Having a Day

Really, that has to be about the most useless bit of modern slang. By virtue of being on this planet as it rotates on its axis, you're having a day. Everyone else is having one too. Even the plants and bugs are having a day. And talk about a lazy bit of slang too. Now we can't even be bothered to describe the day we're having when asked. But I love this phrase still because it gives the drama queen in me a chance to take center stage and inject that extra bit required to make the phrase even remotely understandable. A heavy sigh. A super sarcastic, cheesy, ear-to-ear, painful smile. A 'round the world eye-roll. A perfectly executed, despairing downward droop to the chin and shoulders. It's a phrase I can own in any way I want depending on the mood I'm in and the reaction I want others to have. It's me being a writer in the flesh.

So I'm having a day, she said with a heavy sigh. A very heavy sigh. I need a nice, long nap, but we have a class about breastfeeding tonight, so I'm stuck at work later than usual since the hospital's only five minutes from here and twenty-five minutes from home. It means I can leave early tomorrow, but today is the day I'm having. Work's slowed down a decent amount this week, but they've had bugs up their butts here about at least looking like we're insanely busy, so I've been finding inventive ways to look productive while I sketch out ideas for SoD, plot other ideas, research child care providers, or simply stare into space. But today I wanted to go home, take that nap, and wake up with the energy I needed to dive into the writing that's damn near bursting to get out of me.

I've found myself thinking of crazy, yet consequence-free, ways of getting my hands on the equivalent of one year's salary so I can chuck the DDJ for about the length of time it's going to take Mark to finish up. Needless to say, the list is rather short on anything useful. Except wasting time until we have to go to that class, of course.

Days like this are really rough. I've got the ideas, I've got the determination, I've got the energy (well, I will once I take that nap), but I'm stuck at the DDJ with a limited ability to take advantage of anything. Days like these, it often frustrates me even more to do the few, paltry things I can about my writing without getting my ass fired. Especially because I know this intense drive to write will most likely not stick around until I can make use of it on Saturday. Don't get me wrong: I'll still make Saturday damn productive. But it's not going to be what writing at home for hours could've been like if I'd had the chance to do it today.

Plus, it'd be really nice to go home and put my feet up so I can see about reducing the god-awful swelling. I don't think my ankles have reached the frightening puffiness experienced in Chicago, but they're getting really, really close. Makes walking difficult. Makes sitting even with my feet slightly propped up difficult. And it's just really disgusting to look at. Once I'm at 37 weeks, Andrew and I are going to have nightly pow-wows about starting the whole labor & delivery process a bit earlier than the docs have me down for. September 15 sounds a whole lot better than October 3.

Cool Stuff for Drew and His Room

Andrew's going to be one very smartly dressed little guy. My in-laws have done it again, sending me a baby shower in a box--well, three boxes, really. They did this for a wedding shower three years ago. Seeing as I don't really have family up here, and my local friends are for the most part starving writers in their forties and beyond, a true "surprise her with a party" shower just hasn't been in the cards. So the Buffalo relatives all congregate somewhere over there, have a little party, wrap up gifts and make cards, and send everything my way.

This time, Mark was kept in the dark also, as the shower was also for him as the Daddy-to-be. So we had a good time last night, opening the gifts and taking pictures of our reactions to Andrew's loot with the disposable camera they sent. Now we just need to finish setting up the nursery so we can put all the cool new stuff away instead of stacking it in boxes in the closet. (If we left everything just sitting out in the nursery, Addy would cover the homemade quilts with cat hair because she loves to lounge on soft stuff, and Nosey would introduce the monkey stuffie to every corner of the apartment, most likely trying to be friendly.)

Drew's got lots of cute outfits for the first year, which shatters Mark's original notion of just having the boy wander around in the buff, or maybe only in a diaper. (But knowing both of his parents, Drew is probably going to do a lot of fleeing from our hands after a bath to run around nekkid.) We also got the complete crib bedding set, now we just need the crib to put it in. And Drew also snagged his first play gym as well as assorted toys, stuffies, and books. He will be a well-entertained baby.

So a nice, big, family thank you to the in-laws for thinking of Mark, Andrew, and me all the way out here in Colorado. We had a great time with the baby shower in the box, the handmade cards were all adorable, and we'll send pictures of the nursery as soon as it's looking a bit more functional to show you how we've put your generous gifts to use.

Potential Threshold Crossing--Or Maybe Just More Amateur Writer Nonsense

I'm still reeling. I had an excellent critique of the first 9 pages of Strings of Discord last night. A challenging critique, one that indicates I'm already moving to a new stage of development as a writer. And I'm absolutely freaked. Deer-in-headlights, am I ready for this, can I really do this, what the hell do I do now, freaked. And just to make things even more confusing, I'm also buzzing from the compliment to my writing.

It's made for a confusing evening and morning.

I guess I should explain. We had a new member at our critique group last night. After the group regulars all gave their feedback (three very enthusiastic thumbs up with only minor quibbles), he then took it to the next level. Basically, he said that what I had written was a stock epic fantasy beginning. Something that could be published if it landed on the right desk at the right time, but it wasn't going to turn any heads, and it would likely launch me, at best, into a mid-list career. Assuming I could find someone looking for stock epic fantasy. But I have a great hook for the entire series, which I already knew, and he wanted that played up a bit more in order to vault my book above the stock epic fantasy out there.

Here's why I'm freaking out.

In just nine pages of rough draft and a brief verbalized logline/synopsis of sorts, he not only saw my hook and was eager to read it, but he also indicated that I was capable of doing it well enough to talk about how I could transcend the genre. If only he were an editor. That's why I'm buzzing. It's also why I'm freaking. Because SoD has only been my little project for three years. Something I believed in and knew could go places. I knew it would be a good shot at a breakout novel. But now someone else knows that too. There's a pressure in that. A sense of "I can do this and do it big, but someone else in the biz knows it too and expects it now". Yipes.

The whole critique made me realize that it's time to move on to the next development stage as a writer. And I've been in this current one only since May, basically. I'm about to leave the comforting level of good, solid writing that has a decent chance of getting published but--if it does make it--it's not going to turn a whole lot of heads, it's going to go through a lot of rejection before it finds that magic combo of time/person to buy it, and it's going to launch a mid-list at best career. And there's really nothing wrong with that level. It would give me the chance to write for a living. It would get my stories in print. It would give me an audience. It would give me a chance to work up to other levels of writing and maybe eventually break out of mid-list. It would also be frustrating and long. It would make publishing that much more of a challenge.

This next level is the break-out level. That ability to take an idea and make it pop beyond what the genre is doing at the moment. This level makes the career I described above a definite possibility, but the least of what I would experience in publishing. This level makes it more likely that I would launch above a mid-list career. This level puts a helluva lot more pressure on me and this would-be career. Starting at this level means it becomes my baseline. That makes leaving the comfort of my current level really, really scary.

You know, this probably sounds like a lot of arrogant, self-indulgent bullshit. Maybe it is. Really, it was only one other writer's opinion, and, though he's been around the block with professional authors, he's still an unpublished writer. And I'm by no means an expert able to make the sort of predictions and career distinctions I just did with any sort of rationale other than my own observations and opinions and intuition. Regardless of whatever "level" I reach as I writer, I may never get published. I may only ever be a struggling mid-list author, never quite sure if my last round of sales was good enough to get me the next contract. I may write the 30 books or so that are in my head at the moment (this is the problem with epic series ideas), and they may only delight my family and friends. And that's OK, because I know I'll at least be doing what I love.

But if this critique is right, and my intuition is right, then I think I just crossed a threshold in to a world of amazing publishing responsibilities. Exciting, terrifying, and something I can't ignore.

Sneak Preview

I woke up Sunday at 5:30 feeling absolutely icky. Nausea, cramping, Braxton-Hicks, the works--hell, my bod even through in the potential of a bit of a fluid leak that may or may not have been amniotic (I never thought that would be something ambiguous, but circumstances can arise that make it so; trust me, you don't want the details). I shuffled around for an hour, trying various and sundry things to make me feel better. No dice. So I figured I'd call the after-hours care line and see what they suggested. Hauled my butt into the hospital for an unexpected, fully-functioning peek at the Labor & Delivery ward where Andrew's going to spend his first days.

The labor rooms are very large, gorgeous, and have amazing views of the front range. Private bathrooms with big tubs. Nice cabinets to conceal all that fun equipment they need for the actual birthing process. Somewhat comfortable couch for the exhausted father-to-be, rocking chair, radio/CD clock. TV. Really nifty.

We were there for about 2.5 hours, with me hooked up to a fetal monitor. They did the oh-so-fun cervix check and a quickie ultrasound. Andrew's fine, he knows what he's doing, and he seems to be keeping my cervix in line, too. My uterus just has that twitchiness whenever something goes remotely differently than what it's expecting. And absolutely no membrane rupture to be found.

So they sent me home. As happy as I am that Drew's healthy and not trying to arrive early, I'm really getting sick of these piddly, annoying things that keep adding up to give me worrisome symptoms that make the nurses drag my butt in for urgent checkups. They're not enough to warrant any sort of bed rest discussion, but it's just enough to make getting through 40 hours of work each week a chore, and then I have next to no energy for writing. I can feel my sanity fraying a little more with each unplanned trip to the doctor.

This Posting Lapse Brought to You By...

...the DDJ and More Fun With Braxton-Hicks. Our major client just finished up a three-day audit an hour ago. My life has been hell both last week and this week preparing and kowtowing to the auditors' every whim. I think we passed, so at least that should be some consolation. And the Braxton-Hicks I was experiencing last week developed the extra fun symptom of an interesting downward pressure on Monday. OB pulled my butt in ASAP again, and delighted me with the news that while the urinary tract infection has cleared out, the antibiotics used to treat it gave me a yeast infection that is making my uterus "irritable." I prefer "twitchy" because the twitchy uterus is making ME irritable. :) Hopefully once this latest infection clears up and the stress from the audit goes away, my uterus will be less irritable. More on the life lately this weekend when I have time to breathe again.

Partly Reassuring, Partly Depressing

I started the process of researching child care yesterday. Despite being prepared for sticker shock, it was still a strange feeling to be looking into something that costs more than our rent (for full-time care in a center with all the bells and whistles). After calling a lot of places (both centers and private, in-home care), I found some much more affordable prices. But da-yaamn.

With each phone call, I kept thinking, "Yeah, you sound nice and like a person who would take good care of my son. But, dammit, I want to take care of my son. It was a strange see-saw of reassurance and sadness. The thing I have to keep focusing on is that this is temporary. Mark will be done with his PhD within a year or so after Andrew's birth, which means I only have to work and put Drew in day care for no more than a year, year and a half max. And the scenario that seems most likely is that day care will only be necessary for six months.

But still…. For anyone who knew me in high school and undergrad, this probably sounds a wee bit strange. I was all gung-ho, working mother don't bother me a bit, I'm not going to put my career on hold, etc. Then I met Mark and realized what it was like to actually be in love and want to start a family with someone. And I saw more and more what it would be like to raise kids while both parents were in academic research, and I realized that I didn't want what I saw. I wanted to be at home with the kids, with a job that gave me something to do but that didn't absorb my life and keep me out of the house.

I know that I'll have that. I know that working away from home is only a temporary thing, and that Mark and I are going to do everything we can to minimize the time Andrew spends away from us. I also know that there are some women who have no choice but to put their child in daycare full-time for their entire lives. But I can already feel my heart clutching. I can already feel the tears welling up for that day when I have to put the child I haven't even met yet into someone else's arms and say, "Take care of him."

Packs a Punch

Last summer, my friend PJ introduced me to the classically trained string quartet that does a techno/rock/pop/classical fusion, Bond. I'm sure there's a better or at least more concise way of describing their music, but suffice to say it's awesome. I've been listening to a homemade mix of my faves on the way to and from work for the past month or so. The music is aboslutely great for thinking about my writing, especially SoD. In fact, there are two songs in particular that have scenes playing out everytime I listen. For a while, it was just one song, Oceanic from the Born album, that did this. It's become the theme for two of my main characters. And then last night I heard Explosive from their Classified album and darn near burst into tears. It hit me with such force that this song represents the finale of my seven-book Velorin saga. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking writing about it now. It's really nice to have music inspire and provide a soundtrack for your writing. Now, everytime I hear Oceanic and Explosive, I'll have images of what I'm writing towards, and how it's going to feel when I get there. Magic.

Have I mentioned lately how much I love writing? :)

"...an Interesting, If Somewhat Limited, Gene Pool."

I had hoped to get to this post much closer to the SciFi Friday premiere instead of the day before the "Part 2"s hit the tube tomorrow. But, alas, it was not meant to be. Here's the short of what I'm about to post: If you missed last Friday's premieres of SG-1, Atlantis, and Battlestar Gallactica, shame on you! :)

SG-1 was by far the best of the three, but I think it helps having started its ninth season. Still, it was pretty amazing that three, count 'em, three brand-spankin' new characters (with the possible exception of Claudia Black's who appeared in one episode last season) could just basically fall right into an established show without losing any of the amazing story and chemistry that had been there before. And the writers are just having a field day. Hopefully that will continue with bringing Teal'c, Carter, and O'Neil's stories up to date, as we didn't get into them too much in the premiere. I'm especially hopeful that some of the new paths the show is forging will make the Jaffa storylines more interesting. I have no idea what I didn't like about them before, but I always shrugged and found myself multitasking during those episodes.

And watching Daniel and the two Farscape kids interact is going to be great. I'm still on the fence about Ben Whazisname's character, but I think that's mainly it's way too much fun watching Daniel and Claudia Black's character (I'll get the new char names down eventually) to notice what the other folks are doing sometimes. And Beau Bridges plays such a great blend of Hammond's professionalism and O'Neil's relaxed goofiness. Excellent actor pick, excellent character building. And they even made me interested in watching something that had to do with Arthurian legend, which is a hell of an accomplishment as the only Arthur story I enjoy is Monty Python's version because it makes fun of the whole mess of medieval tripe. (Really, I wish I knew why I get so annoyed with the Arthur stuff. Something about it just bugs me.) Now I just have to wait patiently to see where they're going on the enemy front this year. My money's on that mysterious fourth race that was mentioned alongside the Nox, the Ancients, and the Asgard way back in season 1 or 2. And I wouldn't have come up with that if they hadn't mentioned the race again last season in that great episode featuring Dan Castelleneta. (C'mon, is the Season 8 DVD out yet or what?? :))

Atlantis is still in that shaky first couple of seasons ground, hitting just enough of the good spots to make you stick around, but overall leaving you a little confused or disappointed or unsure of whether you're going to want to stick around for a whole lot longer. Having Skinner as their interstellar backup is a neat addition, and I think they need to do some more with the allies thing this year. Because they set up one hell of an enemy in the Wraith and really wrote themselves into a "we can't get out of this on our own" corner. And that's very tedious to watch as it makes you wonder why you spent a season getting to know the characters if they're hopelessly outmatched until the cavalry shows up just in time all the time. I mean, wouldn't you rather take the time to get to know the cavalry? I'm still on the fence about the whole Aidan Ford thing. Could be a change for the sake of change, could be a good storyline. I'll have to see what shakes loose. The best part of Atlantis in the premiere was the Asgard they've got on the Daedalus. Not the best sign, but again, not one to make you go running away from the show. Damn that just-starting-out limbo.

And then there's Battlestar Gallactica, which I will watch regardless of the storylines as long as they keep the same actors for Apollo and Helo. Hey, I'm allowed to have my girlie moments. The only thing that will keep me from watching this show is if they spend more time on medical procedures. It's really, really, really jarring to watch all this cool futuristic technology and then the next scene will show you the same medicine we've got today. I have a faith in humanity that, if we can figure out faster than light technology, then we can figure out how to cure breast cancer or fix a bum knee without months of prolonged pain and recuperation. At the very least, I would love an explanation as to why such an advanced society is stuck in 21st century medicine (and not really even then because we're getting close to doing more cool things with artificial limbs, cloning, genomic sequences, etc). But I've ranted on this before. And Battlestar Gallactica has such a curious blend of SF and fantasy elements, that I'm usually pretty riveted.

So that's my take on SciFi Friday. By the way, the title of this post comes from SG-1 and had me rolling. I like it when writers have fun with their work.

The Half-Blood Writer

I finished Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince last night. Excellent, excellent read. None of that Angsty Harry we had to suffer through last book. A refreshing lack of overly used adverbs and "Snape sneered"s. Hell, Harry even came across as a competent, dare I say even confident, wizard. I don't know how much of all this is my evolution as a reader and writer myself or improvement (whether intentional or unintentional) of Rowling's writing. Probably both on some level.

And, I'm very happy to report, I was right about the direction of Harry's love life. There were a few hints in Order of the Phoenix, and I caught them and guessed accurately. Of course, I was totally wrong on who the Half-blood Prince is, but can't get 'em all. The story was very engaging, well-crafted, and smart. That is to say that the kids actually talked to the adults about things and we still had a story, which wouldn't have happened in some of the earlier books.

I'm definitely looking forward to Book 7, although it seems like we got a wealth of info in Book 6 that might prevent things from being finished in just one more book, but that could just be the epic fantasy writer in me talking. That was actually the hardest thing about reading this book: I had to go to work the next day instead of diving into my own epic seven-book saga. Some writers get discouraged after reading a phenomenal work, thinking that their work stinks, that they'll never finish, that they'll never have that talent/success/whatever. I get inspired. I think, "I know I can do this too." And I want to start proving it. Immediately. Makes the reality of being trapped in a crummy job to pay the bills all the more frustrating to deal with. (Translation: After finishing Book 6 last night, I sobbed because I had to go back to work; then that of course snowballed into my sobbing even longer because--barring our miracles--I have to work potentially even only 6 weeks after giving birth to Andrew.)

So go read this great book, and then let it inspire you.

One Dream Down, Two More to Go

I didn't win the American Icon grand prize. Didn't win any prize. But I had a lot of fun--even despite the fact that the thing lasted four and a half hours instead of the two to three I was expecting. And, of course, it was educational, which was probably the biggest reason I went. Gotta learn new things in this craft, always. Not just to stay fresh, but that's part of my passion for writing: the idea that you're never done learning.

The winners were actually people who didn't really introduce their characters or the novel's premise really, but gave humorous anecdotes or intense action sequences. That was the most interesting thing to me. The judges all told me that they were most definitely intrigued and wanted to read more. And I'm thinking, "Sweet! I just did what I'm supposed to do when pitching to an editor!" But I didn't even get one of the fun, gimmicky awards. I think it has to do with the nature of reading something aloud vs. the editor reading from a sheet of paper. The winners may have changed if it wasn't a reading aloud contest.

And I discovered how difficult it is to breathe while nervous, pregnant, and undergoing Braxton-Hicks contractions. I had planned to look up at the audience and the judges while reading, but all my energy was focused on clearly reading while getting the oxygen I needed into my system. That was fun.

The really great thing about this was almost all of the readers were excellent readers, so every reading had its own level of entertainment. And there wasn't really any bad writing in the bunch. Good craft all around. There was no wincing to be had, although when the judges praised something I couldn't stand about a piece, I did gag a little. But, tomayto, tomahto.

All in all, it was a good night, and I spent it with good company from my local critique group. We traveled the farthest to get there, and we even didn't get snarled up in rush hour traffic. Well, not enough to make us late, anyway. I do highly recommend the experience if a similar opportunity presents itself to any of my writing readers out there. Definitely a good learning experience, if nothing else.

So that was the dream I was chasing down to let me stay at home after Andrew's born. Didn't get it. Now it's up to Mark's poker skills and his fruit flies.

No, NOW We're Having Fun

OK, so my uterus has been rock hard since Tuesday. I knew it was Braxton-Hicks contractions, and I'm supposed to lay down once something like that starts happening and see about timing the contractions. Hard to do when you're swamped at work. Since I wasn't feeling any pain associated with the contractions and had none of the other potential warning signs of preterm labor, I didn't call my OB.

Then I started having some serious lower back pain yesterday. Time to call the OB, and, of course, they hauled my butt in for observations ASAP. Hooked me up to a monitor that measured my contractions for a good hour and a half, checked out my cervix a couple of times. (Thus begins my campaign to get used to everyone sticking their faces and fingers where they ordinarily don't belong. I've seen "A Baby Story" on TLC. I know that delivery is going to mean at least three people staring intently at my nether region.) While I was certainly having rather frequent Braxton-Hicks contraction, nothing was happening in the whole birth canal area, and Andrew certainly wasn't reacting as if my bod was getting ready to push him out.

BUT, and here's why we're having fun, it turns out that I have a UTI. Which means I now have to mix meds. Two anti-virals five times a day, one anti-biotic twice a day. Nothing should be affecting Drew adversely, or so they tell me. It's just so strange to be on so many meds at once while pregnant. I can't remember the last time I was on two different meds before I was pregnant. It's been a while.

On top of all the crazy pregnancy stuff, I have to juggle a couple of things for tonight. A couple of weeks ago, I thought I would be spending tonight at home, watching all the cool SciFi premieres and getting lost in SF television bliss. Then the American Icon thing hit, and I decided to do that (the rides and timetables got finalized about an hour ago, by the way). And since we'll be back in town around 11 or so, we're going to make a night of it and crash the Harry Potter party at the local Borders and pick up our reserved copies. It's a good thing that we had to cancel our trip down to Denver to get Mark's telescope fixed and meet up with friends for dinner tomorrow. I'm gonna need my sleep.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

Just in case the Neverending Root Canal Saga and the car accident weren't enough (not to mention my dizziness resurfacing to make life interesting every now and then), I found out this morning that the strange rash I developed last week is shingles. Anyone still need to catch chicken pox? I'm your gal. About the only good thing to come out of this is that Andrew will be immune to chicken pox. Supposedly. We'll still test it out at an appropriate time in the future, of course. And now I have to take 2 anti-viral pills FIVE TIMES a day for the next week. And go back in for yet another non-routine check-up next week to make sure the shingles are going away and responding to the meds.

At least this explains why I have been a tad more tired than usual lately. Funny how something like fighting off a viral infection will poop you out. I still managed to write a whole bunch this week (see new and improved word count for SoD). So that was good. And at least the shingles don't itch too much, though they don't feel very comfortable either.

Home Makeover

We cleaned out a couple closets, shuffled some furniture around, and freed up space for Andrew's crib and other assorted nursery furniture. Of course, we don't have said furniture as yet, but it's good to know we have the space for it. The one unfortunate consequence of all the reorganization was having to put this computer, our on-line computer shoved up in the corner of our bedroom right next to my side of the bed. Doesn't look all that grand, but it fits, it allows Mark to play his poker on-line whenever he wants without having to time it around Andrew's naps, and did I mention it freed up a lot of space in the study/nursery? Sigh. We'll get used to it. Afterall, it's still a lot better than the strange partitioning and furniture arrangements we had in the studio we first lived in together. Of course, I'm just eager to start filling all that great space we freed up with Drew's things. It's sort of the last domino to fall in realizing that, yes, I really will be a mother with a newborn in a few short months.

Book Meme *Grumble*

I thought I was going to avoid getting officially tagged by the dreaded book meme that's been running rampant throughout all of blogdom. Alas, Joel was kind enough to end that hope. :) I tend to bow out of most of the memes I see as they are either very long or very repetitive or make me come up with numbers and such that I just don't want to do, as is the case with this one. But here goes anyway...

1. How many books do you own?
I honestly have no idea. Somewhere on the order of 200 or 300. It would be more, but I didn't read too much growing up unless it was school-related (translation: I didn't read anywhere near as much as I do now), and the books I did read have long since found there way into garage sales, boxes in my mother's garage, or used book stores. I guess it's rather impressive that the 200 or 300 books I do have are the result of only two or three years worth of buying and collecting. Does not bode well for bookshelf space in the future.

2. What was the last book you read?
Just finished Holly Lisle's Last Girl Dancing this morning. Good, quick read. A book you can read while you're sloggin your way through a larger tome, like I am. I did enjoy it, even more so because I figured out the whodunnit pretty darn early. Been a while since I beat the MCs to the solution by a good twenty pages or more. Nice to feel smart while my brain is finding new ways to blonde out on me during pregnancy.

3. What was the last book you purchased?
Also Last Girl Dancing. The next book will be Harry Potter. The book before LGD was MJ Rose's The Halo Effect, read that one during my trip out to Chicago in airports and planes.

4. Name five books that mean a lot to you.
To Kill a Mockinbird by Harper Lee--came face to face with my first real, live bigot in my ninth-grade english class because of that one, taught me a lot.
The Ruins of Ambrai by Melanie Rawn--my first fantasy read, during my first summer on my own after college, completely pulled me into that world.
StarDoc by S.L. Viehl--my first SF series that I started and completed, with the possible exception of L'Engle's Wrinkle in Time books (can't remember if I finished those); those books taught me a lot about what SF could be and how I wanted to write it.
The Cell and Virology--academic books by various professors whose names I'll never remember even while staring at the books, talk about unlocking the cool and mysterious present in and around us every single day (yes, I'm a geek)
The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron--I highly recommend this book for anyone struggling with creativity, it's amazing and really helps you reconnect with what's important to you.

5. Tag 5 more people.
Seeing as how I'm probably one of the very last bloggers to do this, I'm not going to bother. I'm pretty sure that all the blogs I read have already done this one, and I'm the sort of person to stop chain letters because I don't want to bother anyone else. :)

Seriously, the meme has been in my mind for a while, making me think about all the books I've read and how I organize and handle the ones on my self, etc. Good stuff for an aspiring author to ponder now and again.

Flashback

This morning, very groggy, I turned on the live coverage of the Tour de France. The very first thing out of Al Trautwig's mouth was something about our hearts being with everyone in London. All of a sudden, I felt like it was the morning of September 11, 2001 all over again. That morning, my hand paused in slapping the snooze button when the DJ said something about the traffic being OK despite the airport being closed. I thought it was strange that the airport would be closed, hit snooze so Mark could catch a few more Z's, and went to the TV to investigate. And that was when I saw the Towers. This morning, I immediately switched from OLN to NBC just to see Bush's somber face denouncing terror. Switched to CNN to finally get the lowdown on what had happened.

It's strange coming into news like this when things are just old enough that they aren't repeating frequently the basics of what happened, but just new enough that they don't have a whole lot in the way of details. Gives you the feeling of being very, very lost. You're watching a tragedy unfold, you have no idea what it is really, why it happened, and you just can't seem to connect with it in any logical way that let's you move on for even a few seconds to get the day going.

Are the London bombings a sign that the war on terror is working or failing? Will we ever figure out what our yardstick is for this thing?

These Dreams

There are a few long-shot possibilities that would allow me to not have to work after Drew is born. And I do mean long-shot. On a whim, I decided to write down those possibilities. It's one of those visualization things. You know, one of those 'if you build it he will come' kind of things. (By the way, I despise that movie; not as much as It's a Wonderful Life, but damn close.) Our chances at living the dream of stay-at-home motherhood are as follows:

1. I get a publishing contract
2. Mark wins a poker tournament
3. Mark's research moves flawlessly and quickly toward a super finish and he gets a scientist position before the end of the year

We actually have the least control over the last one, if you can believe it. Mark's doing everything he can and more to get his thesis project to the finish line. Now it's just a matter of things going the way they're supposed to in test tubes. And I know all too well how fickle science can be.

While I don't have anything near ready to send out for an agent or publication, I will try my luck at an "American Idol" spoof that a local writers org is putting together. Three minutes of reading aloud followed by Simon-esque critiques from a panel of experienced/in-the-buisness judges. Grand prize gets a special look at their work by Donald Maass. Not a publishing guarantee, and even a publishing contract would have to be at least a $15,000 advance (possible, if it comes in the form of a 3-book contract at the rate of $5,000 per book--a plausible scenario for a first time author with a series to pitch) in order to give us the dream. But the only risk to me is the $15 entry fee and a possibly bruised ego depending on what the judges say. These are not new risks, and it's not like I'm going to have to spend gobs of time writing something or preparing something. Just got to polish a scene from SoD, practice reading it aloud, and steel myself for an unknown reaction.

Mark had been planning to start looking into the actual gambling websites now that he's done very well and learned a ton with the free poker sites and the local gambling town. He's very savvy with money and knows exactly what he can afford to risk without affecting Drew's savings, the rent, and the bills. And if not having movie money for a month means that Mark can win a big pot and let me stay at home and raise our son, I say bring on the evenings at home!

Of course, if there's a benefactor out there looking to off-load a big chunk of change, we certainly wouldn't be adverse to that either. Just be sure to put "Drew's Parenting Fund" in the subject of the email so I don't delete you as a spammer. Or perhaps "Drew's Daddy Warbucks" would be a more appropriate subject? I'll be checking my email every hour for those generous donations, oh wealthy philanthropist. :)

My Son the Altimeter

Andrew knows his elevations. When we went up to Blackhawk (Elevation 8056 ft) a couple of weeks ago, Drew slowed his kicks and punches to the 10 movements in 2-4 hours the pregnancy books tell you is normal. A few days after we returned, he resumed his usual 10 movements in 5 minutes that is his normal.

So I guess I should've expected that going to Chicago this weekend (Elevation 500 ft) would slow Drew down too. This time, his normal activity came back within hours after we landed in Denver (Elevation Mile High, give or take). Unfortunately, his decrease in movement meant that my mother wasn't able to feel a whole lot of kickin'. She'll just have to settle for seeing Drew kick those legs when he's finally free of my holding pen.

On a related note, I've discovered the joys of swollen ankles. They looked particularly disgusting this weekend as too much activity and a lower elevation through my body out of whack. Now is the time of evenings spent with my feet propped up. I'm very happy I have a laptop.

Happy Independence Day!

I'm heading out for a big family reunion in Chicago. It'll be hot, humid, and I'll be six and a half months pregnant. And there was much rejoicing.

Seriously, we're gathering to celebrate my grandparents' 50th Anniversary. I'm carrying their first great-grandchild and my aunt is carrying their eleventh grandchild. There will lots of belly-patting. This will also be the first time I've seen my brother since he came back from Iraq in April. All in all, it's shaping up to be an awesome weekend.

So be safe whether you're traveling or partying at home. Let's remember the positives of the holiday and see if that can get us to learn a few things about how to make our country's present and future better.

Writing Again

I think I managed to write a grand total of 1000 words during the months of February, March, April, and May. That is, 1000 new words in an actual draft of a novel or story. I did do a decent amount of pre-writing/worldbuilding for the on-line writing course I'm doing at Forward Motion. And we started writing the draft this month, so now I'm writing on a regular basis again. Unfortunately, right now I only have the time and energy to focus on Strings of Discord (note the new title, with a still unfortunate abbreviation of SoD), so I've had to put The Masque on hold for a bit. If I do work on another project while writing SoD, it will be Princess Incubus if only to finish a short story and see about entering it into a couple of contests.

SoD is going pretty darn well. The course has really allowed me to find a way to do a decent amount of plotting and such before I start writing without suffocating the organic writer in me. Before this book, I would sketch out some vague ideas of plot, characters, and world, and then I would just start writing and see where everything went, trusting that all the information I thought of for the book would be in my head whenever I needed it during the draft creation. A very difficult way to write, not efficient, and showed me some very, very nasty first drafts. Now I've found a way to document my ideas better, get Muse cranking out a few more details to keep me from wandering around for 20,000 words before I know where it is the book needs to go, and just in general keep me coherent and focused on the story at hand. But I still don't know too much about the story to make it boring to write. In short, I've found a way to be an organic writer with enough of the trappings of pre-planning and such to make me more efficient and (hopefully) more effective. Very exciting.

Plus, SoD has just been fun to work with. After three years of waiting for this story idea to shake loose from the death grip Muse had on it, I've got lots of information on this universe and series. Feels very good. Starting the book has been a bit rough, mainly because this is the first book in a seven-book series (I think), and I'm trying to lay a LOT of foundation without being overwhelming. But it's amazing to have such a clear sense of direction.

As for The Masque, part of the reason I decided to put it on hold for a bit is so I can go back and work with this project using what I learned from the writing course I'm taking. It's just a matter of difficult timing that I'll have to keep it on the backburner for a while. Once I get SoD really moving, I'll probably start finding ways to work in some worldbuilding and such for The Masque. It would be nice to get right back into writing that book as soon as I have a draft of SoD completed (the course is designed to give us about a year of draft creation).

And as for Human Dignity, I have finally decided to shelve it and let it revert to a fond place in my memory as a great first book that I learned a lot from. I know I could make it a saleable novel, but it would take a decent amount of energy and time that I certainly don't have now, and would rather put toward my current projects anyway. Maybe I'll revisit it a few years from now. But it needs to retire to a place of honor for the moment.

So that's the latest on my writing. I'll update the SoD wordcount every week, and I hope to get between 2000 to 3000 words a week, if not better for a while. My writing time will most likely take a marked hit come mid-September, and I want to have some nice padding built up so that I won't be struggling to make up missed words once things settle from uber insane to very insane after Andrew arrives.

Fodder for the Page

There are times when I wish I had a flashing neon sign or sign crawl over my head that went something like, " WARNING: I am a writer. Anything you do and say can and will be used in works of fiction." This should be played as part of my phone message, too. If nothing else, the number of stupid things I have to witness might diminish. Slightly.

For several weeks, every Wednesday evening, our phone would ring, I would answer (I generally answer the phone, Mark being more toward the shy side of these sorts of things), and the caller would immediately hang up. It was a strange pattern, one that really piqued my curiosity. So I had Mark answer the phone a couple Wednesdays ago instead. Sure enough, a woman asked for the man who had our number previously (two YEARS previously, mind you), Mark did the basic "wrong number" thing, and we have not had the mysterious hang-up caller since. I'm thinking old flame, ex-lover looking to reunite, something. The writer mind is furiously coming up with ideas for this repeat caller's actions. Of course, it could all be coincidence, but you just don't DO things like that around a writer. We go nuts with this stuff.

Similarly, I was at the OB's office again for yet another ugent, unplanned appointment (dizziness and really, really bad faint spells that seem to be the worst first thing in the morning at work--nothing wrong with me according to bloodwork, urinalysis, blood pressure, etc, just likely pregnancy's fun increase of fluid in the body is exacerbating my previously annoying dizziness issues), and the OB (not my new one, but a different one) kept checking herself out in the mirror on the back of the exam room's door while chatting with me. Of course, this gets me looking at this chick's appearance, thinking about her morning pampering routine, if she's always catching glimpses in mirrors, what others around her have noticed. In short, I'm trying to piece together a psychological profile.

You gotta be careful what you do and say around writers. We're always considering new material, and it could be you. :)

Comments Changed

I was getting some feedback that my Haloscan commenting service wasn't playing nice with all of my many commenters. So I switched to Blogger's commenting feature. This means all the witty things ya'll said in that past have gone down the cybernetic drain. Sorry, but enjoy the new feature.

A Note on Rhetoric

Here's a good rule of thumb: In today's society, using inflammatory rhetoric--such as comparing Gitmo to a gulag or a concentration camp--will get you a soundbite, but it will also detract from your point. It's unfortunate because everyone's discussing the way you said something, not what you said. Instead of debating what's happening at Gitmo and whether or not it's appropriate for any prisoner detention area, let alone one run by a democracy, we're flinging more blame and insults and indignation back and forth about bringing up the Nazis. There's a reason Godwin's Law came about. It's because you end up debating how the comparison is or is not apt, instead of the substance of the debate. What a waste of time, and what a disservice to the real issue at hand.

By the way, stories like Durbin's speech and the way they're reported do more to confirm my opinion that the media is neither liberal nor conservative but sensationalist. Before long, all the newspapers will be tabloids.

Who Says SF is Dying?

The Onion shows us a glimpse of the future.

More Pregnancy Fun

I learned over the weekend that a buffet is a beautiful thing to a pregnant woman. We went to our local gambling town, Blackhawk, this weekend to see what we could make of the last of our tax refund money (broke even). And I discovered the joys of the buffet. Andrew rather enjoyed himself as well. Never have I experienced so many "me wantee" reactions in one small area. The best part, of course, was that I could fulfill the "me wantee" to my heart's and stomach's content. And I did. Mark took a quick break from his poker table to share some of the meal with me. Then he left and I went back for fifths, sixths, sevenths, etc. :) At first it was all the meat that amazed me. By the time I had eaten prime rib, salmon, pork tenderloin, ribs, and crab legs, I realized that I should probably fit some veggies in somewhere. So I loaded up a plate with a salad and some sauteed green beans. Delish. I finally slowed down just in time for dessert, sadly. So I only had half a slice of a Death-by-Chocolate sort of concoction. And then two hours later I wolfed down a serving of chili cheese fries.

Andrew was one happy fetus Saturday evening. No wonder he's been pissy today--all he got was some piddly sandwich for lunch.

Pregnancy Irony

I should've thought about this earlier in the pregnancy. I mean, it really is par for the course. For the first time in my life, I have a decent amount of, shall we say, "substance" to my upper torso region. Unfortunately, I also have quite a bit of substance in my lower torso region at the same time. So my newfound assests are quite effectively even more dwarfed than they had been previously. From what I hear, these assets will, um, "hang around" a bit after delivery, thus hopefully giving me a chance to make the most of the temporary enhancement. Nothing too crazy--just certain tops and dresses look ridiculous at my normal size and don't with my natural improvements.

Hey, sometimes it's the small--or rather not as small as before--things that get you through a boring day at the DDJ.

Happy Birthday to ME!! :)

Yay, I'm 27 today. Sounds older than I feel, especially because for the most part during the pregnancy, I've felt so young, like I can't possibly be ready for a kid. Baby the Second should be around before I hit 30 or shortly thereafter, which is exactly the time frame I always wanted for having kids. But man, it still seems way too young mentally. Physically it actually seems a little old. This is confusing!

My birthday gift? The DDJ is struggling. I may be looking at another layoff. And I do consider this a gift--as long as they wait until at least Sept 15th before they give me the axe. Then I'll have five to six months of unemployment benefits with which to not only find a better job but to spend as much time with Andrew as possible! And the money might not be as tight as you would think because as long as the unemployment lasts is as long as we don't have to mess with daycare costs. But we're a few months from knowing if things are as dire as layoffs. Really feels weird to be rooting for unemployment again. Knowing my luck, though, they'll keep me and fire everyone else so my workload goes from the two jobs it is now to four. *sigh*

Scraped the Surface, the Movies Did

(I guess I better warn Jaquandor that he might want to skip this post as I give a mixed review of a Star Wars movie. So Jaquandor, you've been warned. :) Also, there's some spoilers, but seeing as how we're weeks away from the premiere, I don't know why I mention it.)

I saw Revenge of the Sith a week and a half ago, and I think finally the impressions and thoughts and such have simmered enough to let me post coherently and completely on the experience of the prequel trilogy, or whatever the hell it should be called. First of all, I do want to congratulate Lucas for answering the big questions: How did Anakin get to be Vader? How did the Emperor gain his power? How did the Jedi fall to the state we saw them in the original trilogy? Those are good questions and we got capable answers. Sadly, though, I realized as I watched Sith end that we only got answers that scraped the surface. We could've had more. We could've had another trilogy that does more than just entertain and look pretty. There was a promise of that in Phantom, and tantalizing glimpses in Sith, but Lucas dropped the ball where he so gloriously ran with it in the original trilogy. They're fun, beautiful movies that set out to tell us something and told us that something, and I'll buy the boxed set when it comes out. But I'll never be able to treasure these movies as I did the original trilogy, though I see many ways in which it would've been possible for the prequels to have been the treasures that the original trilogy is.

What do I mean by that? Well, I do want to make it clear that my opinion of the movies stems mainly from my writer's mind, and how I look at the construction of stories and characters. I don't know if that's a "fair" thing to do to any movie, but it's my frame of reference all the same. I had similar issues with The Chronicles of Riddick regarding how we were deprived of some fascinating worldbuilding and characterization in favor of stunning action sequences. Worldbuilding has never been and never will be difficult for any Lucas film. He always does an amazing job of showing us diverse worlds and creatures and making everything fit into the worlds he creates. He balances the showing and the telling so we believe that these worlds exist somewhere and life happens in the complex ways it happens for us. But characterization has been a huge issue throughout the prequels, and it is what's kept me from embracing these movies as I did the original trilogy.

Take Anakin. He's the focus of the prequels, and we've got to believe that he can go from a good kid in good hands to an evil man in evil hands. We've got to see that journey. And we've got to be cheering for him to stay good and wanting him to not become evil, even though we know he has to. Phantom did an excellent job of starting us on Anakin's journey. Attack then proceeded to do nothing to enhance or even advance his journey, unless somehow showing a whining brat of a teenager not getting his way and snapping when his mother dies qualifies. I didn't believe a thing about Anakin in Attack. He had no depth. He was a stereotypical brat. His destruction of the sand people seemed more like an escalated temper tantrum that happened to be convenient than vengeance for the death of his mother. And Padme wasn't someone he loved so much as an object he wanted to possess, most likely because someone had told him he couldn't have her. It was like he was already Darth Vader and the good Anakin had vanished in puberty.

And then we have his arc in Sith, which starts out OK. He's obviously conflicted with very good reason. He's got people he respects telling him different things and expecting everything and nothing from him at once. He's afraid for the safety of his pregnant wife and wants to do anything to protect her because he failed his mother after he had similar fears. I'm with him in this movie, believing that struggle, and thankfully forgetting about the shallowness of Attack. Everything's going along fairly well until Mace Windu goes to arrest the Emperor. Anakin, in a rough spot, tries to stop the battle between the Jedi and the Sith Lord so the Emperor can be arrested and the Jedi don't have treasonous taint on their hands, and ends up helping Mace to his death. Anakin staggers, says, "What have I done?" and I'm prepared for a battle of wits and perhaps light sabers as Anakin attempts to haul Palpatine to prison. Instead, ten seconds later, Anakin is on his knees, pledging his allegiance to the Sith.

WHAT?!?!?!?!?

But then he has to go kill him some Jedi, per Palpatine's orders. OK, I'm ready to forgive this brief (but humongous) dodging of character conflict and tension and watch it build again as he storms off to the temple. When he goes into the room with the younglings, I'm bracing for something truly amazing--yet tastefully done--to show Anakin's struggle. But all we get is two seconds of his face and two more of his light saber going on and then we're done. I understand not wanting to show the slaughter of children, but I don't understand the further dodging of revealing just how tortured Anakin is at that moment. Unless he's not supposed to be tortured anymore, that the weight of his good side was gone as soon as he pledged his allegiance. And I can't buy that. In a series of three movies that, as I understood it, were primarily supposed to show us how someone like Anakin could become someone like Darth Vader, dodging Anakin's character conflict seems a huge flaw. But I could've had improper expectations for the prequels. Perhaps they were just supposed to show us the mechanics of getting from point A to point B without really delving into the characters all that much.

Brief side note: When the hell did Padme go from butt-kicking Queen to whimpy, whiny, I-can't-do-anything-without-Anakin Senator? Because even though she had the poor sense to fall in love with an angsty, brat of a boy in Attack, she still ran off--of her own choice--to kick some serious ass at the end of the movie. Then all of a sudden she's pregnant and needs a man to so much as blink in Sith. WTF? We have a nice moment where she's in the Senate and we get to see some of her strength and wit with her line "So this is how liberty dies, to thunderous applause." Then she's right back to barefoot and pregnant and bed-ridden, apparantly, pining for Anakin. She shows no frustration or anger toward Anakin, which is what I would've expected, given her previous performances. She exhibits some backbone as she goes chasing after Anakin at the end of the movie, but then gives some mewling speech until Anakin quite understandably tries to shut up her whining by doing the Vader choke thing. I was actually cheering for him at that point, even if it meant killing Luke and Leia along with her.

I also had problems with the stakes of Sith, especially the final two battles. They're set up in a "who's going to survive" fashion when we bloody well know who's going to survive from the beginning. This might be where a movie just can't do what a book does. I dunno. All I do know is that I found the battles extremely anti-climactic because nothing was at stake. Absolutely nothing. That's the challenge with any prequel: surprising the reader/viewer by revealing that something they assumed from the previous material was actually wrong. MacDonald and Doyle do an excellent job of this in The Gathering Flame of their Mageworlds series. We know what has to happen by the end of the book, and we think we know how they get to that point, but boy-oh-boy are we wrong. All because we were allowed to assume something in the preceding three books that we learned was wrong. We had a hint of that with the midichlorions creating Anakin, and then learning that the Sith had the power to do such a thing in this last movie. Man, did I want to spend some more time with that little plot thread. Talk about playing with some stakes and characters and conflict. To think that Palpatine may have actually created Anakin? Whoa, that's something we weren't expecting. But it gets toyed with and abandoned, though not as quickly as the "crap, we have to mention how we can do that glowy after-we're-dead communicaton before the movie ends" line that Yoda says. That would've been another interesting thing to delve into and shake up what we thought we knew from the original trilogy.

The prequels are fun to watch and definitely beautiful, but they don't have that same transcendant quality that the original trilogy has. Which is really too bad--and kind of annoying. Especially because now I'll have to write what I think should've been seen in those movies in some fashion in a book of my own. Damn you, Lucas! I already have too many book ideas cluttering up my noggin! The one thing Lucas did absolutely right was the ending sequence beginning with Vader's first breath (though I would quibble with how he goes with the easier "your anger killed her, Vader" instead of the much more staggering "her death was caused by you trying to stop her death"). As we heard the music and saw the double-sunset on Tatooine, I was tearing up and praying that Lucas was smart enough to realize that the movie had to end right then. Thankfully he was, otherwise I would've had to have made a quick trip to California to beat him over the head with my boxed set of the original trilogy.

Writers & Ideas

Neil Gaiman recently posted an essay about the dreaded question writers get asked frequently: Where do you get your ideas? I don't find this question all that annoying--or at least not yet. Mainly because each one of my ideas has a bit of a fun story behind how it came to be something I wanted to write.

Human Dignity: Ethics class run amok, and I mean amok.

The Masque: Writing exercise supposed to get you thinking about the masks your character wears and what your character might do with a mask's annonymity; I chose to write about what a Masque Ball might look like in the future, and on Mars. Then other story ideas generated by a line of dialog and watching SG-1 sparked the rest of the Masque Universe.

Princess Incubus: Someone at a con read a story from the POV of a succubus's victim. I spent the entire time wondering what the story would sound like from the succubus's POV. Decided to write it.

Strings of Betrayal: While driving between Grand Teton and Yellowstone, I happened to look into a glade that was bordered by aspen and pine trees. I saw a vision of a ephemeral creature stand in front of the aspens and vanish into the darkness of the pines. I knew there was a story there, and I've spent the past three years hunting it down.

I love sharing these stories of how my ideas came to me. Mainly because then I get to relive those moments of discovery, those instances of "Wow, that's something I've GOT to write" or "There's something cool going on here, and I'm going to find out what". That first spark is amazing, and I don't think I'll ever reach the point where I won't be willing to share the story of how I got a particular idea. But if someone just wants a general idea of where all my ideas come from, I'd have to make some vague gesture to the world and my head. I don't get all my ideas from one central source, nor do they come at me in the same way. And I don't think I've ever expected I would for anything, not science, not singing, not writing, you name it. If I ever had to rely on one source for inspiration and motivation, yick. So I guess my advice to writers when faced with this question is to first ask, "Do you mean in general or for one story in particular?" Get the person asking to think about it a bit.

Carefully Energized

For the past month, I've been sleeping better and eating better in the mornings. I've had energy to spend toward other ends beyond just getting through 40 hours of work every week. I've been using most of this energy to get Strings of Betrayal (really need to change that title) back up to speed with the on-line writing course. And get back in touch with family and friends that never heard from me while I spent a lot of time sleeping or hugging a bucket.

So I was a bit concerned when I started to have some mildly odd symptoms on Monday. Severe dizziness accompanied with mild headaches and nausea, a yellow haze to my vision, some minor swelling, and the realization that I have gained twenty pounds in ten weeks (versus the ten pounds that is recommended). I don't mind the extra weight. I expected to gain weight these nine months, and I expected my bod would gain whatever weight it needed for this little boy growing inside me. But the additive effect of these symptoms raised preeclampsia concerns. I don't have any of the more serious, red-flag-raising symptoms, and everything I'm dealing with (only occassionally, really; the new symptoms seem to be noticeable in the afternoon) is explainable as normal pregnancy stuff. But it is frustrating that just a month after getting some semblance of normal energy levels back that I have to start taking it easy again. My OB isn't too concerned at the moment, just wants me to watch the salty and sugary foods and rest a bit better in the evenings and keep drinking the 3L of water I've been chugging since Andrew first made his presence known. While bedrest has the appeal of ending my suffering at the DDJ earlier than Oct 3, it's not a situation to strive for.

Genre Issues

A while ago it got around the writing blogosphere that Tor is looking for erotica/romantica. For some reason this got me pondering whether or not The Masque and its universe would be considered in that category. It definitely has more sex and sexual themes than does your basic SF. But did that necessarily mean that it would fit more in the erotica genre than SF? I decided to pick up a couple of erotic novels by authors I respected from reading their blogs (Alison Kent being one, though I don't know if she writes romantica more than erotica, and I'm not sure where the boundaries of subgenres are within this genre or if there are any). Anyway, after reading these two books, I realized what I realized after reading a basic romance novel. I don't write either of those genres, nor do I really want to. Why? Formula.

Romance and mystery in particular are two genres that are slaves to a formula. It's the nature of the genres. In romance, the formula is as follows, and it is the primary focus of the novel. Step 1: Boy meets girl (or vice versa) and there is a Potent Attraction of some kind, which can manifest itself in everything from a look to a sexual encounter--the type of manifestation usually depends on the genre. Step 2: Something prevents boy and girl from being together. Step 3: Boy and girl overcome this obstacle. Step 4: Boy and girl finally get around to admitting to themselves and each other that they are in love. The only way you can play around with these steps is by changing subgenres within the genre. And then you encounter a much more specific formula. I'm shying away from romance novels right now because I'm sick of the formula.

It's the same with mysteries: mystery presents itself, clues are chased down in a particular fashion, mystery is solved. I stopped reading mysteries at some point in college because I kept seeing the formula instead of the story and was very, very annoyed. I've found that the way for me to enjoy mysteries despite the formula is to pick a series with some sort of intriguing element. For example, Nevada Barr writes mysteries set in National Parks. As I am a National Park junky, I love these books because I can get caught up in the setting whenever the formula starts to rear its head. Although this creates the Jessica Fletcher Syndrome. If you ever run into Jessica Fletcher anywhere in these United States, turn around and run because someone's gonna die. Similarly, if Anna Pigeon is a park ranger at the National Park you are visiting, make a hasty exit because a dead body ain't too far away. The only way to avoid this syndrome in mystery serials is to have your character be a cop or bounty hunter or in a setting where murders happen frequently. Smalltown Maine and National Parks aren't them.

Side note: I'm finding paranormal romance an excellent diversion from romance formulas. Cases in point: Lynn Viehl's If Angels Burn and Holly Lisle's Midnight Rain and Last Girl Dancing (reminder: check out the freebie chapters and pre-order; kickass paranormal/suspense premise).

Romance plays a heavy part in my novels, mystery less so. But I could never write in those genres because of the formula. I prefer SF and fantasy because there seems to be a distinct lack of formula in these genres, other than your basic storytelling plot arc: hero wants something, villain presents obstacles, hero overcomes obstacles and usually learns something in the process. All nice and vague--ample opportunity to play. I suppose that authors in romance and mystery must feel that same opportunity or somehow prefer the formula, otherwise they wouldn't be writing that genre.

All this is what made me realize that, while my books might stretch the boundaries of SF and fantasy because of their romantic elements, they are most definitely SF and fantasy. This might mean I'll run into the same issues that S.L. Viehl does with her StarDoc books, but oh well. They are the stories I want to tell. And that's what matters, not the genre label.

Visions of Being a Published Writer

I've been browsing through a few blogs, reading about marketing your books, writing newsletters to readers, blogging as a marketing tool, and other sorts of things. I read these things to get a feel for what may or may not be expected of me when my Big Publishing Day comes. Lots of good ideas out there, both of what you should and shouldn't do. Mainly I just read and get a sense of "I can do that" or "can't do that" or "don't want to do that".

When I think of me as a published writer, I think about doing stuff locally for signings and interviews, working with schools to get kids reading and interested in science. I think about using my blog and maybe a message board to promote my books, something user-friendly and regularly updated/used that's intended to be fun and a way to get the word about my fabulous writing. ;) I think of someone who attends one big con a year, a local one, and a writing conference at the most. I think about being on a couple panels, trying a reading here and there (I'm a very extroverted person, and I used to do the readings at Mass, but reading my own work out loud with inflection and character and stuff just makes me start blushing furiously), using whatever popularity I have to get more butts in the seats at the art auctions, chatting with other writers and fans. Nothing too crazy.

Then I read this: Neil Gaiman's tips for a signing. Wow. I'm not sure I ever want to be as popular as some of those tips would indicate he is. That kind of success would put a lot of pressure on me, just like making the New York Times Bestseller. I'm not sure I want all those expectations. I'd rather have a decent-sized reader/fan base to keep the publishing contracts coming at a modest enough size to give me the time to write my books and the money to help out the family as much as is needed. Anything more than that might start taking the fun out of it for me, unless I figure out how to live only for myself and not get caught up so much in what the world expects of me. I suppose that would be possible, now that I think about it more. Afterall, I did kiss off the idea of a career using my degrees because I want to write. And I did it all for myself. So maybe there is hope for me to be very successful as a writer and still be true to myself and my stories. But I think I'd rather hang out in the "mid-list" popularity for a bit to make sure.

Made a Cut

My essay, The Purple Heart, made it to the second round of Holly's Talyn ARC Contest. Read the other finalists here. Now it's time for Holly to really look at the entries and decide which two make the grade. You can help out by voting here (must sign up to be a member of Holly's blog--it's free and spam-free and easy and worth it to read advance snippets of her upcoming books and such). Notice I didn't say "vote for me". There are a lot of great essays in the contest, so vote for your fave. While I've never seen an ARC, let alone owned one, and would very much like to change that, I entered the contest more out of my own need to write at least something about my brother's story, and I'll be buying Talyn when it comes out anyway, if only for the kickass cover art alone. :) So go check it out and read up on Last Girl Dancing while you're at it.

Dental Hijinks

I tried for the second time to get that damn tooth of mine seated for a permanent crown. No dice. I got into that dentist's chair and immediately started sobbing. Couldn't stop. Dentist (who is also pregnant, about seven weeks behind me) didn't even get a chance to shoot me full of novacaine. I'm not sure I mentioned the first round of this experience. The actual root canal procedure itself was a breeze compared to drilling out the temporary crown and prepping my tooth for the permanent one.

The problem with the first time we tried this was that I had just been in the car accident not much more than a week before. Something about the drilling sound, vibrations, and pressure just absolutely freaked me out. We're talking hyperventilating through sobs freak out. We're talking nightmares for two days freak out. We're talking sudden flashbacks of the experience in the middle of meetings and commutes freak out. Yes, we're most likely talking post-traumatic stress disorder freak out.

I tried all weekend to settle myself and prepare for this morning's trip to the dentist. Frustrated Mark because he kept trying to get me to be rational about the whole thing and I just couldn't manage it. Pissed myself off because I had to reschedule the damn appointment AGAIN this morning when I couldn't settle down enough to even try the damn procedure. Also slightly miffed with Andrew because if he weren't tossed into the equation, they could pump me up with some laughing gas or happy pills to get me through this procedure.

By the way, what kind of sense does it make that the docs were willing to put me on anti-depressants for the rest of my pregnancy back when I had my work stress insanity in April but they're not willing to let me take one little anti-anxiety pill to get me through an hour or two of dental work? Are the drugs really THAT different? I was and still am much better equipped to deal with work stress and pregnancy symptoms than I am to get over irrational freak outs about a dental drill. Hell, I'm better equipped to deal with the stress and mild depression symptoms (which I'm still not convinced I really had, but apparently I worried a couple of docs who supposedly should know better) than I am to sit in a chair that months ago had a spider on it. And a very small spider at that.

Anyway, the third time has to be the charm for this permanent crown prep because the temporary crown cannot last for another rescheduling. Oh, and meanwhile, my dentist whom I love has decided to opt out of my insurance network as of this weekend. So the cost of the crown prep will likely be $100 more than it would have been today, had I managed to swallow my fear. Or I can always try to find a new dentist to try this procedure out with. Me no rikey my options. Stupid tooth.

Suddenly Pregnant, My Brother the Bugler & Other Stories

It's amazing how many people have commented on my Big Fat Belly this week now that I've started wearing maternity tops. I haven't suddenly gained a pregnant belly, but that's what everyone seems to think. It's probably just a matter of perspective. My belly has reached the right proportions that the eye can't just chalk it up to a little extra chunkiness, there has to be a kid growing in there. There are a few people I haven't managed to tell in the area, and I'm sadistically looking forward to seeing them at some point this summer now that I'm showing. I like the sort of life changes that you see before you hear about them, the positive ones, anyway.

In other pregnancy news, Andrew let me sleep through the night last night. Of course, it's because he wanted me to sleep for a good three more hours, but still. I fell asleep around midnight and woke up just before six with the usual "gotta pee, gotta eat" urge I usually wake up to a 3 AM or so. Too bad today was a work day, though, otherwise I would've fallen back into bed. Andrew's still miffed about me not getting more sleep as he's been kicking at me regularly this morning.

And with no seque, my mom told me about my brother's experience as part of a Marine color guard. Skipping past my confusion because I thought he had officially left the Corps and wasn't in the Reserves or anything that would require him to be in a color guard, I found out that my brother can bugle. Probably not as well as the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy from Company B, but that's not gonna stop me from calling Brad that when I talk to him next. Gotta hand it to those Marines: they don't miss a thing in training, especially when it comes to color guards.

Drew's Room

I could talk about how the workload at the DDJ managed to get a notch worse this week. Or I could talk about how Muse is damn near liquifying brain cells, trying to get me to write, or at the very least outline. But I decided it would be much more pleasant to talk about the decor in Drew's room. (I've always like Drew as a nickname for Andrew; now I love it. :))

Before we knew we were having a boy, Mark and I decided we wanted to go with gender neutral regardless of our child's gender. Blues, yellows, greens, stars, moons, teddy bears. We found this amazing nursery pattern at Babies R Us. Isn't it great? We're going to highlight the gorgeous sage green. Unfortunately for Andrew, the nursery will be coexisting as our study until Mark graduates and we're able to jet on out of here and (hopefully) into a house with at least three bedrooms. It'll make for an interesting look. The rocking chair that Mark brought with him from his family's home will be perfect for nursing Drew and soothing him on rough nights. And we're slowly but surely building our collection of fun baby books and such.

And that's about as far as we've gotten with the nursery. We probably won't get much farther, though, since we know it's likely that we'll be moving right about the time Drew's six months old. It's still a heck of a lot of fun to think about.

Allow Me to Introduce...

...my son, Andrew Thomas. Poor thing isn't even breathing air just yet, but he waves hello all the same--much to my bladder's annoyance. We had our spiffy ultrasound last week. Got to see Andrew's spine, heart, stomach, bladder, arms, legs, the lens of his eye. And, of course, we also got to see the organ that clearly defines Baby as Andrew. The technician gave us the usual disclaimer that only seeing the body part in question at birth would make everything 100% certain, but that third leg really couldn't have been anything else.

Mark and I had names picked out over a year ago when we decided to give this parenthood thing a whirl. And that's why Baby already has a name. So while I might occasionally reference this thing growing inside me as Baby and Junior, I'm going to be using his actual name more and more often. That way I also get used to the idea of having a boy, as intuition had me convinced Andrew was female. I promise that'll be the last time I inflict such horrible gender confusion on my son, though. But if Baby the Second is also a boy, then all bets are off. :)

Mmmmm....Steak....

Baby let me have steak this weekend!!!! A nice, medium-well, juicy piece of beef smothered with portabello mushrooms. I'm taking advantage of this sudden OK for beef by making a roast this weekend. Our menu can expand beyond chicken now. And there was much rejoicing.

"Mandatory Overtime"

Just as everyone was packing up on Friday afternoon, our Esteemed Manager (I'll call him EM from now on, and feel free to come up with other fun descriptors that begin with the letter E) decided that a particular project was falling behind and the team had to come in on the weekend to work on it. Technically, this isn't my project, and I'm only a "backup" member of the team. But I had to come in anyway. I had been planning on going in anyway as the project that is actually mine is also falling behind, and due slightly before this other one. The DDJ is still as awful as ever, but I'm not letting it bother me quite so much. Mainly because I came to a couple realizations: 1) I may have the skills and enough power to try to make things change around here, but if the Powers That Be refuse to listen to me, then it's SOL for them; and 2) I've got meeting minutes going back to November that clearly lay out how I had said we should handle a particular issue and more minutes that clearly indicate that no one was doing anything about my suggestions, so it won't be MY ass on the line if things get SNAFUed in a hurry. Plus I think my job's protected due to being pregnant at least until three months after birth. Then they can fire my ass.

Ah, the DDJ. I've got my application into my dream job, so keep your fingers crossed, that 1) they'll interview me and 2) they won't mind hiring a woman who is quite obviously pregnant and will be needing maternity leave just about the time she'll be fully trained at her job. :)

Scorcher

Today got into the 90s. And we're still in spring. Ick. I'm going to be very pregnant during July and August, and they're shaping up to be very hot months. I went on a maternity clothes run tonight, hoping to find some of those nice, loose, flowy skirts that never get wrinkled (or are just crinkly enough on their own that you can't tell). Found some light maternity t-shirts that will help, but no skirts. I think I'm going to check out Babies R Us this weekend and see what they have. My mom's friend's daughter recently had a baby, and she sent me all her maternity clothes. Unfortunately, she didn't have to work during her pregnancy, so I'm lacking in the nice pants/capris/skirts department. Plenty of good shirts, though. Oh, and I better pick up some maternity undies this weekend too. Junior likes to sit very low in my belly, right about where all the underwear elastic is hitting. Baby may not mind, but my bladder is beginning to feel like it's in a pincer attack with the elastic and Junior's enthusiastic punches and kicks.

And if anyone has invented one of those personal climate control suits, send one my way please. I have a feeling I'm going to be wishing I could walk around in a 68degree bubble for the next couple months.

Writing Status

Writing. Writing writing writing writing. Even my revised goal of finishing a draft of The Masque before Baby's Big Day seems less and less likely. I'll be very happy if I can finish my "Princess Incubus" short and submit it to a writing contest before Baby's Big Day. As for the on-line writing course for Strings of Betrayal, I'm slowly but surely getting caught up after lagging two months behind. And I still can't make up my mind about the fate of Human Dignity.

The good news? I go to my crit group nearly every Tuesday (there are some Tuesdays where I need sleep more than I need writing comraderie). I am being mentored by a published author on a monthly basis, maybe twice a month after the insanity that is May passes the both of us by. And as soon as I get the OK about using the author's name, I'll share it and my experiences with our mentoring here. I participate in the Forward Motion Think Tanks fairly often. I blog as often as I am able--which, you'll note, seems to be more often. And, of course, rarely does a day pass that I don't think about my various projects and manage to jot a note here and there.

So writing is still a part of my life despite the vagaries of my job and my pregnancy. It's not occupying the part I'd like it to play, of course. But I'm dealing with that necessity a bit better each day. It's still going to frustrate me. And maybe I'll figure out a way not to let it bother me quite so much by the time Baby and Baby the Second are out of the house. By then I'm sure I'll have a host of new Issues to work on. :)

As I go through these thoughts on my writing and it's place in my life in the past, present, and future, I'm reading with interest Holly Lisle's struggle with her own writing future. She seems to have reached a point where she doesn't want to propose (sell) a book and then write it. She'd rather do what us amateurs have no choice but to do: write the book THEN sell it. I confess that I'd rather do things that way for the rest of my writing career, but that's mostly because I'm an organic writer and I discover the books as I write them. Makes it hard to sell a book before it's written. As I will be providing only supplemental income with my writing when I no longer have to deal with the Dreaded Day Job, I may be able to get away with writing books then selling them. We'll see.

And that's the writing status as of today. Primary goal is to finish and submit "Princess Incubus". Secondary goal is to finish a draft of The Masque. Of immediate concern is finishing up my last couple weeks of missed assignments for the on-line course.

Rough Essay

Holly's doing a little contest to give away her ARCs of Talyn. I remember reading the first chapter or so of this when she posted them special at Forward Motion sometime last year or perhaps even the year before (isn't the cover art beautiful?). I pre-ordered my copy of this book last night, alongwith Holly's Last Girl Dancing and the new Harry Potter. (I also ordered the last Tori Amos album I need to complete my collection; no one keeps Strange Little Girls in stock.)

Anyway, when Holly posted the contest, I knew I had to enter. Not because I had to have the ARCs, which would be cool, but because of the topic of the essay contest: rediscovering honor. I've known since Thanksgiving that I have to write at least a short story about my brother's experiences in Iraq. I've also known since then that I'm nowhere near the kind of writer I need to be to do that story justice. But I've also known that I can't just leave the story unwritten. So here's the essay I entered into the contest.

----

I haven't seen my brother since he came back from Iraq the second time. I'll have a chance to give him the fierce hug that's been building at our family reunion in July, but until then all I have is a picture of him receiving his Purple Heart.

He's one of only a few Marines in uniform. The rest are standing in formation, at attention in the grass behind him. There's an SUV, a couple of civilians, and a trashcan cluttering up the background. My brother has the medal pinned to his chest, and he's shaking someone's hand.

But it's his eyes that I see right away whenever I look at this picture. I see him watching an improvised explosive device fling two of his men from the truck and send shrapnel into the driver. I see him fighting to save the life of the young man who didn't make it. I see him hearing the news that the two other men in the truck were honorably discharged, one without a foot, one with severe damage to his arms. I see him waking up suddenly under the bridge his company protected, thinking it was a bad dream but the bandage on his own arm telling him differently.

I see honor. I see its price. And I know I will never look at a Purple Heart without the same mix of pride, despair, anger, and relief that I feel right now.

----

There are a couple of details I wasn't able to put in the essay due to the 250-word limit. But that's only part of the reason why this little essay is just a glimmer of a beginning for the story I want to write about my brother. Love ya, Baby Bro.

Alive & Kicking

A few weeks ago, I felt the first flutterings in the general area of my womb that could've been attributed to Junior's active limbs. I've been paying attention for more certain signs of movement, but I didn't get a clear "Yes, this is definitely Baby kicking" until last week. I had just indulged in a plate of nuggets and fries, my usual late-night snack. I was laying in bed, watching a taped episode of The Simpsons. I decided to press in slightly to see if I could get a definite response from this thing growing inside me. Sure enough, I got a mild little thunk back that couldn't be anything other than Junior. So I had Mark repeat the process. Evidently we had annoyed or excited the kid, because Baby responded to Mark's mild pressure with a vehement soccer kick that most likely could've been seen had Mark's hand not been on my Big Fat Belly.

The best part about feeling Baby move is the reassurance and realization it brings. This child is no longer just something that makes me exhausted and sick. I have regular tangible evidence that this is a person, living and growing and learning and preparing itself for Real Life. It's amazing what these kicks have done for me. I've slept so much better. And the mornings have been so smooth, almost even normal. I'm still a little tired during the day, but it's not the bone weary exhaustion it's been. I feel more energized. Of course, this could just be a couple of good days and the swing back is somewhere on the horizon. But I feel pretty damn good right now, and that's what counts.

I do find it really strange that when I was just "sick" with no real tangible evidence of pregnancy (beyond that which could be obtained at a doctor's office) I couldn't feel normal. But now that I've got a creature kicking me from the inside, I'm back to my usual self. Pregnancy sometimes seems so bizarre as to be an abberation, not a normal part of life.

The Mystery of Three

My mother is the oldest of eight children. The youngest, my aunt DeeDee, is only three years older than I am. She got married three weeks before I did--I was a bridesmaid in her wedding and she was my matron of honor. I found out earlier this week that she is expecting her first child three months after my own first enters the world. I told her that if our second children our separated by some increment of three, I will start an investigation. :)

She's just starting out on this crazy thing called pregnancy. It seems so long ago that I too was fretting about how long I had to wait for my first OB appointment, or first discovering the joys of a constantly full bladder, or first realizing that sleep would be an elusive yet often demanded thing for the next year or so, or wondering if it would be possible to mainline antacid as a means to ease heartburn. She hasn't experienced any morning sickness as yet, and I'll keep my fingers crossed that she doesn't.

It's nice to have someone I know very well going through this with me. DeeDee's not close by, but she's close at heart and that makes me feel a whole lot less alone in this process. Maybe alone is not the right word. But I didn't have anyone I knew to share this with who's going through it too. It's nice to have that now. Plus I get to share the little nuggets of womanly and motherly wisdom that I've been learning along the way instead of just taking all that wisdom from others. Makes me feel useful, even when I can't be bothered to drag myself off the couch or out of bed on the weekends.

So congrats to DeeDee and her husband Mike. Now when we all get together for my grandparents' 50th anniversary in July, I won't be the only one waddling or stretching out clothing. I'll have to make shirts: DeeDee's will say "Grandchild on Board" and mine will say "Great-grandchild on Board".

Fun Quiz

Via Kat, a nice time-waster. I found the results pretty well in-line with how I think of myself: overall, balanced. :)

Your brain: 80% interpersonal, 100% visual, 100% verbal, and 120% mathematical!

Congratulations on being 400% smart! Actually, on my test, everyone is. The above score breaks down what kind of thinking you most enjoy doing. A score above 100% means you use that kind of thinking more than average, and a score below 100% means you use it less. It says nothing about how good you are at any one, just how interested you are in each, relatively. A substantial difference in scores between two people means, conclusively, that they are different kinds of thinkers.

Link: The 4-Variable IQ Test written by chriscoyne on OkCupid Free Online Dating

Two Heads Not Better Than One

I am two people right now. No, not in the "quick get the crazy pills" sense, but in the "philosophers might have some fun with this" sense. This miracle of life can get pretty mind-boggling at times. To think that this child can't survive without me is pretty daunting. My body is sustaining myself and Junior. And meanwhile, Daddy is only having to deal with some second-hand impacts. Lucky duck. He contributed some nucleic acids, maybe some vital proteins, and that's it. Everything else has been all Baby and me. That leaves me wondering exactly how men came to be and still are the "dominant" sex. I don't mean to sound bitter or sexist. It's just one of those things you think about during a bad bout of morning sickness. Right along with the thoughts of "we've been doing this for HOW many thousands of years and evolution hasn't found a better way to create new life" and "can't we just lay eggs like lizards".

But back to the two people, one body thing. I can definitely say that two heads are most certainly not better than one. Simple case in point: food. I miss steak. Juicy, spicy, covered in A-1 steak. Baby clearly is not interested in this delicacy. I'll think about the taste of steak and start to salivate. Then I think about swallowing a bite of steak, and my stomach gives the negative anticipatory rumble. This dichotomy has me bothered enough that I haven't even tried to repeat this thought exercise with something like salmon. I should really start building menus that I can stash somewhere and just start having all of these Lost Meals as soon as Junior's out and about. That's assuming that the little runt won't decide to take issue with any of the Lost Meal byproducts showing up in breast milk. At least then I'll be able to pass the kid over to Mark for him to deal with whatever unfortunate results occur.

Similarly, having Baby's input on my life right now makes getting work done interesting. I'll be all excited about getting some writing done, and Baby will promptly decide it's Nap Time. It's to the point where a successful weekend is one in which I've conned this child into letting me clean the bathrooms or balance my checkbook. At least I can get a lot of reading and TV-watching and music-listening done. Baby seems to enjoy the Simpsons and Whose Line and CSI, but can't be bothered to let me stay awake through the Star Wars trilogy and finds Law&Order unimpressive. Baby loves Carol Berg's fantasies and Nevada Barr's mysteries, but isn't very interested in Lemony Snicket or the morning paper. Tori Amos is a fave, especially the really melodic piano bits, and the string-quartet awesomeness of Bond is appealing, but nearly all radio stations are a no-go--at least while I'm driving. In short, it seems Baby really likes me to laugh and think and dream. While I certainly loved these activities before, I get extra joy and reward from them now. It's interesting.

OK, so I guess two heads can be better than one. Rather, this second person growing inside me is finding some ways to give back as it takes sustenance from me. Maybe Baby will feel so generous as to let me enjoy a big steak this summer.

Snap, Crackle, Pop

I finally snapped last week. All because of warm milk and turkey sandwiches, or rather the suggestion of them.

Week 15 of my pregnancy had been fantastic, notwithstanding all the damn car minutiae we were going through. Week 16 brought back the joys of bad sleep and morning conversations with Earl Chunks, my trusty green bucket. By the time I got to Week 17, I was starting to fall asleep in meetings at work and losing concentration during simple tasks. I called my OB to try to convince him that the normally trivial pregnancy symptoms of exhaustion and morning sickness were having a profound impact on my life and health. I thought for sure that mentioning that I had run a red light and caused a car accident most likely due to exhaustion would finally get this guy's attention. But no. He comes back with warm milk and turkey sandwiches as the next fix to try. This came the day after I was seconds away from quitting my job because I had just gotten a new pile of work and no help to get through it. I lost it.

Week 18, this week, of my pregnancy saw me at home, taking a week off from work (without pay because my three remaining vacation days are spoken for with family trips) so I could try to get some sleep and get on top of all this stress. And, of course, find a new OB. I did get a lot of sleep, and most of my mornings were fine, although Baby can't seem to let me go longer than ten days without finding fault with something I ate for breakfast. But trying to get on top of the stress has been rough. I had some heart to hearts with Mark to find the best ways for the two of us to deal with my stress and his stress without creating more stress. I progressed further in my quest to accept the reality of my current situation: energy levels that I can't depend on, rough mornings, lots of naps, strange reactions to even the mention of some foods, etc. But when it came to figuring out how I might handle returning to work, I kept coming up empty.

Then I realized a couple of things. One, that I've dealt with exceedingly stressful situations before in my life and emerged just fine, and even weathered the storms with a helluva lot more grace. Two, that in those previous situations I had the comfort of knowing exactly where I was going in life (career in research) and of good, unwavering health. Three, that while I now have life goals and direction again, I am unable to proceed toward them with the gusto I would like due to Mark's needing to finish up his degree and my needing to bring home the bacon until he's got the letters after his name to do so. Four, that I can't rely on my body at all to be healthy at any given time. In short, nearly all of my strength is tapped in just getting through the unique stress and health issues of each day, sometimes each hour. So it's no wonder that a downward spiral in my work situation combined with the extracurricular joys of a car accident and root canal are all converging to make me a basket case on a regular basis. I've got to learn new coping strategies because the fallbacks of life direction and health are no longer givens that I don't have to worry about.

So while I don't necessarily have any answers to make the months leading up to October 3 any easier, I at least have a better understanding of where I am and why things get to feel so overwhelming. And knowing those things will hopefully help me see warning signs well in advance of the snapping point I hit last week.