Public vs Private

I gave a presentation to the Two Rivers Romance Authors group on Saturday and it went really great. They'd contacted me months ago to set up the visit and told me I could talk about anything I wanted. Any. Thing.

This obviously opened up a staggering amount of possibilities and I've given talks on lots of writerly subjects, usually to newbies. These women, though, are published or damn near it and I decided they'd probably heard all about creating characters and story structure and pacing and revising and all the nuts-and-bolts writing topics that so often get presented. I didn't want to be repetitive or boring.

So, what to do?!?

I pondered a while (months, actually) and a few days ago it hit me. I could talk about the public nature of being a writer, specifically meeting readers, fans, other writers, etc. I thought it would be a different kind of presentation from the standard 'this is how you write shit' kinds of talks, which is good. I prefer to be 'different'. As I pondered some more, the scope of the talk took place in my head and I decided how to go about making it work.

It did, however take some preparation. At Dunkin' Donuts, to be precise, across the parking lot from where we were meeting.

I am, by nature, a rather introverted individual and I don't get out much. I'm usually home and, frankly, unless I feel exceptionally comfortable with a person, I rarely speak at all. Everything's internalized. I'd much rather type in a chat window than, well, actually talk. I'm better than I used to be, but it's still an issue for me, especially when I'm in 'pro author mode' which is EXHAUSTING.

Anyway. Dunkin Donuts.

I grabbed my fabric tote bag - the one I take to quilt days and classes because it's really big - out of the back of my car and headed into the bathroom. I stripped from my comfy driving clothes (I drove about 2 hours to get there and I'll be damned if I'll wear uncomfy dressy stuff during a long car trip). I completely re-dressed. Twice.

It'll all make sense soon, I promise.

Off to the meeting.

I went in, as me. Well, the 'me' in new situations. Closed up. Hiding. Hair back in a ponytail. My funky reading glasses on. Gray zip-up hoodie, ratty comfy t-shirt, saggy-baggy 'at home' pants. Me. I was greeted, and I was meek. I sat huddled in a corner and quietly fiddled with my note cards and watched the strangers and was polite but mostly silent. Everyone was exceptionally nice and friendly and welcoming, by the way, but a few seemed perplexed as to why this pitiful creature was there to talk to them.

Meeting stuff happened and it was time to talk. I introduced myself - very softly - and said I slaughter people on paper for money (my standard line of describing my job, ha ha). I showed all three of my actual books, gave a short description of each and how they did sales and award wise, tossing each aside afterward because, as I told them, I'm not here to sell books. I'm here to talk to you about, well, giving talks.

There was much obvious confusion in the audience.

I explained some of my issues, upbringing, etc, and how one of the toughest hurdles for me, after turning pro, was public events. How I had to learn to take off my outer shell and get out there.

I then unzipped my hoodie, peeled it off, and set it aside. My voice got a teensy bit louder and I lifted my eyes a little more.

They started to pay attention.

I told them I soon found that wasn't good enough, I had to actually meet and talk to - omg! - strangers and I had to start feeling exposed.

Off with the t-shirt (I'm sitting through all of this, by the way) to show the blouse underneath and the nice necklace.

EVERYONE gasped. My voice got a little stronger. Folks laughed when I mentioned I actually own two blouses. Just two.

I talked about how in book signings I had to cheerfully greet people but it, and panels, meant I could still hide behind the table, behind the table cloth. I talked about how panels were terrifying at first, because I was afraid to speak up, but I soon learned to be assertive (hand motions begin, head up consistently, voice steady) but never aggressive. Everyone wants to talk over you in a panel, most want to scream 'BUY MY BOOK!' (My voice got loud and I brandished a book at them) whenever they get a chance, but humor (they'd already laughed a few times at this point) seems to work better for me than being forceful. But be prepared. Men, especially, will want to talk over you. Don't let them. Be kind, be yourself, but engage the panel and the audience.

By this time, everyone's nodding and taking notes.

Then, I sighed, you have readings.  A lot of writers sit down behind the safety of the table and read and read and read until the time's done. I did this once. ONCE. Then Gay Haldeman, wife of Joe Haldeman and a really good friend, explained that a good reading is actually performance art. And the first step is to get your ass out of the chair.

I stand up - everyone's pretty much shocked at this point - and I grab a book, open it, and confidently say, Instead of basically, again, telling everyone to BUY MY BOOK! what you're really doing is engaging the audience, selling yourself and the story at the same time. So you pick a few short bits, a page or so printed, maybe two pages if you're reading off manuscript pages. NO MORE. Never more.  And you tell a bit about yourself and why you wrote this. You tell about what it shows or does in the scope of the book - character, plot, whatever. Talk a little, read a little, be open to questions. Always friendly and welcoming, never pushy. It's a conversation. Maybe move away from the podium once in a while. Engage.

But then there's more than readings. Sometimes you have to present things. Talks like this, classes, that sort of stuff. Sometimes for a few people, sometimes for a lot. Fifty. Five hundred. More. You're on a stage. And there's nowhere to hide.

Then I unzip my comfy pants and peel them off. Beneath are nice, fitted capris. The gals in the writing group are astounded and laughing and clapping. I get out of my comfy pants, make a joke about how I love them because I don't have to take my shoes off to get out of them.

Everyone laughs.

Have you ever seen a TED talk? I ask, walking around. Gesturing. Confident. In control of the room.  Do they stand still? Are they stiff? Everyone chimes in 'No!' Of course not. And they're not up there saying 'buy my book,', they're up there saying I know my shit and I'm gonna teach you to know your shit, too. You gotta let your hair down (off with the ponytail and my wacky curly hair does its thing). You have to move around. Back and forth, approaching, welcoming, making eye contact, being open. Because that's what people respond to. Open and friendly.  But you have to look professional (I pull my tidy blue sweater out of the bag and put it on) to be taken seriously.

Everyone laughs again.

And after I was all done, I did a Q & A thing where I remained (mostly) open and moving and engaging, but I'd make a joke about my shyness every time I noticed my hands in my pockets or my back pressed against the wall. Then I made another joke about forgetting my bling as I put on my swanky watch I pretty much never wear. It finally wound down, everyone clapped and exclaimed it was just about the best author talk EVER.

I REALLY hate having my picture taken,
but Terri was nice enough to help me.

So I put  my pony tail back up (because even when I'm in control, damn it, I still want some of my protective crutches) but before I sat I asked them how many wrote down my name to look up later to purchase my books. Five hands of eight members went up. I smiled and said, Exactly. And I never once asked you to.

More clapping, and that was basically it.

Btw, I didn't use the note cards. They were merely a prop at the beginning because when folks are nervous, they fiddle with their notes. I, however, know my shit and don't need notes. :)

Forward thinking

I never know how to start posts like this, mostly because my brain is going forty seven directions at once, yet stuck in the same place.

It's weird how life is like that, everything's always changing yet it always seems to stay the same.

Anyway, let's start with the books.

Two novels (SPORE and MORGAN'S RUN) are out of my hands and seeking the next stopping point on their journey to publication. I currently have no idea when, where, how, or any other details. It's just a whole lot of waiting. Waiting's tough. Having no news while waiting is tougher. But we writers just have to stick it out because that's the job. People keep asking me when they can get the books, and I have to shrug and admit I have no flipping clue. As soon as I know, you'll know.

I'm struggling with SLIPPAGE, the book I intend to follow SPORE with (it, too, is a speculative thriller, in no story-line way related to SPORE, but I am gonna stick in a very slight connection between the two - Go Ghoulie! ;) ). It's crazy, how stuck I am, especially since the whole book is laid out and glistening in my head and in my notes. I'm just got getting any drama on the page. Seriously, WTF?!? I always have drama on the page. Another issue is getting the main characters (two kids on the run) to open up with me. Both are closed up tight, not willing to divulge anything to me beyond bare bones story essentials, and I haven't been able to crack them open. Yet.

Since SLIPPAGE isn't going anywhere other than circling around an assassin of sorts named Huey, who is NOT the focus of the book dammit, I've returned to poking Dubric's next novel, STAIN OF CORRUPTION, with a pointy stick.

There are a lot of issues with STAIN, not the least of which is its commercial viability. The original three Dubric novels didn't exactly create new sales records, and, after all this time, I don't think it's likely to sell to a traditional publisher. I could be wrong, yes, but I kinda doubt it. But the fans wants it, precious, but it's gonna be a long, brutal, convoluted, layered kinda book, which will become the pivot point for the second half of the series and I just.... ARRGH.

ARRGH.

Anyway, I've griped talked with a couple of friends about it this past week, and have told them about the big twisty storyline shift in mid book. They've been consistently OMG!! This is, OMG!! So cool! OMG!! Fuck, yeah!! and they've helped me maybe figure out a way to pull off the big shift without cheating (I don't want to cheat, but I don't want to show my whole hand for the plot by the midpoint either) so, anyway, I'm kind of back on it. Again. With new hope I can make the big pivot work.

That's been the sticking point all this time, how can I pull off the pivot that turns the series from a set of murder mysteries (sort of) to political upheaval and war (sort of) while maintaining the integrity of the storyline, characters, world, and all those pesky ghosts and still keep it exciting, honest, and brutal, all while writing essentially two books in two separate times and storylines all at once? Gah! One of my pre-readers currently has what I've written and I'm hoping he'll have some useable feedback on the actual viability of the overall plan. The book's looking like it'll be crazy-long, a real doorstop of a book, and a whole lot of bodies and ghosts will pile up before it's over

I also have a Lars based novella which is about 1/4 done, ish, called Six Sides of Blue where Lars is called to a rural area to investigate the rape of a handicapped girl. I need to get some words in on it this week. No ghosts, no magic, just straight up investigation into some brutality that ends up being bigger than it first seems. Fun, right?

Okay, that's pretty much it in writing related news.

In other matters, I'm back on plan with Weight Watchers, and it's going all right. I'd pretty much fallen off the wagon this past winter and I decided to climb back on a couple of weeks ago. So far so good, but it's a slow, aggravating process. But at least it's working forward again.

Health is okay. I'm getting my troublesome-but-not-dangerous medical issue re-checked in May. Really, really hoping it's improved. *fingers crossed* Stupid mutinous parts! Get back to work and quit screwing with my life!

Here in Northern Iowa, Spring and Winter are battling for dominance and, today at least, Spring seems to be winning. We've had snow the last few days, but today it's wind and sun, so I am thankful. Since Easter is just a few weeks away and I'm helping out at our community's annual Easter Egg Hunt, I really hope Spring takes control. I don't want to be hiding eggs in the snow. ;)

My sewing machine is still acting up so I have done NO SEWING since I sent a couple of quilts out to friends. None. Zippo. It's beginning to feel alarming but I don't know how to fix it. Grr.

I've had some depressive issues, mostly feeling stuck (see books above, and the weight loss stall) but it seems to be lifting.

Marketing is just, blergh. Since I do have two novels out in the world seeking publication, I've been looking at marketing (insert gaggy noises complete with exaggerated facial expressions here). My preferred social media venue (Facebook) is limiting the exposure of business page posts to 1-2% of subscribed readership unless you 'pay to play'. I refuse to do that, so I've opened my personal FB page to friend request from everyone. I am not happy about this since I've had some issues with boundaries, but it seems to be the best option, considering. I've let a few fans in and so far so good. I'm on Twitter, but since I don't have a smart phone and only tweet from my computer I'm not very involved there, plus I am on G+, at least I check it a couple of times a week. And then there are my rare blog posts, which auto-post to Goodreads and Amazon (which also gets my tweets).

Gah, I need a better marketing plan. I am so not good at this stuff.

Pets are all fine, but Puufy is acting a little.... uncomfortable. He's ten years old this year and he's had some medical issues in the past. We're all worried he might be creaking toward the end and it bothers me. I loves my Puufums Baby. All of the cats want Spring, dammit! They keep begging to be let out, go out, decide it's still to freaking cold (and there are no birdies, bunnies, etc to chase anyway) so they want right back in only to want back out again 5 minutes later because, surely, Spring has finally come. Right? The dog, tho, is perfectly content to laze around the house and doesn't want anything to do with outside unless he has to potty. MeowMeow, the cat we rescued last fall, is finally fitting in. Mostly. She gets along great with Puufy, but there are occasional altercations with Abbie and Peanut, mostly because MeowMeow starts them. These altercations, however, have decreased dramatically in frequency and noise level, so we're taking all that as indications she's being accepted into the group.

I'm not a basketball fan (Go Steelers!!) but I've been watching the NCAA tournament some because Iowa State is playing. I almost went to ISU and my niece is currently a student there (plus we shop in and drive through Ames fairly often). So, Go 'Clones!

I'm also rooting for Kentucky, mostly because they were plating Kansas State, and I don't like the Wildcats, so Go Kentucky! Yeah, I'm weird. Other than Iowa State and Kentucky, I apparently don't care at all about March Madness. lol I think they're in different brackets. Maybe they'll play each other?? That'd be cool and give me more good reasons to cuss at the TV.

Bill has remodeling on his mind, which is awesome, but we can't agree on what to do to streamline the house, which is not awesome. We'd like rearrange the plumbing, get a better kitchen (while my kitchen is lovely, it's not very cooking-friendly workspace and layout wise) and a downstairs bedroom/bath. Plus no ceiling on the upstairs-stairs. All without doing a massive gut job of our delightful old Victorian farmhouse or spending a crap-ton of money on a 2-story addition. Is that too much to ask?!? Is it? I mean, really! Geesh! :p

Bill wants a second floor addition over the back end of our existing kitchen, so he can move the bathroom and get rid of the 'landing' over the lower part of the upstairs stairs, plus straighten the stairs, and simplify the household plumbing and stack. I want a lower level addition so we can move the kitchen and get the bedroom/bath. But if we do the 2-story addition it'll free up all kinds of space to do stuff and we can basically rearrange everything, but we'd end up with 5 or 6 bedrooms and make the house about 3,200 sq. feet (which is insane, we really don't need that much space for the four of us) so it's been a mental exercise in floorplans, cost issues, how to change the basement to accommodate all the support/plumbing/electrical/etc, how do we even get TO the basement with each plan, and what the hell are we gonna do with SIX Bedrooms?!?

I have to disclose here that Bill and I utterly LOVE remodeling. We'd essentially gutted and re-built our previous 2 houses by ourselves (well, we did hire out the furnace work at the previous place, but that's about it) so we're both finding this wonderfully aggravating and, frankly, encouraging. It's a GOOD sign we're talking about this stuff, even if our house is pretty much awesome just as it is. We'd both been feeling stuck for a long time, no idea what to do to move forward again, to hope again, and we are. Finally. We've even done some rearranging within the existing house, have ordered new living room furniture (it'll be here in about 2 weeks! YAY!!) and are making plans for stuff to do later this year.

I am so, so happy with all of this, now if I could just get one of the books to click together (or one of the finished books to sell!), everything would be golden! Have a happy Spring, everyone and many, many {{hugs}}

Broken Threads #1

Many of you know I make quilts. A lot of quilts. It's a compulsion and I have a freaking boatload of fabric here in the house, even after giving my friend Katie nearly a full trunk of my overflow (as in the trunk of my Corolla, not a steamer trunk, although the volume is probably similar).

I've been sewing since our daughter was an infant, maybe three or four months old. She'll be twenty four years old next month and I have made, minimum, 25 quilts a year for the entirety of her life. I made twenty six one summer (it was a very good quilting year) but there have been slow years too, so an average of 25 seems conservative to me. That's right about six hundred quilts. Likely more.

Before your eyes pop outta your heads over that crazy number, most of these quilts are on the small side. I've done a couple hundred baby quilts (let's say eight a year, average), I usually only do one bed sized quilt a year (probably 30 total), three or four lap or couch sized quilts a year, and the rest are small, table runners, wall hangings, odd little funky, artsy things. Still, a LOT of quilts.

My first sewing machine was a 1953 Elna model I got after my great aunt Mary died. It used different cogs I had to insert into the machine to make it do various stitches. I burned the oomph out of it in about two or three years, mostly making baby clothes plus some quilts. My second machine was an inexpensive BabyLock, and I used it literally to death, wearing out the motor and gears after about six years of quilting, quilting, quilting. When it became too tired to quilt anymore, I bought a really nice computerized Pfaff and I've driven it through hundreds of quilts (very few garments). The Pfaff was a dedicated workhorse. I dragged it all over the place for classes and sew days and to keep me sane during my down time at writing events, even out of state. I love my Pfaff.

My Pfaff on my sewing desk.

But it's a 15 year old, used, abused, and hard worked machine. Over the past few months, it's had oddball issues with stitching (mostly dropping stitches for no discernible reason) but, in November, the computer started to act up. It would 'count' through different stitches (zigzag, basting, buttonhole, stars, etc), while I was sewing, even while the machine was sitting there on but unattended. In short, the poor little computer was dying, and taking my adored sewing machine with it.

Since I need to sew or I get a little cuckoo, and it's been nearly two months since I've managed to sew, Bill has basically told me to Go Buy A New Sewing Machine. I am now on a quest. I test drove Brother brand machines today and the Brother Simplicity 3129 seems to be my best fit, at least in their lines.

I'm looking at BabyLock and the new Pfaffs tomorrow, then I'll have to decide what's the best way to go from here. I really miss sewing.

Getting Fixed

I come from a long line of big, friendly people and, for much of my life, I was the smallest of my siblings, and even smaller than some of the extended family.

Since I'm tall, and 'extra cuddly' sized, that's saying a lot.

Other than sinus allergies and Rosacea, I've always been healthy, despite being heavy. My brother had his stomach done a few years ago, my sister has lost more than 100 lbs with the help of TOPS, but I remained basically the same weight, at least within 10 lbs or so, for more than twenty years. I also have extreme self confidence issues, part due to the introversion, part not. They all tend to compound and reflect back on one another. Overweight, introverted, depressed, fearful, avoidant, self loathing! Welcome to the family ferris wheel! Round and round we go!

Me, 2012, before I decided to wrestle the weight tiger.

Things started to change for me when we moved up here in 2008. Our daughter went off to college (she's back home now, with a daughter of her own) and it gave me what could best be described as too much spare time. I used a good hunk of it to change myself and my mindsets, starting with Lasik. I've always been dreadfully nearsighted (just like my mother), but when bifocals became necessary, I lost all depth perception and started falling/tripping. A LOT. Yeah, I'm introverted, but the necessity of staying home because walking out in the world meant tripping over the tiniest cracks and falling on my face was a very scary prospect. Anyway, I got lasered in 2009 and now only need glasses to read, which is pretty cool.

I like funky reading glasses. :)

It was astounding to me how much losing my glasses opened up my life and my mind. One of the many, many shields I'd manufactured for myself was no longer there to hide behind and it was a terrifying yet liberating experience. But, hey, it was a start! With that barricade destroyed, I decided to deal with the writing demon. Writing, for me, had never been a pleasant endeavor, always mired in angst and pain and anger. I used it to vent, to purge, to drain off internal poisons, and to let the darkness loose before it ate me alive. I stopped writing after Valley of the Soul for a lot of reasons, but pretty much all of them were, admittedly, psychological and based on fear. Once my eyes were fixed, I decided to stare at the writing monster once again and make it my bitch instead of the other way around.

In 2010, I wrote an amazing, twisty, hopeful novel called Morgan's Run. Almost everyone who's read it has gushed and raved about it, but it was, supposedly, 'unsellable'. I'm not exactly sure why. My only theory is it's because the MC (a child abuse survivor suffering with extreme PTSD) and her situation are rather nuts. Morgan's crazy, yes, but that's why I like her so much.

There's still hope for Morgan - YAY!! - and I'm trying to figure out how to tweak her into a NA book instead of a mainstream psycho-thriller. I'm so excited she still has hope. :)

While working on Morgan's Run, writing once again became a compulsion, but not a painful one. I considered this to be great progress. Unlike the Dubric books, she wasn't an endless trudge of pain and suffering and cutting my psyche open to slap the bloody mess onto the page while it lay there twitching and screaming. There was blood, yes, and pain and tears, but none of it was forced, and none hurt more than it helped. Morgan's Run was incredibly cathartic. And short. I think it's about 95,000 words which for me isn't much longer than a short story. lol

Anyway, I adore Morgan and I'm so, so glad she might yet find a home.

While working on Morgan, I kind of forced myself to become more outgoing. I served as Treasurer for our quilt guild, I worked part-part time at a quilt shop (talking to real people!! Aaack!!), I got onto FaceBook, I self published three short stories (all of the proceeds go to charity), and I joined the Des Moines chapter of Sisters In Crime.

I've cut back some on my responsibilities (SinC especially since time and gas are at a premium) but I'm still making myself be involved in things outside of my head and home. But, anyway, Morgan wasn't selling and I really, really wanted to get back to work as a writer, so I asked my agent what he thought I should write next. I gave him short synopses/concepts of several ideas I had. He picked SPORE, a book about a haunted comic book artist and people who are no longer dead, so in 2012, I began.

Also, around that time, I noticed my knees were becoming increasingly problematic, my feet hurt all of the time, and my energy level... Frankly it sucked. All of my medical particulars were still just fine, but I really needed to deal with the excess weight. I wrestled a long, long time with this because I was hiding behind my weight. It was just one more barrier. I knew it, my husband knew it, my physician knew it. Shit, everyone who knew me knew it. I, however, was reluctant to lose that last bastion of  safety. But I needed to. Having been overweight for nearly my entire life, I'd tried losing weight before, with almost every possible plan under the sun. Nothing had ever worked, or more accurately, nothing had ever 'stuck' because I'd slip up and throw in the towel. So, what to do?? My friends Jean and Wendy had found a good deal of success with Weight Watchers, and while I'd tried them decades ago (I think I was still in high school) my research showed that they were highly rated on successes, especially in the long term. I liked the idea of structure with flexibility, and I liked that going to meetings meant you weren't doing it all alone.

I kind of need some sort of real accountability.

So I talked it over with Bill and, despite the cost (oy, the cost!!!) I joined up in September, with meetings plus online. Also, contrary to my natural cheap nature, I'm all in. I buy the smoothies, I buy the fiber bars, I have the exercise DVDs, the whole shebang, even the ActiveLink fitness monitor, which has been a godsend at keeping me from sitting on my ass all day.

Me, today.

As of my last weigh in, I'm down 36 lbs. Not as fast as I'd like (it never is) but averaging a pound a week is pretty cool. Bill is ecstatic, my physician is ecstatic, and my clothes are all too big. My shoes are too big. It's insane. I'm looking at doing a 5k this fall, just walking it - my knees won't stand for a run longer than a minute or so - but Damn. Me. I still have a long way to go, but this is totally doable, long term, lifetime, forever. And it's making other things better, every lost pound lets in a little more light.

SPORE is done - it was a frustrating pleasure to write and I finished it right before Thanksgiving last year - and I'm currently awaiting another batch of changes from The Agent. It will, with luck, sell to a major publisher sometime this year. I hope it does. I hope he can find a publisher for Morgan too, assuming I can nudge her into the New Adult realm.

I need another book to work on, but so far my brain keeps downshifting back to Morgan and SPORE. I'm not sure why, exactly, maybe because they're still 'unfinished business', maybe because the true concept of the next great twisty story hasn't yet taken root in my brain (I have a few seedlings, but nothing strong enough to pull on yet). I'm not sure, but I'm also not worried. Frustration with writing is no longer about facing the pain, it's about trying to cram a pissed off bobcat into a gallon ziplock bag. Length. Good golly, I fight LENGTH. How the hell does anyone write a coherent book under 90k?? I struggle to trim to get it to squeeze in under 100 and would much rather have 150. It's a FIGHT I tell ya! That's the hard part, keeping it short enough to sell.

And for that I am ever so thankful. After Dubric, I honestly never thought I'd enjoy writing, but I do.

Everything is Clutterin'

Like a lot of people, I have a tendency to accumulate clutter. For me, the main culprit is paper.

I print out recipes, writing tips, cute sayings, quilt patterns, all kinds of things. I save magazines, newspaper articles and birthday cards. I'm a sucker for office supplies, catalogs, and freebie calendars. In short, papers pile up. Since the papers are piling up, I don't get other things put properly away either. Before I know it, there's a paper and clutter explosion.

Frankly, I'm sick of it.

Cables and office supplies and books and papers, oh my!

We switched the office and living room a couple of weeks ago. I loved having both rooms empty of almost everything but furniture. No extra stuff, no clutter. But to do that, we had to move the extras to the kitchen table, my sewing room, and other places. Since then, the crap has begun creeping back, mostly because we occasionally need to use the kitchen table, etc. Right this moment,  I literally have a long pile of miscellaneous useful-but-rarely-used stuff sitting on the floor behind me with no better place to put it. None. Why? Because its almost entirely clutter.

I'm tired of stepping over it every time I go to my desk. I'm tired of the dog knocking it all over the otherwise clean room whenever he comes running past to see what eeeevil dog is peeing in his front yard.

I have too much paper clutter. I have too many quilting magazines and patterns. I have too many kitchen do-dads, too much fabric, and I'm one more kitten away from officially being a crazy cat lady.

It ends today.

I have some big totes and a deep vat of determination to put my 'rarely used but don't want to part with it' stuff in the totes, all separated and categorized by function. Writing-related books and articles. Fabric. Quilting patterns and such. Kitchen crap. All of my big clutter-monsters. They're going in totes and going in the basement. If I need something out of one of the totes - like my notes and articles on The Hero's Journey, for example - I can go down there, pull out the folder, and get what I need. If I don't need it, it'll stay in the tote. Next year, if it's still in the tote, it's outta here. No exceptions.

If I don't use it on a regular (at least weekly) basis, it's going in a !(@*$^ tote, dammit.

Yup, I'm 47. Not sure if I like it much.

It's my birthday today, and I'd like to say we had a big party and cake and gobs of presents, but that'd be fibbing. I did get to go out to lunch with Bill and Laura (which was nice), and we did a little shopping (also nice), but mostly we went through lists of postal sorting centers to filter out all the upcoming closings and places we really didn't want to relocate too (huge cities, like New York, Chicago, etc, and locations in the southwestern desert because Laura and I both burn like crazy) and then tried to pick our top contenders from what remained

Honestly, not a lot remained. It's shocking and quite worrisome how many postal centers are closing. We had twelve pages of centers, HUNDREDS to start with, and more than half are just gone or soon will be. Where are all their employees going to go? How can so many people relocate? Will they? Since Bill's only been a postal employee 5 years, will he even be able to find a place to relocate to? Hell, will he even have a job after October?

Very scary stuff. Neither of us are good with uncertainty and it's really dragging our psyches down.

Our house has been on the market for 2 weeks and no nibbles yet - not that we expected any this quickly - and we're having an open house tomorrow. Hopefully that will go well.

We really could use some good news.

Dermatological

I'm biting the bullet - again - and going to a dermatologist to have my Rosacea looked at. I'm just tired of my face stinging all the time and people asking me if I'm okay, since I'm so red.

ARRGH. I don't want to go because it will almost certainly be a waste of time. I went to one once, years ago, a guy highly recommended by my regular doc, supposed to be the best in the area, and it didn't go well. He blustered in, confirmed that I did, indeed, have Rosacea, remarked that - oh! - I was allergic to tetracyclines, so here's some amoxicillin pills. Put some moisturizer on it and good luck. Poof, right back out the door.

Was with me all of maybe 45 seconds. We didn't have insurance at the time and it cost more than a hundred bucks. The amoxicillin helped my sinuses, but I was already moisturizing, and the visit was all just a big waste of my time and money. My regular doc has since tried tried a couple of things, but nothing's helped. It just is what it is, I guess.

Here's hoping next week's appointment helps, at least a little.

Now that February is over...

Let me just say that it sucked. Mightily. With great, heaving amounts of negative-displacement-pressure. 

Like an open airlock into space.

Well, maybe not *that* bad, but still. February sucked.

I don't know if it was the weather, too much caffeine, hormones, or the drastic revisions to M that I struggled to wrap my brain around, but I spent pretty much all of February in a pissy little funk. Sort of depressed. Kind of angry. Incredibly lazy. I watched too much reality TV - things like Worst Cooks in America and Next Great Baker. I napped. I grumbled. I played Spider Solitaire. And that was pretty much it.

I didn't really write anything other than going over and over and OVER M's Chapter !(@*$&@ 7. I didn't really sew anything other than what I had to sew for class - and last week, I didn't even do that. I ate crappy (which didn't help) and barely exercised (also didn't help) and generally just sat on my butt being a grouch.

Last week, though, as February started to wind down, my mood began to lift. A little. I sewed. A little. I wrote. A little. I cooked with vegetables a little. But I was still a grump.

This past weekend was my guild's annual quilting retreat where we quilters invade a lakeside conference site for a three-day weekend of sewing. My roomies were all friends (Deb, Vicki and Jennie) so that was good (other than the lingering terror of sharing living space with others), but I'd never gone before and I don't do well in new situations. I also don't handle crowds well, I'm just too introverted, and I knew there were going to be a lot of people.

Daily, as the retreat approached, I told Bill that I didn't think I was going to go. And he would inform me that I ought to, it was already paid for and, besides, what's the point of trying to make friends (something I'm not particularly good at) if I never go to things where said friends will be? (I think he was looking forward to getting my grumpy self out of the house for a few days, to be perfectly honest.)

I'd decided that I didn't want to inflict my pissiness on the quilt ladies so I gave myself a deadline. If I wasn't in a better mood by that Friday morning, I wasn't going to go. Period. I even warned a few people that I was grumpy and might not come, but everyone insisted that I should because what's the point of a bad mood if you can't share it and, besides, it gave them an excuse to pick on me. Seriously. That's what they said. Come. We'll pick on you. It'll be fun!

Quilters are crazy.

Anyway, on Wednesday, my friend Tanya called to ask if I'd crawled under a rock and died (I'm usually in her quilt shop every couple of days or so to hang out or work or cut fabric or something), so I whined to her on the phone about being cranky and anti-social. Then I went over to her shop and we sat and talked and I bawled a bit about nothing in particular, other than pretty much hating my mood (and my age and my weight and my book and y'all know the drill). And I felt a smidge better. Not much, but some.

Thursday came and my mood had another marginal improvement. Then, me being me, I just had to put my lower back out. Well, actually my gluteus medius & multifidus, er, the upper/side part of my butt and upward. Lemme tell you, pain is not a mood lifter, and I hadn't even done anything! Came downstairs, walked across the living room and whammo! Tambo broke her butt.

Chiropractor helped some, and, at Bill's insistence urging - and armed with ointment and ibuprofen - I went to the retreat. Sitting sucked. Walking sucked. And most everyone felt sorry for me. But everyone was super nice. I hurt, and didn't sleep very well. Saturday I signed up for a massage - had only endured one before and it was, well, meh - but the woman had been fussing a bit over me, she could see I was hurting (and, I swear, Deb, Betty, Bonnie and Janelle conspired against me, offering to loan me the money to pay for the massage and informing me I'd feel WONDERFUL afterwards) so I finally relented.

Never had a full-body deep tissue massage before and she worked on me for about an hour and twenty minutes. Hurt like hell, but afterwards I went and took a nap and SLEPT. After supper I got a lot of sewing done and even managed to finish that rotten Chapter 7. Sunday I felt worlds better (mood and back both) and, today - Monday - I have full movement, only a little ache when I sit too long, and even managed to exercise. Mood is pretty much awesome, too!

So, anyway, that's where I've been. Sitting around being a grouch butt until the quilting ladies talked me into getting massaged and maneuvered back into some semblance of normal.

Now that this long, rambling post is done, I'm off to write for the night's words, and, tomorrow, I'm meeting my writing group in Ames for fun, conversation, and critique. Woohoo!!

It's a Grumpy Monday

The new progressive bifocals are giving me a headache (but at least the nausea has passed). My wrist hurts, a lingering remnant from the surgery a couple of years ago that flares up whenever it's damp. Laura and I had an argument. I can't find my words for the book. I don't know what to make for supper and nothing sounds good. The house is a mess. And I just wanna go back to bed.

Not having a very good day

Spent pretty much all of yesterday driving to and from the Iowa City area, with a stop both directions in Dallas Center (about 8+ hours total drive time). Today, we're all kinda cranky. Just one of those things, I suppose, and I didn't even have any Diet Coke (I did, however, have a Sugar Free Sunkist Lemonade, but I really don't think that's the problem). Maybe it's the weather, I dunno. Just can't wait for today to be over and tomorrow to be a better one.

I've sorted down some fabric for future quilting projects. I've cooked lunch (and will soon cook supper) and I've taken a nap. That's pretty much all I've done all day. Sigh.

Cursing the brown elixir

Months and months ago, I cut out Diet Coke. I cut it partly to get off the caffeine and the caffeine-headache/caffeine-high spiral, partly because it's nutrient empty and chemical heavy, and, lastly, because if I start my day with Diet Coke, that'll be all I choose to drink all day, instead of water. Surely none of those things are good for me. But every once in a while - especially if we're having something spicy for supper - I'll let myself have one. Just one. Often I don't finish that one, so it's a treat.

Which is what happened yesterday with the ribs. Was my first Diet Coke in a week.

Since I've removed Diet Coke from the daily routine, I've noticed that when I do drink it, I'm cranky and/or depressed the next day, which makes me want it even less. But it does hit the spot, oh yes! Yummy stuff that Diet Coke. I've never craved chocolate or cake or any of those things women supposedly lust after, just the ol', evil DC.

Anyway, in an effort to combat the crankies I make myself drink a LOT of water, even more than usual, and it does help make the crankies a bit less so - and it helps to know that they're not me, they're the Diet Coke talking. So I *also* drank a LOT of water yesterday. But as evening approached, Laura and I decided to go to the movies and, well, we got popcorn and pop and candy and all that fun stuff since we hadn't been to the movies since Avatar's opening weekend and, well... I had a SECOND Diet Coke. A big 'un, since we got the popcorn/pop/candy combo thing.

And maaaaaaan, am I feeling it today. I didn't finish that Diet Coke at the theater - oooooooh, I wanted to, oh yes - and I did drink some water before going to bed, but I am one cranky, weepy, ticked off, self-flagellating bitch today.

Of all the things in the world to have a problem with, I have to pick Diet goddamn Coke.

I am so not witty today...

I had planned on posting something witty, funny, or insightful today - planned to do so as I stood in the shower under lovely hot water which is always the best time for me to think such things. Instead, after my shower I made Potato Leek Soup - which I totally screwed up by accidentally pouring in about half a cup of salt instead of a few sprinkles so the whole panful was wasted. Then we went to the Soup and Sip for lunch (thank you, Tanya, for staying open for us!!). Once we came back home, I rotated around laundry, then putzed around online awhile, still steaming over my ruined soup. Then, unable to muster the gumption for anything productive, I took a long nap.

So here I am, nothing accomplished for the day except washing two loads of laundry, making perfectly good soup inedible, and napping.

I'm ready to go back to bed.

Signs

Sign Sign everywhere a sign
Blocking out the scenery breaking my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?

Forty years ago, a group called the Five Man Electrical Band wrote this song (Bill hates it, I love it)

Lately, it seems like there are signs just for me and my current brain-dwell du'jour. I see connections in conversations, TV shows, blogs, emails, news articles, magazines... All over. Connections that say I need to suck it up and get it done already.

Now if I could only convince myself - and my timidity - to get to it.

Oh those pesky questions - Part 2: Pen names and things

Krista and Monica both asked about pen names. Here's where it gets touchy. I can bitch and complain about my childhood and mental problems and the Dubric books 'til the cows come home, but when it comes down to it I alone am responsible for my own happiness. I alone decide whether to write or not, publish or not, blog or not. So all the blame lands right here in my lap and that's okay.

Oh those pesky questions - Part 1: The future of Faldorrah

Here I try to be obtuse, yet inquiring minds want to know... ;)

We'll start with the Dubric books, but to do that we have to backtrack a little. Well, a lot. And this will get long and rambly. My apologies, but here we go.