A Day in the Life

Suzy Homemaker Kicked My Ass Today.

2011-11-08T14:06:00.000-06:00

Ya know, usually, I think really hard at night about how my day is going to go when I wake up the next morning. Seldom, if ever, do I actually follow through with the plan I painstakingly set out the night before. Today, I totally jumped the shark. First of all, doughnuts have suddenly become like kid crack to my kids. Every morning, they ask for doughnuts. This morning was no exception. I was all ready to walk out the door and go grab a few doughnut holes, when I realized that my husband had taken my car, because his gas guzzling truck was on empty, and we've been running a little low on cash lately. So I get a bright idea.Second: My bright ideas are ingenius, magnificent, perfect plans for the perfect day, in my head. but somewhere between the idea and the followthrough something (I would say 98% of the time) goes horribly, horribly wrong. Third: when it comes to cooking, I am the bomb at opening a can of soup! Boiling water for some ramen noddles, I rock. Throwing a corndog in the microwave, I'm awesome at that. But making homemade doughnuts... not so much. I threw the first batch away. These are my award winning homemade from scratch doughnut holes:

Look delish, don't they?

This is the reult of letting my kids help:

So its 12:30, I've spent all morning trying to make doughnuts, have fixed nothing for lunch and my house is 3 times as dirty as when I started off this morning!

Suzy Homemaker:1

Me: nada...

Halloween!!!

2011-10-31T10:19:00.000-06:00

Halloween is my favorite time of the year. Its not just the candy and the kids in their adorable costume. Its the changing weather, the leaves starting to turn and then fall. Its the football games and the cuddling with your loved ones. Its the pumpkins and jack -o-lanterns.

But most of all I love the scary movies and the haunted houses. My husband has never been too much of a horror fan, so I give him credit for indulging me. But this year, my dear husband bought us passes to 5 different haunted houses. We went to Sixth Street Massacre too, but we literally had to give blood to get into that one!

I saw a review of Sixth Street Massacre online, and I thought I'd give it a try!
I'm ranking these from the least scary to the most scary...

7. The Amazingly fun farm: Not scary! but so fun for the whole family. We took the kids and they stayed and played for 4 hours and still didn't want to leave when it was time to go. the maze which was the main attraction of the farm was fun to get lost in. You determine where to go by answering questions, or doing something silly. the first time we went in, it took us 15 minutes to get back, but that was only half the maze!!! The other half took my husband and son 45 minutes to find their way out! They also had a huge slide built out hay (which the kids loved!) and a number of other games and activities. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon!

6. Kaspers Kastle:Fun time for kids under 8. the Kastle consists mostly of yard blowups. But the kids love them. they also have a halloweentown set up and an area to color.

5. Farmageddon: Farmegeddon is what happens to the Amazingly fun farm when the sun goes down! To me it wasn't that scary. (My biggest concern was 1. a girl this big should not be running through a corn maze in the dark and 2.the ground was pretty uneven so I was afraid I might fall flat on my face. My husband insisted that when someone jumps out at me, I should run, not hide my face in his armpit, but what does he know?! My brother in law was pretty freaked out just from the sound of the corn rustling in the breeze, and at one point I thought James was going to have to clean his pants!

4.Center City Mayhem: It seemed to me that this house was mostly run by kids, so it wasn't as scary as some of the others. But do not underestimate scary kids! There were defiantly some cringe worthy elements. Most notable is the room with the kid holding the very large very live python, and the room with little kids throwing bloody baby dolls at you. One little kid, maybe 8 years old scared me so bad I made him laugh in the middle of his terror inducing act. Glad I could entertain you kid!

3. Insanitarium (Amarillo Scaregrounds): Not only are their 2 parts to the haunted house, the scaregrounds also has games and the gametrucks on site. Insanitarium is set up like a haunted mental hospital. Doctors coming out and shooting things at your from syringes, definately not my thing. Crazy people in straight jackets and rubber rooms... electric shocks at random moments... they built it to make it feel like the walls were closing in on you, which helped the theme, and they got more than a few scares out of me. Definately one of my favorites! Not for the faint of heart!

2. Sixth Street Massacre: I loved this haunted house, and it was hard to pick which one got number 1. this years themes were movies. they took scenes from some of my favorites and it really felt like you were in some of them. My favorites were the room with the ring lady. FREAKY! which also happened to be in a tilting room, so you felt unstable all the way through. the theater parts scared the patooty out of me, and my husband screamed like a girl through the whole thing. (I couldn't quite tell if he was putting on a show to scare the girls who went in with us or if he was really scared, but he'll probably tell you he was putting on a show!)This was the only haunted house that we had to wait in line. (But even the wait in line was fun, and totally worth it!) Actors mill around outside and scare the people waiting. Imagine my surprise when this guy snuck up behind me while I was simply trying to take a picture with the zombie!

1.If you know me at all, you know clowns just make me go "eeesh". Which is why Terror on 10th(Amarillo Scaregrounds) takes the cake for scariest haunted house. Terror on 10th didn't just have a few scary clowns. the whole damn thing was clowns!!!!!Freaking scary clowns in every nook and cranny, calling me by my name and chasing me though black hallways... I don't even remember most of it because my eyes were closed most of the time, but my I lost my voice in that one and more than once I did my scream/scary dance. When I came out of there, I had to take a beat to catch my breath.

If you're not trick or treating with your kids, or stuffing your face in between knocks on the door, its not too late to get your scare on! Its a blast and even more fun if you're with your honey!

Happy Halloween!!!!

Everyone's Got One and They All Stink

2011-04-14T07:10:00.004-05:00

Yesterday I blogged about why I write. Today I'm going to continue with Castle's advice and write about what's holding me back. When i sat down to write, all I could think about were the excuses I use to get off doing any number of things, really. But especially writing. But my husband lost 100 pounds last year and I tell myself I'm going to do the program and then I just... don't. so "diet" and exercise are right up there with the writing. Add cleaning house and schoolwork to the mix, and these excuses pretty much cover them all.

I thought about not posting this. It's awfully personal, and leaves me feeling extremely vulnerable. But I remember, a post a while back where I said, I wasn't going to be afraid of vulnerability, where I was going to post how I felt, no matter what. And then I thought of the doctor's office. If you have something that needs to be fixed, they have to expose that vulnerable part of you. They have to reveal that weakness before they can fix the problem. So, I'm going to leave this out there, for the whole world to see. Maybe, if you know I'm having a hard day, you can send a shout out to me, give me a little encouragement. I could use all the help I can get.

Here's a list of things I tell myself at least once a day (Sometimes, once an hour)

10. I'm too old. Bullshit, I'm in the prime of my life. If I keep saying this, pretty soon I'll be saying, "You remember back in the day, when I used to write?"

9. I'm too tired. Yeah, and you'll still be tired tomorrow. suck it up and do it.

8. I'm too fat: To go dancing, To go to a party, to go anywhere where people might actually see me. To work out. Too fat to work out? Seriously. None of these make any sense whatsoever!

7.I'll do it later: I said that 2 years ago and I'm still in the same place I was then. "Do it later" is just another way to say don't do it at all.

6. I deserve it: I don't deserve to be thin. I don't deserve to be successful (Even if successful is finishing the novel, or losing 10 pounds, or finishing the semester on a high note...) I don't deserve to have the things that make me happy.

5. Who do you think you are? You'll never be more than this.
4. You are not smart enough
3. Not good enough
2. not strong enough
1. I just can't do it

Some of these things are easier to dispute then others, but I'm going to try to talk myself into things more than I talk myself out of them. Old habits die hard, but i have many that need to be put to rest.

So the answer to what's holding me back from writing (or workingout, or school)

Nothing but little ol' me.

And now I have Jennifer Archer telling me what to do...

2011-04-13T14:19:00.005-05:00

I think there is a higher power trying to tell me to get my ass in the chair to write. After Richard Castle so charmingly gave me the advice I so desperately needed, along comes Jennifer Archer. Here's and excerpt from her blog:

The thing is, I don't know many writers that didn't have a full load of other things going on in their lives when they started writing. In my case, when I started taking creative writing classes at night and began my first novel, I was raising two rowdy little boys, had a part-time job, ran a sideline residential rental property business with my husband, volunteered at my kids' school . . . and the list goes on. If you're serious about writing, you'll find a way to make it a routine part of your life. then she suggested a free write: Freewrite for ten minutes about why you want to write, or about what has been your experience with writing. What pushes you to write or what holds you back -- or both?

I used to freewrite all the time. In fact the idea for my novel came to me during a free write, where I wrote one scene, and the idea blossomed for me. So I sat down to write.

Something completley unexpected happened.

Here's my freewrite:

Since before I can remember, I have always had a nose in a book, but my first experience with writing happened when I was 14. I wrote a short story about a romance starring moi, and my crush- It was a hard core crush, too-but alas he only had eyes for my best friend. Isn't that how it always happens?

Anyway, I thought it was really good, but not good enough to show anyone. How embarrasing to think I'd actually be good at writing. I kept it for awhile but it eventually ended up in the trash.

I discovered poetry (ah teenage angst!) But I knew I could write and no one would have to know. I burned them when I was finished. When I was in college I used to make-up silly stories about my roomates. I joked about writing a story about us.

They thought it was great, I hid my terror of the idea byt saying "I was just joking guys, c'mon. I can't write a book!

I played around but I had no idea what I was doing and never dreamed I'd be successful. Then one day my dad found a piece of my writing. He'd been so proud of me for going to college to be a psych major, but he turned to me and said. "You know you can do this, right? This is really good. If this is really what you want to do- then do it."

A year later he was gone.

So, maybe this is why I write.

Because he said I could.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Richard Castle just gave me the best advice EVER!

2011-04-12T14:49:00.005-05:00

As some of you may know. After my utter FAIL at freelance writing last year my writing confidence has taken a huge hit. I've been sporadic at best, and even when I've have posted something, it's... well... never mind. You can insert your own adjective here.

I've had a huge Writer's block for almost a year now, and even my attempts at trying to "get back in the saddle" have been pretty lame. My pens been quivering as of late, but every time I want to sit down in the chair to write, I either a) feel guilty for all the other stuff I could be doing, b.) decide that watching reruns of teen mom 2 is suddenly of dire import, or c.) start rehashing the list of reasons why I can't write, and shouldn't even bother.

I understand this is a problem. Even with people, my mom, mother in law, MY BOSS, telling me why I should just do it, I give the whole shoulder shrug and an "eh," in response. This may come across as me not giving a shit. But in reality its my way of saying I can't deal with this right now and I don't want to talk about it.

But I was wasting time today, and came across Richard Castle's blog. He gave me the best advice ever. ITS SO TRUE!

I don’t believe in writer’s block. I believe in writer’s embarrassment. That’s when you’re so embarrassed by the horrendous drivel you’re writing that you can’t bear to see it on the page. After all, you can always write something. I’ve discovered that giving yourself permission to write poorly is the gateway to writing well. It may not be good, it may not make sense, but that’s okay. After enough pages of meaningless drivel, your brain will uncover something interesting, and before you know it, you’re off and writing again.

I’ve also discovered that writing about why you can’t write allows you to discover what’s holding you back. Once you know what’s holding you back, you can face the problem and solve it.

This last part seems especially important. Maybe when I finally sit down to write again, I'll start with that.

Leave it to me to take advice from a fictional character!

Two Line Tuesday

2011-01-17T23:19:00.002-06:00

I'm still reading Diana Gabaldon, because I got distracted and read a few books on my new kindle. (dance of joy) but, I picked it up again, and this passage struck me. I wanted to share it. This is from Dragonfly in Amber.

"I always thought it would be a simple matter to lie wi' a woman," he said softly. "And yet...I want to fall on my face at your feet and worship you"-he dropped the towel and reached out, taking me by the shoulders-"and still I want to force ye to your knees before me, and hold you there with my fingers tangled in your hair, and your mouth at my service...and I want both things at the same time, Sassenach."

And here are my two lines, which in retrospect should've gone first, after those two lines!

The house wore its desolation like a shroud. Wind torn and weather beaten, she stood defiant against years of abuse. Alex could relate. In that moment, she knew why people stayed, why they staked a claim, and called four walls home. Until that moment, Alex hadn't believed in the word home.

Women of Mystery has more two lines. Check em out. Submit some of your own, even.

Inspiration from a 2 year old.

2011-01-11T07:35:00.003-06:00

I've survived the first two weeks of being a (Semi) stay at home Mom. Even though they both need constant attention, I relish the times that Steven crawls into my lap (or on top of my back or head!)

Even though Thomas still wants to be held at all hours of the day and screams every time I leave the room, I relish the times when I get to feed him, and we have that moment where our eyes lock and I realize that I will never have a connection with another human being like I have with my sons.

I've learned to appreciate the small things. Especially the things my two year old says!

Among the other normal things two year old's say like "no!" and "That's mine!" or "I want to do it myself!" my 2 year old says alot of stuff that makes me laugh. The most recent being "Ow! my twig and berries! I can't imagine where he learned that...but my husband has been spending an awful lot of time with him lately, so there's a clue.

He says a lot of things that make me proud.

"Mom, will you read me a book?"

"Mom, will you tell me a story?"

"That was a good story, Mom!"

Occasionally, he says things that make me in credibly sad:

When informing him that I had to go to work he replied, "Can you stay here with me for a little while?"

"No, baby, I have to go to work."

"Don't. Don't go to work."

For being 2 he's also extremely adept at telling me exactly how he feels.

"That makes me so happy!"

"That makes me so sad."

"You hurt my feelings."

But the other day He said something that inspired me. It was relevant for school, for writing, for life in general.

He was playing Wii. We have the resort game, and he loves to play the sword fight. One of his favorite is the one where hundreds of other "resorters" come at you and you have to fight them all.

All of a sudden he was screaming "No! No! No! Don't get me bad guy!" And he was swinging that wii remote like nobody's business! "Don't quit!" he says between breaths. He's screaming "Don't give up! Keep trying and you'll win! Don't Stop! Keep trying.

Suddnely with an exhilartion only a two year old could show, he turns to me and yells at the top of his lungs, jumping up and down, "Momma! I won. I kept trying and I won!"

And it occured to me that if we could all face our every day situations with the strength an resiliance of a two year old, how could we fail?

In the face of countless distractions, enumberal obstacles let us keep trying. Let us not give up, so that finally, we can say "I won!"

Follow the Yellow Brick Road

2011-01-06T08:40:00.003-06:00

That song has been in my head all day.

We're not even a week into the new year, and I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to manage everything in the coming year.

In 2010 We had some huge changes. We had another son, Thomas who is beautiful! but still keeping me up at night, I decided to go back to school to become a teacher, and then within the last few weeks I've decided to stay home with the kids during the day and work in the evenings. (And a 12 hour shift every Saturday) My husband lost over 100 pounds last year. I think the changes are good changes and I'm looking forward to seeing what the new year brings. But I do have a few regrets.

My reading and writing (anything not school related, anyway) really took a hit. I've missed just curling up with a good book without the words Go, dog, Go, or without hearing Mama, Mama, Mama, every 5 seconds. And I've missed writing. I've missed writing SO much!

I don;t know. I guess that's what new year's is about, looking over the past year and looking forward into the next.

These were a few of my resolutions last year.

*Making lists to help me stay focused. (I still make lists but my day revolves around Thomas and Steven so its hard to make a set schedule. Still a work in progress)

*Go to School (Yeah me! I got one!)

*Write every night. (School kinda took care of that. But this year I'm going to give up another hour of sleep to get it done. In Theory.)

*TV reviews. Yeah that didn't happen. Every one I wrote felt awkward and I was unsure of what I was doing. Plus it took WAY too much time. So maybe one day, but not now.

So this year, I really only have 1 resolution.

Follow the yellow brick road. Let life take me where its gonna take me.

Does that mean I won't have to work hard. Of course not. Dorothy did did a lot of skipping in her pretty red slippers.

When in doubt, I'll sing a song.

I'll meet new friends along the way, but I'll always be trying to get back to those who love me, who miss miss, who've made me, maybe even some who've broken me) I'll get back to those people who motivate me, who inspire me, who will never lie to me.

I'll resolve to forget the complicated and get back to black and white.

I'll follow the yellow brick road/ I may encounter a few flying monkeys along the way, maybe even a wicked witch or two...

But I'll stick to my path, and I won't stray. (Those damn poppy fields always look so inviting!)

I'll follow the yellow brick road, and I'll always remember that there's no place like home. Because in the end that's where all dreams begin, and where all dreams end.

Happy New Year!!!

I like TV. I can't help it.

2010-10-29T15:09:00.019-05:00

So I wanted to sneak a blog post in. But hope you're not expecting anything profound. But then again, maybe you're already used to not seeing anything profound when you find your way here. Either way I've got 3 papers coming up...profound is on its way. ha.

So I'm a little obsessive. If I read a book that I like, I suddenly find I have to read everything that that author ever wrote. If I see a TV show, and there is something about it that makes me LOVE IT. I watch it OVER and OVER and OVER again. I have a few obsessions, as you may already know. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Supernatural, just to name a few.

Today I'm going to enlighten you on my top 5 favorite TV shows. I know you probably couldn't care less, but what else is a blog for, but forcing your psychosis on all of your friends?

5. True Blood
I read the Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris long before True Blood premiered on HBO, and honestly and not surprisingly the books are better. Being HBO they upped the sex and violence 10 fold. But I can't deny the sheer entertainment value. And to be fair they stay mostly with the storyline that I loved in the books. The supporting characters get their own storyline in the show and they come to VIVID life in the TV series.

4. Smallville:
I don't know if you know about my secret obsession with men who wear nerd glasses. Every time I see a man in big black socially awkward glasses I fall in love just a little bit. I can't wait till Superman gets his glasses full time.

As a show, I find it fascinating to see the Superhero that we know and love grow from an awkward 15 year old, working with super powers he doesn't know or understand.

And lets not forget Lex Luthor. Great villain. interesting to see his descent into darkness as well.

But I'd keep watching for years just to get a glimpse of Tom Welling in those glasses!

3. Dexter:
How Awesome do you have to be to write a serial killer that we can all root for. Than you Jeff Lindsay! Dexter was found in a storage shed when he was 3 years old covered and sitting in a pool of his mothers blood. The police officer who found him adopted him. Recognizing that Dexter was showing signs of being a sociopath, someone who cannot feel emotionally like the rest of us, his father decided to control the impulse instead of deny that it was there. He taught Dexter how to fake it in society and how to pick his victims. Murders and rapists that had somehow slipped through the cracks in the justice system.

Each episode builds and builds and builds, getting more intense, with Dexter having more to loose, until the final episode of the season that always leaves you tingling, sometimes with your mouth hanging open and wishing you could skip the summer just to see what happens next.

I haven't actually read the books yet, but they are definitely on my list.

2. Supernatural:
What can I say about this show? As if looking at the boys wasn't even to make you watch, they've got that bad ass car. And then there are the monsters which are actually scary enough to give you the wiggins. Seriously!

The show is also about family ties. The bond between the two brothers is touching and a little crazy. Not to mention that its the most quotable show in the world. For example: Sam: Dude, you're confusing reality with porn again, or PUDDING! or "Oh my God, I'm Pattinson!" And then there's that time when Dean screams like a girl "That was scary!" Or "The whistle makes me their god! I could go on and on but its better if you watch for yourself.

1. Buffy The Vampire Slayer/Angel
Last but definitely not least. Everything about this show is sheer genius.

This is also a monster of the week show, but each monster represents something real that teenagers go through. The idea that High School is hell is definitely something that I can relate to.

The characters are unique: they have their own way of dressing, and their own dialogue.

Its also the only show that can make me laugh and cry in the same episode. The only show that can do a musical episode and make it work (before Glee came along, of course) The only show that can have an episode of television with more than half of the episode without dialogue. And the only show that can make you feel SO intensely without the help of background music. Joss Whedon can create an episode that is completely in dream sequences of the main characters.

The main characters make mistakes, and when they do, they have to pay for them.

The things that man can do with the power of words. But don't take my word for it. You have to see to believe.

Check them out if you've got a little spare time. Tell me what you think.

The Road to Lost Innocence

2010-09-04T06:05:00.003-05:00

So I just finished my first week of school, and despite problems with financial aide and my lack of books, I think it went pretty well.

There's a lot to do and its a little overwhelming, but in a good way. Im working toward a goal and Im such a nerd that I actually enjoy my classes. I forgot how much I love psychology.

I'm having to repeat some classes since the first time around I didn't take it as seriously as I should have, (let this be a lesson!) so Im taking freshman English, which I kinda find ironic.

We're reading this book called "The Road to Lost Innocence," by Somaly Mam. The book is a autobiographical account of her life in Cambodia. I can't tell you how much this book affected me.

Somaly Mam is the name this woman picked for herself. She can't remember the name she was born with or her biological parents. For a long time she was an orphan living off help from the village she lived in until a man came and took her in. He in turn sold her into prostitution to pay off his debts.

I can turn to any page and find a quote that leaves me horrified. The world she describes is so very different from where I live, it almost doesn't seem real. It would be easier if it weren't.

"Ideally in Cambodia, a woman walks so quietly you can't hear her footsteps. She smiles without showing her teeth and laughs softly. She never looks directly into the eyes of any man. A woman must not talk back to her husband. She must not turn her back to him in bed. She must bow before she touches his head, and if she walks over his legs she will become ill. In Cambodia, you must respect and care for your parents, and your husband is your master-second only to your father."

It was bad enough that this was the life she led before the prostitution, but what is even more horrifying is the fact that this is a common practice. Parents and gradnparents who find themselves in debt will use their daughters to pay off their debts. "I can truly say that I think that for many parents, feelings have nothing to do with it. Their children are money on legs, an asset, a kind of domestic livestock."

As if being raped repeatedly by dozens of different men on a daily basis wasn't bad enough sometimes the clients tortured the girls for their own pleasure, beating them and cutting them. If the girls showed any insubordination, they were punished.

"I think that was when Li discovered something I was really afraid of. He was scientific about punishment; he wanted us compleltey cowed. He must have realized I wasn't terrorized by the basement room, because when I was taken down there I didn;t scream helplessly like the other girls. I just glared at guards and thought about how one day I would kill them. I always tried not to show pain, because I didn't want to give them the pleasure.

But one night Li dumped a bucket of live maggots on me. Hideous maggots, like the ones on meat. When he realized how much they frightened me, he began dumping them into my mouth and on my body while I was sleeping. I thought they would make their way inside me, into my body. That's what I have nightmares about, even now."

In cambodia, young girls sell oranges in the park. For the price of an orange a man can do whatever he wishes to girls as young as six years old. Men in Cambodia pay a lot of money for virgins. They believe that having sex with a virgin will cure you of AIDS.

Today, Somaly Mam runs a nonprofit organization dedicated to ending sexual slavery and giving victims a chance at a new life. She takes social workers and police into the brothels and rescues the victims. She provides shelter for the victims she rescues and teaches them a trade so that they don't have to find themselves in brothels again. She speaks to men in cambodia about the effects of prostitution and what the brothels are really like. English is her fourth language. She has received the World Children's Prize for the Rights of the Child, in Sweden, the Roland Berger Award for Human Dignity in Germany, and in Washington D.C. she was honored at the Vital Voices 2009 global leadership Awards.

At first she didn't do anything but speak up, and pass out a few condoms. She has been threatened with death. She's had a gun to her head. Her own daughter was kidnapped by one of the brother owners and was missing for 3 days. They wanted her to stop talking.

I feel helpless, the situation is bigger than me. but I can speak up.

Today, I urge you to look around you. You have a home, your children are protected. You married a man of your choosing. Today I urge you to forget the little things, the bills you can't pay, the arguement that you had last night. Forget the rude words of your mothers, your fathers, your brothers and sisters, and be thankful. Thankful that we may not have money today, but we have a job. We have hope. Thankful that even in arguements we have a voice. And no matter what relationship we have with our parents, in most cases, they wouldn't sell us into slavery for the price of a US quarter.

Wives make love to your husbands. Relish the fact that for us, sex is a beautiful thing, an expression of our deeper feelings, an expression of our love for one another, and an expression of ourselves.

If you'd like to know more about Somaly Mam, you can check out her website www.somaly.org. or come see her when she speaks at WTAMU on Thurdsay, October 7, at 5 pm at the first United Bank Center in Canyon.

Two Line Tuesday

2010-08-17T04:53:00.004-05:00

I snuck a few extra lines in, but they were too good to pass up. From Outlander, by Diana Gabaldon:

"Murtagh was right about women. Sassenach,I risked my life for ye, committing theft, arson, assault, and murder into the bargain. In return for which ye call me names, insult my manhood, kick me in the ballacks and claw my face. Then I beat you half to death and tell ye all the most humiliating things have ever happened to me, and you say ye love me." He laid his head on his knees and laughed some more. Finally, he rose and held out a hand to me, wiping his eyes with the other.

"You're no verra sensible, Sassenach, but I like ye fine. Let's go."

Sassenach, meaning Outlander, is a term used by the Scottish to refer to the British. If I understand correctly its not exactly a term used in polite company. I like how Jamie uses it as an endearment.

And my two lines:

A sudden sense of urgency woke me much faster than the light in my face and I stood quickly, throwing my book to the ground.
I heard the clatter of the gun hitting the rotted boards of the porch and tried not to look so scared.

Don't forget to check out more lines at women of mystery!

Two Line Tuesday...

2010-08-10T11:14:00.003-05:00

It's Tuesday. You know what to do. And don't forget to check out what other people contributed at Women of Mystery!

My two lines:

How long would it take me to be die of starvation or thirst? How long would I have to wander in this desert?

Outlander By Diana Gabaldon.

This is the second time I'm reading this series. The romance is completely engrossing but not half as engrossing as all the very precise Scottish History. And you know how I love men in kilts!

The two semicircles passed each other at increasing speeds, sometimes forming a complete circle, sometimes a double line. And in the center, the leader stood stock-still, giving again and again that mournful, high-pitched call, in a language long since dead.

A little late

2010-08-10T01:16:00.005-05:00

My 3 word wednesday is finally up for last week... sorry it was a little late.

A Vague disclaimer is no one's friend:

These 3 word wednesday's are first drafts. I didn't even do spell check. I've banned myself from editing for at least a year. That is all.

It was a feeble attempt at humor.
His soft chuckle faded into silence when he noticed my smile didn’t quite reach my eyes.
I could see the burn in his cheeks as he cleared his throat.
This date had been a horrible idea. I told Melissa that it was a horrible idea. I didn’t even know why I bothered, except that I had been close to a year since anyone has asked me out.
Adam nervously adjusted his tie and leaned toward me.
His arms fell across the tablet and he scooted his chair closer.
Miss manners would be so proud.
“So, Melissa tells me that you work for a construction company. That’s interesting.”
“Uh, huh.”
Adams eyes fell to the table. I didn’t think his cheeks could get any more red, but here they were blossoming into an embarrassing shade of magenta all over again.
I stared at my drink, untouched in its glass. The ice settled, the tink, tink of it loud in the silence.
The waiter brought our food.
Italian. How original.
He straightened but didn’t touch his food, as if he were waiting for me to begin.
I twirled my fork around the plate, hoping it was obvious that I wasn’t interested. I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable under the force of his stare.
“Look, lets just get this out of the way,” he said. “I have no idea if I’ll call you tomorrow. I don’t have any expectations of leaving here and taking you back to my place-I don’t think this is going to be the first day of the rest of my life.”
And maybe I’m way off base here, but I can see that its been a long time since you’ve worn anything but seats or left you house for anything but I don’t know, work and grocery shopping.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me-“
“I wasn’t finished..” He grabbed his beer and reclined back into his seat. He held the bottle with two fingers, his hands hanging limply over his thigh.
All of my righteous indignation was eclipsed by the shock Id felt at having someone talk to me.
I opened my mouth to say something but the words wouldn’t come.
“Wouldn’t it be wise of you to give this half a chance, to be open to the possibilities that I might call you tomorrow. I might take you home tonight-that you might enjoy, and that this might be the first day of the rest of your life?”
Wouldn’t it be nice enjoy a fee meal, a glass of wine, and the company of a relatively nice guy? Even if we never see each other again, instead of guaranteeing that before long you’ll be a bitter old woman who can only tolerate the company of her cats?”
Even I couldn’t predict a future that grim for myself.
It took me a moment to recover from the backlash. My throat closed up and I could feel tears springing up in my eyes. But then I relaxed. My arms, like an iron vise across my chest released their hold, fell to my side. I scooted my chair closer to the table.
I raised my fork to my mouth and the taste of garlic and butter, tomatoes and peppers exploded in my mouth. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d tasted food this good. (I couldn’t remember a time when I’d tasted anything but TV dinners and hot pockets.)
Adam took a bite of his food, and relaxed against the back of his seat, a casual laziness that didn’t quite go with his suit. “Atta girl,” he said, and smiled.

Two Line Tuesday

2010-08-03T08:28:00.002-05:00

Two lines from the novel (novella) I'm reading now, The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner, by Stephanie Meyer.

He was the hottest boy I'd ever seen, tall and blonde and perfect, every feature. I knew his eyes must be just as beautiful behind the dark sunglasses that he never took off.

And my two lines:

But, much like the subtle shifting from day into night, my exhilaration soon turned to exhaustion. I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and my foot on the pedal getting lighter.

Check other two lines at the women of mystery blog.

3 Word Wednesday

2010-07-29T03:13:00.003-05:00

This is my first attempt at 3 Word Wednesday, and I love it. Let me know what ya'll think.

Abuse
Cramp
Hatred

The hatred I felt often manifested itself in a physical way.

Whenever he walked into the room, my stomach would cramp up. It wasn't something I could ignore, either. Though the thought of him witnessing the effect he had on me literally made me want to committ murder. I usually spent most of my morning imagining where I'd do it, and how I could take his life in the most imaginative way possible.

And I had a lot of imagination.

I would be making his coffee in the morning and he'd sneak in, late as usual, with that shit eating grin that made everyone think he'd spent the night doing God knows what, with God knows who.

I could see it on the faces of everyone in the office.

I grabbed my stomach as he passed me by, not even bothering to acknowledge that I existed. I closed my eyes and breathed in the musky smell of his cologne, wanting him, and at the same time wishing him a slow and painful death.

My stomach twisted again.

I adjusted my glasses, brushed the wispy hair that never quiet stayed in my braid out of my face.

I walked slowly, careful to not slosh his coffee.

Of course right when I turned the corner into his office, my foot caught on a wrinkle in the carpet. I felt the mug slip from my hands, the hot brown liquid flying through the air onto his ridiculously expensive rug.

I felt the flames rising up my neck to burn my cheeks and my ears. I braced myself for the inevitable abuse I'd no doubt be receiving.

For what felt like hours, all I heard was silence. I couldn't move, refusing to look at him.

His fingers digging into the soft flesh of my upper arm brought me out of my paralysis.

He jerked me to the door, throwing me off balance.

As if I needed his help!

I tripped again as he dragged me out the door and into the secretaries office.

He gave another jerk on my arm, forcing me into the spotlight.

Amused eyes watched us from each of the 10 cubicles. Some were trying not to laugh. Some of them didn't bother trying to hide it.

The horrible realization hit me that he was saving the punishment for an audience.

I heard the volume of his voice, but the words were lost to me. My eyes focused on the rug below my feet, my head lowered like a beaten dog. But all I could think of was the night before and the way he'd softly traced a line from behind my knee and up my thigh. I remembered how his touch lingered on my skin, long after he'd stopped touching me.

It had been so long since a man had looked at me, much less touched me, that I let myself be lost in the warmth of his hand on my thigh, so close, and yet not close enough.

He'd treated me like I was fragile. Like I'd break if he wasn't too careful. Or maybe like he was afraid to scare me off.

He didn't know I wanted him to try to break me. I wanted him to know just how unbreakable I was.

But then, he'd never asked me what I wanted. Had he?

His grip loosened and then he pushed me away from him. He couldn't walk away without inflicting that last bit of dignity, could he? Thank God the wall was there to catch me. I don't think I could endure being thrown to the ground.

I pushed my glassed back up my nose, brushed the wispy hair that never seemed to stay in my braid out of my face and straightened my skirt.

I cleared my throat and grabbed some towels from the janitor closet. And then I did my best to clean the mess I'd made of the rug.

Uninspired

2010-07-29T02:12:00.002-05:00

The other day I wrote 2500 words. That may not seem like alot to more successful writers, but to someone whose been doing more doodling than writing over the last year, its a victory, albeit a small one.

I made the decision to write that night. I don't know why. The room was quiet or something was bothering me. I couldn't sleep.

I sat down to write.
I opened facebook.
Pandora Radio. Took longer than necessary trying to find what I wanted to listen to.
I opened my notebook (cuz I like the feel of writing on paper.)
I grabbed my pen.
I tapped the end of the pen to the music.
I stared at the blank page.
I stared at the blank page.
And I stared at the blank page.

I finally wrote a sentence.
I scratched it out.
I wrote a sentence, I scratched it out.

But then something happened. 45 minutes later, I wrote a word. That word led to another word, and another. Then I had a sentence, a paragraph, and then a chapter.

Writing is kinda like working out. You can do it when you feel like it. And you can feel proud of yourself for it.

But on the days you don't feel good about it, the days you're not in the zone- those are often the days you have breakthroughs.

Maybe you run an extra mile than you did last week. Maybe you add a 1,000 words to your word count.

I wish I could tell you that the chapter I wrote was the greatest thing I've ever written.

But I won't. I can't.

I haven't read it.

I want the words on the page. That's all.

Because I'm a writer. And writer's write.

And in the end isn't the meaning of success, whether you're running a marathon, or writing a novel, simply not giving up?

Two Line Tuesday

2010-07-27T04:38:00.003-05:00

You know the drill. Two lines I've read this week. Two lines I've written.

I admit it. I'm reading The Twilight Saga. Again.

From Eclipse:

The sun was so deeply buried behind the clouds that there was no way to tell if it had set or not. After the long flight - chasing the sun westward so that it seemed unmoving in the sky it was especially disorienting-time seemed oddly variable.

And two lines from my work in progress:

Much like the subtle shifting from day into night, my exhilaration soon turned to exhaustion. It was difficult to keep my eyes open.

And don't forget to head over to the women of mystery blog for more Two Line Tuesday!

It Takes a Village

2010-06-23T22:01:00.002-05:00

I'm back to work from being put on bedrest during my last month of pregnancy, recovering from childbirth, and then undergoing a (not so major) surgery.

Half of me is glad to be back, but the other half still thinks I'm never going to get back on track or find a routine that I can easily slip back into.

It makes me extremely thankful that I don't have to do it alone.

Its not just my husband, who lets me sleep in on Saturday or who wakes up for the 3am feeding.

Its not just my mom, God bless her, who when I'm in tears from hormones or exhaustion, or a combination of both, takes her grandkids so I can get a single night of rest.

It's not just my cousin, who even if we weren't related by blood, would probably lay down her life for me.

Its the other people, too. The ones who throw you showers, or drop off diapers, who crowd into the hospital room even though Im throwing up, and there's already so many people in the room that they're spilling over into the hallway.

Since we moved around a lot as a kid, I think I missed out on that sense of community that people are talking about when they say "It takes a village." But this weekend, celebrating the birthday of a friend, I couldn't help but remember the "good old times."

I went to college at WTAMU and the people that I met there are some of the same people who are helping me raise my own sons, today.

I remember the guy who was so painfully shy he hugged the wall at most parties, and the girl who had a painful crush on him.

I remember the boy who was afraid to hug me, afraid to get too close to anyone it seemed.

And of course I remember the twins,so full of life and chivalry! Pulling out our chairs and standing up when we came to the table.

That girl with the painful crush won her man and now they have a beautiful life together and a beautiful daughter to show for it.

That boy, though he has no children of his own, has no problem playing the favorite uncle, not only for his own nieces, but for all of our kids.

And the twins have grown into wonderful husbands and fathers who can still make being "childlike" an art form.

We've lost some friends along the way, but picked up a few down the road. Hell, some that had been missing even rejoined the fold! It takes a village to raise a child, but sometimes it takes a village to shape ourselves as well.

What would college have been like for me without you, Nathan and Sarah, Shawn, Tim, and James? What would life be like now, without you, Donnie and Kissaundra? Crystal and Rusty? Vanessa and Clay?

James and I sometimes talk about opportunities to move to a bigger city, where we could make more money, have better jobs, live in a more exciting city.

In the end we always stay. We stay because you are our village, and life wouldn't be the same without you...

Progress

2010-01-12T09:41:00.003-06:00

I know posts about New Year's Resolutions are probably a dime a dozen right about now but I just wanted the people who follow me to have a little update.

I, like most people I know made a few resolutions myself. The cliche.. lose weight. That one's gone out the window. Pregnancy kinda has an adverse affect on that one and my doctor told me no go... which is good cause throwing up again was definately NOT on my to do list... Excercise more... not happening. But the ones that I am keeping track of are going very well.

I'm making a list (and checkin' it twice!) heh, just kidding. I'm making a list of to do items and making sure I get at least a few of them done everyday. It helps to keep me focused, on track, and I'm well on my way to setting a routine I can live with. Not every day goes as planned, and some days I do less than others. But the point is that actively participating in my own life instead on watching as it passes me by.

One of the main things that I wanted to do this year was get back into school and change my career path. I'm tired of bitching about my job all the time, its time I do something about it. But once again the whole pregnancy thing is throwing me off. School for me would start 3 days after the baby is due and no Super Mom, Student, Woman could handle that much pressure, so I'm putting it off until next year. But I'm ok with that. I've mad a plan and I have something to look forward to. Plus it'll give me a change to work on my dedication and to stucture my life around the things I really want.

But what I'm super impressed with is that I've been writing every night. So far the book is packed away (all 3 of them actually) and I haven't so much as looked at them. But I'm not pressuring myself about it or feeling guilty that its in a box on my desk. I'm taking baby steps and I'm writing every night. Hopefully that will blossom into writing fiction every night.

The big one that I'm working on, and its kinda harder than I thought It'd be, is that I was going to give up TV.

I just can't do it. I think I'd rather diet.

So I made a deal with myself. If I Have to watch TV, I have to write a review of it. I had a practice with Heroes and Dollhouse last week and I wrote my review of Heroes last night. You can check it out at www.huddlekay.wordpress.com.

Please read and tell me what you think. do you watch Heroes? Do you agree with me or disagree? More importantly, how's the writing? 'Cause I've gotta say, I have no idea what I'm doing.

A Heart Shaped Pebble in a Parking Lot Full of Rocks

2009-11-28T21:41:00.005-06:00

November and December are, by their very definition, months of reflection.

We're meant to ponder what we're thankful for-focus on what the holidays are truly about. We're meant to embrace kindness and love, and to tap into that thing that for most of the year, remains elusive-our own humanity.

But sometimes it harder than it should be.

Sometimes we remember that November is the month that our father died-that this is the first holiday season without our figurehead, our clan leader, our reason for celebrating in the first place.

Instead we as a culture declare the day after we're supposed to be our most thankful, Black Friday, and we start the first day of the Christmas season by celebrating commercialism instead. We want more for less and we want to be first in line, no matter how nasty and mean it may make us.

When my father died, nine years ago this month, it was hard to remember that the holidays weren't just about food, football, and shopping, but he managed to show us, and he continues to show us that we aren't alone. We can't hear his laugh or watch his belly shake like the famous fat man himself. We can't hug him or be encouraged by him (or enraged at him either.) We can't watch a grown man brought to tears by the reading of the Christmas story on Christmas Eve, but in his own way he lets us know he's near.

He sends us hearts.

Hearts in the oddest places. Our pancakes come out heart shaped or the reflection from sunlight hitting a piece of glass will show up on the wall in the shape of a heart. We'll see heart shaped knots of wood in furniture and in trees, in potato chips and the pepperoni on our pizza.

The last few months for me have felt like I tripped into an open grave, in the rain. I keep trying to climb out of the pit I've admittedly dug for myself, and the walls turn to mud in my hands. It seems like everytime I make a little progress I slip back down again.

I've been pretty discouraged. I've complained about my job, I've complained about my life. I've complained about missed oppurtunities, even as I stand on the corner and wave as they pass me by.

But it's days like today, a day as normal and bland as any other, where I cleaned my house with my husband and we played with our son, to remind me that it's not always the big moments, it's not always the weddings and births and celebrations that matter.

Sometimes it's just a hand to hold- a shoulder to lean on- a smile from a stranger- that's what we live for-that makes life living.

So here's what I'm I'm thankful for this holiday season.

I'm thankful for a good book.

A well written poem.

I'm thankful that I'm a woman. Because being a woman sometimes means that you're sick for months at a time and tired and cranky and tearful and sometimes whiny. But I'm thankful that I'm a woman because it means I'm strong enough to create life- and then nurture that life with love and laughter.

I'm thankful that I have a home and that it's more than just brick and mortar.

I'm thankful for friends and family- even the ones who aren't here physically but whose spirit does surround us. Even if somedays their spirit isn't enough, I'm thankful that today it is.

I'm thankful for heart shaped pebbles in a parking lot full of rocks and red birds that sit in your driveway and wait patiently while you scurry around her in preparation for a funeral.

And above all else- I'm thankful for oppurtunity (and for those who give their lives for us to take it.)

I'm thankful for an unspoken thought that suddenly becomes a dream, that a dream can take root and become reality, and that that possibility -even if it remains unfullfilled-means that there is never too far to fall before you pick yourself up again and move forward.

I'm thankful that there is no better time than the closing of one year, to remind us that there is always a new beginning, a new chapter, a new oppurtunity to be human, to be happy, and to be thankful.

Beneath the Skin

2009-11-17T10:31:00.002-06:00

So I'm having a strange week. A good week, but a strange one none the less. First off, my mom makes this comment. "I just finished reading this book by "insert best-selling author here" and I couldn't stop thinking that I wish you'd finish your book. You're so much better than he/she is."

Now I don't put too much stock in the comment since it came from my mother, but it gave me a little flutter in my stomach anyway.

Then Monday morning I wake up at 5am and Braden and Alex are tormenting me. For 2 hours they keep asking me questions. What if this, what if that? You know if you wrote this, this might happen.

Again I shrugged it off. See I haven't so much as doodled my name on a scratch piece of paper in months, and every time I see my notebook laying there, I kinda cringe, and truth be told get slightly nauseas. this could be due to the pregnancy, mind you, but I don't think so.

Then last night my husband gets a new TV, so he's busy putting it together. *Yawn*
So I grab a book that's been on my bookshelf for months. I have no idea who the author is (Nikki French) and I can't remember why I picked it up at the half priced bookstore in the first place, except perhaps that I liked the title (Beneath the Skin)

By page 3 I'm saying "wow", by page eleven the world around me has started to blur around the edges,I'm vaguely conscious of the fact that my husband is speaking to me, but the words are muffled as if I'm wearing earmuffs.

I'm in the story.

I'm standing on the streets of London watching a man and woman jumping off a moving bus. I can smell the smells of summer, and I can taste the cherries Zoe is eating. I hear the thud of the woman's head as she hits the pavement, can feel the thick sticky blood pouring out of her mouth, the broken tooth scraping my fingers.

For the next 419 pages I'll be walking the streets of London, being stalked by a madmen, and I'm going to love every minute.

So thank you Nikki French for getting under my skin. For making me want to study writing again, not just pass the time with a good book.

Opening Line Chapter One

"I wouldn't have been famous if it weren't for the watermelon."

Setting

"It was hot, but that may give you the wrong impression. It may make you think of the Mediterranean and deserted beaches and long drinks with colorful paper parasols dangling out of them. Nothing like that. The heat was like a big old smelly mangy greasy farty dying dog that had settled down on London at the beginning of June and hadn't moved for three horrible weeks."

Character

"Normally the choice of books that I read to my class is dictated according to facist totalitarian principles imposed by the government, but this morning I'd rebelled just for once and read them a Brer Rabbit story I'd found in a cardboard box of battered childhood books when I'd cleared out my Dad's flat. I'd lingered over old school reports, letters written before I'd been born, tacky China ornaments that brought with them a flood of sentimental memories. I'd kept all the books because I thought one day I might have children myself and then I could read them the books that Mum had read to me before she had died and left it to Dad to tuck me into bed each night, and reading aloud just became another of those things that were lost, and so in my memory had become something precious and wonderful. Whenever I read aloud to kids there's a bit of me feels as if I've turned into a soft, blurred version of my mother;that I'm reading to the child I once was."

All in 15 pages.

That's what I'm talking about.

Que Sera, Sera

2009-07-16T20:28:00.002-05:00

So I've been away for awhile, and no one missed me too much, except for my (count them-2) loyal fans who've both made comments about how long its been.

Thanks for that, by the way!

I've been off on the Great American Freelancing Adventure. And like all adventures this one had good things, it had bad things, exciting things and things that weren't that fun at all.

But throughout my journey I learned a ton about myself, my career as a writer, what is and isn't so important in making your life a good one.

So here's a breakdown:

THE GOOD

1. I really felt like a writer! I was getting paid for articles- and one guy even asked me to repeat jobs so that I had a few months of a pretty steady paycheck. It wasn't enough to set me for life, but the extra spending money sure was nice.

2. I got immediate feedback once you've completed a job (100% feedback so far *Cough*)

3. My work was validated when people started requesting me for proposals instead of me looking for work.

THE BAD

1. I was busy ALL the time

2. No sleep and an unfortunate addiction to monster energy drinks.

3. I had to turn down social engagements, which I'm sure made everyone think I was a real snob. (Besides I miss movie nights with Nette-who else would wear pajamas to the movie theater in the middle of the night!)

THE UGLY

1. No one's ever going to know that those articles came from me. I won't get "Credit" for an of it except to pat my own back.

2. I didn't get paid enough (which has been pointed out to me mainly by my current bosses)

3. I'm still working on a job that should have been finished almost 3 months ago. It's driving me crazy because my gut feeling that I should never have taken the job in the first place, I wanted to do as much as possible as soon as possible. It's certainly taken a toll on my Moral and its horrible for my reputation, so I'll just chock it up to a lesson learned.

WHAT I LEARNED FROM THE EXPERIENCE

1. Don't bite off more than you can chew.

2. Slow and steady really does win the race.

3. I am above all else a fiction writer, and while freelancing sometimes felt like an albatross around my neck, my novel is a siren's song that constantly calls me home.

Freelancing isn't done for me (the extra money is nice) but I promise to treat it more a lifestyle change than a fad diet.

I promise to never let my motto be "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans," but I promise instead to be the person who says Que Sera Sera, Whatever will be-Will be.

My Town Music Monday

2009-03-02T00:05:00.006-06:00

It kinda fits in both categories since what I'm featuring today is an original song by Lacey Brown who lives here in Amarillo. I first heard her sing at christmas at the church my brother attends.

Not long after he introduced me to her, we found out she had auditioned for American Idol. I followed even more religiously than usual, getting excited every time I spotted her on the show. She made it up until the top 36, where she didn't quite make the cut. I've been watching the show for the last few weeks and I for one don't know what the hell the judges were thinking:

Accompanied by Ryan Culwell who co-wrote Give Me a Heart with her:

Don't forget to head over to Travis's site for more My Town Monday goodness!

When can I quit my job?

2009-02-21T11:41:00.003-06:00

Okay, so here's the deal.

I don;t know whether to be so excited I could pee my pants (jumping up and down in excietment as we speak,) Or nervous as hell.

I go between - "this is so awesome, I can't contain myself", to "I don't know what the hell I've done to myself."

I was over the moon with myself because someone accepted my bid for a freelance writing job. I haven't even started that one yet. I got another bid, for 10 articles in a week." Friday about 2 am I felt so accomplished, even though I'd slept very few hours during the week, while taking care of my family and going to my "real" job

Then the guy who hired me for the blog posts, decides he needs a job done with a higher priority. So now two jobs have suddenly turned into 3 with a promise that if this job works out I'll have "a ton of work" sent my way.

Then, this was in my email this more. From the guy with the 10 articles...."I appreciate your work. Could use 20 more articles. Are you interested?"

Holy Hell, I'm now a Professional Writer!

JAMBI

2009-02-16T07:49:00.003-06:00

nothing like a little Tool to get you going in the morning.

Phallic Friday

2009-02-13T10:36:00.002-06:00

I promise not to make this a weekly thing!

I have always understood that men have deep rooted "Attachment" to their genitals. All day long you're scratching and shifting and yanking on "the boys" But I never got how early it happened in your development.

My son is not even a year old. I've never seen him happier than the few minutes it takes to change the dirty diaper to a clean one. And if he can run off before the clean one gets put on he's ecstatic!

I buy the boy bath toys, but does he pay with them? NO. He's too busy pulling and pinching the little bits. He could play with the thing for hours!

But this morning was too much. I was changing his diaper and wiggled IT at me. Wiggled it! I could hear the words "Helicopter,helicopter..." echoing in the dark corners of my mind...

He WIGGLED he willy at me!

The little shit takes after his father... It just goes to show that men NEVER grow up!!!

This is why I write

2009-02-12T10:43:00.004-06:00

On the way to the sitter's this morning I was thinking about how nice it would be to have the freedom of a child again.

I remembered what it was like to watch my cousin climb up the back of the football bleachers in Kress, and how even though my grandmas chewed her ass- she smiled. It was worth it to her to feel the fear of falling, to feel the wind in her face-to feel the victory of conquering such an obstacle.

I want to feel that again. I want to play tackle football in the rain, to feel the wind in my hair going ninety down the highway.

I want to make a magic potion of milk, pickle juice and ketchup because if I drink it-I can stay up until the sun rises.

I want to play capture the flag and use the whole block for hide and seek. Or if we have to be banished inside-upgrade hide and seek to murder in the dark.

I want to steal garden gnomes and pumpkins and then send ransom notes to their owners, I want to play Charlie's Angels.

I want to swing, and jump, to fly, even if for half a second, and then feel my feet buried in the sand.

I want to be a boxer.

I want to transfer the pool in the backyard to the sea, and when I duck under the water I want to grow a fish tail and wear seashells over my breasts, and braided into my hair.

Anyone want to play with me?

Blog Whore

2009-02-11T15:01:00.001-06:00

Yep. I'm a blog whore.

I go back and forth-back and forth. When one blogger fails to post for the day I get antsy-feels like little ants are crawling under my skin. It started off simply enough. I'll start a blog site so my friends who give a damn can read my demented ramblings. But then I read someone else's and had to comment. They in return commented back and now I've created a monster. My list of one blog to read has become over ten and I keep finding MORE!

I start reading one and suddenly its 3'clock in the afternoon and I've wasted my day! I'm at work trying not to call people the "Stupid cow" I wanted to call them and I reach in my pocket and find my phone. "I have unlimited access to the internet," I think and I wonder if I just poke my head in to see what so and so has to say... and then the pharmacist is throwing empty bottles at my head.

I'm an addict-with an endless supply. DAMN.

But the last few days people have been slacking. 2-3 days with no post! You slay me!

And then I look at my own empty pages. What if I'm the crack in someone else's literary crack pipe? What if my whopping 4 followers feel the same? Have I let you down,my faithful followers?

Let the demented ramblings resume...

Two-Line Tuesday

2009-02-10T10:02:00.003-06:00

From Christina Dodd's Touch of Darkness

As the Ferry closed on the island, he could see more detail-the blush of summer grass,the few trees, bent and blasted by wind, the white sand beaches beneath the cliffs. The place was a haven for seabirds; they wheeled through the air, crying of long migrations and short summers, and a single golden eagle flew high above them all, hunting...always hunting.

And mine:

It was still dark in the room, and though I couldn't hear the rain, I could see the shimmer of it against the glass of the window. From the chair next to my bed, a slumped figure snored softly.

Remember to head over to women of mystery for more two-lines.

Ray Lamontagne

2009-02-09T10:01:00.001-06:00

Two-Line Tuesday

2009-02-03T07:22:00.002-06:00

Here's two lines from Scent of Darkness by Christina Dodd:

It dwarfed the mighty trees around it, and it sat too close to the edge of the cliff. To her stunned gaze, it looked like a monster, the last of its species,hovering on the edge of lonely suicide.

And mine:

It was extremely satisfying to know exactly how much power was still left in my upper body. Extremely satisfying to hear the shattering of the glass on the tile floor, to know that I could break as well as be broken.

Head over to Women of Mystery for more two-lines...

Music Mondays

2009-02-02T15:07:00.006-06:00

I've been thinking about doing My Town Mondays, but I don't want to steal Travis's thunder.

HA! (translation: I can't ever think of anything to write.) So, I've been thinking about something else to fill the gap. It'd be nice to think of something for every day of the week to keep me focused and writing something everyday, and that will come, but for now: Music Mondays.

Music has always been a huge part of my life. Whenever we have family functions, someone always brings out the instruments and starts singing. This could be anything from guitars, to piano's to spoons and washboards. But there is always music. Not from me-the only thing I can play is the radio. But my mom started playing piano when she was 6. She plays by ear. She can hear a song once and play it. That always amazed me.

My dad's uncle and cousin spent a majority of their life in honky-tonks and Bo even has a couple of CD's. He never made it big, but the man was talented. I'm even related in a round about way to Kevin Fowler.

Our favorite movie when we were kids was footloose.

And sadly enough, My cousin and I, even at 30 years old, have been caught in the kitchen letting loose to brown eyed girl by Van Morrison.

Music to me has always been another form of creativity, a way to express what you want to say, but don't know how to say it. You pour your feelings into the music, and you even get something back from it.

I've often said that I listen to all types of music, from classical to the heaviest hard rock, and that whatever I'm listening to depends on my mood. That's true. So here's another way to say, without having to say it, exactly what's on my mind.

Today, this is how I feel:

Joss Stone - Right to Be Wrong

2009-01-23T12:48:00.002-06:00

I wasn't going to write today, because of the way I'm feeling. But I remember a promise I made to write (cough*cough) everyday, no matter what

Today is one of the days I was talking about, I woke up sad. By the time I dropped Steven off at the sitter's, I was in tears. I didn't stop until about 30 minutes before work.

I don't know about you, but explaining what depression feels like to someone who doesn't suffer from it, is not easy. Make it your distraught husband who is suddenly worried about the number of guns he has in the house and it becomes a nightmare.

I was diagnosed with depression a long time ago, when I was still in college. And again when My father passed away.

Once when things got really bad, I packed a bag and didn't tell anyone I was leaving. I was gone for 3 days. Granted I was at my moms house, So I didn't disappear completely. But at my worst, I'd be driving and wonder what would happen if I just turned the wheel enough to head into ongoing traffic. Who would notice? Would it make any difference at all?

I felt that way again this morning, not with the ongoing traffice, but really who would care if I wasn't around. Wouldn't they be better off without me anyway?

I put a lot of pressure on myself to be strong. I hate feeling weak, of feeling incapable of anything. I've felt completely lost lately. Mediocre things have become extremely difficult for me to handle. I can't focus, I can't concentrate. I could be told something one minute and the next completely forget what I was supossed to be doing.

Maybe it's time to admit that Ineed more help than just allowing it pass on it's own. Does succumbing to medication make me weak? What do you think?

Two-Line Tuesday

2009-01-20T08:33:00.002-06:00

Here are my two lines from Cry Wolf by Tami Hoag.

Behind them, on the banks, the weeping willows, boughs bowed as if by grief,and the live oak with their twisted trunks and gnarled branches, looking like enchanted things eternally frozen in a moment of agony. And from their contorted limbs hangs the moss, gray and dusty and tattered, like old feather boas left to rot in the attic of some long-forgotten,long-ruined mansion.

And my two lines:

I stared at the red angry wounds of my face, stitched together like some macabre quilt. My usually long, graceful legs encased in cold steel had been rendered useless.

For more Two line Tuesdays head over to the Women of Mystery.

The Rush

2009-01-19T13:33:00.003-06:00

So I've got this new story rolling around in my head...

And it scares me because, apparenlty I have great openings... I wouldn't know if I have great endings, because I've never had one... So I'm kinda reluctant to do anything with it.

But it won't leave me alone. I close my eyes and I see it.. I'm washing the dishes and its whispering to me.

Alex and her crew are missing in action right now. I try to think about what happens next and their off playing in the wheat fields...

And my hockey players apparently have a test to study for because I get shushed every time I try to hang out with them.

I think the answer's obvious. I don't hold the reins here people, I have no control. And she who will, so far, remain nameless is whipping me into action...

It stings a little, but I relish the rush...

Dollhouse

2009-01-16T09:14:00.008-06:00

As you all know, I'm a huge fan f Joss Whedon, creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and Firefly.

He's back with a new Series. I've been waiting for this for years and now it's finally here. Check out the new creation from the mind of what I consider sheer genius....

http://link.brightcove.com/services/link/bcpid1554364106/bctid1554394250

First episode Feb. 13 at 8:00p

Hope

2009-01-15T08:25:00.005-06:00

After two weeks of moping around the house trying to solve the mysteries of the universe, I finally wrote down my feelings. I've felt much better. Of course it helped to see all the support Travis is getting-And seeing the cleanup process was extremely cathartic for me- I can't imagine how it must have felt for him.

So I've come from the despair that life can bring to realizing that the universe holds many wonders as well. Trouble may come-disaster may happen, but we clean up the mess and get on with living. It's people like my cousins Justin and Jason, My friends, John Paul and Crystal, and Sarah, and Sheila-Travis, and even people I've never met, like Tanis Miller who teach me that. May I have half the strength of any one of them if I ever do meet with adversity.

Welcome to the Black Hole of Despair

2009-01-13T10:13:00.003-06:00

I've been dreading this post.

I don't know what to say. And what I do have to say seems so insignificant in the whole scheme of things.

I don't understand this life. I don't understand it at all.

I don't understand how one moment a man could kiss his wife and child goodbye and head of to work thinking everything was going to be okay and the next he's in a wheelchair, paralyzed and unable to speak. No longer physically able to pick up his child and hug her, or tell her that he loves her.

I don't understand how someone could survive the loss of their child (at 4, at 10-does it really matter?)

I don't understand how a woman can have so much love in her heart that she wants to care for someone else's child. I don't understand how her best friend could destroy that dream.

I don't understand how a man can celebrate his life on vacation one day, and the next mourns the loss of everything he owns.

I don't understand how I'm supposed to congratulate one friend on her engagement while consoling the other on an unexpected pregnancy termination.

I don't understand how I'm exempt from all of these things.

I'm a Cancer, so naturally I'm sensitive but I don't think anyone knows to what extend I feel these things.

I feel like I'm in the eye of a storm. I'm safe. I'm in my home, I have my legs, I have a husband whose never broken my heart... I have a son who is beautiful and healthy. And I don't deserve any of it.

I'm in the eye of a Tornado, but the wind is whipping me around, the debris is slashing me. It's cutting me to the bone.

Thank you, God, for everything you've given me. Thank you, God, for sustaining me, for protecting me-Thank you, God, For blessing me.

The art of balance

2008-12-10T15:45:00.003-06:00

Almost a week has past with no post...

I've thought all week about all the little things I could write about. The stripper that applied for a job in customer service, for example, or the penis shaped Cheeto one of my co-workers found in her cheesy poof bag...

I could write about the state of a world in which Sudafed sales are bigger than actual prescriptions.

But the topic that always seems to dominate, is Time. (Time, time, time is what turns kittens into cats, Mr.Spike...)

Time is what turns children into adults, adults into old men and women... Time is what passes with or without your permission. Time is what's wasted as we work, as we sleep, as we dream.

So in the end, what's important? What do we give our time to? Do we stay with our husbands for the evening, when we know we should be writing, or do we stay up and hour late to play with our sons?

Do we neglect the cleaning, the laundry, do we say no to that social engagement we Really want to go to, or do we wake up at 5 in the morning, and go to bed at midnight to fit all in.

Yes (and no) to all of the above. IF you want something badly enough, you'll do what you have to do. You'll find the balance somewhere. Because if you want it badly enough you'll do it. If you don't, you'll drown it in.

I don't want to drown, so this is me: dog paddling...

The wind in your vagina

2008-12-03T15:34:00.003-06:00

Alright.

I've been pondering what to write all day. I've got nothing... So instead of writing my own blog, I read others. There are a few out there that are impossible to ignore-Blogs that I cannot go a day without reading. My top three invoke emotional responses EVERY time I read them. Whether they make me laugh, make me cry, or make me think, I can't get enough.

One Word, One Rung, One Day This blogger is not only dedicated to his writing, but has a phenomenal talent. I haven't known him that long, but my writing has improved exponentially since I joined his group. (Thanks Travis)

Attack of the Redneck Mommy Not only is she hilarious, but she has lived a very inspirational life and I'm sending all my good Karma to her as she attempts to adopt a child. People who love that much should always have someone to share it with.

And last but not least: I know a blog entitled the wind in your vagina might steer away most people. But really give the guy a chance. He's hilarious. It's not a pervert's blog. He's a dad whose daughter made a really strange announcement on the playground one day. But more importantly, his blog is different than anything you've ever read. I love it.

So even if I can't give you something interesting to read, I at least know how to steer you in the right direction... Have fun reading...

2008-12-02T09:55:00.003-06:00

There is nothing like looking at another human being and knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're loved.

Don't get me wrong. I love my husband and I know he loves me. But there's always this doubt in the back of my mind where I don't unnecessarily know why. I always wonder if he would be happier with someone else, if his life would be more fulfilling without me.

But with my son, there is no doubt. When I walk in the door after a long day of work, the world just stops for him. Nothing matters until I pick him up and tell him how much I missed him and that I love him. It doesn't matter that he can't say the words. It's in his eyes and in his smile.

I can't sing. I cannot carry a tune in a bucket, but if my son is fussy i can put his ear right up to my mouth and sing to him and suddenly all is right with the world.

If only adults communicated so well. If only adults loved so unconditionally. If only...

Catharsis

2008-12-01T09:14:00.000-06:00

Ididn't write as much as would have liked this week. With the hoidays I guess that's understandable. But I did a bit of cleanup.

I had two,three inch binders full of stuff that I had written for my novel. Different versions of te novel, scenes that I wrote, but felt I couldn't use.

Icleaned house. I got rid of everything but one working manuscript,complete with changes. It was very cathartic. It feels like I'm making a clean start, starting from scratch and not like this the starting to become the neverending story.

So I'm editing again. My goal is to try to have this ready for a contest at the beginning of next year. That gives me a definite time limit to work with so I'm hoping this will give me proper motivation.

Also, I'd like to send a huge thank you to my critique group. I was ready go give up on my current Work in progress and work on another novel. It was like them giving me permission to put it away for awhile lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. Now suddenly I've got all these ideas and its the one I want to work on.

It's funny how these things work out.

2008-11-30T10:41:00.002-06:00

It's been over a month since I've posted a blog.

I have about a million thoughts every hour of hour day. The problem is, I'm POSITIVE no one wants to hear them! I mean if I wrote down every thought I've ever had, you'd think you were reading a schizophrenics website. I can go from "I wonder what the weather is going to be like today?" to "The psychological implications of portrayals of women in the media..." in about 2.5 seconds.

The problem is no one wants to hear that shit.

So, I'm stuck... as always... over-thinking everything. "What should the focus of my blog be? Should I write about my life as a wife? As a mother? As a writer? Hehe... as a schizophrenic?

I've discovered something about myself that I don't like very much... (Just add this to list):

I hold back a lot. Because I want people to like me, I find myself not writing about what I want to write about. I refuse to say what I want to say, and I'm pretty tired of it. Why can't I just be myself? Who cares anyway?

So let me introduce you to me. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly....

1. The Good: I can be really funny (witty even) when I'm not being so shy I can't even look people in the eye.

2. The Bad: I cuss like a sailor. There's just something about the way the word Fuck rolls of my tongue that makes me happy :)

3. The Ugly: I sometimes go through bouts of depression. Serious depression where I could stay in bed for 48 hours and think nothing of it. Thank God for my family and friends who give me a reason to get up in the morning.

So now that that's out... My goal is to write something every day- no matter how aggresive, angry, or depressing it sounds... I want to represent me... that's what a blog is for, right?

True Blood

2008-10-19T18:12:00.005-05:00

My new vampire fix...

I don't have HBO but I have 3, count them-3 people who are willing to record it for me. It's nice to have friends!!!

The new HBO series is based on the Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris, one of my favorite writers. I've been waiting for the series to come out for 3 years, and so far, I haven't been disappointed.

Anna Paquin is great as Sookie, and I loved the scene where Sookie's grandmother was reading one of Charlaine's books!

Jason is hilariously dimwitted, Tara reminds me of my sister(I can't get enough of her),and Lafayette cracks me up!

I even like the guy the picked to play Bill: even though he isn't my favorite character by a long shot.
LOVE LOVE LOVE Sam. I don't know who that guy is but I want more of him!

The only disappointment for me, so far has been Eric. But to be fair I've only seen him and haven't seen acting yet, so maybe he'll change my mind. I'll reserve judgment on that later. (My pharamacist, who I got hooked on the books, says Eric is supposed to be the finest hunk of man meat alive-or dead!ha-but from what I've seen-not so much...)

So all in all, I can stop re-watching old episodes of Buffy the vampire slayer-at least for the next few months. And as Buffy would say: Wish me monsters!

My girl Gina

2008-10-01T22:06:00.006-05:00

I first caught Gina "Conviction" Carano on the reality show "Fight girls." She is known for her stand up skills, using knees and elbows to completely annihilate her opponents (not to mention that her beauty has earned her the title of the face of womens MMA.) Since making her debut in Mixed Martial Arts she is undfeated with a 6-0 record and is currently working on her ground game and submission skills. Check her out Sat. Oct 4th on CBS at 8:00 central time. Here's a highlight of what you have to look forward to:

Stealing again

2008-09-29T12:39:00.005-05:00

Once again I stole this from Travis, because I have no original thoughts of my own...

A:Accent: Texan Twang especially when I say *shit*

B:Breakfast or no Breakfast: I don't usually eat breakfast

C:Chore I hate: Laundry...

D:Dog or Cat: One dog, Levi

E:Essential Electronics: Sirius radio, I can write in a notebook but now without music

F:Favorite Perfume: uhhh...

G:Gold or Silver: I like them together

H:Handbag I carry most often: I don't carry a purse.. I should because it takes me an hour to find all the shit I need in the morning.

I:Insomnia: YES... midnight is early for me.

J:Job Title: Pharmacy technician

K:Kids: One son
L:Living Arrangement: House complete with an attic that will eventually be my office and Man cave for the hubby.

M:Most admirable trait: Do I have any?

N:Naughtiest childhood behavior: Getting in fights on the playground. Although I was taught never to hit anyone first so I had to talk them into hitting before I could fight. (Seriously, ask my cousin)

O:Overnight Hospital Stays: Just for the birth of my child. I don't do hospitals if I don't have to.. eeek

P:Phobias: Needles... who the hell invented those things anyway ... or Clowns.. creep mother... well anyway

Q:Quote: "I wear the cheese, the cheese does not wear me." Buffy the vampire slayer

R:Reason to smile: I'm I mom (Isn't that craziest thing you've ever heard?)

S:Siblings: One brother, one sister.

T:Time I wake up: depends on the kiddo. If I don't make it to bed until 3, he inevitably wakes up at 5 demanding to be fed.

U:Unusual Talent or skill: How to make Tequila dissapear completely.

V:Vegetable I refuse to eat: I like veggies

W:Worst Habit: Procrastination (Obviously... I'm filling out this stupid survey instead of writing my next scene)

X:X-rays: kidney stone...
Y:Yummy Stuff: Choco-lat....mexican food... thai food...
Z:Zoo animal I like the most: I know they don't really do anything but lay there, but I love the reptile house at the zoo. I really want a snake for a pet but my husband screams like a girl everytime I mention it.

The Love of a Father

2008-09-08T20:52:00.003-05:00

Been thinking about my Dad alot lately. I mean more than usual. This November it'll be 8 years since he passed away. My Dad was 46 years old when he died, and it seems wrong somehow. I feel cheated. I feel cheated that he wasn't at my wedding, that he wasn't at the birth of my child. He won't be here to see all the amazing things that Steven, who is named after him, is doing-will do.

There was a time when he looked at me and said," Your mother wants to kick me out of the house. What do you think of that?" and my reply was "Where's your suitcase, I'll help you pack."

I don't remember much about my childhood, except that I was a very morose young girl. I always had my nose in a book, able to relate much more with the characters I found there than with the kids at school. Now that I look back on it, my dad was one of those "no good" guys your mother always warned you about. My mom was pretty meek when she was younger (Now the poor guy who gets her order wrong in a restaurant better beware) but back then she didn't know how to stand up for herself. My Dad told her she was going on a date with him... when she said she thought they needed to break up he threatened suicide. They got married because she was pregnant and didn't know what to do about it.

We moved around more times than you can count on two hands, and probably your feet because Dad couldn't hold a job. He didn't like people telling him what to do.

The first few years of my parents marriage weren't happy for mom. I know this because she told me. She told me how he used to party and got her into the party scene. (I do remember sneaking down the stairs one night to see him and his friends smoking pot and watching porn) He had an anger problem and thought he could intimidate her to do what he wanted her to do. It worked in those first years. He thought he could intimidate his children too. We had a board sanded and lacquered at least three times with my name burned into it on one side and my brothers on the other. It hung on the living room door knob as a constant reminder to behave ourselves.

When I was a teenager the intimidation didn't go over so well with me and when I spoke to him at all it was usually to fight with him. Soon our arguments turned to dead silence or actual fist fights (he's the one who taught me how to fight so he can't blame me for that!)

But these are not the memories that I have of my father when I think of him. I remember that he was smart enough to realize that when his kids didn't want him around something must've been wrong. The minute we said that, it was like a 180 degree change in him. He didn't fight. He asked us what was wrong and actually listened to the answer. He stopped trying to intimidate us and taught us to think for ourselves, to defend ourselves, to become independent adults.

So when I think of my father, I don't remember that for most of my life he made mistakes. When I think of my father, I remember his smile, his laugh. I remember how when he wouldn't stop bugging us about giving him grandchildren, he laughed so hard he was brought to tears when one Christmas we gave him a baby doll at the dollar store. i remember how loving us wasn't enough. When he finally learned to love he included over 50 foster children who came in and out of our home. (And when I say children I mean teenagers who were so out of control, if they didn't make it in our home they were on their way to residential treatment-But that's a post for another day.)

When I think of my dad, I remember that he loved us enough to change.

Fuck it , I'm getting a General Studies degree

2008-08-29T09:47:00.004-05:00

It took me ten years to get a General Studies degree. I just knew that I wanted double major in Criminal Justice and Psychology-with a minor in Sociology. Why? I have no idea... because I find personality traits fascinating. even the crazy ones. I also thought that maybe I could help people, maybe be a parole officer or work in juvenile detention center. But there was always this niggling in the back of my mind...why don't you write?

Then I'd bring myself back to reality and tell myself I'd have a career in psychology...

I worked in a Prison for a little while. I was so bored and working with the psychologist out there was far scarier than the prisoners. I knew I'd be miserable, so my senior year (coincidently the semester after my father passed away) I changed my major to English. But by then I'd been in school so long I finally decided to say "Fuck it. I have enough credits to graduate..."

I might point out that I wrote all the time when I was younger, but I never wanted anyone to read it-so it'd burn it when I was done. Or tear it into little bitty bits and toss em. But not long before my dad passed away he happened to read something I'd written. "He said, "Wow, this is really good, Karin. Why are you wasting time with psychology?"

I've been writing this damn book for almost 10 years... I mean I was just playing around when I first started because I worked at the computer lab at the college and I was so incredibly bored or needed something to distract me from homework... so the first few attempts I don't really count but still... the first time I wrote it, it was in first person, then I changed to having a few more characters so I put it in third person, then I completely deleted the new characters... now I'm still stuck in the same damn place I always get stuck in, and last week I though, I wonder what would happen if i put this in first person. I go to critique group and the comment I get is "you need to narrow your point of views so that we get more of Alex." (which is true or I never would have thought what it would be like in first person.) So I'm rewriting... again.

My question is this.... Am I going to play around so long that I finally say "Fuck it... I've written enough." and just move on?

Rules to go by when visiting your pharmacy

2008-08-14T09:19:00.007-05:00

AKA: MANNERS

If you are on the state dime, I expect a "Please" and "Thank You" when I fill your prescription. Being rude to me while spending my tax dollars so you can pop out more children just makes your RX take longer to fill and your vicodin prices get higher.

You are free to talk on your cell phone. However, if you must do it in the store, please use a quiet voice. If you wish to talk on it loudly while I'm trying to consult you on your crotchfruit's medication, don't call me in 5 minutes asking stupid questions. Nothing makes me happier than to tell you "If you weren't talking on your cell phone, you would know this."

If you have small children, please watch them. I don't shit in your house, so I don't expect your children to tear shit apart in my store.

Our garbage cans are not for your dirty diapers.

Our outside ashtray is filled with sand so you can put out your cig. It is NOT a place for your child to play

The price I give you for Vicodin and Soma is the price I give you. I could give a rat's ass if the chain dow the street is 1$ cheaper.

Putting your infant carrier on the counter (with infant inside) and telling my clerks "Watch him while I get money (for vicodin and soma no less) out of the car. This is not what a "good mother" should do. You should know this by now;its your 5th. However, since you are only 22, I will just assume you're just dumb.

If you are going insult me, please use proper English. My English isn't the best, but its better than "you don't ax me where I got dis vicodin at."

Things of a personal nature should be spoken with me in private. Shouting at me "Why does my husbands high blood pressure medication make his pecker not work" from across the store is going to give you a totally silent pharmacy and black stares as my insides explode.

If you are going to proclaim anything about your husband's "pecker" please make sure your husband isn't standing right next to you.

If you are going to bullshit me, please use the same story on different pharmacists. We do compare notes, and we don't like to be told that your vicodin was stolen one day, and flushed down the toilet by your infant the next.

Shower. Please. For the sake of the world.

Let me repeat. Fucking shower with soap and water.

Call in the number of your vaginal cream tube. Don't show me how greasy you can get your label.

Brought to you by the angry pharmacist!

I watch too many scary movies

2008-08-07T21:44:00.003-05:00

I'm home alone and I just put the baby to bed. God bless him! I put him in the crib, read him a story, tell him goodnight and that I love him and close the door. Not a peep. I set up the laptop, because dammit 10-midnight is my time to write.

Oh wait but first I have to do the dishes-
While I do the dishes I marvel at the new plotting I have in mind, despite the fact that it means I'll have to start completely over... and my dog starts freaking out.....

First he's standing in the living room on guard and then he starts growling... my dog never growls...
At this point I'm thinking that he's seeing his own reflection in the TV, or at the very least reacting to the hum of the dishwasher. But then he starts barking...

I'm still passing this off as some kind crazy dog personality trait I'm unaware of...

But no, now he's guarding the living room and the hair on the back of his neck is raised. His tail is between his legs and when I stand up to walk in the other room he's walking perfectly in step with me in a way no amount of obedience training has ever taught him!

I'm in the office and he's still in that stance with the hair on the back of his neck pricked. He's crouched at my feet shaking, and then he hides under the desk. I might mention that he's also drooling... I've seen Cujo, people. I know what it means...

My unease is in no way compounded by the fact that just the other day around 5 in the morning or so my husband comes running in screaming at me to hold the dog and guard the baby because someone was in the backyard.

I don't know if there was or was not anyone in the backyard but the next day my husband bought motion detectors for the backyard.

Now I consider myself a pretty tough cookie. I mean shooting a 9mm gives me a thrill nothing (well almost nothing) can give me, but shooting at a paper silhouette is one thing. Shooting at a human being rushing at you with god knows what in mind is entirely different. (Is it bad that I close my eyes when I pull the trigger?)

And my Daddy (God rest him) taught me very well all the neat little pressure points to use to unnerve a fella, and if a guy ever whips it out, Dear old dad taught me just the trick to send him *crawling * away. I haven't had to fight in awhile, but I'm pretty sure it's like riding a bike. So I'm pretty confident that whether I come out unscathed or not, I'll come out a victor...

On the other hand, if it's a ghost: pray it's a friendly one.

And barring the other two possibilities: Pray my dog is NOT turning into Cujo!

The editor within

2008-07-31T19:34:00.002-05:00

I'm ecstatic! I've just finished 11 chapters of my novel (only 20 or so to go!) It's on paper and I have 17,273 words, 92 beautifully crafted pages...

And back to chapter 5 I go (TO REWRITE!!!)

Shame, shame!

Did I not just get through telling Crystal "NO MORE EDITS UNTIL YOUR DONE-REALLY-I mean it crystal- NO more!)

Hah

BUT:

Chapter 5 needs help....

I'm just saying...

A day in the life

2008-07-30T01:42:00.001-05:00

Which Famous Artist Are You?
	You are Andy Warhol. Your artistic talent became clear at an early age. As a result, you are still developing your talent now, chasing the dream. A big fan of commercial art, you see greatness in the ordinary.
Find Your Character @ BrainFall.com

unspoken admiration

2008-07-15T08:28:00.002-05:00

The truth is, I don't know my cousin like I used to. It's nobody's fault really, life just happens that way sometimes. But I've had this unspoken admiration for him for years. Six years ago, he met a woman who in 24 years had already experienced more than most people experience in a lifetime. She'd already been diagnosed with cancer and gone through chemotherapy. He married her anyway.

I can't imagine what it was like for her these last few years, but even more I wonder at the strength and the courage that it would have taken for him. Now the last few years are going to seem like cake and the months, years to come are going to require him to tap into that same deep well.

I actually feel a little guilty. I feel guilty because my life right now is so perfectly, blissfully happy and everywhere around me is chaos.... So these are my wishes and hopes or today:

I wish lovers could be strong enough to love
I wish those who deserved to Mommies (more than most mommies) could conceive
I wish that there was a cure for Cancer.
And I'd like to think that in the end, it's not our actions, what we did or didn't do that matter, but how we loved. And if that is the case, let my cousin be an example for all of us.

Our Story

2008-07-13T23:36:00.003-05:00

I was going through some of my old writing the other day and found "Our Story"-My two best friends and the three guys who changed our lives. the writing was horrible-but the memories it invoked where tangible. It felt like I was living it all over again. I hadn't thought for along time how I used to always feel like a princess around them, and coming from a girl who could care less about being a princess that says alot.

I'd never had guys pull out chairs, opened doors, stand up and the dinner table until all the ladies were seated, or give special care at dances to make sure we never sat out a dance unless we wanted too.

So here's a tribute to the Good Ones ladies- they're out there-just be patient and they'll find you!

And to the guys: Thanks for all those slumber parties in our living room, teaching us how to cook and reminding us that it's ok to let ourselves be loved a little!

And just for shits and giggles, here's an excerpt of the horribly written "An Era of Our Own".

...and then I went to college, with my bad girl stare and motorcyle jacket and the most frightened puppy dog eyes in the world. I was scared that I wouldn't get along with anyone, plus I had a band nerd for a roomate. There were ten girls in my unit. Down the hall a bubbly character with a huge grin, and artist and a dancer, a weirdo, and athlete and a girl who always seemed like she didn't want to be there, a sex fiend (not really) and a cowgirl (yes, really). So began the extent of my college education. I don't think that I will ever remember what classes I took but I'll always remember these few lessons:

Stick with the social butterfly (even if she's a little kooky)
Never call a girl with red curly hair "Annie" Or she'll put a spell on you.
Never play basketball with your boyfriend or you'll never dance again.
Art should be fun, not a career.
Athletes should never date athletes, it gets way to complicated
Never waste time on you high school sweetheart
Always give your boyfriend a *this part has been edited for the protection of the innocent*
Being Miss Colorado really doesn't amount to much
That ban nerd that you always make fun of is really a very special person just trying to make it like the rest of us.

Sometimes I wonder why we became friends, but then I remember that it was because of our differences and not in spite of them....

And if you guys are out there and just happen to stumble on my blog. You're fondly remembered and dearly missed.

Why? For the love of Pete, Why?

2008-07-01T22:45:00.002-05:00

Why is it that I am coming off of a huge high from getting rave reviews at a conference and just the thought of writing makes me want to cringe. I keep thinking about writing... does that count?

I liked it so I stole it

2008-06-30T22:22:00.002-05:00

A to Z All About Me

A-Attached or Single? Just celebrated 3 years, but we dated for 7 years before we got married!

B-Best Friend? James -no question
C-Cake or Pie? One of each please!

D-Day of Choice? Sundays Rock. It's the time I spend the most with my family.

E-Essential Items? A book to read and a pen (don't always have to have paper, either.)

F-Favorite Color? I like all the colors.

G-Gummy Bears or Worms? definately worms

H-Hometown? Amarillo, Texas. But I was born in Tulia, TX

I-Indulgence? Food... Maybe I should indulge a little in some exercise as well...

J-January or July? July all the way!

K-Kids? 1 boy, a little over three months

L-Life isn’t complete without… Family

M-Marriage Date? April 23, 2005

N-Number of Siblings? One brother and One Sister.

O-Oranges or Apples? depends... I like food, remember?

P-Phobias or Fears? Clowns... eeesh

Q-Quote? Slayer. Comma. The. She who hangs out alot in cemetaries....

R-Reason to Smile? Are you kidding me? My life is pretty damn close to perfect right now. What ISN'T there to smile about? I have a loving husband and a beautiful baby boy, and I'm working towards a dream that is getting closer and closer to being realized. It could be a hell of a lot worse!

S-Superman or Wonder Woman? Wonder Woman!!!!Girls kick ass!

T-Tag 5 people. I don't know 5 people to tag.
Okay, If you're reading this : Crystal, Sarah, Nette, Toni, and stephanie!

U- Umbrella or poncho? Umbrella... I like to twirl it!

V-Vegetables? Love em-bring em on!

W-Worst Habit? laziness... I mean what the hell is on TV Anyway?

X-Ray or Ultrasound? Definately ultrasound!

Y-Your Favorite Food? Pad Thai

Z-Zodiac Sign? Cancer

I stole this from Travis Erwin

Back from the River

2008-06-30T22:07:00.002-05:00

Back from the River and we had a blast. It was a completely different experience than Colorado, where the water was moving at 4000 cfs (thats what the something or others is: Cubic feet per second) at Huaco Springs it was moving at 200 cfs. It took us 5 hours to float a small part of the river and I was loving it. I think I fell asleep during part of it. But it was so relaxing. And in Colorado we stayed in a hotel, but we actually camped out this weekend, which I loved It's not exactly the most clean thing in the world but there is just something about washing your hair in the river....

But now we're back home and life unfortunately didn't slow down for us at all. (Life, I've found, often has no sympathy for us!) All work and no play makes Karin a very dull girl. But I think I'm going to have to start waking up at 4am. That way I can get some writing done while every one else is asleep...

Its only sleep right? who needs that?

It's Been Awhile

2008-06-25T18:23:00.002-05:00

I haven't posted in so long because there has been so much going on! I can't believe all the things that have happened in the last few weeks. (Time is a little wonky for me right now-it's going by to fast!)

Anyway first things first...

The FIW conference was AMAZING this year. I learned so much information in so little time... Robert Ray told me in a two day span my writing had already improved and that I needed to get a writing group together. Not a critique group~which we really need as well...but a group that just gets together to write and read and NOT critique.

Then there was the contest. I submitted a mainstream novel and the category didn't make this year, but I did win first honorable mention (So Happy about that!)
Then the agent who judged the category personally came up to introduce himself to me and told me that it was a shame that category didn't make because I "Would've been very hard to beat." When I got my critique sheet back he wrote "You are a very talented writer and will be a succesful novelist."

(He also asked for a full manuscript. At this point I took several minutes out of my day to berate myself for not having a full manuscript... )

As if that wasn't enough to keep me high as a kite for several days (actually my head is still kinda in the clouds about it!) 3 days later we head out for colorado where we went white water rafting. Talk about a blast! It was absolutely beautiful all morning. We were surrounded by mountains and the water, which is basically the snow melting off the rockies, smelled so clean. It was freezing and it was quite a workout to row our way through waves that went over our head. (The water was moving at 4000 something or others which our guide described as "Picture 4000 basketballs flowing down the river every second.)
But I've never had so much fun! Then after lunch we hit the water again at which point there was a downpour on top of even rougher rapids than before. I personally thought the rain was even more beautiful than the sunshine in the morning. But maybe that's because I don't get to see it that often!

Now we've just recovered from that trip and we're off again... Down to New Braunfels to float the gaudalupe...

I'm going to be exhausted next week! And I hope Steven doesn't think we're abandoning him! I called my mom every night to check on him last week. I can't wait until he's old enough to join us on our little adventures!

Well, I'm off to do laundry and pack for the trip tomorrow. Hopefully I'll have time to post something new in a few days!

FIW Finalist

2008-06-02T15:27:00.004-05:00

I'm so excited! I got an email today that says I'm a finalist at FIW! GO ME...also my lone critique partner also finaled so we are ecstatic! Wish us luck!

An Absence of Nectar

2008-05-29T06:23:00.003-05:00

Meant to post this all last week and my computer was flaking out on me. This book kept me up all night one night. I started it one afternoon and finished the next morning. I couldn't put it down.

It's the whole first chapter and I know it's a little long-but it's definitely worth it.

The absence of Nectar

By Kathy Hepinstall

Chapter One

All these years later, there remains a scar on my face. Very thin, and light in color like a beekeeper’s glove. My stepfather, Simon Jester, was standing at the stove one day, flipping an egg. I walked up behind him and said something. Startled, he whirled around.

"It's only me, Simon," I said, already afraid of the look in his eyes.

Instead of answering, he pressed the edge of the hot spatula against my face. My mother, who insisted that her children call her by her first name, Meg, found me later on the porch and rubbed a white cream into the long, thin blister. "It's the heat, Alice," she murmured, still rubbing. "Makes him touchy." That was only a half-truth, Meg's specialty. Simon's madness wasn't a slave to temperature alone. However, I am convinced that it was the soaring heat of a summer afternoon—together with my brother's unforgivable betrayal—that made Simon finally decide to kill both of us.

That day I stood before the mirror in a bathroom that reeked of Simon's aftershave, gazing carefully at myself, looking for evidence that Simon had poisoned my toothpaste, my pillow, the milk I'd held to the light that morning. My eyes were clear. The pupils weren't dilated. My lips weren't blue. No yellow tint to the skin. No tremors. I leaned forward and bared my teeth. My gums weren't bleeding. The mist my breath made on the mirror looked benign. And yet my body could fail at any moment. My heart could stop.

It was early June. The grass stood high around the fence posts where my brother had forgotten to trim. Clover and black-eyed Susans. Oleander in bloom. Ladybugs, grasshoppers, crickets. My bare feet could not touch the lawn without collecting living things, but I knew that there was something wrong with the ecosystem of that yard, that house. Stepfathers are not meant to conspire against their new children, and if they do, mothers are meant to put a stop to it. But my own mother would not believe the truth about Simon, was dead set against it, annoyed by its heat and its color.

I finished my inspection in the bathroom mirror and went out on the back porch where my brother sat polishing his glasses. His hands trembled and the nervous tic around his eyes was worse than I’d seen it in a long time, but he seemed to have shaken himself out of the strange daze he’d been in since that morning, and for that I was relieved. I sat down beside him and said: "The jig is up, I guess." I said it very casually and with an air of weariness, hoping my tone would calm my brother.

"I know," he said.

"We've gone too far."

"I've gone too far."

"Doesn't matter who did what."

Boone looked over at our mother, who sat on a cypress glider facing the porch, holding her swollen stomach, her back to her dead bee colonies. She seemed lost in the memory of those bees. Their variable buzz. Their perfect functions. Their desperate urge for order, which had churned seasonally into wax and honey. The last of them had died before the daffodils opened, and the frames in the hives had crusted over with a fuzz that proved on closer inspection to be their decaying bodies. Meg, however, still tended to speak of them in the present tense, as though they still worked and buzzed and stung her unprotected hands. She wore a shapeless green muumuu and arched her bare feet each time the glider moved her forward. Even from that distance we could see the glow that her pregnancy put on her face. The triumph. She waved at us languidly, and Boone shook his head in disbelief.

"Why won't she help us?" he whispered.

"She doesn't think anything's going to happen."

"God.” He ran his fingertips over the bushy curves of his eyebrows and put his glasses back on. He looked at me and his eyebrows twitched. A brief tic smoothed by an afternoon breeze. He touched my arm. "Do you hate me?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Simon was just waiting for an excuse. If it wasn't what you did, it would be something else."

"Please, Alice. Go talk to her."

"What good will it do?" "Maybe she'll finally believe us."

Boone was fourteen—two years older than I was—but he didn't understand what I did, that it's easier to shake a snapping turtle from a barbed hook than a woman from her savior. Just to please him, though, I waded through the grass toward my mother, sending gnats dancing up and grasshoppers in their crazy directionless bounces. Here and there in the grass lay the abandoned artifacts of my mother's beekeeping: white gloves, a nylon veil, a hive tool, a smoker turned on its side and spilling charred burlap. At this time the bees should be gathered around the perimeter of the rain barrel, collecting water for the steaming hives. Now all of the bees were dead. Except . . .

Meg slid over on the glider and showed me the back of her hand. "Look," she said, delighted. "A bee!" It crawled between her fingers, through the pink valley between her knuckles, circled back around and moved up her fourth finger to the diamond on her wedding band, balancing precariously on the tiny gem whose real value was always in question. It was a wild bee—not Meg's Italian bees that used to roam the countryside aching for nectar. Nonetheless, she admired it on her finger as though her diamond had suddenly swelled.

"He's my new friend," she said.

The bee was covered in yellow pollen. It turned around again on the ring and flew away. My mother sighed sadly, because she hated to be left.

I said to her: "Simon's going to kill us for what Boone did. I can see it in his eyes."

She didn't answer me. Instead she picked up my hand and pressed it against her stomach. Against my palm I felt the pressure of the baby's kick.

"Can you feel it?" she asked. “That's your brother."

"Half brother. If it's a boy."

"Oh, it will be a boy. Simon wants a boy."

"Did you hear what I said, Meg? About Simon?"

"Simon just likes to talk. He likes to scare us. He'll be all right after dinner, when it's cooler."

"Cooler? That doesn't matter. He'd plot my death sitting on an iceberg." I took a deep breath. "Don't you want to know what happened this morning?"

"No." Meg said the word in a sad, gentle way.

Underneath my hand, the baby kicked again.

"Won't be too long now," Meg murmured.

"Until we die?"

"Sweetheart . . ." Meg's voice was soft and sad. "Nothing bad will happen." She brushed back my hair. Pulled me closer so I could feel her scent: an immature sweetness, like the fluid of a honeysuckle. She moved her feet and the glider rocked. I looked down at her stomach. A bully, no doubt, this baby. Temperamental in the womb. Annoyed by the dull light coming through the stomach wall. The heat of the embryonic fluid. The pull of the umbilical cord.

Gently I shook off Meg's embrace, left the glider and walked back through the grass.

Boone was missing from the porch. He had probably gone to his room to shiver. The wild bee that had crawled over Meg's fingers now hovered on the railing. It had lost its way in the search for sweetness and was now sniffing at the perspiration my brother's palm had left on the wood. I wondered if it had already flown through the quiet beeyard, among its dead fellows.

I looked back at Meg. She was rocking back and forth and holding her belly.

I turned and slapped my palm against the railing. The bee died under my hand with all its bustling intentions, and I left its crushed body there, pollen from one stomach, nectar from the other. I went into the house and was passing by the den when Simon called to me. My heart dropped suddenly at the sound of his voice.

He was propped up in his recliner, an empty china plate on his lap, inspecting the tines of his fork with squinted eyes, turning the fork over and over in the afternoon light that poured through the drapeless window. His black hair was gathered in a rubber band, pulled back from his head so tightly that it revealed a mole near his ear and another at the edge of his hairline. His goatee hosted crumbs. He turned so that he could regard me with his close-together eyes. "Where's your mama?"

"Outside."

"When's dinner?"

"Whenever you want."

He looked up at me and I could see the line in the skin between his eyes. A wrinkling that meant an angry mood. One of his sleeves had turned red earlier that day. Wincing, he lifted his arm and pointed in the direction of the kitchen. "Got any more of that cake in there?"

When I nodded, he said, “Bring me some.”

I went into the kitchen, where a drop of blood still clung to the peach in the fruit bowl, and two drops had dried on the floor near the sink, and one had run like a tear down the front of the white oven. A gash of blood had left an anchor shape across the window curtain, and a small brown streak of it still lingered on the rose-colored soap.

I found a knife and cut Simon a piece of cake, thinking about his plans. I knew he had access to poison; out of terror and uncertainty, I had read all his books on that subject, properties and effects and case studies, and I knew that within our home, garage and yard half a dozen deadly poisons could be found: strychnine, arsenic, calcium cyanide, Sevin, fluorosodium. Thallium in the dated products. No more poison than usual for a family who had mice and roaches and gophers to contend with, along with the now-dead bees. A family who had silver to polish, floors to clean, cabinets to stain.

I went back into the den and handed Simon the cake. I watched him tear off little chunks of it and put them in his mouth. Swallowing the pieces like pills. Jamming his fingers into it, pressing so hard they left indentations. His hand trembling. This man. A bully to cake and children. He looked up at me, his eyes crowded close to the line between them. More lines in his forehead. "You still here?"

"Where would I go?"

"Away from my sight, if you don't mind."

"I don't."

"Hold on."

He looked at me a long time, perspiration running down his face. A crumb fell out of his mouth and onto his plate, and he flattened it with the tip of his finger. "You and Boone think you're funny, don't you? What you done this morning."

"How about what you did?"

"I didn't do nothing wrong. Tried to help somebody. A poor little girl with half a brain."

"Some help."

"What do you know? You ain't even my child. Neither is your brother. You don't have one drop of my blood . . ."

I looked at his sleeve.

". . . and so you're not my . . . you know . . ."

"Natural children?" "That's right, Smart Girl."

I left him without waiting for my dismissal and went back into the hallway, my senses so heightened that I could feel the darkness against the part on my scalp, and when I ran my hand along the wall, I discovered tiny uneven patches in the paint that no other human in the world could have felt.

Boone was sitting on his bed in the room he and I shared. He was shirtless in the heat and looking at a black-and-white picture of Persely Snow he’d cut from the crime section of the newspaper and copied at the city library. The poor quality of the Xerox left the famous teenager looking even more maniacal. Eyes wild, hair tangled. Teeth bared like an animal. No flesh tones to make excuses for the expression. Even as the hour of our deaths drew near, Boone remained entranced. His fingers traveled down her face, forehead to eyes to defiant smile. I had tolerated his devotion for years, but now I wanted to seize that picture and tear it to shreds, for this girl had entered our lives with a vengeance and had caused us nothing but trouble. She had recently escaped her flimsy state institution for the seventh time and was now hidden on a small island in the middle of Lake Shine. Now I imagined her pacing around in the brambles, looking up at the sky, waiting for my brother.

Boone whispered: "What did Meg say?"

"She said that we were right all along. That she married a maniac. That she's going to shoot him in the back of the head. And sell his demon child.”

"That's not funny, Alice."

"Why'd you even ask? You knew what she'd say."

He lay back on the bed, the picture of Persely Snow facedown on his chest. "Meg can't help it. She's not like other mothers."

"No kidding." I sat down on my bed, hugged my knees, then flopped back against the mattress, frightened and angry and sad for all the things I would miss on this earth. Hula hoops. Handmade belts. Necklaces made by twisting the insubstantial stalks of clover. The hard black shell of a licorice gumball. The yellow wig of a young dandelion. The gray wig of an old one. The slide on the school playground. The peculiar and random spread of live-oak branches. The dome of a purple snow cone, inviting the ache of a pair of front teeth. I hated Simon Jester for wanting to take these things away from me with his poison. I was a tomboy and an expert on American Indians and a straight-A student, and I deserved to live.

And if I did have to die, I couldn’t bear the thought of doing so without finding out Simon's secret. Where he'd come from. And what he'd done to his first family.

"We should feel sorry for Simon," Boone said suddenly.

"I don't. I hate him."

"He’s one of God’s creatures."

"Remember that when you’re drinking your tea."

He wasn't listening anymore. He was looking at the picture again.

I folded my arms and glared at him. And how about Persely Snow, Boone? The girl you love. Who killed one person and tried to kill another. Is she one of God's creatures, too?

I wanted to say this, but I held my peace.

Around six o'clock Meg comes into our room, flushed and wet like a woman just pulled from a lake. If she has lived her afternoon according to habit, then she has spent it on the cypress glider, humming to herself, gazing up at the blue summer sky, rejoicing in the stagnant clouds and mourning the ones that leave her.

When she opens the door, Boone hides his picture of Persely behind his back.

"It's only me," she says.

"Oh." He takes his picture back out. "I thought it was—"

"No. He's in the den." Meg has applied lipstick to her bottom lip and then rubbed her lips together for the haphazard coverage of a color I've seen on winecup flowers. "Could you help me with dinner, baby?" she asks me. Reluctantly I rise and follow her into the kitchen, past the den where Simon may be sleeping or plotting, reading or praying or rubbing his bloody arm.

The kitchen smells of Clorox. The white oven gleams. The peach in the fruit bowl has been scrubbed clean of blood drops. The curtain has a big water stain where the red shape used to be.

I prepare the rice myself, rinsing out the utensils first and reaching way back in the cabinet to find the hidden salt. Another package of salt sits on the counter, which Simon can poison all he wants. I use only my guarded crystals. While the water boils, Meg busies herself at the stove, her pregnant belly causing her to have to lean forward to stir the chicken dish..

Just before dinner Simon comes in. He’s changed into a clean shirt and his black ponytail is caught inside the back of his collar. He walks up behind my mother, puts his arms around her stomach and kisses her neck. Simon has been deeply suspicious about whether the baby is his, but now he suddenly seems to believe all of Meg's tearful denials, and he murmurs into her ear: "How's the queen mother?"

Meg giggles and turns around. She puts her arms around him and he says, "Ow, be careful."

"Sorry, sweetie."

"He been kicking?"

"Hard."

"That's my boy."

He kisses her cheek. His hands slide from her stomach to her breasts, and Meg says: "Oh, Simon."

"How long till dinner?" Simon asks.

"It’s almost ready."

"I'll help you dish up," he says meaningfully.

I bring him a stack of plates, which he yanks away from me with a grunt, then I stand there watching him dish up our meal. Chicken Meg, we call it. Shredded chicken mixed with bell peppers and tomatoes.

"What are you looking at?" Simon asks me.

"Nothing." Sweat runs down my face. If I blink it away, I might miss a sudden movement of his hand.

"Alice," my mother says, and without thinking, I turn my head away from Simon.

"What?"

"The rice is burning."

I take the rice off the stove and turn off the flame. When I turn back, Simon is putting the full plates on the table, and my heart speeds up and my knees tremble with fear. In those few seconds Simon could have added an ingredient that carries no spice but arrests the nervous system or thins the blood or kills the light in my eyes. But I do not betray my emotions as I dish up the rice—safe and white—and put it in a separate green bowl, then set it on the table.

Boone comes in and we all sit down. My brother looks at the rice and then at me. I give him the signal. Two long blinks and two short ones. The Morse code of survival. It means that Simon has not been near the rice, and so it is safe to eat. Not so the Chicken Meg, and I broadcast this fact to Boone with three short blinks. We've been using these signals for weeks, growing lean and sad as the food we love ends up down the disposal.

My mother pours the strawberry lemonade, which is sweet and red and safe. I’ve kept the mix in a secret place in the bedroom. Ten minutes ago I watched Meg make the lemonade; Simon hasn’t come near it. I blink at Boone.

Simon looks at my mother. "Say the prayer.”

She takes my hand and Boone's and begins: "Lord, thank you for another day. Lord, teach us patience. Lord, thank you for always being good . . ."

As she speaks, my eyes open just enough to see what Simon's up to. He's sitting there drumming his fingers on the table. I wonder if he washed the blood off his arm before he put on the fresh shirt. "Okay, that's enough," he says, interrupting the part of Meg’s prayer that has to do with mercy. "Everybody eat."

We begin. No one speaks. Meg and Boone and I eat delicately, as if we can placate the situation by handling the food gingerly enough. White rice slides through the tines of our forks.

Simon picks up his teaspoon and begins eating from the sugar bowl—his most disgusting habit. Presently he looks up, glaring at us.

"Why aren't you eating the chicken?" he demands, spitting white crystals.

"We don't like chicken," Boone says nervously.

"Bullshit. I've seen you eat it before."

"Come on, kids," says Meg. "Just eat a little. It's really good."

"I'm tired of it," I say.

She looks hurt. In life-or-death dramas, she has room to flinch from small discourtesies. This is the magic of Meg.

Simon jumps out of his chair and rushes over to Boone, his shadow coming out ahead of him and announcing him too late. He grabs the back of my brother’s neck and forces his head down into his plate. Boone struggles, his fork still in one hand.

I leap from the table and grab Simon's wrist. "Stop it! You're hurting him!"

Simon pushes me, and I fall back to the linoleum floor. By the time I jump to my feet, it is already over.

When Boone's face finally comes up, it is covered with Chicken Meg, his glasses heavy with it.

Simon sits back down and crosses his arms, watching Boone clean his glasses and then go over his face with his napkin, wiping away a long, thin piece of tomato that is shaped like the blister Simon once gave me with the edge of his spatula.

Meg is blinking. I imagine her head as a beehive, a quiver of terror in the very center that does not radiate outward to the other bees. Judging by the expression on her face, the beehive remains calm, though she wrings her hands.

"Please," she says.

Simon ignores her. "Eat your damn food," he tells Boone and me. "Both of you. After what you did today, you're lucky to eat at all."

In this year, in this house, things happen and nothing stops them. In the living room God’s Bible sits open on Simon’s chair, where he’d been leafing through it, bloody. This part of Texas can't save us. We eat our chicken.

After dinner Boone and I go back to our room and wait to die. I lie on my twin bed; he flops on his across the room. We don't say anything for a few minutes, caught up in our own processes, vigilantly regulating our bodies, waiting for a falter in the heart, a dizzy sensation, a headache or a breath that brings sudden agony. Sweat is dripping down our faces. Too much sweat? We stare at our hands.

In the darkness I think of the Indians I’ve been reading about at the library. How they died so bravely. Crazy Horse was stabbed while struggling against his captors. Mangas Coloradas was invited to a peace conference and bayoneted by white men. Roman Nose fell in battle. And Sitting Bull died in a hail of bullets, slumping to the ground as his white horse danced.

I breathe in and out, trying to shift my mind from death to Spencer Katosky, the boy I love, but instead my thoughts wander to Meg. I want to hate her and also her new baby, who is half Simon and therefore half despicable, but something in me forgives them.

Boone picks up Persely Snow's picture again and puts it on his chest so she can smile down at his seizing heart. I roll my eyes a little but keep my voice steady. "How do you feel?" I ask him.

"Kind of sick."

"Sick like you're scared, or sick like you're poisoned?"

"I don't know." His voice is shaky. "What if Simon put strychnine in the Chicken Meg?"

A reluctant expert on poison, I shiver now as I imagine the effects of that nightmarish drug. The stiff neck, the spasms of the arms and legs, the involuntary arching of the body, the horrible smile. "Strychnine is bitter," I say, remembering what I've read in the books, trying to soothe my brother with my quiet voice. "We would have tasted it."

"How about cyanide? You know, what Meg uses on the sick bees. Simon could have mixed it in the lemonade."

I shake my head. "First of all, Simon never got near that lemonade. And second, I think that kind of cyanide turns into a gas when it touches moisture."

He thinks a minute. "Carbolic acid.”

"Your mouth would be burning."

"Curare?"

"Doesn't hurt you if you swallow it. It has to break the skin. Has Simon shot you with a dart lately?"

"Alice, I think I’m dying.”

He looks pale as a ghost. I go over to his bed and begin rubbing his arms. “You’re fine, you’re fine. Think of Persely. She needs you." I rub his arms harder and say what I know will galvanize my brother: "She can't survive on that island without you, Boone."

At the thought of this, he lets out a groan and lunges off the bed. I lose my balance and we fall down in a heap together.

"Get up," I say, trying to extract myself. "We’ve got to get out of here. Get up. Get up!"

"I'm trying."

I hear footsteps coming up to the door, and Boone and I stiffen as the knob turns and light spills onto the floorboards in an anvil-shaped gash.

It's Meg. We sigh in relief.

She closes the door behind her, staring down at the floor, at our tangled-up bodies. She says nothing but holds one hand over her stomach and pushes the other against Boone's mattress so she can kneel on the floor. Her belly presses against my arm and I can feel her baby kick. The real baby my Simon craves. The one with his blood. His face. His madness. I picture a line forming between its tiny eyes, its face turning red at some perceived grievance there in the darkness of the womb.

Boone and I are still tangled up, motionless, silent. My mother runs her hand through my hair, then through his. I am still half angry at her, but glad to be alive and awaiting her sweet endearments.

Tears begin to roll from her eyes and a look crosses her face, one of such torment that I think she has taken poison herself. One of the corrosives, perhaps. She smoothes our hair again, takes a deep, painful breath, leans down to us and whispers a word that I know must cause her unbearable grief.

Run.

Perfectionism is a Bitch

2008-05-29T06:12:00.002-05:00

Scratch the former blog entry where I say "Got the first 4 chapters as close to perfect as I'll get them without professional help"

That's a load of crap. I started re-reading it and the pages are bleeding yet again. Will the edits never end????

On a lighter note. I thought that I'd have more time for this blogging thing, making my goal to write something every day. It's not happening. With the new baby and work-I'm busting my ass just to get minimal every day chores done! So-here's a shout out to all the mother's out there. No One realizes how hard it is until you're there.

It's very much worth the sacrifice- but a sacrifice it is!

Speaking of motherhood- my son is doing amazing~ I swear he's the most beautiful thing I've every seen. He's smiling at me and even giggles (even if it's only in his sleep) and he's started to mimic me in his own infant way. I'll click my tongue and he just thinks that's the funniest thing he's ever heard-and I can see him trying so hard to copy the motion.

He's already an independent soul too. He doesn't like to cuddle. Instead he's only happy when he's looking around at the world around him, soaking it all in. He tries like the dickens to sit up and he's not even 3 months old yet. I makes me realize how much I have to look forward to and reminds me to quit my bitching!

Toilet Thoughts

2008-05-15T22:46:00.002-05:00

Why is it that all the best writing ideas happen when you're away from pen and paper. On the toilet for example or driving your car? And then by the time you get to where you have pen and paper... the thought is a ghost of the former thought. That's happened to me only about a million times this week...

I went back to work on Wednesday and I feel like I NEVER see my son. I hate it. The job itself hasn't been bad so far. I love the people that I work with and they make me feel really good, telling me how much they missed me and how glad they are that I'm back. But I miss cuddling with my baby and I can't wait for the weekend. They are going to mean SOO much more to me now than they ever did before.

But.... I've been working on my manuscript again. Got the first 4 chapters as close to perfect as I'll get them without professional help and am working on chapter 5, which is a complete disaster! But I'm no longer looking at a huge stack of papers and cringing, so that's progress!

Twilight

2008-05-09T08:21:00.002-05:00

How appropriate for a Friday.

I just saw a trailer for the movie Twilight which is based on the Twilight Series by Stephanie Meyers. Once again: These are young adult novels but are so amazing.

Here is a quote from the second book New Moon

Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.

Check out the movie trailor at http://myspace.com/trailerpark

Friday Book Recommendations

2008-05-02T13:49:00.002-05:00

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I know it's a children's book but it wouldn't hurt for adults to read it too...It's one of my absolute all time favorites. Here's a quote:

"Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them."

Two-Line Tuesday

2008-04-28T10:59:00.003-05:00

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!

Six Random Things

2008-04-27T16:15:00.002-05:00

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.

on writing

2008-04-24T11:56:00.002-05:00

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.

Life Carries On

2008-04-21T07:50:00.002-05:00

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?

Rainy Days and Lazy Sundays

2008-04-10T14:17:00.002-05:00

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

Sleep, Interrupted

2008-04-07T22:12:00.003-05:00

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.

A Day in the Life

Suzy Homemaker Kicked My Ass Today.

Halloween!!!

Everyone's Got One and They All Stink

And now I have Jennifer Archer telling me what to do...

Richard Castle just gave me the best advice EVER!

Two Line Tuesday

Inspiration from a 2 year old.

Follow the Yellow Brick Road

I like TV. I can't help it.

The Road to Lost Innocence

Two Line Tuesday

Two Line Tuesday...

A little late

Two Line Tuesday

3 Word Wednesday

Uninspired

Two Line Tuesday

It Takes a Village

Progress

A Heart Shaped Pebble in a Parking Lot Full of Rocks

Beneath the Skin

Que Sera, Sera

My Town Music Monday

When can I quit my job?

JAMBI

Phallic Friday

This is why I write

Blog Whore

Two-Line Tuesday

Ray Lamontagne

Two-Line Tuesday

Music Mondays

Two-Line Tuesday

The Rush

Dollhouse

Hope

Welcome to the Black Hole of Despair

The art of balance

The wind in your vagina

Catharsis

True Blood

My girl Gina

Stealing again

The Love of a Father

Fuck it , I'm getting a General Studies degree

Rules to go by when visiting your pharmacy

I watch too many scary movies

The editor within

A day in the life

Which Famous Artist Are You?

unspoken admiration

Our Story

Why? For the love of Pete, Why?

I liked it so I stole it

Back from the River

It's Been Awhile

FIW Finalist

An Absence of Nectar

Perfectionism is a Bitch

Toilet Thoughts

Twilight

Friday Book Recommendations

Two-Line Tuesday

Six Random Things

on writing

Life Carries On

Rainy Days and Lazy Sundays

Sleep, Interrupted