1. The early summer sky was the color of cat vomit. Of course,Tally thought, you'd have to feed your cat only salmon colored cat food for a while, to get the pinks right.
This is from Uglies by Scott Westerfeld.
From one of my works in progress that has been put on hold.
With his tongue, Eric Torsten nudged the jagged edge of his tooth. He stared down at the broken piece in his hand and thought of how proud his father would have been, had he been alive to see it.
I also wanted to say thanks for all the great comments. It feels good to know that people are reading my blogs. And Thanks to Travis Erwin for directed so many people my way!
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Six Random Things
1. I've kissed the blarney stone.
2. I had a bright idea to insitute a Girl's Night Out. The idea was to stop telling everyone "Hey, we should get together sometime." So I picked something to do and emailed all my girls and told them that if the could make it great, if not it was no big deal. Then I tagged the next girl in line to pick the next thing. It worked out pretty well. One night we were all to meet at Taco's Garcia and have a meal and a few margarita's. Pretty laid back girls night out- until we ended up at the tattoo parlor. I now I have a permanent bookworm on me shoulder! Bonding ain't what it used to be. (I love it, though)
3. I love horror movies. The bloodier the better.
4. I'm obsesed with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I mean, it's comparable to Star Trek nerdom, here. The worst part is-I'm all alone...
5. I have a copy of The Book of Counted Sorrows. (Look it up..It's impressive-or completely ridiculous-you decide.)
6. I love Mixed Martial Arts- watching it, not participating. I'm too old for that. And I LOVE that women are getting exposure in the sport. They need more though.
2. I had a bright idea to insitute a Girl's Night Out. The idea was to stop telling everyone "Hey, we should get together sometime." So I picked something to do and emailed all my girls and told them that if the could make it great, if not it was no big deal. Then I tagged the next girl in line to pick the next thing. It worked out pretty well. One night we were all to meet at Taco's Garcia and have a meal and a few margarita's. Pretty laid back girls night out- until we ended up at the tattoo parlor. I now I have a permanent bookworm on me shoulder! Bonding ain't what it used to be. (I love it, though)
3. I love horror movies. The bloodier the better.
4. I'm obsesed with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I mean, it's comparable to Star Trek nerdom, here. The worst part is-I'm all alone...
5. I have a copy of The Book of Counted Sorrows. (Look it up..It's impressive-or completely ridiculous-you decide.)
6. I love Mixed Martial Arts- watching it, not participating. I'm too old for that. And I LOVE that women are getting exposure in the sport. They need more though.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
on writing
I've been putting off writing about writing because I haven't been writing.
Writing is a business, just like any other business, and people start throwing around monetary figures your way and you start thinking about how much money could "Potentially" be made, it's easy to lose focus.
I think it happened to me. I want to quit my day job so I can stay home with my son and write full time-in the meanwhile, though Bills have to be paid. I've so stressed about how to make money at writing, that I forgot the reason why I write to begin with.
I write because I love the written word. I love to be told a great story and to tell one. I love the way a book feels in my hands, the way a book smells, the way the words roll of my tongue. I love the red ink on my manuscript.
I write because I'm a writer-and it's good to be reminded of it.
Writing is a business, just like any other business, and people start throwing around monetary figures your way and you start thinking about how much money could "Potentially" be made, it's easy to lose focus.
I think it happened to me. I want to quit my day job so I can stay home with my son and write full time-in the meanwhile, though Bills have to be paid. I've so stressed about how to make money at writing, that I forgot the reason why I write to begin with.
I write because I love the written word. I love to be told a great story and to tell one. I love the way a book feels in my hands, the way a book smells, the way the words roll of my tongue. I love the red ink on my manuscript.
I write because I'm a writer-and it's good to be reminded of it.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Life Carries On
I never considered myself a bird watcher, but there is a nest of baby birds in the trellis on our back porch and lately I've been noticing how beautiful the tiny creatures are. It makes me want to wear a funny hat and buy a book so I can identify them all.
It reminds me that my husband's grandfather and grandmother were birdwatchers. Nannie still gets excited when she sees them.
I've also taken to sitting on the back porch in the morning drinking my coffee, feeling the cool breeze through my admittedly scary hair. The sounds of the morning (and the babies chirping in their nest) lulling me into a peace before I start my day-just like my mom likes to do.
When I gaze at my son(more beautiful to me than any bird could be) I see that he sleeps in the same position my father used to sleep in-on his side with his arm casually draped over his legs. That he has his father's mouth. That his blue eyes come from me.
Next year, people that we love today may not be here anymore. Their passing will pain us-undoubtedly so. But, there will be new baby birds-new babies, and their legacy will live on through us.
How many times has my mother been reminded of her husband when I smile? How many memories does my grandmother carry with her when she sees a bird she recognizes? How many mornings of peace does my mother have left?
How many do I?
It reminds me that my husband's grandfather and grandmother were birdwatchers. Nannie still gets excited when she sees them.
I've also taken to sitting on the back porch in the morning drinking my coffee, feeling the cool breeze through my admittedly scary hair. The sounds of the morning (and the babies chirping in their nest) lulling me into a peace before I start my day-just like my mom likes to do.
When I gaze at my son(more beautiful to me than any bird could be) I see that he sleeps in the same position my father used to sleep in-on his side with his arm casually draped over his legs. That he has his father's mouth. That his blue eyes come from me.
Next year, people that we love today may not be here anymore. Their passing will pain us-undoubtedly so. But, there will be new baby birds-new babies, and their legacy will live on through us.
How many times has my mother been reminded of her husband when I smile? How many memories does my grandmother carry with her when she sees a bird she recognizes? How many mornings of peace does my mother have left?
How many do I?
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Rainy Days and Lazy Sundays
Rainy days and lazy Sundays are sometimes all you need out of life.
Sunday after church, my husband brought our son and lay beside us on the bed. He looked at me, with my hair tied up and my baggy shirt and a pair of jeans as if I was the only woman on earth, and we gazed at our son. The rest of the world fell away. For two hours, with my husband holding me and our son laying beside me, I forgot that there were bills to be paid, that I don't have a daycare yet, that the only thing in life right now that I want more than anything is to not HAVE to go back to work. I forgot that our life isn't perfect.
Then Tuesday I woke up at 6 am, and the rain was falling softly on the rooftop, the wind blowing softly through the trees, a red breasted bird sat on my fence post, enjoying the cool morning air. Steven cried softly in my arms as I warmed up his bottle and I took time to close my eyes and remember that life is made up of these little moments. Enjoy them while you can...
Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life
-Omar Khayyam
Sunday after church, my husband brought our son and lay beside us on the bed. He looked at me, with my hair tied up and my baggy shirt and a pair of jeans as if I was the only woman on earth, and we gazed at our son. The rest of the world fell away. For two hours, with my husband holding me and our son laying beside me, I forgot that there were bills to be paid, that I don't have a daycare yet, that the only thing in life right now that I want more than anything is to not HAVE to go back to work. I forgot that our life isn't perfect.
Then Tuesday I woke up at 6 am, and the rain was falling softly on the rooftop, the wind blowing softly through the trees, a red breasted bird sat on my fence post, enjoying the cool morning air. Steven cried softly in my arms as I warmed up his bottle and I took time to close my eyes and remember that life is made up of these little moments. Enjoy them while you can...
Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life
-Omar Khayyam
Monday, April 7, 2008
Sleep, Interrupted
I've survived my first three weeks of Motherhood- more or less...
I have come to terms with the fact that I couldn't bear to starve my child as I mastered the art of breastfeeding and refuse to feel guilty about it. Instead I pump, so that my child will not suffer the outrage of living without breast milk.
At 3 am, I realize that that loud cry in the middle of the night isn't my alarm clock and that I can't hit the snooze button. So I try to rouse myself enough to change a diaper and do the zombie shuffle into the kitchen to make a bottle, at which point I watch the 2 oz of milk it took me an hour to pump run all over the counter because I forgot to put a liner in the bottle.
So I feed and burp and marvel at the fact that throw up no longer holds it's usual disgust but instead instills sympathy and concern and I clean up. At which point my son makes a very auditory display that ensures I'll have to change a diaper for a second time before I go back to sleep. This wouldn't be so bad except that I realize I've put the diaper on backwards and have to start all over.
Son sleeping soundly, I sink into the couch cushions (where I've been sleeping because I haven't recovered from the c-section enough to climb into my monster sized bed.)
Oh but wait... I have to pump again so when in two hours Steven wakes up to be fed again I won't deprive him of that all important nectar of the Gods.
But really, how much did I sleep anyway? And if I sleep won't I miss out on the weight of him in my arms? Won't I miss hours of studying every wrinkle in his skin, every twitch of his perfect mouth, the moments of his eyes linked with mine, wondering what in the world he could be thinking? Won't I miss the fingers and toes and the way his hand grips my fingers or tangles in my shirt as he lays on my chest?
No thanks... I'll sleep when I'm dead.
I have come to terms with the fact that I couldn't bear to starve my child as I mastered the art of breastfeeding and refuse to feel guilty about it. Instead I pump, so that my child will not suffer the outrage of living without breast milk.
At 3 am, I realize that that loud cry in the middle of the night isn't my alarm clock and that I can't hit the snooze button. So I try to rouse myself enough to change a diaper and do the zombie shuffle into the kitchen to make a bottle, at which point I watch the 2 oz of milk it took me an hour to pump run all over the counter because I forgot to put a liner in the bottle.
So I feed and burp and marvel at the fact that throw up no longer holds it's usual disgust but instead instills sympathy and concern and I clean up. At which point my son makes a very auditory display that ensures I'll have to change a diaper for a second time before I go back to sleep. This wouldn't be so bad except that I realize I've put the diaper on backwards and have to start all over.
Son sleeping soundly, I sink into the couch cushions (where I've been sleeping because I haven't recovered from the c-section enough to climb into my monster sized bed.)
Oh but wait... I have to pump again so when in two hours Steven wakes up to be fed again I won't deprive him of that all important nectar of the Gods.
But really, how much did I sleep anyway? And if I sleep won't I miss out on the weight of him in my arms? Won't I miss hours of studying every wrinkle in his skin, every twitch of his perfect mouth, the moments of his eyes linked with mine, wondering what in the world he could be thinking? Won't I miss the fingers and toes and the way his hand grips my fingers or tangles in my shirt as he lays on my chest?
No thanks... I'll sleep when I'm dead.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)