What I Know For Sure

I'm approaching my high school reunion. I'll leave you guessing as to how many years it's been. What I can tell you is that when I graduated, leg warmers were so yesterday and big bags were totally in. I can also tell you that although I'm no longer able to solve a geometric theorem, I have more life experience, which makes me a lot smarter. Then again, maybe it just makes be better to have in your corner during a really tense argument over whether Bon Jovi or Def Leppard was a better rock band.

Here's what I know for sure...

Bon Jovi was, and still is, the greatest rock band of all time. Although "Pour Some Sugar On Me" was kind of cool, it will never top "Livin' On A Prayer".

Adam Levine should wear more plaid.

Christina should not wear a dress with a button holding her cleavage together. When she does, the camera should return to Adam.

Regina/The Queen is completely and totally evil. Her motivation for being mean is lacking and I really wish she'd let people live happily ever...well, you know the rest.

Ink is overpriced, and therefore, there should be less about the Kardashians in print.

Lost left some people, namely me, a little bit lost in the finale. Calling Mr. Echo. Ahem, Mr. Echo...Mr. Echo.

Heinz Doofenshmirtz is a comic genius.

Cee Lo is totally making the contestants "an offer they can't refuse" when he pets that white cat.

Aside from keeping the house clean (maybe just my house) anything is possible, so keep reaching.

Hitting the Brick Wall

13.1 miles.

That's the length of a half-marathon. A full is 26.2 and that's another story entirely, a goal I have yet to achieve. Believe me, 13.1 miles is plenty. There's this point between nine and eleven miles when I always hit the brick wall, so to speak. My feet go numb, stopping at the water tables feels like more work than it's worth, and I begin cursing myself for having this stupid, horrible idea. That's the point when I say I'll never run another half as long as I live.

And then I hit the twelve mile mark and think...I can do this. Am I stupid? Probably. Was this a horrible idea? Ask me tomorrow.

I hit the brick wall recently in other areas of my life. The querying of my women's fiction novel wasn't going well. I'd received several rejections, a couple on fulls, and I write this knowing there are several queries still lingering in the ether, which I may or may not, ever hear responses to. I was attempting to revise, query agents, research agents, blog, and keep up on social networking. (if you don't think there's research involved in querying, you're not doing it right.)

Then there's the housework, taking care of the dog, doctor's appointments, after school sports, yardwork, Booster Club Meetings, school volunteering, cooking, laundry (oh, the laundry).

I started to feel that I wasn't completely there for my husband and three children, the most important people in my life. I was letting the query rejections control our lives, and it made me sad to think that the subjective opinion of one agent was resulting in my children having to eat leftovers for the third night in a row. In essence, I started to feel like I was failing in every area of my life.

When I hit the brick wall, I honestly thought about giving up. But it wasn't until I was running one morning that an idea popped into my head. Maybe it's symbolic to say that on mile four of a six mile run, I had an idea that hasn't yet left my head, for a contemporary young adult project. I sat down that afternoon and began to write again. I stopped querying, social networking, blogging, and volunteering for awhile and finished a first draft in three weeks. 

Maybe my women's fiction won't be published. Maybe it will. But I'm not yet ready to give up. Because no matter how hard it is to write, or how numb it makes you, it won't let go. Sometimes you've just got to take a break, clear out some of the extra stuff bogging you down, and run with it.   

Oh, and I registered for another half-marathon. Stupid? Ask me in June.

The Luck of the Irish

"When Irish eyes are smiling, sure it's like a morning spring.

In the lilt of Irish laughter, you can hear the angels sing.

When Irish hearts are happy, all the world seems bright and gay.

And when Irish eyes are smiling, sure they steal your heart away."

When my siblings and I were little, leprechauns visited us every St. Patrick's Day. They wrecked havoc to our walls with their little green footprints, toppled over our clothes hampers, littered our floors with caramel filled chocolates, and turned our toilet water green.

As far as we could tell, our house was the only one visited by leprechauns. Maybe they came because it was my sister, Erin's, birthday. Perhaps it was because it we also celebrated our uber cool Uncle Pat's birthday. We didn't question the mystery, but rather, assumed we were just extra lucky. The leprechauns weren't chasing gold at the end of a rainbow on St. Paddy's Day, they were bringing candy to us, no traps required.

We questioned none of it, not even the fact that they never bothered to flush their green toilet water. My brother, sisters, and I weren't freaked out by leprechauns skittering around our house while we slept, and we didn't worry that their miniature, green footprints might stain our bedroom walls. All we needed to know was that we were lucky.

And that we had the coolest mom ever.

Write at Home Moms

One day, I lamented to my mom, "If you can't handle rejection, don't become a writer." To which she quipped, "and don't parent teenagers."

I laugh about it now, although I have yet to raise a teenager. Just as my mom sympathizes with my disappointments, I catch sight of the teen years every time my oldest gives me an eye roll and huffy breath while complaining about having to fold her own laundry. Oh, the injustice of it all.

Yes, being a writer involves a lot of rejection. But, with that said, it also provides opportunities to meet and connect with other people who, like myself, love to write. I'm fortunate to be part of an online group of mom/writers. Some of them are awaiting the release of their novels, others are on submission, some are agented, others- like myself- are querying. The common bond, however, is that they are moms who write.

If you have a chance, stop by their websites... Meet some of the Write at Home Moms.

Katie Ernest           http://tinkeringwithwriting.blogspot.com

Tristina Wright       www.tristinawright.com

Gennifer Albin        http://blog.genniferalbin.com

Aryn Youngless      http://www.weeklyadventuresordinarygirl.com

Bethany Hagen     www.bethanyhagen.com

Michelle Bruhn       http://thewriteabout.blogspot.com

Anita Howard        http://authoraghoward.blogspot.com

Amber Clites         http://amberafterglow.blogspot.com

Robyn Lucas         http://www.RobynLucas.com

Bethany Crandell   http://rookieriter.blogspot.com

Jessica Nelson       http://jessicanelson7590.blogspot.com

Laura Barnes        http://laurabwriter.blogspot.com

Leah Rae Miller      http://leahraemiller.blogspot.com

Elizabeth Otto       http://elizabethottowrites.blogspot.com

On a Typical Day...

I'm not a fan of chaos. Shopping at the Mall stresses me out, and that's even before I pull into the parking lot. In fact, I usually do all of my Christmas shopping online...or at Starbucks, because I'm always there anyway. I never go out on Black Friday or Christmas Eve. Shopping at Costco on a weekend makes me want to carry a flask in my purse. I'm one of those people who can't cook unless the kitchen is clean, who won't go to bed before the dishes are done, and who'd rather stay up past midnight to scrub a bathroom than see toothpaste stains splattered across the mirror.

At least I was. Until I became an aspiring novelist/stay-at-home mom.

On a good day, my desk looks like this.

On a typical day, my desk looks like this.

On a good day, the play corner of my office looks like this.

On a typical day, the play corner of my office looks like this. 

On a good day, my youngest realizes that she actually has a playroom. She also recognizes the play corner of my office was created out of sheer desperation, so I could finish editing. On a good day, she doesn't move all of her belongings into my office while I'm working. She recognizes that the toys belong in their own pink bins, and she puts them away.

On a typical day, however, the toys never make it into the bins. Rather, the child does.

Isn't she thrifty?