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?

the champion drooler makes friends in real life.

Notice anything different? Fair warning, my friends: I may like consistency elsewhere, but on the blog, j'aime le change... ment. My previous hold of five months was a record. {On the Xanga page I had in college, I changed the look more often than I posted.} And so, if this blog starts to look different every time you visit, my apologies. For now, though... you like?

Mmm, new things. I am a champion drooler* over new things. And I don't mean material things, necessarily, lest you harrumph at my covetousness. This is not a post about my covetousness {that one will involve shoes and iPhone apps and books}. This is a post about the rosy cusp of possibility, where the best outcomes still seem the most likely. Ahh.
*ick.

We are back from our 15 days of America-hopping madness, and it's got me feeling... new. Like, there was my life before going to Yellowstone/meeting Jeigh freaking Meredith in person {and sleeping on her comfy couch for a weekend}, and now there's my life AFTER.

Here, have some Tang {Orange! Great for Breakfast! Possibly Flammable!} whilst I list {am I the only person who likes Tang? With lists? And whilsts?}:

1. It is, perhaps, not as creepy as I once thought to make writer friends on the internet. Fancy that. Of course, you're all like, "Derr, isn't that what the Campaign is FOR?" Yes. But I was once hesitant.

2. Something changes when you meet a blog buddy/crit partner/story cheerleader in person. You notice things you could never pick up from emails or phone chats, like the color of her hair {kind of reddish! did you know?}, or her piano skill level {much higher than expected}, or the fact that she actually is a mom, with real live children and stuff. Amazing, I know.

Towely is watching you.

3. Also wonderful is that, when meeting with a writer friend, you can leave the saucy minx of book-shame at home. It's not the same as telling a new, unaccustomed friend that you're writing a fantasyish novel-or-something for young people, or maybe grown-ups, if they like to read stuff for young people, stop looking at me like that. Jeigh already knows. Our friendship was catalyzed by the fact that we are BOTH writing fantasyish novels-or-something for young people, etc. It's liberating to not fear the knee-jerk, sideways glance, you know? {Is that just me?}

4. Sleep is for later-times. Five AM is for giggling.

5. If you've been following Jeigh for a while {what's that? You're not a Jeigh-follower? Well, you'd better get on that {she totally knows a short-cut}. I'll be here when you get back}, you've probably seen something about her freakish reading speed. It is {...going to be?}, as one Barney Stinson might say:

Truth. WELL. I got to experience the legend first hand, and let me say... what, 350 pages, Jeigh? Yeah. In five hours. I have a lot to learn from this woman.

6. In other news! Remember this picture from our adventures in Gatlinburg?

Yeah? Yeah? Any last guesses? No? Well, here--from 6:40 to 6:57--is what it immediately made me think of:

And that's two Phineas and Ferb clips in a month. At least this one was in English.

Alas, this post is not as much about the rosy cusp of possibility as I'd planned, unless you count that I am so excited to be back in my own home after half a month, it makes me want to be *productive.* I might even exercise.

This has potential to be STELLAR.

Or, perhaps... legendary.

{Y'all watch How I Met Your Mother and Phineas and Ferb, right? A perfectly logical combination.}

7. Huh. Y'all.

the funky liebster.

1. I am in a funk. I can't explain it. Don't know what it is.

2. My husband and I are going on a two-and-a-half week trip to Wyoming and Idaho, starting tomorrow.

3. Maybe the funk is stress.

4. How does one blog and write while visiting grandparents and friends and seeing the inside of Yellowstone for the first time? We shall find out.

5. My new friend J, at Concrete Pieces of Soul gave me an award! It looks like this:

And, yes, I had to look up the meaning of "Liebster." Answer: friend or love, in German. Embarrassed? Yes. My heritage is so ashamed. (And the heart is right there on the image!)

The hard part, of course, is passing this on to five liebsters who have less than 200 followers (them's the rules, y'all). I do intend to do this! However, I need to spend some more time getting to know my new Campaign buddies (Hi, Campaign buddies!), first.

6. My husband found my one-cup coffee maker from college during the move. I am a happy bear.

7. Monday! Thursday! I hereby dub thee my New Official Blogging Days. Not including you, This Thursday. You are far too close, and most of you will be spent on a plane.

That being said, hold me to it! I will hopefully have material to put up while adventuring. Regardless, I'll see you when I get back!

in which i go to a book signing and am too shy to say anything but my name.

I am so grateful to Beth Revis, Victoria Schwab and Myra McEntire for noting the gaping hole in this region that tends to suck all the cool stuff down the proverbial drain and redeposit it in places like New York, Utah, California and the Major Cities. I love living in the South (though, I will claim that I am slightly more Midwestern, coming from Pretty-Much-Indiana, Kentucky), don't get me wrong. However! So many things slip through the cracks. Like, if you don't live in New Orleans, Atlanta or (sometimes) Nashville, or (sometimes) Asheville, you sort of miss everything. And, now that I have stated the same thought three times, I give you, FROM ASH TO NASH.

So, Husband had the camera, but I was directly in front of him. His only photo option was that which you see above. Thus, the picture-taking job fell to me. I was in direct eyesight of the four authors present, and it was awkward to be all snappity-snap with the Big Silver-Plastic SLR, right in their faces. In my defense, the flash remained off, and I'm pretty sure that I would not have minded being photographed, were I Beth Revis, Victoria Schwab, or Myra McEntire. Or Alan Gratz. Because it would mean that I was SIGNING BOOKS. *drifts off to fantasize about that very thing*

It was so fun. My grin was plastered and unyielding.

This is (thankfully) where my wonderful husband took over photographer duties.

Back in college, I went to several signings. For a grade. Those were... not so fun. I was never miserable, per se, but I also never knew exactly whom the authors were, and they were usually poets, anyway. Don't get my wrong (again). I love poetry. I have at least three friends who are published poets, and it's awesome and their words make me drool-happy. But it was SO DIFFERENT, and so fun, to go see authors I'd actually heard of, read things about, blog-stalked, etc.
Another major difference between then and now is that in college, it really was all about the grade. I did not *love writing,* they way I do now. I didn't know anything about agents or publishing or the writing process. All I knew was that I never really loved what I wrote. I just wanted to be in plays and graduate one semester late instead of two. Ah, the achiever in me.

ANYWAY. It was awesome, this book signing. I loved hearing the authors talk about their processes and experiences, and to actually understand--at least in part--what they were talking about.

I thought long and hard about what I would say when I got to the table, but none of it actually came out. Did I mention how nervous I was? I did manage to use polite words and tell them my name, and not get embarrassed about asking for a picture:

Glasses are cool! Look at me, fitting in!

Which was awesome. Maybe next time, I'll mention that I write.

But hey, look at it this way: we're closing on the new house in the morning, and I will have no shortage of chances to daydream about signing autographs.

Wish me luck.

award! sparkfest! ash to nash! finding peace! all the good stuff.

First of all, if you haven't taken a gander at the Harry Potter Zipline photos, please do. It really happened. You won't regret it.

Second-- and most important-- ly, here are some things that are going on:

1. We have moved our bed into the den. Pretty much everything from the bedroom, actually, has been moved. Some call this "packing," I call it "in-house camping." It's a mess, but it's also pretty fun to have a double bed, two couches, a coffee table, two bookshelves, a TV, and a small dining table with two chairs and a bench in one room (don't worry, it's an unusually large room).
1a. We're buying a new mattress and bed frame when we move. I can't wait to show you guys this bed. It's so odd. It has WHEELS. We're looking at a huge bookshelf with wheels, too. Good thing our new bedroom is tiled. Oh yes, tiled.

2. With the end of camp, I've been looking at my summer goals, again. The only ones that probably just aren't going to happen are to watch less TV and exercise daily. I know, I was doing so well. But!
2a. Even though I haven't gotten as much done as quickly as I would have liked this summer, I'm feeling pretty good about my writing. Have I gone through my entire rough draft yet? Well, no. But I have been doing a fair amount of planning and aligning events in my head and my notebook, which will hopefully help me figure out the direction of everything once I really get into revisions.

3. The lovely Deirdra at A Storybook World has given me an award! Just because! I am so thrilled. Seriously, you blog folks are awesome. I know I should say this more often, so I'll try to make up for it now:

THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!

When I started blogging, I had no idea what I was getting into. All I knew was that I wanted to write, and I wanted others to read. I've noticed how some bloggers can cultivate huge followings in the span of months, and while that is awesome, I do not possess such skills. I am a networking sloth. I struggle with putting myself out there, I really do. So, again, THANK YOU. I am so encouraged.

So fun and pretty!
(Also, I'm relieved to know I'm not the only one being entertained, over here.)

4. Speaking of putting myself out there, I'm going to be participating in Christine Tyler's Sparkfest in a few weeks. Hooray! I hope you'll join me; blogfests are so much fun. And so is Christine's blog, The Writer Coaster. Let's show some love.

5. Have you guys heard about From Ash To Nash?                     (look there it is! -->)
Anyone outside of this area probably doesn't care, but as a resident of the East Tennessee/Western North Carolina region, this is thrilling. A book signing in Knoxville! Who'd'a thunk? And so, I will be there, at Union Ave. Books, next Sunday afternoon. If you are going to be there, too, please tell me! Especially if that means you also live in this area. Friends we shall be, I say.

6. Speaking of the East Tennessee/Western North Carolina region, an amazing thing happened at camp a few weeks ago: I stopped caring about being cast as an extra in The Hunger Games. A good move, on my part, because they never called me. :) Look at that, a smiley face. And you know why?
6a. There are so many wonderful things going on in my life, these days. Really. I have a wonderful husband, fantastic friends, two highly entertaining cats, and a whole world that exists solely in my imagination. I don't NEED to be in The Hunger Games to feel good about myself. That's what it was, for a while. I wanted to be a part of something that made me feel significant. I also wanted a chance to see Jennifer Lawrence again, I won't lie (that's not just a pipe dream-- I knew her {i.e. her brother} back in Louisville... for those of you who hadn't heard that a thousand times over, already). Also, since I'm being brutally honest about myself, I felt a bit... possessive of the story. As if The Hunger Games existed solely for me, and so OF COURSE they would let me be a part of it. I thought that if no one called me, it meant that I was not good enough for the story I loved, had no presence, was doomed to never act again. But the truth (or at least part of the truth)?

I don't live in the right state.

A crap-ton of people went to those casting calls, and most of them lived in the immediate area. I like to think that I'm not half-bad at the things I do, but I also knew I wasn't going make such an impression that the distance wouldn't matter. And that's okay. I don't regret going out for it. Now that I can look back without the butterflies or the gut-pounding high hopes, I see the day for what it was: a fun morning with friends and coffee and good conversation, a profound learning experience, and something I will always be able to say I did. What's not to love about that?

So, how's the beginning of August faring for you, my friends?

a belated post about harry potter, who, by book reckoning, would be 31 today.

And that is a BIG DEAL, because you only turn 31 on the 31st once, Harry. So live it up.*

Latex balloons sold separately, people. Also, no matter how much I love these books,
I don't really want to eat cake off the hero's face.

Ahem.
In the past several weeks, a lot of folks having been reminiscing up and down about Harry Potter and the end of an era. I hear you. This is my two cents, and we'll pretend that I am not quite so late to the game (I didn't see the movie until this past week-- gasp!).

Like everyone else will say (and has said), these books shaped my life as a reader. Especially my life during the summertime. My favorite thing to do, for quite a while, was to bake in the sun on my parents' back deck with a Harry Potter book in my lap. And boy, do I have a lot of memories of books 5-7 coming out whilst working at Loucon, and the constant battle of trying to get kids (and counselors! and staffers!) not to spoil the goods for those of us who'd decided to wait until the summer was over... or at least not to read on the job. THAT'S HOW YOU KNOW A BOOK IS GOOD, folks.

There are certain benefits to working at a summer camp with like-minded people. For instance, this is how we celebrated the release of the final film:

The infamous Harry Potter Zipline!

It was a beautiful Saturday at Camp Loucon, and some awesome stuff went down. 

All photo credits to my friend Katie, whom I call Catie (she calls me Dzulie. It's a thing).

There was Quaffle throwing.

And Snitch catching.

And there were stunts!

It was the Best Thing Ever. I love camp people. And YAY for books that shape culture! Isn't it baffling?

(I totally caught the Snitch, fyi.)

P.p.s. Plan a Wizard Birthday Party? 

*I hear there's some controversy over what year Harry was born (the horror!), but I'm sticking with the headstone that said James and Lily died in 1981. Just so's you know.

and then i quit my day job, again!

Well, poo. I wrote all about it, and then blogger ate it, I guess.

This is me on my first day of not working. I'm at the library, which is blissfully quiet now that schools are out (or close to being out). I'm excited about the next several months. In case you missed the post that got swallowed, it went pretty much like this:

I want to clean my house! I want to blog and write more! I want to learn how to cook, even though I'm not good at it and don't enjoy it! I want to go outside more!

I love Mast General Store, and I'll miss it terribly. And by "it," I mean my co-workers and the company. The job itself? At the end of the day, selling shoes is selling shoes is selling shoes. The only shoes I'll miss selling? Chacos. I could talk about Chacos forever. [Here's where I'd really like to put in a link to Chaco's website, but it looks like it doesn't even exist, right now. Weird.]

[my opinions, not those of Mast.]

I think that covered most of it.

Get excited, readers. I feel a lot of blogging coming on.

and then i quit my day job.

Here it comes, friends: my last day at Mast. What to say, what to say.

Well, for one thing, I think I'm doing a pretty good job of pretending that I didn't quit so I could write more. There goes that semi-secret. Here's to hoping I actually do something about it. Me without a job, in the past, has been a lot like me without a personality, a will of my own, a spine, or a purpose. It was not fun, before. Granted, I had not started writing, before. I had not started writing (the way I am now), or blogging, and I was stuck in a lasting, college recovery/just married laziness. Perhaps I shall overcome it this time. I won't really be writing full-time, which is wise, I think. I'll be volunteering, too. And possibly moving, though we have no idea where.

I have several other lofty and unattainable goals for my foreseeable future. Please, try not to laugh so loud that it disrupts your neighbor. I want to clean this house. Scrrrrrruuub it, the way you want to scrub the gunk out of the waffle-cuts on your Chacos. And I want to throw stuff away. And organize things. Ha! Me! Organized! It will never happen, but I may as well dream (my mother is having a good time with this one).

I want to learn how to cook. OH! That's the real kicker. I hate cooking. I love the outcome, sure, but I am so terrible at the execution (and so baffled and frustrated by the whole "clean up" issue), that it's hardly worth it. Now you see why I'm so lucky to have married a boy who enjoys and excels in cooking. I will not have to live on spaghetti for the rest of my life. And, once I learn how to cook, he won't either.

Yes, please. [from this article]

I want to be outside more. This one's not too funny, because, unlike cooking and cleaning, it actually speaks to who I am. Ironic, no, that ever since I started working at an outdoor store, I haven't had one single chance to go backpacking? Oui. Or... I guess that's not technically "ironic" (I always feel like I'm stepping on someone's toes when I claim such things), but you get what I mean.

I will miss Mast, though. One cannot ask for a better company, a better retail experience. And boy howdy if I didn't meet some of the most wonderful people while working there, both co-workers and customers. I won't miss selling things, but I will greatly miss all the laughter, the camaraderie, the dogs, the break-room fridge (full-sized!), and the way everyone who works at Mast General Store feels like they are part of something important and beautiful.*

It's been a good run for me at 402 S. Gay Street. I wouldn't trade it for anything. Let's make our last eight hours together something special, yeah? Never mind that it's Sundown tonight, and things might get crazy. If nothing else, I'll go out with something memorable.

[*The fine print at the bottom: these are my opinions, and not those of Mast General Store. Though, I'm pretty sure they'd agree.]

mid-week update. with drops of all sorts. and pictures!

I am so busy these days...
(How busy are you?)
I am SO BUSY these days, that I drove all the way to the library just to write a blog post. It hasn't been working for me at home, lately. I have been too easily distracted by such things as food, destructive cats, re-watching Firefly and Serenity (so productive), rekindling a lost love for Anime (even more [i.e. less] productive), that stupid doll dress-up site (still, I know), and, oh. That blond-headed boy I married. But I'll keep that one. He's warm and cute and knows how to cook.

So, here I finally am, and I figured it was time for a little update. Life is fun right now. The weather is nice (though it's bordering hot). We went home to Louisville for Derby Day, wherein my 83-year-old grandmother cleaned us all out with Animal Kingdom. Never mind that we pick at random in my family. She was all funny and gloaty-gloat over her $38 winnings. You go, Pa.* We drank Ale-8 mint juleps (Ale-8 with mint sprigs--no bourbon this year), ate strawberries with chocolate sauce and powdered sugar, and cried at My Old Kentucky Home. Oh, how I love Derby. It's a bonafide holiday, like Christmas, around here (here meaning Louisville. Knoxville doesn't care quite as much).

[*Yes, I call my grandmother Pa. No, she is not a man. When I was teeny-tiny, it was all I could say. By the time I mastered "Grandmother," the former had already stuck. So, Pa she is. I always wanted to spell it with an H at the end, though. Pah. Because, as I mentioned, she is not a man. But then the spelling stuck, too. Ah, well. At least it's unique.]

Animal Kingdom, for the win.
Beautiful shot pilfered from this site.

The Saturday previous to Derby is also worth mentioning. We drove up to Botetourt, Virginia (pronounced "Bottetott," I learned) for a wine festival, which is code for "to see our friends Laura and Kagey (The Honey Dewdrops) open for the Carolina Chocolate Drops!". Two Drops in the bucket, as I keep saying to myself. It was immensely fun.

Kagey, Laura, and their good buddy, Barry.
They make pretty sounds together.

We met Laura and Kagey* a couple summers ago when they played at a funky little place in Knoxville called the Time Warp Tea Room. A time warp it was, a tea room it was not. I ordered a grilled cheese with tomato soup, and got, straight up, two practically-fried slices of white bread hugging a melted Kraft single, with a bowl of Campbell's condensed tomato soup. It was the real deal. I shouldn't hate on it. The place really did seem like a lot of fun, and their website makes it sound promising... perhaps I'll go back someday. They did have neat fountain drinks. I digress. On the night THD played, we were two of, like, five people there. We got to talking with Laura and Kagey after they played, and just... became friends. Simple as that.


[*Pronounced kind of like Keggy, by the way. Or maybe... Kayggy. Sorry, Kagey, I'm pretty sure I pronounce your name differently every time I say it. At least I know this: it is NOT pronounced "cagey."]




After that, Joshua and I had a comically bad habit of going to see our friends play at the strangest shows ever. First was the TWTR, which, btw, was also full of sneering biker chicks. The December after Joshua and I got married, we went to see Laura and Kagey play in Lexington at a really neat place called Natasha's. Embarrassing fact #1: we had told them about this venue in the first place, which made embarrassing fact #2 (that no one but us and a transvestite named Marjorie showed up) even worse. But we still had a good time, right guys?

A few months ago, we drove up to Etowa to see them, and the entire auditorium was full of sweet, little blue-hairs who looked about to keel over at the slightest touch. Or, more rather, cover their ears in discomfort if the music got too loud. It wasn't a bad show, by any means. It was just... odd. Thus, imagine our joy to see The Honey Dewdrops at this festival, with a real, responsive audience! One that actually cheered! Laura told me once, "We really do have fans, I promise." And they do, and it's no surprise why. I could, perhaps, gush further about how nice these two are, and how awesome it is that they took the time to get to know us. The fact that they did speaks for itself.

Hit 'Em Up Style, y'all.

Anywhoooooo, they also play really great music! Music that gets stuck in my head at work. And, the icing on the cake for April 30: the Carolina Chocolate Drops. I mean, how could we not go to this show? Our friends, plus these guys? Granted, it was four hours away, but it was a blast. If you haven't seen CCD live, go do that. Please. And, while you're at it, go find The Honey Dewdrops, too. We could all use a few more Drops in our lives, you know?

Here's a picture of Dom Flemons, makin' me laugh. He cracked me all the way up during this show, especially during an exchange with Hubby Jenkins (a new--and incredible--group member) about where Hubby learned to play Cornbread and Butterbeans. The answer: a Carolina Chocolate Drops music book, of course. Dom asked, "Now, where'd you get that?" Hubby said, "I picked it up in a dumpster somewhere," which was funny enough, but then Dom said, "Well, I put it there 'cause I knew you'd find it," with the most hysterical, old-timey comedian face. I wish I'd known that expression was coming. I would have taken a picture of that.



All in all, after a month of non-stop go go go, this was one of the best Saturdays we'd had in a while.

Us and our friends, complete with Laura's Zoolander face.

I'm pretty sure I intended to write about some other things, too, but this post has gone on long enough. But keep your eyes peeled (ungh, terrible figure of speech) for some exciting things to come in the near future. There may or may not be prizes involved.

In closing, since I like to brag, this happened:

Dom Flemons, me, a signed LP,
and Kagey in the  background.
It was a good day.

greetings from new england.

Once, in the sleepy island town of Nantucket, Massachusetts, there lived (temporarily) a girl of 25 who did not entirely know what to do with her life. Retail was getting her down, and vacation was making her antsy. She had spent nearly a month weary with both. Uh, she thought, I probably shouldn't complain. Luckily for her (but not so luckily for her pocketbook), she had discovered a lovely, independent bookstore, only two blocks from her room at the lodge.

The girl's husband was less fond of this proximity. "Aren't you ready to leave, yet?" he'd had to ask, multiple times, on both visits. The answer had been no, of course. But, he'd let her roam for so long already, and done so well (2:45:58) in the race that brought them to New England in the first place, that it seemed unfair for her to dig her heels into the floor, tempting as it was. Graciously, he did let her buy the handful of things that had stolen her heart. To rephrase: she was going to buy those things regardless. Her husband was gracious about it. "But next time," he added, "we're setting a souvenir budget."

That evening, while her husband slept off his prime rib and beer (men), the girl redid the look of her blog, and then wrote about herself in the third person. It wasn't quite as delightful as buying new books, or fantasizing about quitting her day job (and forgoing all future day jobs) to be a successful novelist and actress, but it would suffice until then. She hoped.

The girl found this photo on the internet. It is, surprisingly,
the exact view she'd had while eating lunch the day before.

the human slush pile.

Artemis.
Code title for the Hunger Games...
to keep the fans at bay?
I'm pretty sure the word's out by now.

I learned a few things at the Cleveland Mall in Shelby, North Carolina, yesterday morning. As a writer, and a blogger, I've been trying to find ways to relate everything back to what I consider "pertinent." And you know what? Trying out to be an extra in the Hunger Games really did feel like being added to slush. All I had was myself, my spunk, my unusual eyes, my interesting face (I hope?), and that funny patch on my eyebrow.

I'm not entirely sure what I expected, but the whole process was infinitely simpler than I'd imagined. I got there unnecessarily early, my casting sheet, resume and photo (a cropped version of the second one) in hand. I'm talking 8:15 early. We were expecting a LOT of people to be there by then. Instead, we were almost first in line. I may have been the 20th or 25th.

I sat on the mall carpet for an hour and 45 minutes, chatting with a friend from college. Right before 10 AM, one of the casting folks stood on a chair at the long table and waved his arms to get everyone's attention. He said something like, "So, who wants to be in a movie?!" Everyone cheered. The line moved so quickly after that, I was at the front within seconds.

Of course, as with everything I do, I messed it up. I had stapled my papers together incorrectly. It was the end of the world, I know. But that was easily fixed, and then I answered all the questions in the most confident way I could. That's all I really had to do, answer questions. "Yes, I live in Tennessee, but it's only three hours from here (totally doable).Yes, I will be available if I say I'm going to be available." Things of that nature. I got one of those mysterious "A"s scrawled in red ink on my sheet. Then I put my info in the appropriate tray and, again, surprisingly quickly, regrouped with the folks I'd come with. The first thing I heard someone say was, "Well, that was easy."

As we walked into the parking lot, a fellow hopeful asked, "What time is it, anyway?"

The time, my friends, was 10:01.

I had my face in the bin within the first MINUTE of the first casting call. I was the, let's say, 27th person-- out the possible, what? 9,000 that might go out for it, total? It was so quick and easy and yet entirely nerve wracking. I was so mad at myself for forgetting to staple my resume to the back of the other sheet facing out (duh!). It saddened me that the guy I talked to mentioned how I might live too far away (Not true, I say! Not true!), but that they'd still call if they needed me, maybe...

I felt a little like I hadn't really done it at all.

I was almost tempted to go back in and get it right.

Confession: I'm nervous. All I have going for me is that I was there. Maybe they'll notice that I have a ring of brown and a ring of green in my eyes, maybe they'll like the awkward shape of that one section of that one eyebrow, maybe they'll find something intriguing about my bone structure. These are really the only merits I can bring to the table. It's all I have, in this sort of situation. I have no other chances to show how easy to work with I am, how professional I am, how dedicated, or how freaking glamorous I might look in Capitol wardrobe.

And since I was almost first out of thousands, I am at the bottom bottom bottom of that pile. Will they ever find me?

I like to think that if they need me, they will. But it makes me wonder, does it even matter how good or not good I am? Does it matter that I have I degree in theatre? [Duh, no.] Am I too irrevocably tucked into the back corner? Does it ever matter?

Ah well. Nothing I can do now but wait. And, hopefully, get on with my life. I still have a novel to finish, you know.

the most inspired i've ever been while surrounded by sponges and listening to the cupid shuffle. or, city museum, part two!

Part one found here.

Oh, yes, the Cupid Shuffle blared from the next room as the Hoboken Duschene* prom drew to a close. Without my contacts, it took me several steps before I saw that these were sponges, not blocks, and I knew we would be here for a while. A minute later, I heard this mysterious child:

(hereafter referred to as Future Architect)

   say these incredible things to his dad (and I paraphrase):

Future Architect: I've never felt this way before about anything.

Dad: What's that buddy?

Future Architect: I can make whatever I want. There are so many possibilities!

I melted. There was joy involved. 

Joshua started building his tower.

I went over to revel.

Infinite!

I was so excited about what the kid had said, I asked Joshua to take a picture of me with the sponges.**

He obliged.

Oh, the possibilities!

I was really, really happy.

Joshua's tower turned out pretty cool, too.

Note the Future Architect's masterpiece in the background,

and his little sister, actin' a fool.

And I took an artsy-fartsy picture of myself:

All in all, it was one of my better Cupid Shuffle experiences.

*not the real high school's name, but close enough.

** I actually flubbed and said, "Will you take my picture with the possibilities?" And he looked at me like I was nuts and said, "What?" before I clarified that I meant the sponges.

P.s. I am so sorry if I got the Cupid Shuffle stuck in your head. If it's any consolation, I did it to myself, too.

tothelefttothelefttothelefttothleft...

this one's going to be a rambler, featuring sponge art and snow.

Since I last posted, I've changed states. And timezones. Not permanently, of course, just for a few days. We cannot let a winter pass without skiing in Colorado, it would seem. And by we, I mean my husband. It's okay, he has an excuse: he actually enjoys it and has copious amounts of skill. I, on the other hand, am only so-so, and cannot ski with a clear conscience unless the slope is labeled green or (maaaaybe) blue, and there are NO other people around. It will still make my knees hurt. It will still make me want to throw up when I start going too fast. I am not the best at skiing, even though I've been doing it for half my life.

The view. Blustery, no?

Don't get me wrong, when all those requirements are met, or I am somehow able to trick myself into believing they are met, I do have a good time. I'm not skiing today, so Joshua can go do all his double black diamonds and junk, but I am determined to ski tomorrow. Determined! We didn't drive halfway across the continent for me to sit and read and blog and write the whole time. Then again, these are my only days off before another caffeine-slinging round of eight-days-in-a-row at work, followed by ANOTHER long trip, so I'm allowing myself a little free time. Is that so bad?

I digress. The best part about coming out here is the road trip. I am a sucker for a road trip, but maybe that's just because I'm so lazy. I love the excuse to read and listen to music, write a little, nap, maybe burn through an audiobook. Fun fun fun. As long as I'm not driving. Then, it's just driving.Yesterday, between Kansas City and Denver, we listened to all of Girl, 15, Charming But Insane, by Sue Limb, and it was delightful. "Pretty girly," as Joshua pointed out, "but also really good." His words, almost exactly (Aha! Success!). Funny, sweet, and very British. Good times. Speaking of funny, sweet, and very British, I also finished Howl's Moving Castle. More on that later. Because, first I want to tell you about some other things.



Before I go on and on, check out the t-shirt I wore the other day:

I like how my necklace gives Perry forehead bling.

I got complimented at the gas station. Oh yeah.

So, I'm no stranger to the City Museum in St. Louis, but, as one might expect, I see something new there, every time I go. It helps to have to get all the way to St. Louis first. I'm sure if I worked there, or lived in the same town, it would get old hat, just like anything else. [Weirdest thing, while Joshua and I were poking around, I heard my name and thought, Surely that's not for me. Of course I turned, since it's physically impossible not to, and a girl I went to high school with was there. Buhhh? She had gone to college in St. Louis, stayed, and now works at the City Museum. I don't know if I should be happy for her or not. The place gets insane.]

We went late at night, a first for me, and it made for a very different atmosphere. Actually, scratch that. It wasn't that different. During the day, there are large groups of small children making a ruckus. Late at night, it's just high-schoolers and college kids, doing the exact same thing. There was even a prom going on. A prom. Who has prom on the first of April? It was practically still March, and all the girls were wearing short party dresses instead of gowns. Is that how it is now? Maybe my school was just weird. [Insert embarrassing picture from senior prom (that I do not currently have) where my date and I meant to go as Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers (Youth Performing Arts School, what?), but ended up looking like a bride and groom. Sigh.]

Anyway, I did see some pretty cool things, and I'm about to go all travelogue on you, so buckle up.

I look like I'm drooling, or perhaps like I'm wearing vampire teeth. In reality, I was earning a
righteous bruise on my knee while climbing through a petrified tree-tunnel.

In the "caves."

The only visible picture I could get of the ten-story spiral slide.
Which is much more popular with the night crowd. We waited in line for 20 minutes.

This guy was right outside the room that contained the particularly boisterous prom. Hilarious. 

And old, working, carnival game. I won't deny it, this sort of gave me the creeps.
It was moving, doing its thing, and all the parts were creaking, but no one was there. *shudder*

And here is where we went into the giant building blocks room.
Or should I say, building sponges?

This was a definite highlight: the sponge room. Little dirty, but it was great. You can see that dad in there, supervising his son's masterpiece. I overheard the little boy say some pretty spectacular things, but I think I'm going to save it for the next post so I can put my free day to good use and get some writing done. More to come!

why, today, i am a grown up:

We bought furniture!  That's right, after a year and three months of marriage, we finally bought new furniture.  And if you'd told me six years ago that I'd be blogging about such things, I would have said, "Well, then it must be an awesome table."  And I would have been right.

Granted, this picture does it very little justice.  Ours has a distressed white wash (without really looking white), and the wood is a lot less even on top.  So, picture that, and you have our new table!  It's modest, sure, but that's perfect for us right now.  Mm, mm, mm.  We also got two (burnt orange stripedy) chairs and a (sage green) bench to go with it (both upholstered), plus the most wonderful, whimsical serving console on the planet.  I have no idea how to find a picture of it online, but it looks like something Laini Taylor would blog about.  And if you're going to trust anyone's taste, trust hers.

Sigh.  I know this is kind of a weird post for me, but I was too excited not to share.  I'll put up pictures once everything is in place.  I can tell that Joshua and I are going to have a very cabin-y home, full of old doors and up-cycled railroad ties for furniture.  And the best-- the best!-- thing about this little table is that once we have need for a larger dining table, it will work as a desk.  For me!  It's called a Palma Desk, in fact.  Now, how is that not just meant to be?  It practically has my name!

a few more thoughts for today.

I wanted to post my adventures with donating blood last night but, you know, I was pretty tired from the whole thing.  Now I feel great!  A whole pint lighter.  :P

In other news, I took the plunge.  I posted something about myself on a classifieds ad for critique partners.  [Is that the plunge?  I'm not sure.  Maybe submitting work is the actual plunge.  We'll call this the baby plunge.]  Don't worry, it was on a blog I frequent and not just out in the middle of Internet Wasteland.  And, like the big, fearless girl that I am, I've contacted a few of the other writers.  It's been fun and scary and I don't think I've checked my email this compulsively since I was in college, stalking boys.

It's been such a blast learning that I'm not alone in what I like to read and write.  Isn't that a ridiculous thing to just now be learning?  It's not like I don't have real life writer friends (hello, real life writer friends!), but meeting new people who share interests and passions is just thrilling.  And anyway, all my real life writer friends are published poets, and a lot better than me.  :)

Another amazing thing that's happened is... I have new followers!  Whom I don't know in real life!  Hello, there!  Ooh, I feel so interesting.  

So, this is just a quick note to say, thanks for following.  And to my potential crit buddies, thanks for giving me a chance to get to know you.  This is so fun!  Now I only need to tear myself away from blogs and emails, so I can move ahead with writing and actually have something to show for myself.  Ha!

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.