An Acrobatic Extravaganza!

Hunger gnaws at me, tearing my insides apart. I should venture out for a nibble, a bite, a snack. Yet, I remain rooted, lost in a world that is not my own. Stuck between reality and nonexistence, I balance on a dew drop and one wrong move will cause my fall.

In one hand, I juggle the steal balls of work, family, and health. In the other, I juggle the flaming swords of writing, friends and recreation. As balls and swords intermingle in the air I hop between the thin wires of Mom, Writer, Manager, and Myself. All while blind folded. And such is my life, a never ending acrobatic extravaganza!

Sometimes I can manage with extraordinary dexterity. But every now and then, a ball with fall or a flaming sword will cut deep and the whole she-bang will come crashing down around me. I will fall into a pit of unknown doubts and nothing will come from it for a while.

But always I pick up the balls and swords, climb out of the pit and with a deep breath begin again.

Today, I feel on the brink of a fall, my reaction times are slowing and I catch the juggle with sweating finger tips. My shoes are wearing thin from the sharp wires. Should I keep up as I have been, knowing the pit awaits me? Or should I make my way to the edge, and take a break for a little while?

What if....

Today I didn’t get my magic in the morning, and it has really messed with me. I’m less able to cope with the demands of mother hood. It’s incredibly difficult to put words on paper. I’m one big ball of insaneness just ripe to burst at any given moment. Innocent bystanders beware.

It makes me wonder though, how other people react when something they’ve come to rely on doesn’t happen, either by choice or otherwise. How would Jamie react or Josh or Debbie and Iris? What do they rely on? What would happen if Penny couldn’t wear her ankle breakers? Would she lose her pep? Her bubbly personality? What would happen if Debbie didn’t have her Buba any more? Would she be unable to cope with the stress of a new life? What would happen to Jamie if she cut off all her hair? Would she lose her identity? What would happen to Amanda if no one catered to her anymore? Would she fall into a pit of self loathing or find another way to validate her worth? How would they then turn it around and grow to a better person? Would they grow to a better person or would they give up on that path and move to wickedness?

How far would they go to get it back? What would they gladly give up in exchange? Me, I’ll gladly give up sleep in order to get my sun rises. I’ll trudge through the week in a fog of sleep deprivation for those few hours in the morning when it’s just me and the click of the keys, the scratch of a pencil.

Today, I just want to hit the redo button and wake at my normal hour. Instead I’ll take deep breaths until my fingers tingle and work this nightmare of a morning into something I can use in my books. A way to make Jamie, Josh, Sarah, Penny, Rob, Debbie, Amanda, Renee, Iris, Shelia, Jake, Aleme, Matt, Hope, Faith, Lilly, Seth, and Star that much more of a person, that much more believable.

Two Ways To Get (And Stay) Motivated

Writers Unite! held its first meeting yesterday and what a wonderful experience. We had a lively conversation about motivation, which I needed pretty badly. The ideas and tricks others use to get and stay motivated fascinated me. I can’t wait to apply them to my own writing.

Up until yesterday my only sources of motivation came from my need to write, the joy I get from writing, and a hand written note over my desk that reads, “Wouldn’t you rather be writing? I thought so, so Write On!”  Well, those worked, some of the time.

However, there were a couple ideas that came up yesterday that sound very worth while. The first being the Box-O-Things. The idea behind that is to keep a box near your writing space that holds random things. When inspirations dissipates, your stuck on a scene, the story goes flat or motivation is just not there, reach into the Box-O-Things and pull out an item. Hopefully, your writer mind will click into gear and said random item will inspire the words into being. I’ll be putting together my Box-O-Things this morning.

Another wonderful idea was the Great and the Ugly (as I’ve come to call it.) With this one when things start to fizzle or never sparked, pick up (or watch) an author who made the journey look so easy, because if they can do it, you can do it. Then pick up or watch an author whose books are so bad, so full of mistakes and plot holes and just plan poor writing, because if they can get published then you can too and you can do it better.

I left the meeting with the itch and can’t wait to dive in today. You can say I’m highly motivated and inspired! Which I learned go hand in hand.

My Magic Morning

I’ve grown to really love my mornings and the silence in the house, the sleepy scene playing outside the window. I get to watch the sun set the mountain side of fire, see the flames lick down to the field below. Sometimes it kisses the dingy sides of cows, others the blaze highlights great birds in flight. Today, that field is empty, except a lone deer with her head bent to taste the dew.

Both girls are sleeping, little faces twitch with dreams and cheeks so rosy red. The cat is out, either hunting a rabbit or stuck in the tree. Mr. Fo, the forever fish, rests at the bottom of his tank. The only sounds inside this room: the click of keys, the sputter of coffee and the hum of the fridge.

I know this wonder will be short lived. I know soon enough the sun will finish her journey and her fire will leave the mountain a lush green. The babies will wake and fill the house with their unique music and the cat will beg for food as she hasn’t eaten all night, poor thing. Cartoons will drown out the crisp tap of words and the slosh of milk will over power the tinkle of coffee.

I find myself waking earlier each day, just for a few more moments of this magic morning. I gladly give up that little extra sleep for this time that is mine now. And as joyful as these few hours are to me, as priceless as they have become, I wouldn’t want it to last forever. That would ruin it, I believe. So, I’ll take this time and when the house awakes, I’ll bid it ado until tomorrow with a little grin and fully recharged to meet the crazy that is my life.

Oh My, What Have I Done

I woke in a panic this morning. It’s not hugely unheard of. Actually, I tend to wake in a panic more often then not. But that’s beside the point. This morning set me flying from bed before my eyes were open. Why? Tomorrow is the first meeting of my new writers group and I’m not as prepared as I would like.

Oh, I have a very good idea of how I want it to go. I’ve outlined and listed and contemplated it all. Or so I had thought…

The main topic is Motivation. It seems fitting enough as a good first topic. Finding the motivation to sit down and write. Without motivation, nothing would ever get down except dream a little about the idea of writing.

I figured I’d say a little bit on motivation, why it’s important, how to find your personal motivation, the keys to unlock the next door so to speak. Maybe do up a couple little things to help find, promote and grow motivation. Then turn the topic over to the group to discuss. That sounds pretty good. Yet, that’s all I have and I’m running out of time.

I have no idea what I’m going to say in regards to the topic, no little exercises in mind. Nothing but the idea of what I’d like to cover. Yeah, that’s not going to get my very far.

I’m also scared out of my left sock about the whole deal. What if I totally F it up? What if I come across as a know-it-all without a clue? What if no one shows up and I’m sitting there with a table of goodies; the fodder to small town gossip? What if everyone shows up and I’m standing there, being stared at and freeze up, turn blue even? Gah, this is messing with my head!

But despite all that, I’m really looking forward to it. And truth be told, I know, in some small little bit of my mind, that I’ll pull it all together in the nick of time, that people will show up, I won’t sound stupid and all I really need to do is have a few topic starters in mind and let the rest unfold. This is a group after all, not a lecture. This is where like minded people come together to share their knowledge and help each other grow as writers no matter what leg of the journey they happen to be on.

So, I’m going to sit back, have another cup of coffee and finish watching the sun rise. Tomorrow will be just fine. And if no one shows, well, I’ll have a nice long block of time to write, and a bunch of goodies to stuff my face with.

To Battle a Mirror

This has got to be the hardest thing I’ve ever set out to do.

I’ve driven across the country with less then $400, a 3 month old baby and an injured shoulder. That was an easy stroll to check the mail compared to this.

Working two jobs just weeks after having a baby was like tossing a TV dinner in the microwave when put next to what I’m doing now.

Fighting to join the Air Force was nothing more then a casual conversation with old friends, while this, this is a life or death pleading in an unknown language and I don’t even have a phrase book to help me along.

I’ve battled demons, tackled dragons and nightmares, and kept my feet when the earth heaved. I’ve overcome plagues, mutilation, sociopaths and horrors. I’ve fought a battle against an army with only a Shield of Crone, the Sword of Motherhood, and the Hope of Maiden.

But this, this path I’ve been laid, goes so far beyond that, my knees bend in awe, my heart trembles with fear such as I’ve never known before and my mind fights against the knowledge of what must be.

All of that was nothing more then a peaceful fall evening under an Oak. This, this is hard. This is rushing blind folded and bare footed across a newly paved six lane highway during LA rush hour. But my babies welfare sits on the other side.

And what is this? This horrific feat I need to do? This, my dear friends, is write. And that, believe it or not, is the hardest thing I will ever have to do.

Why? Because in order to write I must battle the worst demon you can ever imagine, myself. I stand between me and the book, the page, the word. The armor I wear is damn near impossible to get past. I brandish a flaming sword in one hand, a poisoned tipped cat-of-nine-tails in the other. I know my every move before I do. I can throw obstacles in my way I know are far beyond my skills to over come.

How do you fight a mirror? How do you get past yourself?

With head held high, the power of Knowledge by your side and little help from the Web Mistress, Liberian and knowing that you must.

All The Bliss Without The Jet Lag

It always surprises me how much can go to the way side when the writing bug really hits hard. I can forget to do the most basic of things, like eat or sleep. I’ll get sucked in so hard and so deep that suddenly the sun is down and I’d only just woken up. My days get all burled together into one black and white adventure. My hands cramp up from holding the pencil too long and the side of my pinky is coated with lead dust, smearing the pages.

Despite all the physical discomforts from prolonged writing binges, I come out of the zone feeling so much better then I went in. Sure, my back and bum are telling me, in no uncertain terms, that I over did it. But the bliss I get over shadows all of that. Yeah, I haven’t slept in who knows how long; however, I’m more rested then I have been in ages. So what if my body is screaming at me to eat, it doesn’t matter when I feel filled to the brink.

When life just gets to be overwhelming and I’m pulling my hair out, all I need to do is pick up a story and write. The times when Bells is in a fit and the Puffet is screaming in my ear I turn on a show, place the baby in the a jumper and hide away in the land of Mother Goose for just a few moments and come out again ready to tackle the next poopy diaper and splat of milk on the floor.

I don’t know why this happens and honestly at this point, I really don’t care. It’s an escape, a release, a much needed vacation without the cost or jet lag.

Somethings Gotta Give

The bright sun rises above the mountain’s breast while cheery birds dance in the still summer’s breeze and tall grasses purple the hill side. The crickets and cicadas have gone to rest leaving the morning still and quite.




Bright kaleidoscope eyes search the room from the haven mommy made. Tiny fingers, too small to hold all the muscle and bone wiggle up to greet the day. Little legs pump and a single squeal of delight punctures the silence, bringing the song of birds.

In the other room my blond hired devil angel whimpers at her dreams while long awkward limbs twitch. She’ll wake soon as well, this mommy knows, with a grin and request for milk, chocolate milk. Normally I’d say no, but this morning may be different.

The Puffet finds a bone, there among her toys, a gift from Grandma to sooth her teeth and gums. With the strut of a novice crawler and the grace bestowed on her by her name sake, Little Quillian heads off in search of a new adventure.

And thus is this morning, on the brink of a season change. The Hunt is nearing and this mommy feels the call. The darkened lullaby spurs my fingers across the keys, sends whispers into my ears. The voices grow, a jumble of words driving me to the brink, bringing with them the near frantic need to hide away and put their wonderful stories down for the world to see.

 

There is Fact to Fiction After All...

I’ve never been the biggest fan of romance novels. They’ve always come across as a little too fake. That sappy, sudden and intense love the characters develop never sucked me into a state of suspended disbelief. Life just does not work that way, end of story.

It takes months to develop a deep connection to another person (your own children not included.) Sure, lust can smack you in the face and blind side you, masquerade as love. Yes, you can care for another after only a few moments. But love, real love that transcends the physical connection and human compassion? Yeah, I didn’t believe it was possible; thus, romances never held much for me.

Until recently, very recently, when I met a man. I knew right away that we would hit it off. We have too much in common; share too many interests, beliefs and passions not to. Then there’s the physical attraction, the chemistry, that spark that muddles my head when he’s near.

We spend hours upon hours talking about everything and that connection deepened. Over the course of a week, the impossible happened and now I can’t imagine my life without him. He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. The first time we hugged, just hugged, I had an intense sense of homecoming. The void in my life didn’t just fill in, it disappeared completely, it was as if it never even existed.

I’ve never been this truly happy, my patience with my girls has expanded ten fold, I find myself wanting to play with my children, a passion I never thought I was capable of. I look forward to waking up each morning and I can roll out of bed and face the day without working myself up to it.

Each day my pain gets less and this morning I woke up without being all but blinded with pain, I didn’t have a headache, sore joints or stiff muscles. My stress and worries haven’t disappeared by any means but I am better equipped to face them now.

Yes, I’ve learned a priceless lesson-there’s fact to fiction. Those sappy romances do have semblance to real life. It may be crazy, it may go against social norms but I could care less. I’m a better person, a better mother and a better writer for it and that’s what really matters. 

Of Two Minds

At just before four in the morning I’m torn. Should I go back to bed, get a few more hours of sleep or should I take advantage of the predawn stillness and let the whispers guide my hand to bring life onto paper?

As I wait for the Bright Eyed Quill to slip once more into the land of sweet dreams the stories take shape in the sleep-fogged recesses of my mind. Three to four hours of rare uninterrupted writing time lay right within my grasp. I can all but taste the sharp tang of graphite dust, the promise of a blissful hit of my sweet addiction.

I yearn for that escape, the joy of watching worlds unfold across off white and the thrill of exploring the minds of unnumbered people. To cast aside all worries of my mundane life and simply exist would be damn near orgasmic.

Yet the responsible adult in me is appalled. I’m about to endure a long stretch of late nights and early mornings. I should sleep while I have the chance. I’d regret the lack of sleep as I make the midnight drive home tonight.

“You cannot count on a nap before work,” my mind says, “Sleep while you have the chance.”

“You sleep every night, how often do you get to write now a days?” The voices whisper. “You got a solid three hours already. Indulge your passion, your dreams and the rewards will be well worth the loss of a few hours tonight.”

I can’t decide as both hold equal draw, the same importance and mutual priority. Yet, I cannot simply remain in this purgatory. I’ll flip a coin and let it guide my actions.

Heads-I let my mind unfold across the infinite nothingness and allow myself to be possessed by those who need to share their stories.

Tails-I lay myself down to sleep with the promise of another opportunity as this and the knowledge that I’ll start the swing refreshed.

The coin is warm between my fingers, a testament to the heat that awaits the dawn. I close my eyes and send a slight prayer to guide the coin and flip it into the air.

Stark man-made light glints off the etched surface as it falls end over end. A regal profile, a majestic bird, heads, tails and back again. I shut my eyes once more as it nears the ground and wait for the muffled signal.

The coin, which was to help my indecision lodged into the tight coarse weave of the carpet. On it’s edge, nether heads nor tails.

Well shit.

When the Lights Go Out

I don’t get spooked easily, but stick me in a darkened bookstore after hours and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

The way the shadows play across countless eyes and half-hidden smirks, is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Power down the sound system and it gets loud. I can hear the stories whispering to each other. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the character’s move within the cover art.

I can say this; you’re never truly alone in a bookstore. Each story comes alive at night; the characters leave the pages and seek adventure between their neighbor’s bindings. When the lights go out Vikings war with Space Cadets, Dragon’s fly through the London Blitz, the women of Romance gossip about their men with the ladies of magazines and zombies learn to cook.

Now that I work at a bookstore, (yes such a wonderful cliché) my muse has gone into overdrive. Last night as I closed up, new stories rushed to fill my mind, begging to be let lose. I see many new stories coming to life on the paper and I’m so looking forward to sitting down to really follow my dreams.

My Biggest Weakness's

As an emerging author, I’ve hit a wall. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, the catch 22 of publishing. I can’t be published without having already been published. Over the past year, I’ve beat my head against said hard place, trying to figure out the best way to obtain those coveted publishing creds. And up until just last night, I’ve come up blank.

After a lot of searching and evaluating, I’ve figured out the things standing in my way. My weakness that make up the hard place and my thought patterns that have solidified the rock.

1)      I cannot (at this time) write short stories.

2)      Entering contest’s require money I do not have

3)      I get distracted from writing too easily

4)      It’s difficult for me to interact with other writers.

5)      My editing skills are not where they should be.

I’m sure there are more but those five are the biggest. Over the coming weeks, I’ll be focusing on improving each one until there is nothing but myself standing in my way.

I'm Ready!

Over the last few months, I’ve been forced to evaluate my life, where it’s headed and where I want it to go. I had to think about the things I truly want and if I was willing to put in the effort to go after them. And decide if those dreams were still worth the time, emotional commitment and, yes, the money.

And I am very pleased at what I found.

Despite the hardships I’ve faced, am still facing, my writing is still important to me. The dream I’ve had all my life is still worth every last minute, penny and tear. So, I’ll keep on plugging away, find the time, energy and money, and put in everything I am in order to make that dream come true.

This is no longer a fun little hobby or a way to spend a rainy day. This time, it’s for the gold or I should say the black and white. I am no longer willing to settle for any thing less than my dream of becoming a published author.