What a week ...

Last week was a roller coaster of happy and sad days.

I got to go with my daughter's fifth grade class on a field trip to the Hoover Dam. (Boulder Dam for us natives) It was tons of fun, except for the heatstroke. Kidding ... but only slightly.
July is not the ideal time of year to drive 45 minutes (each way) in a school bus with iffy air conditioning and crammed chock-full of sweaty kids and a handful of chaperones.

During the tour of the Dam, I obsessively counted the kids in my group about every 30 seconds. Unfortunately, by the end of the trip my brain was broiled from the heat, and trying to keep an eye on all 6 of the kidlets didn't help much.

By the afternoon, I noticed I wasn't even speaking complete sentences any more, I just kept mumbling under my breath ... repeating my day-long mantra ... one, two, three, four, five, six ...

But I'm much better now.

We went and saw the new Harry Potter movie Wednesday night, and then on Saturday we went bowling. I bowled a 150 in my first game ... and then my luck or skill or whatever that was went directly down the toilet. But it was a blast.
On Sunday, with the sore muscles not yet recovered from bowling, my hubby and I spent a few hours moving furniture and cleaning the family room to make way for the HUGE big-screen t.v. that my dad gave to us. We cannot wait for football season ... whoo-hoo!

Spoiled, yes. Unappreciative, absolutely NOT!!

The saddest part of our week was the passing of a very close friend's father. He was an amazing person with a memorable life and even though I only met him a few times I liked him very much. I think my sadness comes from my friend being far away, back where she grew up, and I can't do anything for her. All I can do is send her text messages or emails letting her know we are thinking of her and miss her. I don't want to call and bother her - she has way too much on her plate right now. But she'll be coming home soon and for that I am very happy.

O.K. ... now that I've done my warm-up and flexed my creative muscles I am ready to go write for a while. I got blocked this weekend and it almost killed me. I had just plotted myself into a corner and couldn't turn around. The story arc had gotten off kilter and I was lost. By the evening, I got so desperate I asked my hubby to "shake me like a rag doll and knock the words loose." Luckily - he didn't take me up on it. His casual reply was "It's no fun if you give me permission."

(And yes, those are direct quotes. I wrote them down right away. Writers are scavengers ... we're always collecting words, sentences, conversations.)

So I laughed, and stopped worrying about the block. And wouldn't you know it ... a few hours later the solution popped into my head from nowhere.

He gets me. What a lucky girl I am.

I didn't write one dang word this past weekend. But that's OK, because my son's 7th birthday trumps that easily. Besides, even though I wasn't actually sitting at the computer and typing doesn't mean I wasn't still writing in my head. In fact, I got two good ideas from random comments somebody made - so good I had to dash off and find my scribble notebook and jot them down before I forgot them.

Speaking of random thoughts ... I love the fact that I can stare off into space like a dork and if someone (that knows me) asks if I'm OK I can answer "Yeah, just plotting." The amazing thing is I have no control over it. I just start on a thread and have to work it out. I hold the fates of these imaginary people in my hand and head, and sometimes they won't go away. At least I'm usually home when that happens!

One aspect of this new career that can be tricky is distractions. There are two new ones in my house that I have to be very, very careful of. One is a little electronic game my daughter bought while we were buying her brother's birthday presents at the toy store. (She's wiley, that's for sure.) It's a game called 20Q (for 20 Questions) and I can very easily waste a lot time goofing off with it. The other is the Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix game for Playstation. I am not adept with the controls at all but I make a very good backseat driver when my husband or the kids are playing. The puzzles and tasks are loads of fun! So far none of my dear darlings has told me to take a hike - or shut the heck up - when I butt in ... but I know it's coming.

Well now, the kiddos are in bed so it's time for me to get something done for today. I love to write at night when the house is quiet ... and it helps with the spooky, gothic atmosphere in my book.

Did I just say MY book ?!?!?

Will I ever get used to saying or writing that phrase? I hope not.

Cheers!

Goofing Off

O.K., I'm dragging my feet a bit this morning. I've been playing on the computer instead of writing. But, oh well - you know what they say about "all work and no play", right?

Anyhoo - I found a fun little quiz I had to share. On Biography.com there's a game called Celebrity Soulmate. You answer a few questions and it matches you with a living or dead celebrity.

My three "eligible bachelor" choices were the following:

Vincent Van Gogh, Edgar Allen Poe and Leonardo da Vinci

I just don't know what to think about that!

I can't help but ponder the fact that Vincent and Edgar were not known for having long, happy love lives, and I don't think I'm Leonardo's type.

Bummer!

Today was a good day. I only got a few pages done but they were hard-earned ones. For every two words I wrote - I had to go back and change one of them. The difficult days wear me down because I don't feel I've "produced" enough. Especially if someone asks, innocently enough, if I got "a lot done today." I want to punch them in the face, and then cry. But I don't. Why? Because it's probably someone I love asking, and they have no idea how that slays me on the days where my brain just won't kick in to gear.

Then, late at night when the house is quiet and everyone is asleep, I reflect on the day. Usually, I end up feeling I've actually accomplished more because I didn't just toss up my hands and walk away during a rough paragraph or passage. I kept slogging through the muck.

Some days the right words just flow and it's effortless ... it's as if a little muse was sitting on my shoulder, whispering the story into my ear. Some days I can't type fast enough. Those are heady hours - the world around me just fades away. I don't even hear the phone ring; I'm so engrossed. The "buzz" those days give me makes up for the "clunk" days.

The "clunk" days are days I feel like I have to dig and search and reach for each and every word; I feel like I'm translating a language I barely understand. On one of those memorable days not long ago I actually had to use my thesaurus because I couldn't think of a better word than cool. (And I don't mean Fonzie-cool ... thank you very much. I mean not quite cold.) That is pitiful!

That's not exactly writer's block but it's damned shameful, that's what that is.

But today was a good day, so I am happy. And now, I'm off to spend some more time with the family before the kids' bedtime.

Cheers!

"Faith in Springtime" - Ludwig Uhland

Sweet breezes have awoken
Day and night they stir and whisper;
Everywhere they are at work.
Oh fresh perfume, oh new music!
Now, poor heart, fear no longer,
Now, all things must change.

The world grows more beautiful each day,
And what may yet happen, one cannot tell.
The flowering will not end, and
Even the deepest, most distant valley is blooming.
Now, my poor heart, forget your pain.
Now, all things must change.

First Day

My grandparents used to have a plaque in their home that read, "Today is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life" ... and I never really got it until now, and the age of 37.

Here I am. I have quit my career of 18 years. One day I woke up and realized that I couldn't go back and live that life one more day. I was physically sick at the thought of it! I didn't like who I was when I was there - it was a person I didn't even recognize. It wasn't anything huge or tragic ... I was just so unhappy. I had fallen out of love with my job, my career, all of it. And I was starting to really hate the woman that looked back at me in the mirror.

So there goes that identity. I have worked in the medical field all of my adult life. Now who am I? Now what do I do?

The puzzle pieces fell into place in such a smooth order it couldn't be anything but karma, or serendipity ... or whatever you want to call it. The opportunity presented itself to me when I was at my lowest point ... I could actually quit my job, spend every day with my husband and kids, and work full time as a writer.

You see, I won my first story contest at age 10 (a blue ribbon, I might add) and was hooked. I have written almost constantly ever since - in everything from dollar-store spiral notebooks to fancy cloth-covered journals. Then all of those events above came about, and my husband asked me what I would do if I could have any career in the world. The words popped out of my mouth before I thought about it ... but I really didn't have to. I want to be a writer ... for real. I want to put "writer" in those little boxes for occupation on forms. I was always proud of my job before and I loved talking about my work ... but it was always work for someone else. Especially making money for someone else. I want to work for ME!

I want to be a published author ... and I want to make just enough money so I can keep right on writing. I'm not looking for or expecting to become rich - comfortable would be just fine with me.

So off I go into my new life. I get to get up with my kids in the morning and get them off to school and then come home and write for hours on end. Or I can go to the library and do research if I want. Then I go pick up the kids, help with homework, do all the full-time Mom stuff I never could do on a regular basis. And if I get a great idea in the middle of the night, I can get up and write as long as I want and not have to worry about it affecting my patients in clinic or (worse still) surgery the next day.

This is so cool!