Hi-ho, Silver!

I honestly meant to get on the comments in the last post to tell you all how much you crack me up. Not only me, but my parents who said over and over how funny you were. YOU. Not ME. I can't get any credit around here. :)

Speaking of that last post... I lost five readers over it. FIVE. I knew that I would offend someone but... five?! Was it because I used the word beer? Or drunk? Or because I admitted *gasp* that I drink?

Whatever. I'm not going to lose sleep over it.

My parents left today (sad!). I spent the day napping (I needed it) and setting up my office. I took over my kids' playroom (they are not happy) and bought a new desk and computer. Both were a necessity since the desk was killing me and the computer decided that it didn't want to recognize typing anymore. A computer that can only get on the internet is not necessarily a bad thing, yet it's not exactly conducive to productivity either.

I'm back on the horse, peeps. Or wagon, or whatever. Starting... well, I don't know, soon I'm going to start jamming on this book again.

Intervention

My family has been visiting the last few weeks. My sisters and nephew were out for the first week, my parents stayed for another week after they left. We've been doing the touristy stuff. I'm exhausted.

Not that you would have known any of this since I took a leave of absence from blogging, Facebook and Twitter. I decided I needed a vacation from everything including writing. It's been nice. Except that now...

My anxiety level is at an all time high. Shouldn't it be the opposite after a vacation? I keep thinking of how far I'd be if I hadn't taken a break and how much I still have left to do on this book. Arg.

Yesterday while the kids were in school, Steven, my mom and dad and I went to lunch (mmm, Gordies....). It should have been a nice lunch. However, my mom used it as an opportunity for an intervention:

“You should really think about all those empty calories you’ve been consuming.”

"Are you saying that I'm fat and I drink too much beer?!"

She stuck her finger up like she was going to make a profound point. "No, I'm not saying you're fat. I am saying you drink too much."

My father added his two cents. “It’s a big thing now – those drunk mothers. I’ve seen all kinds of shows on it. Like on 20/20 and stuff.”

"I AM NOT A DRUNK! I had three beers yesterday!" I blinked several times. "Are you seriously having an invervention for me when I'm sitting next to Steven?"

Steven laughed. "They expect me to drink."

My dad nodded. “I don’t care if he drinks. We’re talking about you.”

PARENTS!

My mom took my hand, laying her other one on top. “I wouldn’t be so concerned if you had written something in the last month. You don’t blog, Facebook or even Twitter anymore. All you do now is drink and play WoW. BLOG! THAT!”

I looked over at Steven for help. But he only grinned and winked.

No Halloween?

New stuff:

• We were all sick again last week (blah)
• Steven’s been working nights (double blah)
• I got sucked into WoW (don’t even want to talk about the humiliation)

The kids were fighting this morning. They don’t usually fight, but when they do… It makes me want to take a fork to my eye. I couldn’t take it so I threatened to cancel Halloween.

I know! I’m mean. *grin*

It worked. By the time we were supposed to leave for the bus stop they were sitting together peaceably on the couch.

Bekah said, “Mom, Seth let me put my legs over his.”

“That’s good.”

“We were cuddling.”

“As long as you’re not fighting…”

She let out a long sigh. “I wanted to hold his hand, but he wouldn’t let me.”

Seth yelled from across the room, “That is crossing the line!”

Life

This mom business is hard work.

I say that like I didn't already know it. Heh. ;)

I was in the shower this morning and I was thinking, I really hope (pray... need... desire...) that Steven doesn't end up going to the big sandbox (that begins with A and ends with stan) anytime soon. Why? Purely selfish reasons. Basically, I make a pretty horrible single mom.

Take for instance yesterday:

Seth had math homework. Word problems with charts. I hate word problems. And word problems in first grade?!

I was trying my best to explain how to read the word problem, turn it into numbers and then solve it (using subtraction that is also a foreign concept, apparently). There is a huge problem with Seth and I working together: we think differently. I don't understand him (at all) and he sure doesn't understand me.

There were tears and him repeating, "I just don't get it."

I do give myself props that I decided to get out Steven's change. I thought, if Seth sees a physical representation of the numbers surely he'll understand.

No.

Eventually I called Steven into the room and asked him to take over. I was done and quite frankly, ready to let him turn in an unfinished assignment rather than do it for him.

Steven walked over, read the page and saw the change... Do you know what he did? He lined up the change so that they were in columns.

And Seth got it.

THAT'S IT! THAT'S ALL I NEEDED TO DO! WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT?!

I have to say that I'm extremely thankful that at least one of us thinks like him. Because that poor boy... Could you imagine if we both didn't get him?

I went off to lick my wounds. I decided that I would teach Bekah how to read (who has already proven that she can memorize stuff at an alarming rate). I sat down, told her what each word was (because she's not truly reading them) and then gave her a book. She read it, no problem. It was a minor victory, but it made me feel better.

A Tale of Two Stories

[I want to make clear from the start that the following this is my perception. You may understand plot differently. Whatever works for you is AWESOME as long as you’re, you know, writing.]

I’m very blessed to have a few new writers in my life. I like new writers. They don’t know the harsh realities of the business yet, which means they’re not jaded and still full of unrealistic hope. Ha. Which, in turn, keeps firmly in my mind the reason I write is because it makes me happy. In my frustration I can forget that.

On two separate occasions last week I found myself talking about plot. One, because both writers were in the blush of their first novel and, two, because I was struggling with my own plot issues. In both cases I walked away not feeling like I nailed what I wanted to say.

Plot’s a frustrating thing. In theory I guess it would be easy to explain, but then if it was so easy how come everyone struggles with it? For me, it’s one of the most difficult things to create, pull off and make it look like it was easy while doing it.

To explain plot I think I need to go back to understanding drafts. With the first draft, especially for a new writer, my advice is (and always will be) throw it on the paper. It doesn’t matter what you write. You will end up changing every word anyway. What you need is a shell to work with. It is impossible to rewrite something that is not written.

This does NOT mean that you can’t have some kind of preparation for your first draft. I think you should! I think you should know who your characters are and what makes them tick. What your overall story is, etc. If you understand your story beforehand, it does help you not run into long periods of writing inactivity (writer’s block – which I think is more “what the heck do I write next” than actual block).

When I talk about plot, I’m actually talking about the second draft. I think if you worry about tinkering with plot too soon, you can hinder that part of your creativity that comes up with the story in the first place. Because as you figure out your plot, you (well, me) tell yourself things like: “that plotline is bad,” or “ that won’t work.” Negativity does not foster creativity.

I see plot as two stories. Every book (every good one, at least) will have two stories: the one they tell and the one they don’t tell.

I’m going to use The Host for example because I just read that she sold movie rights and I think that’s hella cool. I will be standing in line to buy tickets. ;)

Story #1:

The Host is the story of Wanderer, an alien from another planet who takes over the body of a human host. The host doesn’t disappear, though. Oh, no. She stays right there like a shadow in Wanderer’s mind. The story revolves around Wanderer’s journey.

Story #1 is what the book is. It’s what is written. It’s what you query, or is on the back of the book jacket.

Story #2:

This is more illusive. Story #2 is the unwritten story that you understand from reading Story #1.

For The Host, the story #2 is about the aliens. How and why they’re there. What their plans are. Understanding their philosophies and deciding if they’re good or bad.

Story #2 is told in bits and pieces. Through narrative, actions, thoughts and dialog. It’s something that is created in that grey space, slowly built, so that you may not fully understand it until you reach the end of the book.

Now, there are more threads to a plot, of course. Each character needs to relate back to Story #2. They may live in Story #1, but their reasons for their actions come from Story #2. And every character has to have an understanding of why they’re doing something.

For me, when I start draft 2, I like to work backwards. I already have a clear understanding of Story #1. It’s written (the first draft). What I focus on is solidifying Story #2. What is it the real story I’m trying to tell? Once I understand that, I can begin to dissect Story #1 to make sure that I’m telling Story #2.

This is my intangible idea of plot. Plot is the point where Story #1 and Story #2 work together as a cohesive unit, where each one cannot exist without the other.

Monday!

I was going to tell a story about when I opened a package from my mother this week and pulled out a cheerleading outfit she'd sent Bekah. Bekah clasped her hands together under her chin and declared, "It's like a dream come true!"

I was also going to talk about the shopping trip I took with Bekah the other day in which she saw a Laura Ashley dress (the one she wore today) and freaked because... "Have you seen anything so beautiful?"

The post was going to be witty and humorous. I was going to talk about how I feel like I'm selling out on my uncool teen-self by creating a Laura Ashley wearing cheerleader. How did that happen?! I did eat sushi while I was pregnant. Maybe the mercury does effect the fetus after all...

But here's the thing, I can't do witty or humorous today. Why? Well because this current manuscript is KILLING ME. It's all I can think about. I have notes...

NOTES. NOTES. NOTES.

It doesn't fit together. Oh, it tries to fit together. The plot looks sound... but then I tinker a little bit and the sands shift... what were once minor little holes are now craters.

ARG!

Just stuff:

Let's see... lots going on this week. Most notably, it was my birthday on Tuesday and tomorrow will be Steven and my 9th anniversary.

*pause for a moment*

You know, nine years is a LONG time. I mean, it's not like 15 or 20... but 9 years...! It's still a big chunk of time. Wow. Just... wow.

And Steven's pretty cool. I'm not even going to pretend that I had a clue how cool he was when I married him. I didn't. I mean, he was cute (still is) and he turned me on (!!!), it was enough for me to make a life commitment. Heh.

This is not how I'd recommend picking a husband, but it worked for me. I got so lucky. Which in itself is weird since I am the most unluckiest person I know. Perhaps I used it all up on my picking husband abilities. If that's the case, it was worth it.

*end pause*

Is it just me, or does anyone else get crazy around their birthday? I tend to freak out a little bit. This year was perhaps worse than normal since I no longer have kids home during the day. That was what getting the dog was about. I needed something to stop me from doing something irreversible like having another baby.

*shudder*

Not that having another baby is bad. It's not. I'd welcome a cute little stinky bundle of sleeplessness. It's just that... (see birthday excuse) I'm old. Or, at least, I'm feeling old. I swear I woke up on my birthday and I actually saw wrinkles.

... see this post... This is why I have not been writing blog posts. I'm feeling put-out and didn't want to share the joy.

Wed - almost halfway to the weekend.

It's been over a week since I've written a blog. Bad, bad blogger!

The truth is, I've written several blog posts - all unpublished. I don 't know what is wrong with me. They're all blah.

blah. blah. blah.

Oh, hey, so I have to thank whoever it was (I honestly can't remember) who jokingly said that I should put my eReaders in ziplock bags so that I can read them in the tub. OMG! It totally works. I do it all the time now. It's FAB! I even write/tweet/Facebook with my iPod Touch from the tub.

*Happy sigh.*

I seriously need some excitement in my life. This post is a snoozefest.

Hoarders

For some reason there’s been a marathon of the Hoarder shows both on TLC and on A&E. Oh, and there was one on MTV I think…

Did you know that nearly every channel had a Hoarder show? I didn’t. But I had an awful lot of laundry to fold (this is because Steven “helped” me by washing it and leaving huge piles on my bedroom floor this weekend).

It was very ironic that the entire reason that I was watching TV in the first place (because I rarely do) was because I was having heart palpitations that I had to look at piles (and piles… and piles…) of clean clothes that SHOULD HAVE BEEN FOLDED AND PUT AWAY.

There I was folding and watching hoarders.

I could not turn away.

A woman hoarder said, “I don’t want people to think I’m lazy.”

Um… I don’t. I think you have a mental illness. So sad.

Here’s what I don’t understand… why does the married spouse not do something about it?! If my husband started this behavior I’d start with counseling, meds, anything… If nothing helped, I’d leave. I would NOT live like that… and the spouse complains! Why are they complaining when they’re choosing to stay?!

One husband and wife had lost custody of their kids (they should have). And the husband still hadn’t left her. It was crazy!

I was captivated. After I finished the laundry, I kept watching! I couldn’t help myself!

Why am I fascinated by this?

Weirder, this was the day after I saw a description of this book: Dirty Little Secrets by C.J. Omololu (out in Feb). Oooh, so want to read it. I think I’m preordering.

Monday!

I haven’t been around in a week!!! Sorry about that. There wasn’t very much to talk about. I figured you didn’t want to hear about the two HUGE BRUISES that I got on my toe from the Lidocaine injections, or the fact that I feel less than stellar.

Okay… so… what to talk about?

How about contests? Hum? I love some free stuff!

Have I mentioned that I’m holding a drawing at Flashy Fiction? No? Well, I am. Go check it out and write some flash. I will be writing some too… shortly. When I feel a little better. (I haven’t worked on my manuscript in a few days because I’m too afraid of adding in fever induced ranting…)

And while we’re talking about contests, did you see the prize package Suz is giving away? I need a naughty bag!!!

AND what else?

Um…

My birthday and anniversary are coming up. I had reservations to Okuma long before the disaster trip. I was going to cancel them immediately after, but I thought… no, let me give it a chance.

Ahem.

So yeah, the typhoon should miss us next weekend, but we’re still in for some bad weather. Plus, Steven’s been working all these crazy hours and may not be able to get off work.

You know what I think? I think Okuma is cursed.

The Procedure That Didn’t Happen

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned what a chicken I am. I don’t do needles. I don’t do pain. I don’t do blood.

When I was sixteen I thought it would be awesome to have my belly button pierced. Yeah, awesome until the needle went through my stomach!

I fainted.

The dude piercing me went to catch me, inadvertently pulling the needle halfway out. He waited for me to come to before removing it all the way.

I fainted a second time.

And then he thought he was going to re-pierce me.

NO. WAY.

Years passed. I wanted to pierce my eyebrow. I thought about it for forever. I talked myself into it…

The minute that needle pierced my skin I started saying, “I’m going to puke… I’m going to puke!”

The dude said, “No one I've pierced has ever puked.”

So I threw up on him.

His response: “I should have listened to you.”

Then I passed out. Luckily my sister-in-law was there that time. She told the dude, “Just finish it while she’s out.”

And let’s not talk about the two C-sections I’ve had. Nightmare. Night-freaking-mare. Oh yes, and I very nearly died.

WHY did I think that I could get my toenail removed? I mean, really? It’s not like I have a stunning track record.

The corpsman who shot me up with Lidocaine was very lovely. I feel guilty for throwing up on her.

And then I passed out.

Yeah… the doctor nixed the toenail removal. He was very lovely too. He even offered that if I wanted to reschedule at some point that he was would prescribe me Valium.

Steven was equally lovely when he picked me up. Either he’s gotten more supportive over the years, or he’s just used to my anxiety. He held my hand when I burst in to tears.

Meanwhile Seth said, “You need to relax, Mom, it’s just a toenail.”

Trapped in the car:

Last night we were driving and Seth decided he wanted to know all about how babies are made. Like why we told him that he needed to be married before he had one and he knows that you can have them before marriage.

Mind you, he's six. And way too smart for his own good.

Steven busts out, "Just remember no glove, no love, buddy."

I smacked him in the chest. "Would you not say stuff like that!"

"Glove?" Seth's asked, "So like... you have a disease and you give your disease to mommy and she gets pregnant?"

I was kind of impressed with that. "That's pretty close, actually. There's part of daddy and part of mommy and together they make you."

"So... The parts go together like a kiss."

"Yes." That was close enough as far as I was concerned.

Seth nodded. "Okay, then. It's like magic."

Steven started laughing. "It's magic with your mommy."

"I swear to god, Steven! Stop saying stuff like that!"

Steven, knowing he's really ticking me off, grinned. "You don't think it's magic?"

I sighed. "Of course."

Seth piped up from the backseat, "Yeah, I still don't get it."



Switching gears. Two pictures for you. This we shall call, "odd stuff you see in Okinawa":



And Yuki's first haircut:

Wed! -- I know, these titles! Where do I come up with them?

Lots to talk about today!

First, I wrote a guest post for one of my fabulous critique partners, Casey, yesterday. If she's not on your reader, you should check her out. AND welcome new readers to my blog! I haven't gotten a chance to respond in the threads so I wanted to say a big hello here!

Second, my friend Kelly (she's a super awesome - AND SWEET! - illustrator. You should check her out too!) Facebooked me a picture... She likes to tease me that my puppy is a toy. So when she found this in the store she couldn't help but tell me that she knew now where I got my puppy!



Is this not the cutest toy dog you've ever seen?! It looks just like my puppy too! *LOVE!* Is it strange that when I saw this picture my reaction was, "I need this toy RIGHT NOW!"? Much like the reaction I had when I saw my dog.

Third, I went to clay yesterday... Yeah, I'm not so good at it. It took me two hours to get a shape that kinda sorta, if you squint just right, looks like a cup. I'm determined to have fun with this so I'm going back next week. I figured I'd go four times and if by the end of the fourth it's still not working for me, I'll give it up. That sounds reasonable, right?

Here's the cool thing with the military, especially living overseas, there are so many opportunities to do stuff. Any stuff... lots of stuff. Stuff I wouldn't try at home. And it's either really cheap or free. Yesterday's clay... free. I do have to pitch in for my part of the clay block eventually (like $5 bucks), but that's it. When I have it fired it's like a dollar. Glaze is like a dollar... It's a nice gig.

The other cool thing is, there are women here that have extraordinary talents. Most of us don't work (there's really not many job opportunities) so we sort of teach each other stuff. Both of the girls there were massively talented (who knew clay was such a delicate art form?!) and took the time to teach me. Not that I got it. Heh.

And finally, conversation of the morning:

I was upstairs and I'd asked Seth (the 6-yr-old) to take the dog potty. He yelled up that she'd gone pee but he didn't want to stand outside anymore. I told him that he could bring her inside, but that he needed to watch her because she'd have to go poop eventually.

::Five minutes later::

"MOM! The dog pooped in the kitchen!"

"I told you to watch her."

"I did."

"Then when she was starting to go why didn't you take her outside?"

"You didn't tell me that part."

"Are you saying that you stood there and watched her poop on my floor?!"

"Yes. Exactly."

Monday!

You know you've been spending too much time on Twitter when you begin to think in 140 characters or less. It makes blogging difficult.

It's Monday again (funny how that happens every week!). There's not much to report over here. Well, besides the fact that I managed to get my daughter in blue shorts and a blue bow today. I know! It's like the apocalypse happened!

Other than that, I'm knee deep in revision two of the manuscript I'd put aside some time ago. Imagine my surprise when I realized it was actually pretty good. I'm changing the voice up a little, though, on this pass. I'm hoping to get it finished by the end of October. *crossing fingers*

Tomorrow I have a date to play with clay. I was supposed to go last week and canceled because I was sick. I'm kind of nervous about it. I get that it sounds odd. Why would I be nervous about playing with clay? But I am! It's not like I have any illusions that I'm going to walk away with a usable piece of pottery.

I had marked on the calendar that I was going. My husband read it and commented, "You know, you're going to get dirty."

"I know."

"And you're still going to go?"

"Does that fascinate you?"

He shook his head. "No. It's just that... I love this island."

More email fun with my husband:

On Sep 17, 2009, at 10:39 AM, Steven wrote:

[edited for content…] Don't forget I'm a rock star too. Love ya!


On Sep 17, 2009, at 10:42 AM, Heather wrote:

Um... I'm the rock star. You can be the dude behind the drums.


On Sep 17, 2009, at 11:07 AM, Steven wrote:

Ha. The drummer is always the cornerstone in any band. I'm ok with that.


On Sep 17, 2009, at 11:09 AM, Heather wrote:

You can be the cornerstone. You just CAN'T be the rock star. I'm always the lead, baby!


On Sep 17, 2009, at 11:20 AM, Steven wrote:

It's my band. lol.