Rocky takes a breather

I decided to be brave--I re-read my fourth draft. It's my best draft yet.
And still, it needs so much work (I was going to say sucks, but I'm thinking positively here).
The beginning is actually pretty good. The ending is not so bad. But the middle--ah, the middle is another story. No, really, it's another story. And that's the problem.
I drift off into some other world, along with my characters. Whole chapters go by where my characters do nothing but think. Characters get dropped or picked up out of nowhere. Still.
Sometimes I wish I had another weakness. Because if you're not so good at plot, that means you have to restructure entire novels when they fall apart. If you stink at say, description or grammar, it doesn't (usually) affect the whole novel very much.
But being good at character has its perks, though. My friend Kelley once said that you can fix almost anything else in a novel as long as you have good characters. And I think she's right. But in my case, I fix it, and fix it, and fix it, and fix it...
I know now, better than ever, what I need to do to fix things. There will still be some tearing apart. But right now, Rocky's worn out from all his fighting, and he just wants to towel off for a while. And, being the nice author I am, I think I'm going to let him.
But don't worry. Rocky's a fighter. He won't stay down for long.

From my website...

I'm still working on the website (an LDS-based family-friendly workplace resource), and it's taking forever. Right now, I'm aiming for a launch date of April. I plan to have the writing part finished in January or February, but there's still lots of work to do after I finish all the writing and linking. A short list: find a board of directors (any volunteers?), get a logo, get tax-exempt status, write press releases, set up a newsletter, set up donation capability, make a budget, get personal stories from people, get input from others, recruit people in other states...did I miss anything?
Anyway, here's an excerpt from the "culture wars" section. Be warned, it's got an LDS slant to it, just in case you don't go for that sort of thing. I don't want it to be obnoxiously preachy, though, so if I cross the line there, please do tell. Here goes:

"LDS women face many dilemmas as they make decisions about work and family. Religious beliefs aside, there are already plenty of conflicting messages from society about how women should behave and what women should do. Most mothers are well acquainted with the guilt that seems to come wrapped up with the baby blankets.

Everyone seems to have an opinion--from television role models to parenting experts to politicians. Since reality doesn't match what they see or what they hear, women develop their own ideal, depending less on media or parental models and more on themselves. But with little experience from their parents and contradicting expectations from society, women have no practical way to check whether or not they're "measuring up". They just do the best they can and hope they get it right.

Within the LDS Church, things can be confusing, too. Many LDS women grew up hearing about the importance of motherhood and the value of mothers being home. Many of them had dreams of marriage and children and home life, and waited to find someone who could help make it possible. Others had dreams beyond family life, such as education and career ambitions. But when life threw a few surprises their way, many women didn't know how to reconcile their situations with what they had been taught. Some didn't marry. Others didn't have children, and some became divorced. Some women's husbands lost their jobs unexpectedly and others just simply couldn't afford the mortgage and groceries on one income. Some expected to lose themselves in the joy of raising their children and were surprised at how much they missed being sharing their talents and abilities with the world. And some women stayed home and loved it.

There are nearly as many situations as there are women, and that's what makes these decisions difficult. And when it seems like everyone has an idea about what women should do, it quickly becomes apparent that no single person can possibly meet all these expectations.

Before a woman is a mother or a wife, before she faces her loads of laundry or punches in for the day, before she fills any role or responsibility that she either chooses or is given, she is first and foremost a daughter of God. She is a person with unique gifts, whose value lies in who she is, and not merely what she can do for others. As she finds solutions and asks for guidance, she can find the best uses for her talents within her particular situation, whether that's in the workplace, the home, the community, the Church, or some combination of these. It's easier to face criticism (whether it comes from others or from within) when she knows that her direction comes from above."

Twice in one month

I know, I know. You've all been staring at your computer screens with your tongues hanging out, waiting for the next post, because that's what kind of loyal fans you are. Your faith in me is about to be rewarded. I'm posting twice in one month.

Lately I've taken some time off from the crazy writing frenzy (though I did attend the most excellent SCBWI editor day this month) both to work on my website and work on my brain. The work on my website is going well. That's partly because I don't bang it against the wall the same way I do my head. Websites just don't respond to ouch therapy.

For those of you not in the know (uh--probably almost everybody), I'm building a site about work-family issues. I'm envisioning a non-profit that takes action to make workplaces more family friendly, and eventually (when the kids get a little older) I'll branch out into consulting. That's right. I bet all you Dilbert fans are proud.

'Cause guess what, world? The workplace is not family-friendly! Shocking, I know. Although there are many, many issues I could discuss, I plan to focus on just five or six at first. Here's what families need: flexible work, sick leave, child care, elder care, parental leave, and most of all, a way to discuss these issues, both inside and outside of work.

Scary thought: Eighty percent of low-wage workers don't have any paid sick leave. So, if they can't afford to take a day off work, many of them come to work anyway. Guess who the low-wage workers are? Food service, child care, and health care workers. Would you like a flu-infected worker to sneeze on your food, your kid, or Grandma? Not good. And if a worker's kid gets sick, too? The kid will be sneezing all over your kid at school. So, needless to say, I'm a big believer in paid sick leave.

Also, since you were wondering about the brain work I mentioned earlier, I'm recovering nicely from my frontal lobotomy, so thanks for asking. And I'm recovering from my self-help books, too. They're teaching me to think happy thoughts. Well, OK, there's more to it than that. But I think they might be on to something. Scalpel not included.

My Life Lately

Other than the usual household chaos, here's what I've been up to lately:
1. Long-lost family members visited. This year, I've seen both my sisters face-to-face. It's been FIVE years. It sure won't be until the next visit, though.
2. Went to a Women in Business conference at BYU. I ate some very yummy food, wore grown-up clothes, and tried to figure out what I'm going to be when I grow up. Also saw my friend Diana--it's been a lot longer than five years.
3. Wrote and sent off a Boys' Life article. It was my first feature for them. Wahoo!
4. Finished my fourth draft. Yeah, baby! I know it still needs work (and about 10K less words), but this time, I'm more confident about how to do that. I haven't decided if I'm going to send poor beaten-down Rocky out to the world or finish fixing him myself first. In either case, he's worn out and needs to rest for a few weeks.
5. Figured some stuff out.

I decided I'm going to start a non-profit website to help businesses become more family-friendly. It will mainly be a resource. I hope at some point to become a work/life consultant, but not yet. I want to focus first on getting people together to talk about these issues, and raise awareness. Like, for example, did you know that sick leave is not a legal right in most places in the US (including Utah)? So what does a mom with a sick kid do?

I'll blog more about it as it gets going. Right now, I'm building the site and I'm getting excited because what this girl wants, more than anything, is to make a difference.

All right, all right, I'll blog already!

If you're wondering what happened to my blog lately, wonder no more.
I've been in crisis mode.
It hasn't been pretty.
I think it can all be summed up in these words from an interview in the book Opting Out by Pamela Stone: "I've had enough of being at home, but yet I need to be at home."
The worst of the crisis has passed, which was when I was in my staring-at-nothing phase. All I could do for those few days was sit on the front step, stare into space, and read feminist books.
Then I got into my angry-at-everyone phase. This was where I flew into a rage at anyone who suggested that women had a "role" to do. I may or may not have thrown a certain new blue-covered book for women across the room--I'll let you figure that one out for yourself. Yes, I was mad that I had believed for years that women were supposed to take care of houses and kids once they started having babies, because it wasn't as rosy as I had imagined. But really, I was more mad at myself for not having prepared myself for a career better when I had the chance, and for sitting around feeling sorry for myself instead of making changes.
Now I'm morphing into the now-what phase (though I occasionally still want to take people's heads off when they start talking about the art of homemaking). I've flirted off and on with this phase for years, anyway, you know, checking the classifieds for job listings, counting down the years until M. is in school all day....But now, I'm trying a little harder. I'm querying magazines more aggressively, writing a couple pages in my novel per day, and contacting people I think might be able to help me get to the next step (the work/life field).
But it doesn't feel like I'm doing much. It feels like more of the same. I know it takes time when you're looking for a new direction, but things don't feel much different than they did before since I'm doing the same kinds of things. I know I'm not ready for full-time work yet, but opportunities don't exactly drop from the sky.
So if you know of an opportunity fairy who'd love to drop some freelance work/life-related writing work my way, send her right here. And while you're at it, tell her to bring along that money fairy buddy of hers, too.

My world shrinks

In this case, shrink does not refer to my needing professional help, though if things continue the way they have been, that just might change.

When we were in Las Vegas recently, we lost M. She was right behind us, then suddenly, she wasn't. It took us a while to find her. We were just getting to our hotel room. We hadn't been there long enough to figure out where everything was. We put the boys in the room, told them to stay put, and took off running up and down the halls. We checked the pools, we checked the stairwell. We couldn't hear her or see her anywhere. I ran back to our room and called security and they helped us look. After I don't know how many minutes, a guy in uniform said, "Ma'am, they found her. She's with your husband."

Lots of weird things go through your head at a moment like that. I figured we'd probably find her, because, after all, non-family child abductions are pretty rare, and it wasn't very likely a two-year-old could find her own way out to the street from where we were. But still, if I was wrong, and we had to leave without her...well, I couldn't imagine, so I imagined finding her instead.
When a crisis hits, all the things I worry about don't seem so important.

Then, last week, most of us (the healthy fairy was smiling down on Mark) got a nasty stomach virus. Recovering from this sickness meant a lot of lying around in bed and a lot of laundry. But poor little K didn't seem to recover on his own. He'd bring up everything we fed him, even water. This went on for nearly two full days before I decided we should take him in. I wasn't well enough to cart him around, so Mark got the honor of taking him to the doctor. They found out he was dehydrated and considered checking him into the hospital before they decided that maybe they could treat him there. So after much driving around to get tests and prescriptions, Mark and K. got home at 1:30 am.

You'd think I would have learned the uselessness of worrying by now, but no. It's so easy to imagine worst-case scenarios when it's late at night, you're tired, and there's nobody else there to pretend to be fine for. And so again, my little world became pint-sized, and the messy house, my hundreds of little projects, and the children's bedtimes didn't matter so much.

But if you're imagining these experiences changed me and put my life in perspective, you have awfully high expectations of me. All it took was a few episodes of Hoarders and pretty soon I was a house-cleaning maniac again. I wouldn't want to have my priorities straight or anything. If you watch enough TV, you can get cured from just about any moral improvement.

I totally hate decisions.

Well, not really.

Maybe.

Let me think about it for a while.

I love way too many things, and I'm starting to think it might be a good idea to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. I'm so scattered it feels like I'm running around in circles.

Most of my projects have been on hold since the birthday/baptism/vacation/family crises started. I was a little insane as I tried to prepare for all these activities: making phone calls, baking, preparing pizza crusts, buying presents, sending out invitations, checking details, packing, etc. And, miraculously enough, I survived them all.

L's birthday party was fun, we came back from Las Vegas in one piece (though we nearly lost our poor girl at the hotel), he actually did get baptized, and my family members caught their plane home.

Then M. got sick Sunday night. And since my kids absorbed their lessons on sharing a little too well, I got sick, K. got sick, and L. got sick. I'm still recovering.

But guess what? In the meantime I got an Etsy order! Wouldn't want to let a little sickness stop me! I started sewing some sheets, even though I could barely stand up, because I felt sorry for the lady who is due to deliver twins within days and needs a special size for her babies. I'm like the post office. Sleet, hail, sickness...it doesn't matter, you can depend on me.

So all this sickness and sewing has kept me from my typical activities. Remember that novel in its fourth draft I've been working on? Haven't looked at it for about a month. My amazing business idea of helping workplaces become more family-friendly? Um, it's still a great idea. Flute? Well, luckily for me, there's no orchestra or flute choir rehearsals for another couple weeks.

The thing is, I might be successful at any one of these endeavors if I could pick one and go with it. In the words of the immortal Crush, "Focus, dude!"

photo source

But I hate to give anything up. If I choose one, I'll have to scale way back on the others. I can't imagine being without writing. Or giving up on my business idea. No music in my life? I don't think so. Not sew? Well, where's the fun in that? But I also know, as long as I cling to all of my activities, I'll be too scattered to do well at any of them.

So I guess I just haven't learned to establish priorities and make decisions. But I'm going to have to choose sooner or later.

Maybe.

Infestation

In a few hours, I'm going to have about eight little boys in my house. I have way too much to do to finish getting ready. So what am I going to do about it?

Procrastinate.

Some people love their kids' birthday parties. They choose some cutesy theme and get way into it. They stay up multiple nights, sewing elaborate decorations and buying fondant to decorate that cake just so.

Now, if you know me at all, you'd think I'm the creative type. I sew, I write, I play the flute. But guess what? When it comes to the domestic arts, I'm a few cupcakes short of adorable.

Take the cake, for instance. L. wanted a Lego theme party, so I thought I'd make him a Lego cake. No problem. Just bake a flat cake, and then bake some mini-cupcakes and turn them upside down for the connectors.

Well, it ended up looking like a flat cake with meatballs on top.


FAIL! I also made Rice Krispie treat Legos. Sort of. I tried to fill up some water balloons and I ended up with sore fingers and broken balloons (note to self for next year: cheap water balloons are just that--cheap).

Then, for my most brilliant move, I took the younger kids with me to buy L's presents. They got home and told him exactly what he was getting.

This is going to damage my can-do attitude. With domestic diva crossed off my list, my to-do list has shrunk. Maybe when the party's over, I'll get real crazy and put sleeping back on there.

Take a listen!

Announcing...Flautissimo's 2011 spring concert, for those of you who missed it (I think that would be ALL of you who are reading this), for your listening pleasure, at my blog, www.kaylieblog.blogspot.com. It's on the sidebar at the right. Just click, play, and listen. Please. 'Cause it took me about an hour to convert all those files and upload them. Then tell me how great is sounds so I know all my hard work is not in vain.

Old Trauma Time

Sometimes, when you're writing (especially if you're writing about teenagers and/or the place where you grew up), you have to write about something that hits close to home, something that brings back less than pleasant memories.

Here are some of mine, all in one big yellow package:
Photo credit

Maybe some of you city dwellers never had to deal with one of these on a regular basis. But I did, nearly every day.

When I was little, I remember being so, so scared to cross the busy highway after I got off the bus. For a long time, I needed a big kid helper. I remember being terrified that my bus driver, Lorna, would yell at me for doing it wrong.

Then, when I got older, it got even scarier. When you're one of the last people to get on the bus, you don't get many choices about where you sit. And if you're not the popular type, your bus seat status might be less than stellar. People might even refuse to sit by you. So then you have to walk up and down, back and forth, hoping somebody will let you in. Maybe one of the little kids. And then the bus driver has to yell back at all the bus people for someone to let you sit with them.

When you finally sit down, you wait for either someone to find something nasty to say about you, or for the other person to let you know they're not going to talk to you so you'll have to ride the whole way to school in silence, and you're not sure if this is better or worse than what they might say if they spoke to you.

But the thing that makes a school bus worse than a school cafeteria is that whatever people say, they have a built-in audience. Including you. Even if you're not sitting directly beside the mean ones, you're going to hear every insult, and so will everyone else.

Traumatic, you think? Sure, but it's great novel-writing material. And the best part is, my characters get to rise above those mean nasty bus-riding bullies. They can tell them off in a way I never could. That's why the pen is mightier than the sword. It can slay a whole busload of rude, self-absorbed meanies in a single stroke. That school bus is going down, baby.

Note to self: Stuff not to write

Here are some plots I've been reading a little too much of lately:

1. The angsty teen. This girl/guy is way messed up. He/she is in major self-destruct mode. This person is on drugs/ driving drunk/ flunking school/ suicidal or all of the above, messed up because they want to die. Death seems like a picnic compared to their life, which is filled with backstabbing friends, an abusive relationship, clueless teachers, and screwed-up parents. But wait, it gets worse. The real reason our hero hopes to meet death in a dark alley is because....

2. Teen thinks he/she is responsible for someone else's death. Yup, there was a terrible accident. Lost soul-type friend/ innocent little sibling/ perfect parent would still be alive if our hero hadn't failed to save the day. He/ she is guilty of Being in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time. Except, of course, it wasn't really our hero's fault. But since our hero doesn't have a time travel machine to go back and fix things, he/she is buried under a mountain of guilt, but puts on a brave face and rebuffs everyone who tries to break through said Brave Face. Everyone, that is, except for...

3. The tortured relationship that will eventually end in bliss. Hero and love interest meet, and ka-pow! They are struck by the amazing insight that Hot Girl/ Boy is, though perhaps a little quirky, awesome--unlike everyone else at Rich Snob High. But alas, the First Twist happens as Love Interest hugs another person! Oh, no, misunderstanding ensues! Fortunately, the Other Person ends up being a relative, like a sibling or cousin. Phew. Crisis averted. But then, Major Crisis time. One discovers a horrible secret in the other's past, and thinks this is the end of their relationship, because this means that Other Person is not as perfect as previously thought. "What? She's not perfect? She should have told me that. I seriously thought she walked a different plane than the rest of us mere mortals. Now, not only is she not perfect, she's a liar, too, for keeping this from me." This all leads up to the Great Reconciliation in which Love Goddess reveals that she actually had a noble reason for not revealing her secret. This restores her status to perfection and everyone lives happily ever after.

You like my new background?

I sure hope so. I'm not sure where it came from, but I started playing with backgrounds and templates today, and now I can't remove it. At least, I don't want to take the time to figure out where the code from this background (which I used months and months ago) is sitting. But the good things about this wallpaper is I don't have to worry too much about coordinating furniture.

Announcing Flautissimo's spring concert

It's that time of year again, when Flautissimo gets out all their shiny instruments to play their spring concert. Here are the details:

Flautissimo Spring Concert--
Around the World and Beyond
Saturday, May 14th, 7:30 pm
Westminster Presbyterian Church
796 South Mountain Road
Admission and refreshments are FREE!

Memories of East Tennessee, by Austin Alan Scott
Praise the Lord with Flutes, by Sigfrid Karg-Elert
In the Village from Caucasian Sketches by Ippolitov-Ivanov
Danse Bacchinale from Samson and Delilah by Saint-Saens
Adventures in Space by Ricky Lombardo
Lyric Pieces by Edvard Grieg
and more!

structure and stuff

While I'm working on Rocky 4.0, if I get a moment to take a breath, sometimes I think about my next book. It's been in the works for a while, but I've been focusing on Rocky. Which is good, 'cause I think concentrating on one book and refining it helps me more as a writer than dozens of scattered projects do.

I've written about 100 pages in the Alzheimer's book, but I was so frustrated with structure. I wanted to include some memories from the past, and have those memories be a major part of the book, but most of the action is to take place in the present. Every time I tried to plan it out, it just wasn't working for me. I tried alternating chapters present/past, but that didn't work because it was obvious from the get-go what had happened in the past. I tried flashback form within the present, but that required lots of awkward transitioning and it wasn't a very balanced novel because so much of the past had to fit into the narrative.

Then I read Please Ignore Vera Dietz by A.S. King.

Ah, nothing like stealing ideas from another author. It was perfect! This novel is written in scenes instead of full chapters. Some scenes take place in the past, others in the present, and others from someone else's perspective. She starts each scene with a heading telling where and when the action takes place, so no awkward transitions.

So, for my next book, I'll be trying something new. That's right, I'll be abandoning the traditional chapter form completely. But it's the only way it makes sense--a nearly random structure for a book about scattered memories. It's always a little daunting to try something new on a huge scale like a novel. But I'll have A.S. King to guide me.

What fun is writing if you can't plagiarize while you're at it?

Ann Crittenden is my new best friend

Those of you who read my FB posts know I'm obsessed with goals. I can't help it. I'm an overachiever wrapped up in a baby-lovin' body. Speaking of which, I've been thinking hard lately. One of the leaders of my church mentioned that workplaces need to become more family-friendly. My brain did a happy dance, and we all know what that means. Ideas falling out all over the dance floor!

My brain started to wax nostalgic for its favorite soapboxes and injustices, so I went to my local library to dig up The Price of Motherhood by Ann Crittenden. Subtitle: Why the Most Important Job in the World Is Still the Least Valued. Yeah, baby. What was that I just heard? The echoes of battle drums?

In a nutshell, though we all love our mamas with our lips, we don't value their work with our dollars. Moms who work outside the home find advancement nearly impossible due to umsympathetic workplaces (ie, no paid maternity leave, no part-time benefits, and no allowances for parental responsibilities). Mothers who stay home aren't paid or even acknowledged for their efforts, and if they return to work, they have to start over.

So, thought I, why not make the family-friendly workplace my job? I could consult with businesses, help women pioneer real-life benefits in their jobs, and write about problems and solutions. I'll spare you the numbers for now, but let's just say that for all its supposed child-friendly attitudes, Utah's workplace policies lag way behind.

The possibilities are endless: paid parental leave, on-site daycare, prorated pay and benefits for part-time workers, job sharing, etc. I could go on.

So after I got all fired up, I decided to see what other fine prose has come from Crittenden lately. I checked out If You've Raised Kids, You Can Manage Anything. Are you laughing yet? That's because you know it's true, right? I don't think most bosses really believe that. But it was reassuring to me, at least.

Here are some skills nearly every child demands of its parents (and they all translate into valuable workplace skills): multitasking, negotiation, listening, patience, empathy, appreciating differences, developing others' capabilities, letting go, consistency, and perspective. Smart bosses recognize that parents often possess these skills, and value parenting in their employees for the assets it creates. For example, one parent who was negotiating international peace treaties recognizes that the parties involved were just insecure children at heart. She used her empathy skills successfully and made changes that affected millions of people.

I don't know where my ideas will lead. We all know I'm never short of them. If you have any extra ideas for me, please keep them to yourself--I've got plenty. If, on the other hand, you have some extra lifetimes you could lend me to fit all this stuff in, send them my way.

For Hard-Core Doctor Who Fans Only

If you're reading this on Facebook, you'll have to go to my blog to see it.

"The wibbly lever!"

Intangibles

You've read before about how I love me some numbers when I write. Nothing like cold, hard digits to prove you're getting somewhere. See? Look, I wrote 1000 words today. Can't dispute that.

The funny thing about life is you can't measure everything you do. Yes, I'm just figuring this out, but I'm a little slow on the life lesson stuff. They don't tell you this when you're in school and they definitely don't grade you on it. They really should put a number to it so I could relate.

This can't-measure stuff is hard for me to grasp. Isn't that what we're raised to believe, though? Success is something you can prove with grades, promotions, salary, house size, weight, etc. That's what the goal-making gurus always tell me, too. Don't make vague general goals like "be kinder to animals", because how will you know when you've succeeded? Your goals should be something you can tally up because then, to paraphrase George Banks from Mary Poppins, you'll achieve that sense of conquest.

He's right about that. I eat that stuff up. The fitness DVD I use has three levels. Yay! I'm super ninja kick-butt mama when I can graduate from one level to the next. Wow, I'm super-nerdy writing maniac mama when I put 1,000 words on the page. Huzzah, I'm super domestic diva mama when I put 5.5 loads of laundry in the dryer in one day.

But what about the things you can't measure? Like this week, for instance, when my CPs told me about some problems with my third-draft Rocky novel. The next step is, get this, to think about it. How do the characters relate to each other? How do they interact at school? What is their motivation in each chapter? Thinking does not add words to the page. But it makes the novel better. And knowing I need to think about those problems for this novel will make me a better writer because I'll have to think about the same things in other novels.

But how do you measure it? "I had 3.3 thoughts about my characters today"? You can't. And yet, that's where I'll make the most progress.

It's the same with children. Nobody counts how many hours I spent on the couch with my kids yesterday, trying to get them to stop screaming for no apparent reason. Nobody but them noticed the snuggles I gave them when it was dish-doing time. Yet those things matter most.

In the words of Einstein, "Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted."
Photo source
He knew what he was talking about. Though some moments of inspiration come when I'm typing madly away, many (the big, important ones) come when I'm in the shower, or lying around in bed, or doing nothing at all.
So if you see me this week and it looks like I'm sitting around being completely unproductive, don't be fooled. My internal genius is at work. Do not disturb.

Random feminist rant

So, lately we've made a few visits to the car repair shop, because we were starting to feel like we didn't get out enough, and what better place to party than good ol' Goodyear? They have--get this--vending machines. Now, if you don't think that's any fun, you haven't been trapped in a waiting room with two squirmy children for long enough.

Anyhoo, these vending machine explorations do not come cheaply. Shove enough toys (brought from home, of course) inside one of those and you could easily end up dropping a few hundred before long. Candy is getting more and more expensive these days. Must be inflation.

So I put a little more on the good ol' plastic than I usually do. Funny how metal and plastic don't mix, isn't it? And I started to get awfully close to my credit limit.

Now, before you all gasp in horror at my Big-Time Spending Habits, let me assure you of something: My credit limit is low.Photo source

Really low.

Low as in I can only return stuff on it because a positive balance is too high. Low as in sometimes my pocket burns when my credit card gets too close to Satan. Low as in limbo star.

I've called before to try to fix this problem. Why won't they increase my limit? Because my income is too low.

Being a (mostly) SAHM means, of course, that I don't bring in the bacon. Or the pork or the beef, but then I'm not a red meat eater anyway. The credit card powers-that-be worry their silly little financial heads that I won't have the means to pay them back, should my debts reach four digits.
Photo source
Guess what, financial heads? My ham (sorry, honey, you know I can't help the puns) of a husband might be the one who's issued a W-2 from his employer, but guess who controls most of the spending? That's right, me. I happen to have a wedding ring, and in most parts of the world (we're not sure about Mozambique), that means we are entitled to pool our money. Joint bank accounts, joint tax returns, etc. The checks have both our names on them. And if silly little SAHM barefoot (but not pregnant) me overspends, it has exactly the same effect as it would if Mr. Manly W-2 Bacon Man of the House did the same. We'd be equally broke.

So I told them about how I'm, you know, married, and live in the same house and share not just three squirmy vending machine-raiding children, but also a mortgage, a bank account (at their bank), and a whole lotta random junk.


They had a solution for this most annoying problem. Get him to co-sign, they said. That's right, get Mr. Crispy with a Side of Eggs (and all this time I thought bacon was the side dish) to say he'll take care of you and pay for you and maybe even tie your shoes for you while he's at it.

I don't think so.

He's not vouching for me, a woman ten months his senior, because he sits in a cubicle all day. Just because he's a tech geek does not mean he can budget or clip coupons better than me.

I guess I could take my business elsewhere. Show them who doesn't wear the pantsuit in this family. Get a credit card somewhere else--I get enough offers in the mail. But I don't want to pay their interest rates, and I don't want to give in.

So I'll suffer and bite my nails to see if my credit card still goes through when it comes dangerously close to its limit. Groceries? Who needs them?

I can always buy snacks at the vending machine.

What now?

In case you missed the FB post, I finished. Yup. Rocky 3.0 (not the book's real name) is done, again. And now, I don't know what to do with myself.
Yes, the manuscript still needs work, especially the second half. I've got another WIP that's been sitting on my hard drive, untouched, for months. It's going to rock. I think. I've also got an article due way soon.
I don't want to do any of it. I've got finger block. It makes my fingers itch.
Just so you understand the origins of this terrible disease, it began by typing 1000 + words a day. A great exercise to keep my butt in the chair. The problem is, once my fingers hit the keyboard, they itch to pound it. And now, MS finished, they can't.
I'm not going to revisit my manuscript until it sits in my hard drive for a while. This is necessary to get some distance between us because let's face it, this relationship was getting way too intense.
I'm not going to start writing the other book until I reread what I've already done. It's been a long-distance relationship for a while, and you can't just start where you left off with an old flame.
I can't really start the article until I do more research.
There is no way to cure this seven-month itch.
My fingers want to type something useful, but the brain doesn't have any waves to send down to the digits. I don't want to do anything (I earned this break, and I'm going to rest or else!) , but I can't break the habit of working. So if I sit here with vibrating fingers and nothing coherent comes out my fingers, you'll know why.
Free Cell, anyone?

Happy Posting Day

Happy hearts, sphere. I decided to commemorate this occasion (also known as SAD, an acronym for Singles Awareness Day or Spousal Let's-See-If-His-Awareness-Extends-To-Buying-Me-Flowers Day. No wait, that would be SLIHAETBMFD and that's just vulgar) by doing something really wild and crazy.

That's right, I'm posting. I have a good excuse. Two of them, actually. Yo, I'm busy writing my novel. And the other is poster's block. Or is that bloggy block?

1. So how is my novel going? So glad you asked. 77k words right now with two chapters to go after the one I'm working on. We're in the home stretch now. And you know what that means, right? Sprint, baby, sprint!

Scene setting? Silliness!
Symbolism? Superfluous!
Syntax? Bah, I say, who needs it?I bet you thought I was going to alliterate again, didn't you? That's me, always surprising the reader. Though if it really bugs you, you can throw a senseless in there for me.

I'm burning up the track now, so I'm not going to worry about silly little details like logic, plot, timelines, and sense. There will be plenty of time for that later. On the what, fourth, fifth, and sixth drafts? Yes, sphere, there really is a book on my computer. Yes, the third draft feels more like the first right now. Yes, my critique group will tear it apart and I'll probably have to redo the whole thing. Enough already. Stop pouring salt in it, OK? You are a relentless bunch.

2. Poster's block. I think my book is sucking out all my creative juices so that there's nothing left for bloggy stuff. My MC is a fighter, so maybe he's been throwing a few too many blows to my head. I don't know. All I know is, sometimes I don't know what all 43 of my readers care about, and I have a deep, abiding hatred for blog prompts. You know what I mean, right? Start every post with a different letter, or tell us 834 unique things about you.

*This is not meant to offend my bloggy buds who do this regularly. Your bloggy brain bank is empty. I get it. Believe me. You gotta do what you gotta do.*

Not for me. I get angry when someone tries to tell me what to write. I won't do it, do you hear? I am going to show my rebel side and say NO. There, that felt good, just like the voices in my head told me it would.

I think we need a new holiday for writers. Anybody want to write to Congress and demand a Voices-in-my-Head Day? After all, the voices are people, too.