frazzled & frumpy

Some days, ideas come to me like a spring rainstorm.  Thoughts drop and pelt my brain until they flow over into my fingers and onto my screen. I cannot type fast enough as my thoughts race ahead of me, looking back, urging me to hurry. Other day, ideas avoid me- wild, feral cats who want nothing to do with my tame brain. I chase them, getting oh, so close. Just as I'm about to touch one, grab it's striped tail, it scurries away and hides beneath a rock. Then, I sit, hands still, hoping one of them will wander over and join me. They stay back, watching me warily,  sending an occasional hiss my way. Today is a cat kind of day.  And, I really don't like cats. (I'm definitely a dog person.)

If someone asked me if I was a good cook, I would answer quickly, without hesitation. (I might even puff out my chest a bit.) “Heck, yeah, I am.” I have no problem admitting that. None. Yet, if someone asked me if I was a good writer, I’d pause. “Well… other people have said that I am.” Then I’d probably follow up with, “I’m not published or anything.” Why? Why not say what I want to say- “Yes. I am a damn good writer.” (Because I am.) I think there’s too much self-depreciation in our humility. We’re afraid that if we say we’re good at something others will see us as conceited instead of confident. But this kind of humility doesn’t do anyone any good. One of my favorite quotes supports this idea- “We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.”* Perhaps we should ask ourselves what God would think of our false humility. Since He is the One who gave us our gifts, who knows better than anyone ...

Shhhh. My house is empty. It's so quiet. I am all alone. If I'm dreaming, please don't wake me. I'm not dreaming. My boss asked me if I could work a later shift today. I told her yes before even considering what it meant. It meant a morning to myself. After I agreed, the numbers hit me. The kids would leave for school and I would have two and a half hours all alone. That's 150 minutes with no fighting or food fixing or remote finding. Just me and the dog and whatever I chose to do. Oh. My. What to do? I could deep clean the kitchen (that fridge!). I could fold clothes. (hahahahahaha!) There's some crafts I've been wanting to get to and I could paint without little fingers wanting to help. I. Could. Sleep. The possibilities were almost endless. But, in the end there's only one thing I wanted that is so much easier without all those distractions I love so much. I could write. And, so I am. I'm writing here. (Does this mean a return ...

I am not a competitor. The last time I tried to play organized sports was the tryouts for 9th grade basketball. During practice I tripped over my own feet and twisted my ankle. (If I had a middle name, it would not be Grace.) {But I don't have a middle name.} [That's a blog post for another time.] Anyway, my competitive spirit was squashed along with my cheap tennies. I'm a lover, not a fighter. But when it comes to my writing, I'll make an exception. I'll even go to war. What kind of war, you say? Pitch War. First, I stalked a bunch of people online. (Not just any people. Mentors for the war.) I may or may not know where they went to elementary school and their favorite drink. Also, I know what genre they write--that's a bit more pertinent. I also got active on Twitter. Sort of. It still confuses me. I'm a twitter-twit. Then, I worked like a mad-woman to polish my manuscript and query letter . (Six years ago, I didn't even know what a ...

For a very long time, I sailed through my life in comfort. Not financial or even true physical comfort, but that which comes of keeping things easy. No challenges, no goals. I had a husband and we kept having babies and I let those things envelope me in the security of sameness. I was happy on my ship called Comfort Zone. Or so I thought. Then a few years ago, something happened. I took a tentative step, then another, until I'd walked the plank and faced the ocean below me. An ocean with tides and waves and shark-infested waters that would require me to swim, and work, and try . I stepped off the edge and plunged. I began to write. I wrote a book, began another. Then, I started my blog. I wrote. Not everyday, but enough. The gift buried deep inside me began to flower and bloom. And, I met people. Other writers who inspired me with their talent and encouraged me with kindness and love. I wrote. I blogged. I contacted complete strangers for help. I joined groups and let...

Words. Words are what I know. It's what I do. I wake up in the morning and I think them. I speak them and listen to them. And, I write them.  That's my favorite. I try to write them everyday, usually I succeed. Some days, I totally fail. But, I always think about writing. And, then, when I don't write, I feel it. I'm sort of tired of feeling it. And, I feel it a lot because of this blog. Because I don't post enough, I don't post everyday, my posts aren't funny or insightful or whatever. I laid in bed this morning and thought about quitting. Instead, I decided to shove my guilt aside and take a break. Three weeks. No blogging. A 'Blogcation'. Then, I can concentrate on other writing, and my new calling, and my kids. And, the Handy Man. (I like concentrating on him.) Then, I'll be back. May 14. Until then, thank you, my readers. I know you're an elite, small group, but don't think I don't appreciate you. Your l...

Writing is fun. It is joyful and therapeutic, inspirational, cathartic, soul-reaching work. When it isn't work. Writing as a profession can sort of suck. Making it a profession is hard. Blogs that are financially successful, (especially ones where the blogger just writes, no crafts or cooking) are few and far between. Getting a steady, loyal readership is tough. Just ask, well...me. I've thought about quitting, but really, if I was in this for the money I would've quit years ago. One of the best ways to write, and, make money at it, is books. But, that process sucks, too. First, you have to write a book, then edit it, edit some more, then some editing--you get the picture.  Then, you have to find an agent, more editing, then the agent has to find you a publisher. (I made that sound much easier than it is.) I'm still on the editing part. I recently had someone tell me about their friend's daughter who makes a few thousand a month writing and publishing ebook...

This summer sort of shook my foundations and left me feeling off kilter. I avoided writing because every time I sat and thought, my mind went into dark places where I didn't want to go. I distracted myself with television and music and reading and my kids. Now, the kids are back in school and the cloud that hung over us, and threatened a violent storm, simply dissipated into the atmosphere. I have hours and hours in front of me to do whatever I want. But, what is it I want? I want to be the woman I am supposed to be. Who is she?  I have wondered and pondered over that. Does she look like me? How can she be an influence on others? What can she do?  Does she wake up early to exercise? Will she keep her house clean? Does she need a job? I honestly didn't know. And, then, I prayed. I simply asked, "What is it You need me to be?" The answer did not come suddenly. It wasn't loud and did not bring with it any angelic visitors. It came hours later, when I was s...

The words in my head were traveling along at breakneck speed. Nouns and verbs and adjectives lined up, organized and lovely. They rushed forward, flowing from head to hands to page. Then, out of nowhere, a barricade arose. Large and bulky, it forced its way into our path. Letters and punctuation rammed into one another.An epic pileup, one worthy of news crews and gawkers alike.  Words were crushed, sentences mangled, leaving me with a pile of injured, garbled language. I tried to make some sense. Picking up words, dusting them off, placing them back in line. I bandaged dangling modifiers, and stitched compound adjectives.  But, to no avail. They are crumpled and muddled and in a state of shock. They wander around my head, trying to find a place. Then, they give up and slide down the wall to sit and stare. I'm working through the mess. Trying different perspectives, new angles, fresh story lines. I'm sweaty and tired and want nothing more than a nap. But, the tale wi...

I'm in a thoughtful mood today. There is so much busy-ness in my life right now. A wedding in just 18 days. A son who will be going on a mission soon. Children in school. The Handy Man at work, always at work. And me. I sometimes wonder where I fit in to all of it.  I am the mother, the referee, the taxi driver, the cook and maid. But, it feels as though there should be more. I should be more. And, so... I write. It has been a week of serious writing.  Thanks to my amazing Writing Group I have written pages and pages.  My story has evolved and developed in surprising ways. I have found that I am happiest when I am 'doing'.  That is my challenge.  To focus and do. Do you have a passion? Something you cannot live without? I have many. My family always comes first. But, lately, my words are my passion.  I love the way they string together and paint images in my mind.  Words are very real miracles. They can make us laugh or cry, bring us comfor...

Some days, ideas come to me like a spring rainstorm.  Thoughts drop and pelt my brain until it flows over into my fingers and onto my screen. I cannot type fast enough, as my thoughts race ahead of me, looking back, urging me to hurry. Other day, ideas avoid me- wild, feral cats who want nothing to do with my tame brain. I chase them, getting oh, so close. Just as I'm about to touch one, grab it's striped tail, it scurries away and hides beneath a rock. Then, I sit, hands still, hoping one of them will wander over and join me. They stay back, watching me warily,  sending an occasional hiss my way. Today is a cat kind of day.  And, I really don't like cats. (feral- domesticated species that has reverted to living in the wild.)

The night called to me.  It drew me out of bed, away from the warmth of my blankets and the body next to me.  Sleep was illusive, so instead of watching the minutes tick by, I got up. With cat-like stealth, I stole downstairs, laptop in hand.  I sat on the couch in the glow of the Christmas tree lights.  My dog joined me, confused by this nocturnal partnership.  He lay at my feet and snored while my fingers tapped the keys. My house is rarely quiet.  There are voices, live and broadcast, at all hours of the day.  Little boys jump down stairs and run through small rooms, shooting and sparring through imaginary wars. Teenagers talk and yell and laugh.  The noise--it rises before the sun and rarely dies before darkness envelopes us. I love it. I do. But, the silence of the night was heavenly.  Creeks and moans of my old house settling were my only companions.  No music floated around, save the songs dancing in my head. I put my ha...

I've been working on a birthday post, but until that's done, here's one written for the Write on Edge prompt for this week- 'What are your goals and aspirations for your writing?' "Julie wrote a poem. Would you like to read it?" These words were music to my ears. My parents, ever the supportive ones, would brag about my writing to friends and family.  I would shyly stand by, waiting, hoping, praying that someone would say yes. From the moment I began writing, I wanted to share it. I never did it just for myself.  Like any art, it's meant to be enjoyed, and appreciated.  But, unlike other 'art', writing isn't as easy to share.  You can't frame it and put it on the wall, or sit down and play it for a crowd.  It was always awkward to try and share my gift. Enter the blogging world. Suddenly, I had people reading what I wrote. And, some of them liked it. It was empowering. As my readership grew, so did my confidence. My goals a...

I started working out a few weeks ago.  My friend asked for a workout buddy and I jumped up and down, yelling, "Pick me! Pick me!"  We meet at the gym at 6am. After some cardio, Brigette puts me through a strength training session that leaves me groaning and sweaty. I've noticed a difference.  I have more energy, and my clothes are loose. Just yesterday, the Handy Man commented on my bicep, which I flexed for him.  He pronounced that my muscles are bigger than his. It's not true. He carries around huge cabinets and sheets of wood on a daily basis. He has nice muscles. Mine are puny, but getting bigger. Ever since I 'finished' my book, I've taken a bit of a leave of absence. My writing muscle has turned to mush.  I feel all squishy and soft. My mind is jumbled and I find myself avoiding the computer. I have no writing energy and I'm overindulging in junk thoughts. I need to write. Often. I am looking for inspiration. Something to spark my imaginat...

I'm feeling a bit under the weather today. So, I'm sharing my new favorite quote. It's by John Vorhaus from Writer Unboxed. I loved it so much, I printed it out and put it above my desk. "LET YOUR LIFE RISE.  The practice of writing is one of deep psychological intrusion.  In becoming the writer you wish to be, you naturally undergo major transformations in terms of the person you are.  Let these changes take place.  As you gather awareness, you improve as a writer; as you improve as a writer, you gather awareness.  Let your life rise and your writing will follow; let your writing rise and your life will follow." Genius, yes? Now, go read his entire post. It's just as good.

Would you like to know what's going on? I'm sure you're all so eager, "Oh, please, please, tell us Jewels. What the hell is happening that you are avoiding the computer and not reading our blogs and basically being a dork?" Well, I'm going to tell you. (And, if you really didn't want to know, you can stop reading now and go over to a more interesting blog. I'm just kidding, please don't go!) I've been pondering this phenomenon, yes, pondering. That's my new word. I like it.  And, it is a phenomenon, because I've honestly been avoiding my computer and the internet, in general. Unless, it's on my phone, which I use to check email and facebook, you know, the really important stuff. So, I pondered. And what I realized is this--someone is trying to stop me from finishing my book. No, I'm not kidding. This has happened before, but to a lesser degree. Who is this evil personage? The most evil one of all. Can you say Satan? ...

My front room looks like a storm hit it. Blankets are strewn here and there, dining chairs are out of place, and army men are waiting in camouflage to attack any bare feet that wander in. This is a result of fort-making yesterday and my being gone today. I've walked past the room several times and simply turned my head.  I don't want to deal with it. My mind has had some hurricane force winds blowing around lately, as well.  My thoughts are topsy-turvy, ideas flung hither and yon. Focus is a far-fetched concept. I try to get a hold of some thought, but it's blown out of reach before I can grasp it. I know what the problem is, but like my front room, I've had blinders on.  I find something else to distract me. facebook. Blogs. Pintrest. More blogs.  Housework, yes, even that. I think I know what I need to do.  I'm shying away from it like a dentist chair.  It won't be painful to anyone but me. Still, I cringe at the very word. Break. Yep. A bre...

I believe that people are put in our lives for a specific purpose. I do not believe in coincindence. We may not always recognize the hand of a higher power, but it's there. Recently, I've had quite a few of these angels in my writing life. As I've said before, I didn't write anything for a very long time. But, now that I'm at it again, I'm finding all kinds of help as I try to develop my skill. One of these helps came by way of a fellow blogger Tangledlou. She writes this amazing blog called Periphery, one which I am absolutely and completely jealous of. I read it religiously. A week or so ago, she posted a book review of Stephen King's book On Writing- a Memoir of the Craft .  I'm not a big Stephen King fan (too gory for me) and I didn't even know about this book. Thought maybe it was new. (Ha! Jokes on me. It was published in 2000.)  After reading the review, I decided I must read it and got it from the library. No surprise, it's amazin...

"Words are, in my not so humble opinion,  our most inexhaustible source of magic." -Albus Dumbledore Today, I am grateful for writers.  Since the beginning of this month, I've read LOTS of blogs.  First I was surprised at how many bloggers there are. I'm also amazed at the many fabulous writers.  As a writer myself, I don't feel jealous of others talents (well, maybe a little), but I do appreciate their gifts and their willingness to share it. Writers have the power to uplift, empower and inspire, and literally change the world. Don't believe me? Look at JK Rowling.   She inspires me with her imagination.  My book is a fantasy and I have to admit I've sometimes had a hard time letting go of reality.  I worry that others wouldn't believe something in my story. Then,  I read the Harry Potter books and I'm in awe of her ideas and her profound insights.  Ms. Rowling  makes me want to be a better writer. As do the other bloggers. I don't ...

"The impulse to write things down is a peculiarly compulsive one, inexplicable to those who do not share it, useful only accidentally, only secondarily, in the way that any compulsion tries to justify itself. "My mother told me something similar when I was young: you don't get to choose whether you're a writer; your only choice is whether to be a writer who writes or a writer who doesn't. What she didn't tell me then, though I'm certain she knew, is that if you're a writer and you're not writing, you will never quite be happy."--Joan Didion I've been a writer for as long as I can remember.  It started with poetry and then on to stories.  As a teen, I wrote constantly.  I recorded my thoughts and wrote poems about anything.  It truly was a compulsion. Then, I went years without writing.  Years.  I was a young mother, busily nursing, diapering, and running around after my kids.  Occasionally I would toss out a poem, but never much.  A...