Updates

Friday night was the big night.  I went and met with the local writer's group; they didn't bite.  Actually, they were a pleasant and varied group of people, all with a lot to teach and a lot to learn. 



The meetings are structured in two parts.  The first part consists of a writing exercise which the members may or may not participate in, writer's choice.  The exercise on Friday was one where the members of the group would start writing, either starting a new piece or continuing on something they've already started or brought from home.  Thirty seconds in, and every thirty seconds thereafter for five minutes, the group leader announced a random word.  Members would then try to work this word into whatever it was they were writing.



I had gone in with a few premises in mind, but my nerves overwhelmed me and my mind emptied the second I left my car.  As a result, when the exercise started, I typed whatever popped into my head.  I managed to incorporate all but four of the words, so not too bad.



The second part of the meeting consists of each person reading his or her work.  It could be what was written in the exercise or a piece brought from home, but each person gets the time to read.  Here's where my most severe gastrointestinal worries come into play.



Now, there was really no reason for me to worry.  The group has a very strict, "If you have nothing nice to say, either keep your mouth shut or get the hell out of our group" policy.  Intellectually, I knew this.  But intellect never stopped me from worrying before and it wasn't about to start that night.  To say I was nervous would be like saying that Charles Manson had a slight emotional problem. 



I did it, though.  I read.  I stumbled over my words a great deal, and I made a moderately sized ass of myself by frequently stopping reading to say, "I'm sorry.  I'm really nervous."  As if they couldn't tell.  But they all just smiled and made encouraging noises and clapped when I was done, so it all worked out. 



After each reading, they give a little critique of the here's-what's-working-you-should-keep-that-going variety.  Many nice things were said, none of which I heard because the blood was pounding too loudly in my ears and I was trying to keep from running for the bathroom. 



Bottom line:  They were all friendly.  It was worthwhile.  I'll be back as often as I can.



Also, for those of you who were wondering, I finally settled on the Nook.  While slightly less nifty, gadget-wise, than the new generation Kindle, in the end it came down to three factors.  1)  The Nook reads in EPUB format, which is widely available at libraries.  2)  Expandable memory -- I can put a microSD card in the Nook.  Can't do that with Kindle.  3)  I have a major problem with the crap Wylie and Amazon tried to pull a few months back.  I don't like the idea of books being exclusive to anybody and I don't like being tethered to a company that would engage in that behavior.  Perhaps it's overly idealistic of me, but there it is.



And since you've been so kind as to read all the way through this never-ending post, I'll reward you (hahaha) with a picture of my new t-shirt.  It's printed in mirror image, so when I look in the mirror, I see this:

My new mantra. 



What about you folks?  Ever done anything that's scared the crap out of you?

Shakin' In My Boots

As I said last month, there's a writer's group nearby that I've been studiously avoiding joining.  I vowed to remedy that.  Tonight, it begins.



I think I may throw up.



You see, I contacted the woman that runs the group a couple of weeks ago.  She informed me that their procedure is to write for a while using prompts/key words/etc. and then read the product aloud.  If you had something else from home you wanted to work on and read, you're welcome to do so. 



So, okay, I think we've beaten the topic of my fear of reading my work in public to death and mutilated its corpse a little bit.  But it's still twitching.  I'm seriously nervous over here.  However, operating under the principle that one should do the thing that scares one most, I'm going.



The one thing I've had to hold onto is the warning the woman at the bookstore gave me.  She cautioned me that it's a nice group of people who are all trying to work on their writing.  She said that if I wanted to be in a serious, knock-down, drag-out critique group, I needed to go elsewhere.  What a relief that was. 



Anyway, tonight I go.  I'm nervous about reading my stuff in public.  I'm tired because I made a trip to the library earlier this week and have been unable to stop myself from staying up way too late to read the books I got (Maybe This Time by Jennifer Crusie and The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, in case you were curious).  I'm afraid that I'm going to come off as a disorganized, unprofessional mess.  But I'm going.



It's not as if they're going to bite me, right?  Please don't let them bite me.

Yes, but...why?

Earlier this month was my and Magnum's anniversary.  This week, it's my birthday.  Going into this month, I had thought that I'd combine the two and splurge on a tattoo for myself.  This did not happen, largely because I grossly underestimated the current cost of tattoos.  The one I was planning on getting was priced out at two hundred dollars.  Two hundred dollars!



Now, I realized that the thirty-five dollars I spent on my favorite tattoo fifteen years ago would have increased by now.  Still, I was figuring on about one hundred dollars -- as a splurge.  Anyway, as I said, it didn't happen.  Two hundred dollars is a lot of money in my household and the prospect of spending it on a tattoo set my priorities in line. 



I began to think about all the other things my two hundred dollars could buy.  The tattoo just didn't seem worth it.  Especially when I figured out that I could buy a Kindle or a Nook for less than that.  When I mentioned this to Magnum, he said, "Is that what you want?" 



Well, yes.  But I hadn't considered the possibility.  He reminded me that we had a couple of gift cards laying around.  Also, I had received some money for my birthday.  The three together would swing it. 



So now I'm looking at e-readers (WooHoo!).  The trouble is, which one?  I don't have nearly enough for an iPad.  Most of the stuff in the Mac store might as well be made of gold for all the good it does me.  Which brings me to Nook or Kindle?  (I know there are others, but I've ruled them out.)



I like them both for different reasons.  Some of those reasons are as shallow as being able to buy different back plates for the Nook, or the Kindle coming in "graphite," and, therefore, being easier to keep looking clean.  I posed the Nook or Kindle question elsewhere, but have only received single word answers.  So I'm trying again here.



Do you have an e-reader?  Which one?  What lead you to choose the one you did?  Would you make the same choice again?  Let me know; Gutenberg is calling my name.

Neener, Neener, NaNo

About a month and a half ago, I signed myself up to participate in my first NaNoWriMo.  For those who are unfamiliar with NaNo, it's a writing event wherein those who participate attempt to write a minimum 50,000 word novel in one month -- November 1st through November 30th. 



Put into perspective, fifty thousand words works out to slightly less than seven double spaced pages per day, every day.  The whole prospect is a bit frightening.  I'm not sure if I'll make it. 



I'm going to give it a try, though.  I've been planning on it for a while.  Naturally, during that planning, the subject of just what the hell I'm going to be writing about has crossed my mind once or twice.  Until just recently, I was going to do your standard alien invasion story.  Well...there was a bit of a twist, but still, there are only so many ways to twist an alien invasion story.



**paused to write down new twist on alien invasion story that came to me while I typed the above**



Cool.  Now I have another.  Anyway, I was planning the invasion thing, but then one day while I was showering -- because ideas always occur to me while I'm showering -- I got a New Idea. 



I love this New Idea.  It's Deep and Complex and Challenging.  It keeps invading my thoughts and begging me to write it down. 



There are two problems with that.  One -- I still haven't finished the novel I'm currently writing.  In the interest of productivity (and actually finishing something for once in my life), I have forbidden myself to start a new novel until I've finished at least the first draft of this one. 



Two -- The rules of NaNoWriMo state that you can't use something you've already started.  It's okay to have character development, backstory, outlines, etc., but on November 1st, you must be starting the book on page one. 



And now this stupid second book is following me around, caressing the back of my neck, and whispering sweet plot points into my ears when I'm helpless to do anything about them. 



But I won't let it seduce me.  I won't.  My will is iron.  Okay, fine, it's iron at its core with a nice, baked-on enamel coating so it won't rust and give out on me before November 1st. 



What about you folks?  Anyone out there submitting themselves to the masochism that is NaNoWriMo?  Let me know.  I'm afraid to go alone.



**Those who'd like to be writing buddies can look for AlphaDelia.  See you there!**

PSA

I don't know about wherever you are, but around here, it's primary day.  So, today's post is a reminder to get out and vote.  Please.



I am a firm believer in the philosophy that you can't complain about what the monkeys and lemmings in Washington are doing with your money if you played no part in them getting there. 



You are especially entitled to complain if you voted for the other guy.  It's a wonderful opportunity; don't pass it up. 



Go vote.

I'm Looking Over a Four-Leaf Clover

I have many useless talents.  I can sing along with commercials from the 1970s.  I can wiggle my nostrils.  And I have four-leafed clover radar.  I can find them just about anywhere.  If you open any thick book in my house, you're likely to have at least one of the suckers jump out at you.



It is a common joke in my family that four-leafed clovers are useless because we have not yet won the lottery.  I do not have a gardener or a maid (though, if anyone wants to volunteer...), and my car is a piece of crap.  Seems you can't rely on clovers for anything these days.



This week, Magnum and I celebrated our fifteenth wedding anniversary.  We married five years from the day of our first date (that wasn't some cutesy thing on my part, we simply couldn't make it jive any other way).  He was then, and still is, my best friend.  In twenty years, I haven't even come close to tiring of his company.  In fact, I can't imagine one lifetime together being enough.



We have kids, too.  Four of 'em.  All currently happy, healthy, smart, and active.  In our eyes, they are four of the most beautiful creatures on legs.  I'm full-to-burstin' with pride for all of them.



In short, I'm pretty damned lucky.  Maybe it's the clovers. 

The Road to Hell

Do you have any idea how many good intentions I have?  I join in quilting swaps with every intention of completing things on time.  I undertake stories that I have every intention of finishing by a certain deadline.  I intend to join the local writer's group.  I intend to clean my house and cook dinner early so the kids can eat before soccer.  I intend to fold the damn laundry.



Hell...here I come. 



It's not that these things don't get done.  Eventually.  I just can't seem to complete what I want to complete when I want to complete it.  I don't know why.



I know that there are people who get up in the morning and accomplish everything on their fifty-item list before sundown.  I know that these people have the same amount of hours in their days as I do.  I simply can't figure out how they manage to cram it all in.



I've read a few of those organizational-type books.  My kids' school has even instituted the principles from some Habits of Highly Effective People thigamajig.  I've read these habits; they make sense.  I just can't seem to make habits of them.



This blog was supposed to help me with that.  Only, it's not...not really.  I find that I'm falling back into the same old patterns I've always followed, only now, I have more things on my plate that aren't getting done. 



How do I do it?  Do I go back to the same principles that started this blog in the first place?  Is there some other method that will be more efficient?  Perhaps I should buy a day planner and attach myself to it?  Any suggestions?  I'm winging it, here.

Non Sequitur

A short warning for you:  today's post is apropos of absolutely nothing.  I've only written it because it popped into my mind.  When things pop into my mind, writing is the only way for them to exit.  Otherwise, they just bounce around in there and ding up the inside of my skull.  No one wants a dinged-up skull.  So...



Like many writers, I keep little notebooks everywhere.  I have one in my purse, one on my bedside table, one next to my computer -- you get the picture.  They are chock-full of many not-so-brilliant-and-wise insights and snippets of writing.



About a year ago, I woke with the vague recollection that I had woken up during the night and written something in my bedside notebook.  I was mostly asleep when I did it, so I had no idea what the hell I'd written.  It being a typical morning in my household, I had no time to check, either.  So I put it back in its normal place and promptly forgot about it. 



It was several weeks before I remembered it.  This is why I keep notebooks, really.  So that, when I finally remember that I've forgotten something, I can go back and see what it was (if I can find the right notebook). 



Magnum says that my dreams are weird and that the way I think sometimes causes him to worry about me.  This was one of those occasions.  Allow me to share. 



The following is what I wrote in my four a.m. stupor.  It was in two parts.  The first part read as follows:



Do not ask, "Why did these evils befall me?  Why did this come in my time?"  There are evils for all men in all times.  You and yours are not unique.



Now, with this one, I think I'm going to claim too much Lord of the Rings watching.  I think that's a valid enough excuse.  The next one, though, I have no freakin' clue.  I'm still trying to figure out what could possibly have driven me to use the word "verily."  Here goes.



The mountain soared overhead into a sheer cliff face that would have been lost in the clouds were the day not so clear.  As I watched, an outcropping of stone that jutted from the top of the cliff as if to shade those below it, gave a crack verily like the opening of the heavens.  The massive stone broke from its mother and tumbled down the hill like a child's ball.  I watched, horror struck lest there be some other soul making his way up the mountain.  But there was only me, and the cliff top came to rest by the stream in the valley, having only trees and animals in its path. The swath it cut leaving a scar that would be raw and tender for years ere it healed.  But heal it would.  And few would know that the boulder by the stream had ever called anywhere else home.



WTF?  Verily?  Lest?  Ere, for heaven's sake?  I'm going to claim sleepiness for the bad writing, but I can't imagine what frustrated 18th century (failed) writer jumped in and supplied the rest of it.  I've been trying to figure that one out for a year now.  What the heck was I dreaming about?  Any guesses?