises to myself, so far this month - at least as far as writing goes. (There MAY be other things that are slipping, but this is not about that. (G)) Pebbles is teaching me to get up at 5 am, at which point she drinks her bottle and goes back to sleep, and I don't. It's good for writing, bad for my mood - I'm an eight-hours sort of girl.

Lindsay posted a bit about being brutal to one's characters, and this is something I've been thinking about lately. I think there is a bit in Robert McKee's STORY, where he talks about not letting up. In really good stories, the worst happens, the biggest mistakes get made, and we must really believe that it's going to end badly.

It's something to think about. So much fiction - dare I say women's fiction in particular? (hides under desk) - is very...what's the word? Bland. I'm thinking of writers I do like and read often - Mary Balough, Karen Marie Moning, that sort of book. It's not that the story isn't captivating, but it isn't exactly edge-of-your-seat. There is a demand for this kind of story, and we all like to climb in one occasionally. But I think I'd rather challenge the reader more, emotionally. Raise the stakes. Like Vicki Pettersson, and Diana Gabaldon. Barbara Kingsolver comes to mind, and there are many others.

I could list some more, but I really should be writing.

Cheers, and pop on over to The Food Whore's blog for a recipe for Hot Buttered Rum batter!

And winter sets in

Came a sleepy little-girl voice in the dead of night:
"hud."
And a sleepy mother-voice:
"Wha?"
"hud."

This is why I love having her in the Big Bed. It's these moments. On their own they're meaningless, just another moment in the life of a family. But there is such peace in my heart as I snuggle close to my littlest. And give her a hud. And a kiss.

BamBam's Christmas concert is today. I took Pebbles and attended the daytime showing this morning, Most Precious Man will go after work - and thus shall the famdamily be representin'.

The car did not want to come all the way up the driveway because the driveway is steep and snowy. I tried to put it back down at the bottom and now the car is in a snowbank. I'm glad the snowbank is there, because if it wasn't the car would be in the ditch. Oh well, MPM will fix that. It's...it's what he does. He can fix anything. (Tell your daughters: marry a man who can fix stuff. They will grow to love him later.)

So, Pebbles is napping. I'm getting the jitters from too much coffee, or maybe it's from my breakfast of white-chocolate covered Oreos and Jalapeno Pepper Havarti.

In any case, this is not writing. Not really.
Hud your loved ones.

More boring progress stuff

Work pressures have kept me from my keyboard this week - yes, again. It's all right, it only means I need to average 300 words a day from now until the end of the month in order to make my goal. It's supposed to be a challenge.

I'm like meany writers, I suppose, in that I find it hard to let go of my stresses in order to relax and be creative. It's not impossible, in fact, I'm almost positive that this is the reason they make Bailey's. For my coffee. Or my ice cubes, if it's later in the day. (G) Poor, lonely ice cubes.

The Christmas shopping has begun, we're making an effort not to be stupid with the amount of toys and crap we buy this year. Pebbles prefers the Wishbook to her actual toys (except her books - we read every blessed one four times a day), and BamBam has so many things that if I wrapped half of his stuff I'm betting he wouldn't recognize it. I'm not going to do that, I'm just sayin'.

So cheers to all you hard-working mother writers. May your shopping be easy, and your baths be long.

December

I did not make my revised goal for November, and even though I was busy, I still know that the reason is that I didn't try hard enough. Have been a bit of a slacker this week.

So, now it's December - this most hellish, most wonderful month. I sat down to pick a "reasonable" goal, and bumped that up a notch. Now I'm aiming at reaching 22K by the end of the month, which is just under 300 words a day, which is perfect.

I have been restricting my words - not allowing all the imperfect flow of story to make it onto the page. My henpicking internal editor has been drinking too much coffee again, I think. She's very bossy, that one. I've sent her on an errand to buy some Lindt chocolates, so at least when she comes back, I'll be glad to see her.

Anyhew, the kids are abed, and I'm off to find out what Carrie is up to.

A day in the life

I think I've found a rhythm that works for me, or a system, at least. I deal with whatever is in my lap at any current moment – whether it be work, family, laundry or a cat that needs petting – and I'm developing stealth powers in order to sneak off to snatch moments in between for writing. It's not perfect, but it's working. Those few hundred words here and there add up, though of course there are still days I don't get anything down. And that's all right - for now and through the Christmas Season.

I'm very close to making my goal for November, so I'll bump that up another 1500 words. Lindsay's link to notes on the GSM – great sagging middle – was extremely timely. I have a big event planned for the end of the middle, and that gives me the focus I need for this next stretch.

My love interest has changed, and rightly so. I'm starting to see moments in his life and how he fits in, and so I'm feeling much better about him now.

Today's my day off, by which I mean I'll have much less time than I normally do. (BG) It's laundry and library, pot roast and blueberry pie. And somewhere in there, Pebbles will need a nap.

God, I love my life.

True Story

I just hung up on a customer. I don't even know who he was.
And I did it on purpose.

Oops.

The phone rang, and a guy wanted DDR2 RAM for his notebook. I told him what we had, and the price, and he said thank you, no.

Then he called me back.

Him: "Hello, did you say you had the 1 Gb sticks in stock?"
Me: "Yes. They're Kingston. $49.00."
Him: "Oh. Well. Are you flexible on that at all?"
Me: "What are you comparing to?"
Him: "Well, this other store has them for $38.00."
Me: "In stock?"
Him: "Yes."
Me: "Same brand?"
Him: "No. Supertalent."
Me: "That's not at all the same quality, you know."
Him: "Well, they both have lifetime warranties, so it doesn't really matter, does it?"
Me: "Well, if it corrupts your data, it'll matter."
Him: "That can't happen."
Me: "Yes, it can."
Him: (laughing) "RAM can not corrupt your data. Jesus!"
Me: (laughing) "All righty then. You have a nice day."

And I hung up. Then I stared at the phone, thinking "I can't believe I did that!"

And he called me back. Jeez.

Him: "You hung up on me!"
Me: "Hmmm. Did I? Sorry."

Yanno, I am not a bitch. I'm really a very nice person. I don't know what happened.

Him: "Yes, and you didn't answer my question. Is that your best price?"
Me: "Oh, lessay $45.00"
Him: "Four dollars. I'm afraid that doesn't work for me."
Me: "Oh."
Him: "And I must say, that was very unprofessional."
Me: "Yes, it was."
Him: "If I disagree with something, we can discuss it."
Me: (supressing a rude noise) "Mmmmm."
Him: "So enough with acting like a fourteen-year-old."
Me: "OK."
And polite goodbyes all around.

For whatever reason, I am still laughing about this, an hour later.

Which makes me think. A few years ago, I would have been upset by a confrontation like this. The very thought that someone might not like me would have ruined my day.

I must be growing up.

Or not.

This week really bites. (Rant warning)

No new words in a few days, it's been a very bad week at work. Pain-in-the-ass things, like a city inspector dropping by to tell me that the sign I have out front (which has been there for thirteen years) now requires a $60 per month permit, and can only be out there for 60 days, and then it's supposed to be made to vanish, somehow, for 60 days, at which point they want another $120 for the next two months. That sucker weighs a couple hundred pounds, and I NEED IT.

It's a part of legislation they're threatening to put through, which it not bloody likely to happen, but in the meantime we have to seem to be complying, so whaddyagonnado? Probably I'll apply for this one permit, and then I'll never hear about it again. Sure won't be volunteering to pay again.

Similar bullshit legislation around here lately is the registration of all housecats. Yes, that's right. All housecats now are supposed to be registered. Because we have nothing else to worry about, like homeless families and school closures and the freaking waiting lists for important medical procedures.

Anywho. The week was not improved by my customers, lovely people most, who all seem to be on some kind of dissociative medication that inhibits input from the senses - particularly my favourite - the COMMON SENSE.

Whatever.

Tomorrow I'm off, and I would love to feel good about it, but I have a lot of residual stress stuck to me right now. Nothing an irish coffee and some Little People can't fix.

Better news, next time!

The love interest, and the sagging middle

Hmmm.

The love interest in my story is not coming in quite clearly just yet. I think his name is Alexi, and I *thought* he was big, Russian, and had a shaved head. Now, though, I'm thinking I've got him wrong. He's not talking to me, not coming into focus. I think I'll spend some time tomorrow developing his character, and I'll see then what I can make of him.

Word count is coming along fine, but I'm having to remind myself that this is an SFD. It's all right if there are blank spaces between some of the scenes, and I don't have to know everything at this stage of the game. If a scene wanders and has no apparent purpose, I can fix it or nix it later on. Right now, I'm just telling the story, just getting it down.

This part is interesting for me, because I've arrived at a point where the "beginning" of the story is over and so, by definition anyway, this is the "middle." I have much more practice at beginnings than I do middles, and I'm starting to have a feeling that when I put my foot out for that next step, it might not be there. It's a weird confidence thing. I know where the story is headed, at least until I find out differently. (G) I'm still feeling very much in control. So what's this?

Meh, doesn't matter what it is. I'm going to keep writing anyway.

A day in the life - I'm off!

Today is busy.

Bambam is at school until 2, then it's portraits at 3:40, flu shots after that, and a stop for spare-ribs on the way home. We're having a pot luck Chinese night on Sunday, for my brother's b-day. Mmmm!

Which reminds me, I need to make a grocery list for DH, aka He Who Makes Me Eat Vegetables. As in, plain. Not just as a side to a nice piece of chicken or steak, or on a pizza, say. Straight up. Vegetables.

Didn't make my 10K yesterday, I'm hoping to get there when Pebbles is taking her nap. I'll aim at 10300, it's just that at the moment, I don't actually know what scene I'll be working on. Time to brainstorm.

I am pleased with my progress; I've got all the major scenes at least roughed in for the opening of the story. So I guess now I need to develop the tension/suspense, work on the romance thread and start laying down clues. Hmmm.

I love this.

Today

Well, we didn't blow away. It was windy - really windy - for 24 hours, the sound will get to you after a while. We're on the face of a hill, so we get it in the chin when it's from the south.

The writing is coming along. My goal for today is to cross the 10K point. I have some research I'm working on, and that should be enough to keep me busy.

Hope y'all are well!

General Update

Hurricane Noel is screaming up the coast, and should make landfall late this afternoon. It will be (if it isn't already) downgraded to a tropical storm by then, but it'll be wet and windy all the same. Nothing like Juan, we're told. (which is good, because that was an unholy mess that shut most of the province down for a week, and we had no warning from the media.) I can see that they're moving the container ships into the harbour for shelter.

So it's a dreary Saturday at work, I'm hoping for some quiet time once I've finished my admin stuff. Now, if only the customers would behave - and by behave, I mean leave me alone. In a nice way, of course.

I've started taking Fridays off, and what a great day we had yesterday. Took the kids to the library and McDonalds. BamBam made us all some shepherd's pie for dinner, not bad for 6, eh? (Yes, I helped, but he did most of it)

Missed my goal of 8K in October, and I'm hoping to get there by the end of the day. I'm still pleased, 7K+ is an awesome month for me.

This WIP being contemporary, I feel much less helpless while writing. I think, subconsciously, I fell into a passive, "listening" role, uncertain how exactly to "make" my characters go from one scene to the next. This time, I feel more in control, I still find things out by accident:

+ + +

I toyed with the straw in my drink, frowning.
"Hmmm," said Alexi, glancing at me. Suddenly he slowed, swerved to the right, and pulled a u-turn so tight that I bumped my head on the window.
"Ow!"
"What you need," he said, with a sideways grin, "is a beagle."

+ + +

...but for the most, part, I am more in charge, this time. I just sit down and brainstorm scenes once in a while, and that's working. And when it's working, that's what we do. (S)

A feeble wave from the dark side

Pebbles has been sick. She threw up in my spaghetti. She hasn't been eating or drinking much at all, so we're nursing more. She's in my arms all the time, anyway, no matter what the hour, day or night.

You moms know how it is at times like this. Baby wants nothing to do with the Daddy, and if you want a bath, you're taking her with - or you'll listen to her screech - your choice. At least she's only 20 lbs, if she even weighs that any more, with the week she's had.

So I'm at work today, and glad to be here. She seems a little better today, Daddy says. We'll see what happens at suppertime. Anyway, I want to reach between 6000 and 6500 words today, so I'd best bust a move.

The Progress of Women

Wonderful co-worker took a call yesterday, from a woman. The customer seemed to have a question, and had finally begun to say what it was, when she interrupted herself to say:

"I'm sorry, I'm just a little confused, I expected a man to answer. And you guys were highly recommended. But anyway…"

Raised eyebrows all around, lady. Geez.

Of course we get that around here, but usually from men. And even among the men, it's usually those of a certain age, or who come from cultures that value men above women. One of *those* men once asked me for lower pricing, and when I refused, insisted to speak with my Dad. (Who is a mechanical engineer, and cares not how much I charge for floppy diskettes in my computer store.) I have always regretted not putting him though, anyway.

"Ya, Dad? There's someone here who wants to talk to you."

The Corn Maiden

I like to play a little game, it;s a tarot-type thing where you pick a card or a series of cards, as a sort of horoscope/thought for the day. They're Shaman Wisdom Cards, by Leita Richesson, U.S Games Systems (and if that don't take the magic out of it, eh?)

Anyway, here is what my card this morning said:
I am CornPlanting Moon. I am a place of beginnings. I am the germination of ideas. The Corn-Maiden comes as a symbol of food and sustenance for "The People." Honor Her…Under my light you are called to begin anew, to sharpen your communication skills…Energy increases during this time; let your ideas germinate and grow, let yourself smile at the progress.

Riding the waves

It hasn't been a big word-count day, though I confess to having had some free time. I'm blaming it on lack of sleep and a headcold, in case you're interested. (S)

The way this WIP seems to work is that I get a few scenes that pop up, and while I'm writing them, I'm surfing. Then, when they're done, there's a short lull while I wait for the next inspiration, and the next wave. Good news is that the next wave always comes, at least so far. The key is to be in the work EVERY DAY.

My goal is to reach 8000 words by the end of the month.

The weather has been unseasonably warm. Last night we left one of the living room windows open all night, and the temp was still 21 degrees C (70 or so) when I got up in the morning. Very nice, but scary in a global warming kind of way.

Welcome back to our Surrey friends!

Coming along!

See the word count...

I'm having a lot of fun.

Voices of Me

Yes, yes, YES!

My MC is talking, and I've got down a major scene that opens the way through to the next scenes. I'm jumping back and forth through the beginning, still learning about Carrie and where she is right now, but I feel good about where it's going. I'm constantly amazed about how much I'm learning about this process.

I've stopped going over to the forum, I simply don't have the time. I love the company there, but feel more and more lately like I have nothing to contribute. I guess even lurking there makes me feel like a big faker, like a joiner, like I'm pretending to be a writer, when I'm not - not through any fault or laziness, but we do as circumstances must. Now, though, it's time to get back to...me.

My goal wasn't to hang around watching writers chat about craft. My goal wasn't to make lots of writer friends (even though I love the ones I have made!) My goal was to grow as a writer, a mother and a woman. To write, to become more. I don't feel like I've been doing that lately. I feel used up.

Where once I wanted - needed - to be in touch, now I feel more like I need to withdraw. I need to light a candle. I need to turn inward, to sit quietly, and listen to the sound of my own thoughts, the voices of me. Until I can do that, what could I possibly have to share?

Yay!

I *heart* my new employee.

And I'm writing again!

(Go, ME!!!)

Forget everything you thought you knew about Windows

I have taken the Lord's name in vain.

It is indeed possible to delete a file off the network whilst it is in use. Or, at least, you can make its contents go 'kapoof!'. I know this, because yesterday, it happened to my accounting data file.

Yep. It did.

Sew. One emergency call to the accountant's office (thank dog we were so late getting our year end over there.) One rush courier. One very quiet nervous breakdown. A few rhetorical questions about who the heck has not been backing this shit up, because really, we both know the truth.

So, time warp back to...

June 26th.

S'Ok. I can handle that. It's just a matter of re-entering everything that's happened since then. (insert ever-so-bright smile here) I'm not so sure I can write a bestseller at the same time, but everybody's healthy, right???

Also hired a girl yesterday, I think that's going to be a good thing. I like her, she seems pretty smart, no facial piercings.

Both phone lines are ringing, and I'm starved.

Rusty

I'm so very glad you guys can't see what I'm writing right now. It's bad. It's very bad.

Well, there's only one cure, and y'all know what it is.

Keep.

Going.

I come to the end of a paragraph, and there's no obvious direction to go from there. No momentum. Will Brian and Evelyn arrive on time for supper, or will they be late? Who can stand the tension???

The scene has a point, so I'm going to have to just grit my teeth and drag myself through it. One-sentence paragraphs, a list of who did what, and then who said what. It's as painful to write as it is to read. And then - magic! - a character does something unexpected. A part of the setting bursts suddenly into full color. Action, reaction, imagination, interest - a scent, a spark.

And finally, a decent paragraph.

Hey, um, are you, like, hiring?

So, a guy comes to the counter. He's wearing a ballcap, he hasn't shaved in a few days, and I'm pretty sure he's hiding a stubbed-out cigarette in the palm of his hand.

"Hey, um, I heard you guys were, like, hiring, so I skipped out of work early and came right down here."

Sure, dude. You're, um, like, on the very tippy-top of my list.

Like, not.

Repeat after me: It's OK to suck. (Renee)

I hope. 'Cause that's what I'm doing right now. It's been at least a few weeks since I wrote anything, so what was I expecting? I know, I know.

So, there's an idea that I'm playing with, and so far, so good. I wrote 1000 words the first day, 200 yesterday. This morning I woke up and realized (in the same moment, I love when that happens) that I'm starting in the wrong place - a year too soon. And so it flows from there. 500 new words today, and counting.

And to support my habit, I'm making some changes to my priorities.

I've been focused on my company, which needed to happen. I've been a really, really good computer girl. A super manager, an excellent clerk. A good mother when I'm actually home. A decent wife, though my husband did wonder out loud in my hearing whether he ought to buy some of that AXE body spray.(S)

But I haven't been any sort of writer at all, and that matters too. To be honest, I think the break has actually done me some good. It's true that all these other things are important, and I've been able, in the crunch, to preserve most of the things about me that I like. What I'm going to do is let the filing slide a bit, maybe let the office get a little (gasp!) messy. I can't help it if I have to stop and serve customers. But one thing I have learned is that you can't wait for perfect circumstances, that'll never happen. Cram it in, writers, wherever you can.

Hijacked!

My life has run away with me.

I get up, feed kids, get them dressed, get the big one to the bus. I wash my hair, go to work, get home at 6:30. Eat a hot meal lovingly prepared by my wonderful husband. Play with kids, take a shower, preside over baths, teeth-brushing, stories, get Big One in bed. Get Little One in bed. Sit on the couch, in the general vicinity of my husband, staring at the TV screen for half an hour, go settle Little One in bed again. Brush my teeth. Kiss my husband. Go to bed, read for twenty minutes. Pass out. Wake five or six times in the night with Little One, who is teething and might have a bladder infection. Get up. Start over.

This is dreary, I know, I'm sorry. Today I'm tired, I'm drained. I miss my writing, and having contact with my writer friends. I need some exercise. I need. Some time. To write.

I've been out of touch with my WIPS for a few months now. I'm out of touch with me. I'm doing what I have to do, I don't feel like a failure this time. But geez.

Today, anything that isn't an emergency is going to wait. Anyone I don't have to talk to, I won't. I'm going to write.

I don't have any idea *what*, but I'm going to brainstorm some ideas, and see if I can't shake these blues.

A slice.

More than my fair share of whackos this week, I must say, many of them applying for the dubious honor of occupying the chair next to mine. Too bad one can't run a help wanted ad like this:

Wanted: Somebody like me. Reasonably smart and moderately good-looking, non-smoker, must have some kind of personality and an excellent sense of humour.

Cause let's face it, that's all I really need. I can teach the rest.

From which you can go right ahead and assume that I haven't been having any luck with the hiring thing, and therefore am still missing The Beloved something awful. And my kitchen, too, I really miss cooking. I do, however, go home to a hot meal every day now, which is really nice.

Email from customer (I've omitted the screaming CAPS and added some punctuation)
My nephew's laptop doesn't work. I turn it on and the power light comes on but the screen is just black. It's only a few months old. What do you think is wrong, is it the mainboard or the hard drive?

My response(more or less):
Gorsh, I really can't tell without seeing it. Why don't you drop by and I'll take a quick look to see if I can narrow it down?

Customer:
I can't come in because I live in Alberta. I just wanted some help. I'll take it to Calgary the next time I go.

(sigh)

The things I do to myself...

Hullo, my writer friends.

As you know, I've been working just a little over full time since May. Six days a week. Every morning I wave to the Beloved and I drive away in my Neon, wishing I could be home with them. It would all be better soon, I told myself. Soon my new employee would be able to handle things on her own for a day at a time, and I could have some days off with my kids before they, you know, grow up.

Except yesterday, I let my employee go.

It just wasn't going to work. She's a very sweet girl, just a little more clueless than I thought. Hint: when you take a job and agree to the offered (fair!) wage, you need to know ahead of time if that is enough money to pay your bills. When you discover that your obligations outstrip your income, don't expect your employer, who has spent thousands of dollars training you for an entire summer, to let you hang around while you look for a better job. Ain't happening, sweetheart. Bye.

So that leaves me where? Working my butt off, for one, with a hiring hangover that looks like it's going to last until, oh, Christmas. I don't even want to advertise, I feel like I just got out of a relationship - I need some time.

The icing on the cake? I just got off the phone with a woman. The conversation went like this:
Her: "Hello, to what time are you open this evening?"
Me: "Six o'clock."
Her: "Six o'clock, on a Friday before you close for a long weekend. That's just wonderful."
Me: Stunned pause, while I reel from the sarcasm.
Her: "Thank you so much."
Me: "Uh, thank you." For not shopping here. Ever.

Amazing. You know, I go out of my way for people. Just this morning I went outside without a coat in the pissing freaking rain to carry a computer to a woman's car. Every second day, I wait an extra few mintues so some poor overworked shmuck can make it here in time to pick up his machine. I follow up. I care. You won't get that kind of service anywhere else.

So thank YOU, lady-who-was-calling-from-home, who is probably watching Oprah right now. You suck.

Thank heavens for my real customers, the people who see and appreciate how long and hard I work.

It's not nice to laugh at people

So here am I, plugging away in my nifty little computer shop, when in comes a customer. No big deal, that happens all the time.

"Hello," says customer, "I need a USB extension cable."

(For those of you following along, a USB cable has both an "A" ending and a "B" ending. Extensions always plug into the "A" ending.)

"Oh yes," I say, just as pert and perky as can be, "those are right here. Six feet?"

"Mmmphm." (People say that around here, you know.) He's looking at the two ends of the cable, and looking mildly distressed. I showed him how his cable would plug right in to the end of the cable in the package. He's still not happy, I can tell.

"What's the matter?"

"Well," he says, "that's not the end of the cable I wanted to extend."

Blink.

Blink blink.

Cha. Sure.

So, of course I'm run off my feet today. Of course these people are coming out of the woodwork, and taking all my stuff away so I have to order more stuff.

So that's ok, of course.

(stomp, stomp - disappears into stock room with a clipboard.)

Good Things

My little sister is coming for the weekend, and we're closing the shop for three whole days. Yay! We'll be taking the kids to an amusement park, where they have a petting zoo and rides and a waterslide and ice cream. BamBam is tall enough to go on all the rides now! We'll also be going to the Natal Day parade, because BamBam has never been to a parade, and hell, he's going to be six this month. (My bad.)

Today is going to be a stellar writing day, because Employee is away, and I can't imagine people will want to bother much about me when it's thirty degrees and sunny out there. And see, it's only 6:30 and I'm writing already, thanks to Pebbles, who woke Mummy at five o'clock and then went back to sleep.

Also very excited about Bambam's birthday party. When asked what sort of party he wanted, he said "A surprise party."

"Dude, you can't plan your own surprise party."

"No, but YOU can. Just...surprise me!"

All righty then. I think I can pull that off. So I told him it really wasn't quite the thing, and maybe we'd talk about his party later. In the meantime, any idea who he'd like to invite?

So, guess what we're doing?

COWBOY ADVENTURE!

With a hayride, blown-up bouncy jumper things, all-you-can-eat hotdogs, AND a pony ride. Not at the house, (blessing self) but at a facility that actually does that stuff. Provided you sign the waiver.

Sucker mom, to the rescue. Yes, it's maybe more than we ought to do, but once I saw the website I just couldn't help myself. You only turn six once.

Wait.

SIX?

How did this boy get to be six?

It's the little highs that sustain me

Guess what?

I'm alone, ALONE, I tell you, in my office. I'm at my computer, and I've been writing for a whole hour. I've finished a scene, at least the first draft of it, and I'm feeling good. And hey, I've earned it.

I have a talk-to-me face. I know I do, because people really do talk to me. Take today, for instance. I know about a father's cholesterol and leg difficulties. I know about a pregnancy scare. I know about a girl in Texas who has come through her surgery all right. I know about a private little beach someone found in our neighborhood. A malignant tumor, gone now, thank heavens, and aren't epidurals wonderful. (Yes!) $100 worth of impatiens that drowned in all that rain back in June. And it's what, 2 o'clock?

Edited at 2:40 to add:
I now have the Complete Scoop on the relationship between sleep apnea and high blood pressure. Apparently, there's a machine that hooks to oxygen tubes that go up your nose. It costs $1800, but insurance covers it. It's a noisy machine, and you might need a chin strap to keep your mouth closed.

I don't work in a hospital. For Chrissakes, I work in a computer shop.

I can see I'm going to have to work on my "I Like You, But I'd Rather Be Writing" expression.

Just for fun, and because I've never posted my writing yet, here's my scene. Is the hocus-pocus stuff tiresome? It's our first scene with this character.

From THE WITCH OF BADENOCH, copyright Cindy D, 2007

Gwynnedd drifted reluctantly back to herself, condensing slowly out of the ether, back into the warm dimensions of her waiting body. The plodding beat of her heart, the restricting rhythm of her breathing were at first strange to her, and her soul fluttered in panic and dismay. It took a few moments' deep concentration to will it back into the confines of her flesh. Gradually, she became accustomed, aware of the soft evening breeze on her hair, the light twittering of the birds in the forest canopy above, and the ache in her hips from sitting too long. Only when she could feel the shapes of her fingertips resting on her knees did she open her eyes.

The setting sun cast fire on the pool before her and she blinked, stretching. Her body was stiff, but her spirit was refreshed, renewed. She stripped off her clothes and waded into the cool, glittering water, whispering the words of a prayer to the Goddess as she bathed her long, pale body.

The sun was nearly set when she left the shelter of the forest, walking alone up the long slope to where the walls of Glamorgan Castle reared, glowing on the summit of the hill. The traffic that normally flowed to and from its main gate was mostly absent at this time of day, there were only a few people on foot headed toward the village, and a man with a handcart crossing beneath the ramparts.

Nobody spoke to her as she passed through the bailey into the great hall, and from there into the corridor beyond. The few people she met on the narrow, winding stair quickly cast their eyes away and shrank against the stones to let her pass. At the top, up where only servants and children dwelt, she followed the corridor to the west until it ended amidst chill and cobwebs, dusty things abandoned, and a faint whiff of decay.

She had disturbed the darkness with her passing and it spun slowly around her as she paused, curling damp musty fingers around her neck and shoulders. The recess before her was invisible without a light, less than the width of a man, set into an angle of the wall near a chimney. Only when she was certain there was nobody near did she slip through, silent feet finding each of the thirteen narrow steps that led to her room beneath the eaves.

Closing the door behind her and shedding her clothing again, she bent to build a fire in her tiny brazier. She rummaged in her kist, nimble fingers plucking up the things she would need. Sage, pennyroyal, a small tub of death-scented grease, and the powdered bark of an elm tree. Mixing the herbs, bark and grease into a paste with her fingers, she sank down before the fire, closing her eyes and filling her lungs with air.

Something was afoot. She could feel a displacement in the balance of power; it was drawn outward, stretched thinner. New forms were shifting, waking, just outside of her perception. Waiting, breathing, it came to her that there would be both an opportunity, and an adversary, though she knew not what, or who. Yet.

Tonight, she would perform the ritual to heighten her ability, to ready herself for the Coming.

The grease hissed over the fire, melting almost instantly. She pressed three fingers of each hand into the hot, fragrant oil, and made the sacred gestures, touching them to her temples, lips, the bottoms of her breasts, and between her legs. Turning toward where the rising moon was framed in her tiny window, she supplicated once, twice, three times. Then she dressed in fresh clothing and went to find the last thing she needed to complete the rite.

The stables were located at the back of the castle, built into the wall just inside the eastern gate. It was full night now, and nobody saw Gwynnedd where she paused in the deeper shadow cast by a towering woodpile. A curious piglet nosed about in the straw by her foot and she pushed it away with a soft hiss, careful not to make it squeal.

Across from her, the open half-doors of the horses' stalls were only just visible, but in a nearby room above an open window glowed. From it tumbled the rowdy laughter and jovial cursing of men at drink and cards. Once in a while, one of them would come down to piss, and she would lean out, hopeful, only to withdraw with a pout. Only one man would do, and it was nearly midnight before she saw him.

He paused at the bottom of the stair, blocking out the light with his height and broad shoulders. Gwynnedd whispered a spell and stepped out into the open.

He saw her immediately, with her blonde hair and light gown she would be an easy mark. He crossed toward her.

His voice came out of the darkness like a caress on her skin as the hulking shape of him drew near. "Can I be helpin' ye, Miss? Ye shouldna be aboot, the lads are deep in their cups, the night." He glanced over his shoulder to where the card game continued without him.

"Just taking the air," Gwynnedd replied. She saw him hesitate and stepped around him, trailing a fingertip as quick as lightning along the curve of his ribs. His expression was lost to the shadows, but she could feel his heat, and smell the sharp tang of his surprise mingling with the whisky on his breath. "Too bad I don't have an escort. You never know what harm might come to a girl, all alone out here at night." Coming round to the front of him again, she pressed close, smiling, and pressed her palm to the front of his breeks.

"Um," he said, stepping back and catching her by the wrist. He cleared his throat. "Where are your rooms, Miss, and I'll see ye safely there."

"No. I want you. I've been waiting."

For just a moment he hesitated, and she laughed softly. Rising on her toes, she wrapped one arm around his neck and whispered against his throat.

"Come with me to the forest. Now." Again, her hand closed over him, and he groaned softly. Her voice was silky moonlight. "Ye willna regret it, I promise."

Still writing

I'm still here, still writing, though it's only a few words a day.

I'm trying to get to the bottom of an issue that's niggling somewhere in the back of my mind. It's one particular scene. The first half comes into focus very easily, I can see, I can hear, I'm there. But I'm trying to bring it in a particular direction, and it won't go. Tomorrow, I'm going to give it its head, and see what happens. Actually, I'm quite looking forward to it - you never know what happens at times like this.

Maybe tonight I'll fix myself an icy white russian and see what happens.

Maybe I'll have to fold the laundry.

Maybe I'll fix myself an icy white russian, and THEN fold the laundry.

Onward!

A short update, since I find myself alone in a house with two sleeping children.

it's very quiet

I'm really tired of blogging about how hard it is to find time to write, we know all that already.
I'm also tired of treading water with this book, needing to tell the story, yet unable, somehow, to figure out which way to swim for shore. Which way? I've taken a breath now, and I'm just swimming.

I've got some stuff written in one notebook, other stuff written in another notebook, and some scribbles on the back of an envelope somewhere. But I'm writing. It doesn't feel like progress yet, actually, I'm really struggling. I have to force myself not to give up, every day.

There are moments that make it worthwhile, single lines written three years ago that suddenly bloom into whole scenes. There are scenes I struggled with that I just *Plink!* deleted. Just like that, I hate this, it's gone. I am free.

Kind of.

I still have this feeling that I've failed, somewhere. How can that be? What it is, is the HUNDREDS of days over the past few years that I didn't write. Those days, I learned nothing. Those days, I didn't progress. Those days, I didn't build on my wordcount. Those days, I became so waterlogged with doubt that I was in danger of sinking.

Today, though, I did write. And tomorrow, I will too. I hope that as long as I keep going, I will find the me that really believed that I can do this. For now, it's one stroke after the other, just a little moment in my journey to the shore.

Eureka!

I'm so excited!

Yesterday I had a few quiet moments to myself, the rare kind, when I was neither tired and sapped of all creativity, nor needed by one of The Beloved. I got out the cue cards I bought for a buck a pack, and started writing things down. Just stuff. Scenes I have. Scenes I need to write. Points I need to make at different parts of the story. Things I need to remember, lists of what makes each character tick - their motivations, fears, needs.

As I went along, I placed the cards in piles. One for administrative things, then scenes for each pov, ordered the way they will in the story. Then I separated the piles into Beginning, Middle and End.

I'm not very good at outlines, not the way they taught us to make them in school. I've seen the cue card idea on Kelley Armstrong's blog, and in a few different variations on the net, including the Forum. I tried it with a different WIP I was fiddling with, but this story called me back, impatient, before I got too far with that. 'Scuse me, it said, we're waiting here, if you please.

I didn't realize how confused I was about my own (somewhat convoluted) storyline until I did this. I can't wait to get back to the stack of cards, in a Ziplock bag in my purse, each one a stepping stone on the journey.

See ya!

Creativity, and peace of mind

I'm a creative person by nature. I love writing, of course, but I enjoy other kinds of creativity as well: cooking, scrapbooking, even colouring with BamBam, to name only a few. With my schedule lately, there's been little or no time for me to use this part of my mind, and THAT, my friends, is cranky-making.

This afternoon, though, the cloud cover has cleared, and I'm spending some time happily scribbling on cue cards and thinking about my story. It's quiet. People are leaving me alone, at least for the moment. It doesn't add to the wordcount, but it is a very effective mental anti-oxidant.

*sigh*

This is The Stuff.

Tag, I'm it!

Seven random things about me, hunh? Let's see..

1. I'm 34, I have two brothers, 31 and 25, and a sister who is 13.

2. I like my feet, and I hate my forehead.

3. I had a pony named Peggy, and then a horse named Mikie, when I was growing up.

4. Nobody likes me when I haven't been sleeping. Growl!

5. I'm very nice. You'd like me.

6. I believe in ghosts.

7. I have dreams of being a writer, but in the day-to-day I lack the drive it takes to be successful. Some days I forgive me, most days I don't.

Everyone I know has been tagged, except Carol.