gosh, the very thing i don't want to blog about.

We are moving. Again.

Random cat picture says:
You've got to be effing kidding me.
We just got here.

Oh, don't I know it.
But this is a good thing! And here's why (*though I am rather NERVY these days*) :

1. It's all about where/what you're moving TO, and FOR, and both are great.
   TO = Kentucky (near Lexington. And also near my home!)
   WHY = Husband got the job he's wanted since college, which is kind of a big deal.

2. The specifics of the TO are pretty epic:

THIS WILL BE MY HOUSE.
and by "this," I mean the turret.
and by "house," I mean "tiny apartment."

3. Further specifics include!

  ~ Walking distance to a cozy, nook-infested library.
  ~ Living above a STORE that sells CELTIC THINGS in a TINY TOWN in HORSE COUNTRY. I mean come on.

  ~ No more long drives to "stock up" on Ale-8. We will be surrounded by it.

  ~ Did I mention the turret? The exposed brick walls? Or the fact that we'll be living in a landmark*?

*I don't even think I'm making that up. Probably not on the national registry or anything, but seriously. Look at it. Everyone in town knows that turret. And next week, I will be sleeping in it.

4. Now is a really good time for us to be moving back to Kentucky. Camp is about to start, and I will be *that much closer.*

5. Midway (the little town) is boatloads of charming.

6. It will be a year of adventure!

7. I've made ABYSMAL progress, writing-wise, since our move to Chattanooga. A lot of that had to do with real-life stuff, but I still think the change will be good. 

And there's your update.

Perhaps I will return to all things with a vengeance?

summer! plus: what do we really want?

Ah, the perks of living in this part of the country at this time of year. Hot sun, heavy air (am I the only soul alive who kind of likes humidity?). Humming cicadas, glinting fireflies. The vibrant, almost oppressive greenness of every living thing. As long as I remain well-equipped with bugspray, sunglasses and the occasional coating of SPF 15, I have no complaints.

It's a good thing I'm a summer baby, because we're about to move where it's even hotter, though only a hundred miles away. Funny how mountains and valleys do that, huh? Yes, yes. It's official. We bought a house, like grown-ups do. Chattanooga, here we come. Please, please, please let your restaurants be vegetarian-friendly, your proximity to Georgia less mystifying over time,* and your library as fabulous as Blount County's.

The south shore of Chattanooga in the summertime. Photo from this site.

{*When I was a kid in Kentucky, Georgia was this big, far-away place where they made Coca-Cola and had the Olympics, once. We would drive through it on our way to Florida every summer, and the majority of my opinion of the state went as such: Takes forever to get to. Takes forever to go through. And now, I'll be living, like, ten miles from the state line. This blows my mind, for some reason.}

Speaking of the South and the summertime, this past week at camp was likely the most fun I've ever had there, which, after 7 summers of working on staff and three summers of counseling, is saying A LOT. I mean, I spent one whole day dressed, to some degree, as a pirate. What's not to love about that?

Another highlight of this past week was finding myself in several conversations, both with teenagers and adults, about YA. At lunch one day, a fellow counselor mentioned something about Twilight, and how she had to attend a meeting on the basics of the story, so as to better assimilate to the people she works with in Eastern Kentucky who talk of NOTHING ELSE. I am not kidding. I asked her what she thought, and she said, essentially, "Meh, the first book was a pretty good read. About all I expected, you know, since it's just a young adult book."

Boy howdy, did the hair on my neck ever prickle at that. I said, "Hey, now. There is plenty of young adult lit that is not only better crafted than Twilight, but also better for humanity and far more important. Like The Hunger Games, for instance." And I was off. There was a girl at our table who'd read the books, too, and she nodded vigorously, smile plastered, as I talked about how awesome and integral and significant those books are. I wore my t-shirt the next day and started even more conversations.

My HG t-shirt, pretty much.
I bought it at a Borders in Chicago.

I noticed something else, too: there are a lot of teens out there who really disliked Mockingjay. One of the girls last week described it, pretty much, as "the author going crazy and killing characters for funsies." I'd heard this before, from a couple other kids, and it spurned a thought: What do teenagers really want out of the books they read? A squirmy, sick corner of my mind wants to say, "Flowers and bunnies! Cute boys and no bad things, ever!" But I know that's not true. When I was 16, that's not what I read. I was obsessed with Lord of the Rings, then. The only bunnies in that were food, and the only flower I remember was the elanor. There were no cute boys, in particular (unless you count Aragorn? Faramir?), and plenty of bad things.

Him?

I don't know what it is. I won't claim that Mockingjay was an enjoyable and fun romp through literature, by any means, but it was very good. Perhaps I am just a cold heart, but if you've been reading a series about rebellion and war, what do you really expect to find at the end of it?

Anywho, I suppose that's all for today's soap-box. What do you think kids really want to read? Or, heck, adults, too. What do any of us really want in a book? Personally, as much as I enjoy light fare and humor, I think I love the difficult stories more. Should I not? It makes me sad to think that some folks only want a fair-weather friend out of what they read.  I need both sides of the coin.

overwhelmed, but in a good way.

Perhaps I should write something? I've got that pesky, "phoo, I'm too boring to blog," thing going on. I don't know what the problem is. Not knowing where to start? I believe that's it. I just don't know where to start. Maybe I'll make a list (and some lists within that list).

1. I am now officially a library volunteer! Perks include: name tag; discount at cafe when donning said name tag; being asked questions (no, really, today was my FIRST DAY, and I was approached twice, by two different people, regarding two separate things I knew nothing about, but it was great [extension perk of the name tag]); rolling seat, if you're in a sit-and-shelve mood; free schedule; abundance of books. Today, I spied: a book by the real Allison Dubois, which was incredibly timely, since Joshua and I are currently obsessed with watching Medium on Netflix; the very copy of Patrick Ness's The Ask and The Answer that I had just turned in (ha!); a copy of Winter's Bone; and the bizarre discovery that this library shelves the Harry Potter books (at least #s 6 and 7) in adult fiction instead of YA. Hrm. Same went for Susan Beth Pfeffer's The Dead and The Gone, which was one of my favorite reads of last summer. Weird, right? Speaking of, I had to giggle when the woman who was training me pointed out where the YA section was. Believe me, if I know any section of this library backwards and forwards, it's that one.

2. I am about halfway through Ness's Monsters of Men, the conclusion to Chaos Walking, and I've gotta say, I am AFRAID to finish it. Not necessarily because I don't feel like it will end well, but because I'll miss it so much. This hasn't happened since... since... I don't know. Mockingjay, probably.

3. Remember when I recently admitted that I am mildly in love with anime? Well. Turns out that was a dangerous conclusion for me to make, because now I feel like I have to watch ALL OF IT. Tsk, tsk. It'll still be there tomorrow, self. And... is it really benefitting me, anyway? Sometimes splurging is fun, but only sometimes.

4. The Big Thing going on in my life right now, I suppose, is that I've recently connected with two new writer friends who have been incredibly encouraging to me. The funny part is that I knew both of these writers in real life, without even knowing that they wrote, let alone that they wrote YA, until recently. One is being published this winter, the other is on submission and an active member of SCBWI, and I... pretty much want to be just like them. [You know who you are.]

It's amazing to me how certain chapters in my life unfold. Sometimes I hold back, doubt myself, want to give up, but then the Lord blesses me with all these little nudges in the right direction, and, if not open doors, at least a cracked window with a nice breeze blowing through. It's a really good feeling. And something tells me that I'm going to need it, because I'm going in for round two, real, real soon.

5. I'm sore, but exercising regularly again is worth it.

6. It's June?

7. I think this is the end of my list. Til next time!

ode to mumble cruncher.

I don't know very much about Mumble Cruncher. I know he likes the newspaper. He seems to have a lot of opinions, because he's always going over them with himself.

I know he likes espresso.

I know he really likes crunchy food.

Why me, Mumble Cruncher? I used to only see you in the opposite corner of the library, where almost no one else goes. I've been avoiding that corner, because you kind of creep me out and I can never get work done around you I didn't want to bother you. But today, you're over here, where all the desk cubicles are. Did someone kick you out?

This isn't really the best place for you, Mumble Cruncher. Your mumbling and crunching, while thoroughly your prerogative, is driving me bonkers. The emptiness of the back of the reference section really misses you. Who else will sit at those tables?*

Also... is there something special about the floor? I just figured, you know... chairs. Are all over the place. Just wondering.

*Me, that's who. Time to leave Mumble Cruncher to ponder his existence, sans my company. I wonder if he even realizes I'm here?

nasty statistics and how they eat your soul.

At the library yesterday, my writer-librarian-friend Kate (with whom I would have talked all day, had she not eventually said, "Shoo!  You go write!") mentioned something she'd read that claimed this horrifying statistic (which I will now paraphrase):

If you haven't got the main crux of your novel written in six weeks, it's probably not going to happen.

rrrrRRR?

"Isn't that interesting?" Kate (who is much more confident than I am) said.  And I was, uh, I was too mortified to speak.  Six weeks?  Let me just turn in all those new pens and notebooks and index cards now.  And can I get a refund on Scrivener?

Six weeks?  What can I do in six weeks?

... Zilch, man.  I can't do anything in six weeks.  I've been drafting this thing for SIX MONTHS.  And the rumor implies, to me, that it isn't even about the book getting published.  It's just about you finishing it.  Again, I ask, SIX WEEKS???????  What the almighty heck?


The other girl working at the library asked, "Isn't that a little fast?"  My thoughts exactly.  But, apparently, no!  According to what Kate saw, if the great big picture of it wasn't nailed down in six weeks, the novel probably wouldn't get written.

It feels unfair to the slower writers, you know?  Or maybe I am just horribly naive, and NO ONE takes this long to write a first draft.  And no first draft that takes this long to write becomes a book worth reading.  It bummed me out, too, because it actually makes sense.  A really strong, instinctive writer WOULD be able to draft in six weeks.  A strong, instinctive writer, with lots of experience and no day job or social life.  No to-read list.  No family troubles.  No doubts or disillusions.  And none of my neuroses.

Who's hoarding all this writing-magic, and how can I contact them for a free sample?

Thankfully, another woman walked in and we started a new conversation.  I hoped that Kate hadn't seen my face blanch so... loudly.

Anyway, the whole thing got me to thinking:  is my big picture NOT nailed down?  Had I to guess, I'd say I'm about two-thirds through, maybe a little less (depending on how wild my imagination is about to get), but I do know where it's going.  I DO know my big picture.  And I have no intention of quitting, just because some unknown-to-me observation claims that it's "probably not going to happen."  In fact, I won't even dignify the fear by considering it.  I know that even if I say I'm giving up, the story and its characters will continue in their relentless quest to be brought to life.

This painting by Bella Abati also helps.  [here]

Thoughts?

i make lists. and have revelations.

[First of all, holy cow is it beautiful outside today.  Today is not a stay-indoors-and-write day, it's a go-outside-and-read day.  Today is the sort of day that leaves your skin smelling like sunshine and dirt, even if you haven't been rolling around in either.  Dang.  Alas, I am indoors.  Why does my computer screen have to be so hard to read in natural light?  There's something wrong with that.]

Rory:  I'm not entirely sure what to do about you, Jess.
Let me put it in a list, and I'll get back to you.
(Not her brightest idea.  Or an actual quote.)

I am a list-maker.  Not necessarily in the Rory Gilmore, pros-and-cons way (though I do get like that sometimes), but more in the daydream-y way.  I sneak pieces of scrap paper to make tiny lists at work all the time.  I often want them to be about the story I'm writing, but that could get real embarrassing real fast (I cannot keep tabs on all my lists.  They have the propensity to fall on the floor and get discovered by my co-workers).  Usually, they are about my dreams and goals.  Sometimes, they're just things I'm thinking about.  An especially great one from this past Saturday was "Reasons Why Today is Awesome."  It included:

1.  Laughing with Christy (over the voicemail she'd left me in a Baltic accent- no wonder she's my friend).
2.  Signing with Chester (a deaf man who comes into Mast all the time).
3.  Meeting Jose (who used to interpret both ASL and Spanish in South Texas).
4.  High-fiving the guy who works at Lenny's.
5.  All the cute dogs!  (Mast is a pet-friendly establishment, and I love that.)
6.  Talking with Dani on the phone for an hour and a half (which happened before work, not during, in case you were concerned about my ethic).

Today, my list is of the to-do genre, and it looks like this:
1.  Apply to volunteer at this library I love so much (happening right now!).
2.  Do a lot of thinking about where I want to be in the next few months.

It's a concise one.  It's an exciting one.  God has been teaching me a lot about myself, and I feel like a door is opening somewhere, even though I can barely tell what shape it is.  This whole I-know-Katniss madness has pretty quickly deteriorated into a why-do-I-suck-so-bad? pity fest.  I mean, it kind of hurts.  It shouldn't, but it does.  I know that girl (and she's not the only one, either), and even if I am not remotely as talented, I still grew up with the same interests.  Dreams.  Passions.  And then I got scared.  I stepped back and let it go on without me because I never, ever, believed in myself enough to take any steps toward success.  And by success, I don't just mean playing Katniss in the Hunger Games movies.  Success for me would be, say, actually writing this book and then querying agents (which I never thought I would do).  Or, better yet, getting actively involved in a theatre group.  Why have I let that slide?  Did I really think that I would no longer enjoy acting after college?  Well... yeah, I did.  I did think that.  I remember coming to terms with myself over "not being in plays anymore."  Ridiculous.

The other night it finally dawned on me:  way to slap God in the face.  He made me to love theatre.  He made me to love writing.  He made me to love sign language and deaf culture.  He made me to love camping ministry.  And not just to love them, but to actually do them!  And by ignoring these things, I am the one who is missing out on what He has in store for me.  I used to be ashamed of the impracticality.  I used to think, Why do I thrive on things I will never be able to do?

Well, who am I to say that I'll never be able to do them?  Or that I won't just do them anyway, regardless of the success of others or my fear of failure?  Did God not shape all these desires in me on purpose?  (Yes!  Yes he did!)

And as I was pondering this the other night, it all came together:  words.  God has given me a gift (small though it may be) of using words.  Spoken, written, signed, and even those expressed by Him.

So, yes.  I have been scared.  I have stepped back.  I have never fully believed in myself.  I have been complacent in doing other things.  And you know what?  I'm done with that.  If you haven't noticed, I am a strong believer in the unfolding purposes of the Lord.  And some amazing things can really happen when I let myself get out of the way.  Friends, if you will hold me accountable to getting back into theatre, taking writing more seriously (because what if the Lord really does want that from me?), improving in ASL, and, most importantly, spending more time with my Bible, I will be grateful.

Who am I to ignore it?

[I still plan to write my completed work out by hand in journals and then hide them in the attic, though.  That won't change, even if I do get published.]

some linkage, and assorted jennifer aftermath.

First off, anyone out there easily stressed over lending books to your friends?  I know I am.  Thus, it rarely happens.  But look!  Now you can have your very own library system!  Do I want to buy this out of practicality?  Amusement?  Both?

Second, if you drool over miniatures and dollhouses like I do (and why would you, normal person that you are?), grab a paper towel or two before perusing this incredibleness.

And I found some cool things.  Don't roll your eyes, please.  I know I have a much smaller audience than most of the bloggers who are discussing big issues like Hunger Games casting, but I'm allowing myself to get into it.  I believe I have a fair excuse (see previous post).  And once I get it out of my system, you won't have to hear about it anymore.  Just let me get it out of my system.

From an awesome blog my darling husband found, called WORD for Teens,  this really neat photo mash-up:

And from mockingjay.net, the official Hunger Games fan site, this super-exciting banner:

And awesome fan art poster:

I don't know about yousguys, but I'm ready.

More non-Hunger Games-related blogging later.  Promise.

a cool thing.

I bet you all are loving the fact that I've had three days off in a row, and can't seem to stay away from blogger.  Ha.

So, remember how I was going to read all those books?  And then I was afraid that I wouldn't?  Well, surprisingly, I still read six books in February.  Six!  And I've already read (that is, finished) one for March.  And all this reading has really had me itching to write, which is a good thing.  But the funny part is that my draft is taking all the punches.  I've been reading the Midnighters series by Scott Westerfeld (awesome), which is in third person omniscient, and even though what I'm writing has always been third person limited (I mean, always), I recently can't help but to hop from brain to brain.  And it's FUN.  But, just like when I wrote in some completely unrelated tumult after reading the Gregor books, I'll probably end up changing it back before I move on.

But should I?  Because the new viewpoints actually seem to work.  It's coming a LOT more naturally to me.  So maybe I shouldn't change it back quite yet.  Has this happened to anyone else?

In other news, here's the cool thing I wanted to share with you:  me without makeup!  [Oh, wait, that's me every day.]  Along with the treat of seeing my face (and sweet headphones), check out this cool mug for sale at the Blount County Library (my favorite place, you know):

[**Note the orange.  Note that I am not actually a huge Tennessee fan.  Note that orange was one of my favorite colors long before I lived in this state.  Note that in Delirium, liking orange was considered "freakish."  Yee-haw!**]

Of course, why take actual pictures when I could use Photobooth (as always)?  So, um... you can't read it.  It says: "Read Grow Learn Imagine [drawings of: dude reading a book, guy playing guitar, Shakespeare's face, a gardening tool (meh?), black bear, lily, and the front of the building] at the Blount County Public Library."  Happy dance!  And it came with a free cup of tea, so yeah.

Hope everyone is having a lovely Thursday!  And don't forget to support your local library.  :)

finally, some thoughts about writing.

Step #1.  Go to the library.  Check.

Step #2.  Locate nook.  If occupied, locate next available nook (there are several to choose from, here).  Check.

Step #3.  Drink white chocolate/macadamia nut latte.  Double check.

Step #4.  Disconnect from the internet.  Um... no check.

Step #5.  Write with abandon.  For the first time in two weeks, check.

Step #6.  Have an interesting thought.  Take a break to blog about it.  Unfortunate check.

This is usually how it goes for me.  My brain gets so excited, thoughts start going out all over the place.  It's the opposite of how I focus on something.  I remember learning that women can concentrate on or notice multiple things at a time, like they have millions of antennae coming out of their brains.  On the other hand, men generally only concentrate on one thing at a time, like they just have one big tube on their forehead that sucks up the information right in front of them.  Well, if this is the defining quality of gender, then I am a very confused girl.  I have remarkably few detail-receptors gathering information from all around me.  I have the man-tube.  I am a horrible multi-tasker.  Reading more than one book at a time feels like a thrill ride.  I don't really know what's going on around me, especially if I am particularly absorbed in something else.

But writing today was different, somehow.  I mean, the man-tube (the more I type that, the more awkward it sounds) is definitely in action.  I can't STAND ambient noise, especially in the form of children.  I am either going to be a horrible mother one of these days, or realize how horrible I was before becoming one.  Probably both.  I usually can't stand to listen to music, either, though today I did.  I think I have two qualifications for that:  it must be instrumental only, and it must be relatively unfamiliar, lest I get annoyed.  Also (okay, three qualifications), if one song works, I have to play it over and over again until the mood changes, and then find another song.  If there's not a song that fits the mood of what I'm writing, I can't listen to anything.  Boy, am I picky.  In six months of drafting (has it been that long?), I've only listened to music about twice, so that proves it.  But it really worked today, so that was... sort of fun.  And really weird.

Who am I, all of a sudden?

And then I started thinking about things.  So, I have a completely unrelated question for all you writerly-types out there:  What the heck makes boys cry?  I mean, I was about in tears writing just now, and so it seemed super-natural (not to be confused with supernatural) for my character to cry, as well.  But... but... he's a boy, and boys don't cry, right?  Do boys cry?  Over being reunited with their family?  Is that something that would make a boy cry?  Wouldn't I get mad if I read this from someone else and the boy didn't cry?  Or would I get annoyed that he did?  [If you can't guess, I married a very non-emotional boy.  We make a bizarre pair.]  OH MY GOSH!  WHAT MAKES BOYS CRY?!?!

According to the majority of my Google-image findings,
the only boys who cry are under 12,
impoverished, or artistically rendered.
With one possible exception:

This came with the explanation, "Stock photo,"
meaning it was likely staged (thus, artistically rendered).
You can't even see his face.  Is this a real thing?
Or only an idea perpetuated by
 emotional women trying to write male characters?

Think back to high school, Julie.  What made boys cry then?  You had enough guy friends to see it happen.  Hmm.  Death?  Accepting Christ?  Yes, those things.

Anything else?

Someone help me before I turn this into more of a crisis than it is.

Step #7:  Publish post, get over the thought, and go back to previous writing.  Hopeful check.

a weekend, a book sale, and what to read next.

Hello and happy Tuesday evening.  It's the 25th, and I'm sorry (but honestly not surprised) to say that I've only read one book since my last post.  Out of context, that makes me sound like a bit of a maniac.  Ha.  I'm not too worried, though (and here comes something that will make me sound even worse), because I should be finishing my current read tonight, and then I'll cram in one more before February (more on that in a bit).

Maybe it was the snow last Friday, or the fact that the words "book," "sale," and "Blount County Library" were all together on one poster, but I could not stay away, and Joshua was gracious enough to give up a ski day and accompany me.  And it was magnificent.  And I've been wanting to blog about it every day since.

We all know how much I love that library, not to mention how much time I spend there, but I had no idea there was an entire warehouse of old books underneath it.  Yeah.  It's there.  They may only bring out the books for the sales, but it was still impressive.  And. So. Much. Fun.

We walked away with 40 books for just over $35.  Most of them came from a Surprise Box of Assorted Fiction that only cost $2.  Yeah.  Two bucks for 26 books.  Granted, pretty obscure books (the exception being a copy of Bridges of Madison County-- whoo-hoo), but still.

Here are a few of my favorite finds (not from the Surprise Box):

[Note:  I was feeling too lazy to charge my camera/upload pictures today, so I opted for the quicker Photo Booth approach.  Of course, I wanted to counteract the backwards-ness, so you could see the real covers.  Thus the double image.  Just... look at the one on the right.]

A copy of the 1950 edition of Jane Eyre, with dust jacket!... *swoon!*

Isn't it just gorgeous?!

This copy of Grimm's:

Yay illustrations!

Proof of pictures:

It's the frog prince!  I like this version.

The Wreckers, which I vaguely remember existing way-back-when, and always wanted to read.  It sounds really interesting, and makes me think of the Shipwreck Historeum I loved visiting in Key West as a kid.

Yay yay land pirates yay!

And, most excitingly, and possibly not legally, they had a whole section of young adult ARCs.  Very cool, right?  Granted, they were almost entirely of books already released, but I did find this:

I like this cover better than the official one, I think.

...which doesn't come out until February 1st!  So... I've got, like, 5 days to read it and claim an advanced-copy-reader-status that will actually count.  [Hence the cramming mentioned earlier.]  I'm actually pretty excited about this one.  I hear good things about it, and I like Lauren Oliver's blog, and I have a cat named Oliver, so there you go.  Meant to be.

In closing: this is me having fun reading books:

Happy slumbers!

january blues.

It's January all of a sudden.  I slept through the countdown for the first time EVER, and now I have to keep reminding myself that the year has changed.
It's very weird, because this is something I typically think about for a long time.  "This is a new year!," "How is this year going to be different from last year?," "When will I feel like it's this year and not last year?," "I have to remember to write 11 instead of 10"... stuff like that.  
But, this time, it's not there. For the past four days, all I've been thinking about is "I'm tired.  I have to go to work.  Let's go see a movie.  What do you want for dinner?"  And resolutions?  What are those?  My resolutions last year didn't take.  One of them I'm going to try for again (reading and studying the Bible--ahem, daily), but the other (running a marathon?  puh-lease) was a total joke.


On another note, I want to talk about something I don't like talking about.  Writing.
I am at a standstill.  I suddenly hate reading all the blogs and stuff that I used to really enjoy.  I am sick of feeling like I have to write in any certain way, or that I have to be totally original (a requirement I place on myself ruthlessly), or that if it's not going to sell, I shouldn't even bother... industry stuff.  Really?  Since when have I ever worried about industry stuff?
But, what creative person doesn't fantasize about their work being received by others?


I'm half-forcing and half-allowing myself not to care.  Not in this case.  It just doesn't mix with me;  I can't explain it.  I feel as if none of the "formulas" or insights apply.  
Conundrum:  Publication is not my primary goal (how could it be?  I've never done this before!), but I do want my work to reach what I would consider its "final state."  Reading up and learning about novel writing helps me feel like I have a solid chance of getting there.  Sadly, these same things make me feel like a worthless waste of energy for not caring so much about getting published.  Which makes me question why I even spend the time writing.


I came to a really big stopping point in what I'd been working on.  It's not the end, by any means, but it was my unofficial goal for 2010, I guess, and I made it there.  So I feel good about myself, you know?  I partially accomplished something!
Here's the rub:  I really want to go back and fix what I've already done before moving on.  And there is A LOT to fix.  Like, 75 pages' worth.  
And here's another rub:  As much as I love my days at the library, I am so ready to have an actual DAY OFF, where I can go to the store or read or (gasp!) stay home and play Epic Mickey all day.  This is a bad place for me to be.  I tend to over-simplify my life after feeling consumed by something.  For example:  how many times have I been back to Pier 1 (any Pier 1) after not working there anymore?  Once.  And it was right around the wedding, so, a long time ago.  I can't even make myself go inside a Pier 1, here.  Have I been back to Walden since I stopped working there?  Hardly.  Impellizzeri's?  Twice, maybe.
And what about running?  That was my everything for a while, but once I quit, I QUIT.  Why do I put so much distance between myself and these things?  Why the regression?


What a way to start the year, huh?  I promise, I'm not always this sour.  And wait, tomorrow I'll be singing the library's praises again.  One very fun thing about writing, when you take away the anxiety, is the propensity you find you have to surprise yourself.  If you just keep going, it'll come.  This is the sort of thing I have confidence in, because I've seen it.  Like my old pal, running.  Kinda sucks to get into it, but once you're there, the work starts to happen on its own.

adventures with lu, my pesky internal editor. also, david mead! who, unlike lu, is an actual person.

Back to posting from the library = back to normal.
Somewhat normal.
At least, back to feeling like I could easily play normal.


And with this thought comes an entirely unrelated confession:  I let my mom read the giant spider story.  
It was a moment of weakness and confusion, riding in the car with my parents to Cocoa Beach, still reeling from all the people I'd met and the stories I'd heard.  I opened my computer and wanted to write so badly, but felt too mentally and emotionally spent to do anything about it.  I could have just put the computer away and gone on listening to whatever was on the iPod.  Instead I said, "Here, Mommy, do you want to read my story?" and passed her the laptop before I could stop myself.


I don't know why it's any different.  I'd let my friend Becca read it, without the slightest second thought.  Then again, Becca is 16, and I wrote the story with her age group in mind.  My mom is almost 60, and the second after I put it in her hands, I wished I hadn't.  My mom HATES spiders.  My mom does not do scary or sad or creepy.  I usually don't, either, which is another reason I was afraid to let her read it.


What if she thinks I'm unstable?  What if she says, "Where did this come from?" Or, worse, "What's wrong with you?"  I mean, that's what I would have said.  Giant spiders?  Really?  A), that's lame, and B), disgusting.  You can do better than that.


Those are the things I would have said to myself.  All leftovers from how I felt in creative writing classes at Union.  "There's no such thing as [insert whatever I had made up here]."  I know.  I know there's no such thing.  So... why am I writing about it?  Am I... Am I not fit to write about grown-up things?  Non-pretend things?


It was all food for my internal editor.  I've only recently learned to turn her off, usually by saying:  "No one else is going to read it, Lu, so chill out."  Lu was okay with this.  Lu has let me get a lot of writing done in the past four months, all under the conjecture that it was for our eyes only.  And Joshua's, but he counts as one of us, too.


You can imagine Lu's tirade against my peace of mind while my mom read the story.
"She hates it she hates it.  She thinks you're insane.  It's bad enough her son has problems, now her daughter is writing stories about monsters eating people."  
You can, therefore, also imagine my surprise when my mom turned around and said, "I really like it!"


Naturally, I tried to squeeze from her that she was only saying that, that it was actually really twisted, that it embarrassed her that I had written it, but NO.  She genuinely enjoyed it.  


I said, "But you hate spiders!"
She said, "I know, but I liked the story."
I said, "Becca liked it, but she's 16.  I didn't think someone your age would like it."
She said that was silly.  She said that it was just like hearing me telling a story out loud, which isn't something I had thought of.  She said that was a good thing.


Now, don't go taking this the wrong way.  Regardless of the warm feelings flying around here, the story is not where I want it.  And I strongly feel that anyone who is not my teenage friend or my own mother (or my husband) would sort of laugh at it.  And that's okay, because it's goofy.  And it's not a priority, which is incredibly liberating.  I'm in no rush AT ALL.  I'm only enjoying the ride.  And I'm learning that maybe Lu is crazy.  Lu needs a hot bath and some chocolate chip cookies.  Lu needs to take up some other hobbies.  Something meticulous, like cross-stitch, so she'll leave me alone.


Funny how letting my mother read my writing brought about such a break-through for me.  Remember my whole, "It's all fun and games until someone I know reads what I wrote," debacle?  Well, maybe it's not that bad.  If my mom can read my story, a wacky blob that came out of my own head, and not run away screaming... then what's to stop me?


It's like graduating from writers' kindergarten.  Let's all go get some ice cream.  Actually, no, it's too cold for that*.  Let's go for a peppermint mocha.  Yum.


*commences celebration*


Speaking of Yum, has anyone here listened to David Mead?  Yes, the David Mead from the title.  Go do that, if you don't mind.  His album Almost And Always is my Current Favorite Music On Earth.  Every time I listen to it, I can't help but say, "Soooo pretty!" over and over again.  "Twenty Girls Ago" is my favorite song, thought it's difficult to choose just one.  
And check out the cool (if slightly creepy) cover!  

I like it.  I think.

Well, gang, that's all from me today.  I like this blogging thing.  I should do more of it.  Over and out.


*I say "It's too cold for that," because I feel that's what I ought to say.  Truth is, I had gelato last week when there was snow on the ground, and I do not regret it at all.

that christmas thing.

The last two mornings, I woke up to find snow on the ground.  Today I'm wearing flip-flops.  I know I just made that sound like it's gotten warmer, but really, I just wanted to wear the flip-flops.  So, my toes are cold.

I'm at the library, which is an excellent thing.  I'm looking forward to a long day of writing and thinking and maybe sending a few emails.  What I keep forgetting is that it's December, and that means that after today, I will pretty much be a psycho busy bee until Christmas.

Christmas in retail world is not at all like Christmas in everyone else's world.  Christmas in retail world means that your part-time job just turned into your full-time job.

But, you know what?  I'm actually enjoying it.  I guess I could do without the cranky I-must-complete-my-Christmas-list-NOW people (not that I've really encountered very many yet).  And I know I'm going to be completely exhausted by the end of it, but Mast is a really fun, pleasant place to be.  Even on bad days.  If any of my co-workers read this, they'll get a good laugh, I'm sure.  I get a lot of "You still like it because you're new," comments, and that's okay.

[[SUDDEN SIDE RANT:  I come to the library for quiet, so I can think and write in peace.  WHY IS IT THAT EVERY TIME I'VE BEEN HERE IN THE LAST MONTH, THERE'S BEEN A STINKING CONCERT GOING ON?  Even today, I thought I could avoid it by coming earlier than usual, but they're having one at 12 dang 30 in the afternoon!  Are you kidding me?  HOW IS THAT CONDUCIVE TO WORK?!?!?!  HOW?  HOW?  WHO PLANNED THESE STUPID THINGS?!  Okay, rant over.]]


Anyway, back to "You still like it because you're new."  I guess that in some ways, that's very true.  Everyone gets burnt out and jaded.  But while I'm still neither of those things, I'm going to enjoy this Christmas season as much as I can.  At least I don't work in a mall or department store.

It's even more fun on the inside.

Addendum:  That concert just started.  Here's a very weird thing.  I JUST added the label "Holly Jolly Christmas" to this post, because, you know, it's Christmas.  And THE FIRST SONG out of the children's mouths... is "Holly Jolly Christmas."  I am clairvoyant, after all.

UPDATE:  Two hours later:  Another concert?  Really, library?  What do you think people come here for? 

prime numbers.

Here's a funny thing that just happened.

I'm at the library again, big surprise.  In the study cubicle across from me, a fifth grader and his dad are doing some math homework.  The boy just said, "And prime numbers... I forget what a prime number is," and the dad said, "Me too."

I became immediately determined to remember what a prime number was before the dad could look it up.  I rattled off the thoughts in my head.  Prime numbers, prime numbers... one, three... can only be divided by something.  Themselves.  Themselves and one.  And then the dad said, almost as I was thinking it, "Here, a prime number is one that can only be divided by itself."  And one, I thought.  "And one," he added.

I had a little silent celebration on this side of the cubicle, glad they couldn't see me.

This is a big deal for someone who still can't remember how to do long division, and probably never will.  Is it sad?  Me being so proud of myself for remembering the definition of a mathematical term?

Seriously, I'm considering throwing a party.

thoughts while waiting for my tea to cool.

I'm at the library, in my second favorite spot.  I have "Trampled Rose," by Carolina Chocolate Drops stuck in my head.  I ordered a peppermint chocolate latte (which, I suppose, is actually a peppermint mocha), but The Bookmark Cafe hasn't gotten their order of milk in yet today.  So I settled for an earl grey tea.  But, let's be honest, there wasn't much "settling" about it.  I kind of wanted earl grey, actually, but feared the lack of sugar mixed with my caffeine would inhibit the hyper mess I had hoped to become today.

My only problem with ordering hot tea at a coffee shop is that the "hot" is taken too literally.  With coffee drinks, you get the same "hot" at the beginning, but it peters out after all the other fun stuff goes in.  With tea, seriously, all you get is the tea to tone things down (which it doesn't).  I would have added cream or something, but I like earl grey the way it is, so now I'm stuck with a delicious-smelling cup of scalding water that I won't be able to drink for another fifteen minutes, at least.

I may not make it to hyper mess today.  I may have to settle for mellow mess.  But as long as I can get some work done, and touch my drink to my mouth without gagging on white hot steam, I'll get through the day just fine.