No Good Excuse?

Clearly I have no good excuses. I must be busy writing away and when not in my fictional world, I must be cleaning or playing with my kids. Otherwise, I'd have written a blog in the last 45 days with some excuse. But, alas, I have none. Pfft.

45 days? That can't even be right! Not good at math, that's a good excuse. No sense of time, that's a good excuse.

I did pen a few blog entries in the back of my mind over the course of these days I have been missing from Blogger.

One was on my takeaways from the Philadelphia Writer's Conference. But that entry never made it to the screen as my energy was completely sapped from the conference this year. I think there is still a pile to be gone through from the conference somewhere as well as the business cards I collected of blogs to follow and people to friend.

I suppose maybe I was going to write a blog about our morning at a My Gym location because it was a free event for bloggers. But, I suppose I wasn't motivated or maybe I was packing for vacation or doing laundry or something uninspiring.

Then, I had a great blog idea titled "Gone Fishin'" in which I discussed my need for an indefinite sign on my brain (and my blog) letting ya'll know that I am out currently but may be back soon. Hang around, maybe there'll be fish. Oh, and here's a picture of members of our family that did go fishing. I did not actually fish, but I did cook it:

But that blog entry fizzled in my brain before it made it to you (or did it sizzle in the pan?).

Last week I *finally* had the perfect entry on excuses and how they suck. Specifically, how we all make excuses not to help people in our community. You know what I mean. There are good people all around us doing wonderful things for the people in our community and we don't even have time to make a sick neighbor some soup. Last week I had the wonderful opportunity to go to a local charity with my daughter and help them sort clothing.

The organization was started by a local teen when she was 12 years old. She saw the need in our community to help families in crisis get back on their feet by providing them with basic necessities like clothing. This now 16 year old girl is working in her community daily to help those in need. Once a month, she offers a "Kids on the Quest" program to give young children a chance to volunteer in the community. I have not made it to a single Kids on the Quest meeting yet. There has always been an excuse. Always. Someone sick once or twice, husband working late, karate class, etc. Last Wednesday I really didn't want to go -- we had swim lessons, I had company coming the next day, my son had karate, I had party invitations to do -- the excuse list went on. But I figured it out. I took my daughter. And, as you can imagine, it was worth it. My daughter was so proud to be helping out. She was excited to meet the teenage girl who has done so much (and happens to share her name). No excuse was worth missing out on a chance to help and to teach my children to do the same. None.

There really is no good excuse for anything. Stick around though, I'm sure I'll try to find some. Hopefully sometime in August. If not, then for sure in September when school starts up again....

It's In My Purse

Hello my dear brave blog readers. Today I am going to take you to a place few dare to go. A place even my husband refuses to enter (for fear he may put his hand into a half-eaten jelly sandwich, pulverized goldfish, or an unwrapped tampon). I am going to take you into my pocket book. Please take appropriate precautions – rubber gloves, hazmat suit, etc….

See, it is time to change purses. And, in the spirit of self-deprecating and humorous excuse-airing I have decided to share this momentous occasion with you. Because, dare I say it, my pocket book is probably some metaphor for my life although, lucky for you, I’m not really going to analyze the meaning now. Instead, I’m just gonna dump it out here on the table so you can have a good laugh at my expense:

1. A church bulletin. 
2. 2 sided 8 x 11 florescent green sheet on Daniel 4 and King Nebuchadnezzar’s pathway from pride of self to praise of God and how we too can do this. 
3. A Thank you card.
4. A receipt for Marshall’s.
5. A letter from my son’s preschool dated May 23rd. 
6. 3 ripped ticket stubs for dance recital dated May 25th and the envelope for the tickets.
7. 5 x 7 of my daughter that I purchased at her dance recital.
8. 2 loose Express gift cards I received on Mother’s Day and the two card holders they came on.
9. Business cards for my local moms club as well as my own personal business cards. 
10. My cellphone.
11. My wallet.
12. Two of my children’s wallets.
13. A wallet containing all my shoppers-club cards.
14. My camera.
15. My Kindle.
16. Large book light received as a free gift from Writer’s Digest books circa 1999.  
17. 1 used tissue. 2 pieces of toilet paper. And one questionable paper towel.
18. 2 almost-dry Sharpies.
19. 1 yellow highlighter and 1 uncapped blue highlighter.
20. 2 pens, 1 dissembled pen and 2 pencils.
21. My daughter’s inhalers.
22. A Pepcid tablet for my dog.
23. A travel toothbrush.
24. Hand sanitizer.
25. Sunglasses.
26. A pony tail holder.
27. An 80 piece bag of gum.
28. A bank lollipop.
29. And the trash from 2 lollipops, 1 piece of gum, and a granola bar.
30. My car keys.
31. Some sort of doohickey that I keep forgetting to ask the kids if they know what it belongs to.

There you have it folks, a quick peek into my scatter-brain disorganized world. In the interest of full disclosure, I will have you know that I cleaned out my purse last Saturday between Acts at my daughter’s recital.

Cliché Cached Computer

The game has changed now that I have moved into the realm of serious writing. This is no longer jotting down stories on the back of napkins. This is no longer 300 words here, 200 words there – none of which see the light of day. I want the world to read my writing. This is serious. My words suddenly matter. And they better be free of clichés!

I imagine first drafts of all beginning writers are riddled with clichés (I hope it’s not just me). They are so easy to write – they are on the tip of our fingers, they roll off our tongues. When we are revising, we must rework those clichés. Easier said than done (ha! I’m having too much fun.).

But what if my characters are nothing but big fat clichés? What if my entire story is a cliché? This is where I keep finding myself stuck. I come up with an idea for a story that I L-O-V-E. I love my characters. I love the plot. I can think of nothing but this story. I write a draft. Then I read it. And think, what a cliché! I fall immediately out of love with my story and my characters. I move on to the next one.

Heck, I’m a cliché: Suburban housewife turned wannabe novelist, penning dystopian teen novel from Starbucks while children are at school.

I know that I am doing myself a disservice by not staying committed to my writing, by not working out the clichés. I know that clichés can be worked through by developing my characters more, or by adding an unpredictable twist to the plot. But my excuse du jour is: I’m stuck in cliché-land! My computer holds nothing but a cache of clichés! I will keep going so this thing called writing will work out for me. But today, I’m hating.

Are you finding yourself penning a pile of clichéd crap like me? Here are some articles I found on Writer’s Digest that could help:

How To Prevent Predictable Plots
 
12 Cliches All Writers Should Avoid

Worth The Move

Two years ago today we were packing up our first home to move about 50 miles away over the bridge and into another state.  It was hard to do – to leave the only home our children (and dog) knew; to leave our friends, our church, and our support system.

I do love where we moved – I love our house, our neighborhood, our bucolic town. We've made some good friends, and we are starting to get a social life. But sometimes I still pine for my old friends – the ones to go places with even if it’s just the grocery store, or the mall, or the park; the ones I can call in a pinch for anything; the ones that will have lunch with me after school; the ones to have dinner with when our husbands are out of town or working late. Sometimes I wish I could go back. Not all the time, though. There are days when I am confident we made the right decision. Days like Monday.

Monday, my Writers’ Group came over for a coffee and critique session. We are a small group of five women writers that meet for coffee and discussion on writing twice a month. When we formed, we were only loosely connected – a few of us never even met before. We weren't sure what this writers group would look like; we weren't sure if it would last; we weren't sure if we would all click. But our little Writers’ Group (we call ourselves the Moonwriters) has exceeded expectations. We all have become invaluable sources of information, inspiration, and support. We have become friends.

We sat around my kitchen table on Monday talking about our writing and our lives – the good, the bad, and the ugly. After they left, I felt a rush of gratitude. If I hadn't moved, I never would have met them. I love these women. They are so worth the move. I look forward to years of celebrating our writing successes, supporting our writing failures, and sharing our lives.  

I Used To Be The Best Mom

I used to be the best mom. I used to do everything right. It was so effortless -- I followed my instinct or, when that failed, I followed the advice of an expert which would work perfectly because they were the experts and I was nothing but a mom in the trenches.

I look back on those days of my perfection fondly...

When everything was sterile, controlled, mess-free.

The days when my children napped in their beds according to the schedule I put them on. They nursed every two hours, exactly 20 minutes per side.

At night, they would stir to nurse at the same regularity  I would lift them gently out of their beautiful bassinet, nurse, then gently place them back in -- never falling asleep with them in bed because that could be dangerous. My children never co-slept with us -- for the dangers as well as the boundary issues.  

I used only cloth diapers. My babies never drank cows milk. I made my own baby food.

They certainly never had candy, junk food, juice boxes, or happy meals. It was all organic whole foods for us.

None of my children spent time in front of the TV or other electronics. We spent our time doing educational activities and crafts. My children embraced puzzles, games, crafts, writing. Their toys, always gender neutral, never included weapons.

I never yelled at my children because they respected my authority and listened when first requested. Failing that, I had a system of positive and negative reinforcement. I never needed to resort to punishment. I remember those days fondly. I remember when I was the best mom. Then, of course, I had children.

And now I am just a mom doing my best like all the rest. Hope you had a wonderful mother's day.

You Don’t Really Want a Gift, Do You?

I appreciate you all. I really do. I appreciate all you good people in the world that strive to make this world a better place. I appreciate you under-appreciated – you teachers, you bus drivers, moms, dads, all service professionals. I do. But do we have to have a day to show our appreciation? Does it make us feel more appreciated? Do you really want a flower pot with my child’s finger print on it? Do you want a cute picture of my kid in a homemade picture frame? Do you want that spread of food you shouldn't eat two weeks before the start of summer?

We should do better at showing appreciation every day. It’s a shame that as a society we need to have appreciation days and awareness months to celebrate the often ignored.

I shouldn't need Teacher Appreciation Day/Week to make my child’s teacher feel appreciated. I should send my kid to school prepared. I should raise my child to value education and respect authority. I should take my family vacations in the summer. I should respect her experience and opinion in conferences. Does he really want my handmade gift to show my appreciation? At Christmas, in May, then again in June – how many coffee mugs does one teacher need?

Are these gifts even out of appreciation or are they just another example of over consumerism? Are we just trying to pin the best picture on our social media walls? Are we just trying to throw a band-aid on a broken limb? I know it sucks to be a teacher in a society that doesn't value education, here’s a doughnut. I know it sucks to be an ignored minority, here’s a month. I know it sucks to have cancer, here’s a pink pin.

You don’t really want a gift, do you? Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m just an uninspired gift-giver and an unappreciative gift receiver – focusing too much on the stress both cause instead of the joy. After all, nothing is more priceless than the look on a kid’s face when he gives a gift made out of love. Maybe that’s the idea for next year – skip the made-in-China soon-to-be-trash trinket and make a video diary of kids telling the teacher why they love him and appreciate her. I’m gonna pin that! (I mean, I would if I knew how.)

Wow! Wow! What?

I love to learn about the authors of books I've read. I love to hear about their educational backgrounds, employment history, their age, the age of their children, and whether those children had colic (you know perfectly normal cyber-stalking stuff but nothing crazy like looking up addresses and driving by houses).

I slightly begrudge authors with MFAs from Harvard and debut novels before the age of 25. I love to hear about struggles with drafts. Conversely, I don’t like to hear about a novel taking 10 years to write. I do love to hear of rejections. Again, though, I like to hear about the author who made it despite the odds. I love when an author has a background I can identify with.

Sara Gruen, author of my beloved Water for Elephants, was a laid-off technical writer home with three children when she wrote her first novel.  Jodi Picoult also has three children although her oldest was a baby when she wrote her first novel so I do slightly begrudge that just as I slightly begrudge J.K. Rowling sitting in coffee shops with sleeping babies writing Harry Potter (my own babies barely slept long enough for me to throw in a load of laundry and take a shower let alone write a novel).

I just finished rereading Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins didn't write Hunger Games with beautiful flowery MFA-prose but with edge-of-your seat brilliance. She expertly described scenes, carefully crafted characters for us to love and hate, gave us perfectly placed and paced dialogue and wrapped it all up in an unbelievably believable plot.  

Before writing Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins was writing children’s television for Nickelodeon. She was a staff writer for Clarissa Explains it All and The Mystery Files of Shelby Woo. She also penned multiple stories for Little Bear and Oswald. She was the Head Writer for Clifford’s Puppy Days, and a freelancer on Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!

Wow! Wow! WHAT? With the exception of Little Bear and maybe Clifford, I can’t stand those shows! But I loooovvveee that – I love that Suzanne Collins wrote something as brilliant as Hunger Games in the same lifetime as she wrote about some weird bouncing creature and his nerdy friend Widget. It humanizes her.

It makes me feel like my dreams are attainable. I might write a crappy blog today but maybe tomorrow I’ll write something that someone thinks is brilliant…