The Wrath of Psychological English Contemplations

Happily skipping through the joy of writing the second book in my trilogy (the first of which I have not published, but have sent out to my writing club for analysis) I came across some intense blogs.  I'll note that they were highly useful (mainly because the keepers of said blogs are now followers, so my natural insanity is not intended to reflect badly upon them or their attempts at assisting us with writing concepts) to the general populace, I'm sure, but to me a psychotically-obsessed-occasionally-diluted-insomniatic-writer I found that I started second guessing everything.  Here, take a seat, I will tell you the story, in my own font :P

 I like to stay on top of blogs that I find particularly informative, especially when it comes to writing techniques. Often, I find myself nodding my head in agreement over some little used concept and frantically taking notes on how to improve it in my own writing.  A lot of the time it's about word count, or choosing genre or improving query letters, all things that made sense to me after only a short review.  Then I came across the dreaded SHOW VS. TELL *insert terrified shriek here*

I read a blog that led me to one, then two and then a third link all explaining this mystifying concept of show vs. tell.  It was truly horrifying because, although I like to view myself as a well-adjusted-mildly-educated-objectively-contemplative-adult-woman, I realized that I had no idea whatsoever what the stupid Show vs. Tell was. BLAH. Show - so, you show things are happening?  Tell - so you tell about those things happening?  But if your writing, isn't all of your telling also showing and all of your showing also telling, because technically you are telling the reader everything, and in that they are being shown what is happening and therefore you are using show and tell simultaneously?  How in heavens name am I ever to separate the two? *hands over kleenex and tylenol, proceeds to pull out hair in frustration, as shown in picture below*

 

If it hasn't occurred to you, I am a handicapped over-thinker. As the dust cleared I realized I needed some simple examples, which I found on a corresponding website, which I also posted an appreciative comment on (thank you mysterious blog person! You are awesome in your simplicity). From there unfortunately, the damage was done.  I was haunted late at night over the affects of this small passage, pointed out by some dude in Colorado: 

Then, in a totally unexpected move, the black wings spread wide and it circled into the air…

VS

The tiny insect-crawl of the second hand was the last thing she saw before the lights went out.

Brilliant isn't it?  Yes, the second sentence literally took my breath away I was awed by it so.  That sentence alone kept me up at nights, biting my nails furiously as I stared at my untouched computer.  I knew I was not that brilliant, and my story was severely filled with TELLING and not SHOWING.  It horrified me, the poor pathetic multi-re-written and sadly-abused manuscript now had failed at one of the greatest things I could possibly have given it...the life was literally sucked out of the whole endeavor, leaving only a throbbing pain in my heart, a reminder of what could have been but never would be, because I had overlooked the intense importance of Show vs. Tell.  

O, black devil of English Writing Techniques, why is it you haunted me when my ignorant bliss was so joyful without your cold dark hand on my heart? *sniffles*

Like the complete lack of Edward in New Moon, my life too became empty, hour after hour I sat, avoiding even the smallest stares from my small black laptop.  My work was over before it even began and I was doooomed...DOOOOMED...I say!...to failure. 

I could not bear to look at it, nay even touch it for the atrocity I had committed.  I was forced to actually do housework and check my mailbox yet again because of all the free time I had on my hands.  

And then...the fear faded and I risked a glimpse a peek at my sadly beloved.  The words I stared at, glancing over my computerized manuscript...weeping over the time I had denied it over the past few days.  My eyes fell upon a sentence...and then another...and another...all of which were actually showing instead of just telling. My breathing slowed and I steadied.  Excitement replaced the fear and intense agony I had been enveloped only moments before.

I WAS SHOWING NOT TELLING!!!!

Again, I could pick up my black laptop and together it and I shall finish my book!!!! *JOY and BLISS all around*

And, thus I come to an end of my story.  My manuscript is far from perfect, and I'm certain years from now I will laugh at my own naive' writing, but today I am proud of it!  What more could an aspiring writer ask for?!

 

Confusion in the Ranks

Yeah, I know that's not the right cliche, but as many people have told me I'm terrible with cliches, seriously.  My brother still makes fun of me because instead of "recipe for disaster" I said "conglomeration for destruction" I know, I suck.  If you do know what this cliche is supposed to be, please comment, it's going to bother me for a while :P Unfortunately I can't wiki what I don't know :(.  On to the reason for this post.

This morning, while having an extremely weird dream (which involved Michael Landon from Little House on the Prairie, hugging me and saying "I've missed you so much Gorda May (ugh! Worst name in the WORLD, sorry all you Gorda Mays) and then being licked by some celebrity (really weird I know) I was woken up by the sound of my front bell ringing.  I had taken an allergy pill last night so for once my slumber was quite deep, and the lack of a six year old added to the pleasantness of it. Thus, when I emerged out of bed, dragging my half sleeping body towards the front door with memories of Michael Landon still fresh in my mind, I'm certain I terrified the poor boys who were waiting there. Boy scouts...DAMN the boy scouts.


Those poor kids.  They looked terrified, and sad thing I knew them. I see them every week in church, but I was so groggy I had no idea what their names were.  I stared at them in a stupor of fog and mumbled something about "just waking up".  Yeah, they scurried away.  They probably will tell their moms that I was still asleep at 9 am.  Curse the Boy Scouts of America...let me sleep damn you!

After that I couldn't sleep. 10:00 rolls around and I get a call from Sandra.  She tells me her daughter won't be at soccer today.  Like I care.  Oh wait, I think I registered my daughter for soccer too, too bad she's with her dad this weekend. So I call Sandra and she's like "oh, I called you because it says you are the coach." I laugh.  Seriously.  I kept laughing.  I played a game of soccer - once, for PE - in 5th grade, when I was eleven. That is the extend of my soccer abilities.  In fact that was the only year I played any sports.  I'm more of a TV/reading person. Oh well, coaching could be nice.

So, I rush down to the field which is in a town about 20 minutes away. The entire way there I'm psyching myself into accepting this chance at being a coach for an actual sport.  I nearly had a Braveheart speech ready by the time I got there. I walk on the field wearing sun glasses and hoping no one notices I didn't shower yet today.
  I try to look as cool as possible, I had been listening to rock and roll in the car and I was pumped.  I saunter onto the field, my intimidating reach of 4'11'' obviously will gain some sort of respect.  I'll round those little kiddies up and we'll have a go at kicking balls into hoops or whatever the hell soccer players do. Of course, the parents are all sitting in lawn chairs starring at their kids running around, kicking a ball.  A few junior high students are helping them out.  I ask for the chick in charge, (diane) but no one has seen her.  No one knows where anyone is.  No one has any idea what is going on, they are just watching their kids, hoping that's the coach.  I stand back and stare, completely deflated and at a loss as to what to do.  I don't even have a kid I can shove out onto the field and pretend I know what the hell I'm doing. 
I feel like I still haven't woken up fully and am looking around for Michael Landon to call me Gorda May again. 

Oh well.  I turn around and leave.  I'll talk to the soccer lady later. Maybe she'll explain why my name was on her website as a coach but no one told me first.  I don't care anymore.  I just want to go home and sleep :P

Conversations of Three Little Girls

"Geez, guys, it's one o'clock in the morning, time to go to bed!"
"I've been having contractions all night and I can't sleep."
"Your ball is way too high to be having a baby with." (while having a ball represent a baby under her shirt)
"We can't call it William, because I think I'm having a girl."
"There's lots of girl names, Isabella, Rose...
"What about Moon Star!  I love the name Moon Star!"
"I like the name Jill."
"Cheese is what we don't eat, because of all the cheese in it!"
"You know Emily, apparently she's related to Quince and Darney, they are all related to each other."
"Tonight, our babies were born while we were asleep" (yeah, really wish this could happen!)
.....and they were crying in our tummies
My baby is named Lightning
I thought it was Moon Star.
No.
Did you say Lightning? I was thinkin', who would want a name like that!
No, I said Lightman.
Oh, okay.
I opened my mouth and my tooth was gone.  It popped right out and was on my lip. I didn't even feel it.
That's disgusting!
 (To a neighbor who was retrieving a ball from his horse's arena) "Leave the horse alone!"
"Leave the horse alone, kid!" ( he was at least three to five years older than her)

Three girls left to their own devices are just as weird as women left to their own devices.  It goes to show, we are all crazy to begin with!

When or When Not To Cook...That Is the Question...

  I love to cook.  This has been a recent discovery, but it's very true, I love to cook.  What I hate though, is took cook and then have no one eat, it seriously irritates me.  I've read all this stuff about having three meals a day, but what do you do when you or your family just isn't hungry?  I usually cook breakfast, and occasionally dinner.  I often whip up sandwiches or wraps for lunch, but we are completely inconsistent.  I'm trying to decide if this is a good or a bad thing. I know you are supposed to eat three solid meals a day and two snacks (or something like that) but what if you only have one or two solid meals and one or two snacks?
   You are probably wondering if I'm the worst mother in the world right about now.  I don't know, I'm hoping I'm at least not one of the top 1 million. It makes me wonder though.  I feed my child when she tells me she's hungry, which isn't actually overly often.  A lot of the time she just snacks, we both do.  I kinda like it that way.  In fact, I'm guessing this stems from the idea that I've only existed in a household that served three meals a day for about two years.  I hated it.  We ate way too much and usually I got fatter.  I've probably trained my daughter in some shocking terrible thing and she'll have to visit a shrink to recover from it, but for now I think I'll just go with cooking we we get hungry, though never later than 8:00. Ciao!

Fighting a Fight I Can't Win?

     Sometimes I wonder if I'm just working too hard at something impossible.  The last four years I've been writing a book.  Ha ha, you'll laugh I know.  Everyone has a book hidden under their mattress to pull out if they ever meet a publisher, right? Great I'm doomed then.  I never really planned on being a writer seriously.  I was always going to be a Veterinarian, that was the plan, at least until I was about 14 and I decided the world would end and I wouldn't have time to become a vet.
       Back then I was writing stories almost monthly and I loved it, but it was just a hobby, right?  It wasn't like I could actually do something with that.  That took a serious degree and a lot of training, right? I decided I loved reading, so how much harder could writing be?
      Since then I have really embraced the idea of becoming a professional writer.  It's something I love to do, can't be stopped from doing it and it just seemed so easy.  I've read different authors who talk about how simple it was to get published (well, sort of, but really a lot of them were Cinderella stories) or I would find a published book, read it and think "Man, that could have been so much better if they just did this, and this, and this."  So, I have a huge ego, what of it? *grin*
       Lately though, after re-writing my book (which is about 125 computer pages, the equivalent of about 101,000 words) what seems 75 times, I am starting to wonder if I'm just crazy.  I mean, I read my story and I laugh at all my jokes (I think they are hilarious) and I cry when bad things happen (it's tragic!) but is that what it takes?
     I'm scared for my story, because I love it so much.  I have come to adore the characters in such a personal way, they are totally real to me.  I had friend who suggested having one of the characters do something, and I thought about it, but he wouldn't do it.  It didn't matter how hard I tried to make him do that, he just couldn't.  I realized I was trying to make a good character do bad things, and it was literally was against his nature.  People told me that we had to really like hating him by the end, but it was impossible, he was just too good of a guy. So, I had to revamp and let us hate someone else.  Now he's a future love interest for a main character, and I'm so glad, because really he is a sweetheart. *hugs and kisses to mysterious hot-guy character*
       I'm blaming this extremely under-confident and insecure blog on Writer's Conferences.  I've been researching different Writer's conferences out there, and I'm scared.  It makes me question myself when I read about the different workshops. "Is this what I need to take?  Are my villains, un-villainy? Have I focused on my setting enough?  Does my main character get put through this pre-prescribed serious of events that makes every book more believable?  Are my love scenes credible?  Not to mention, do I have any idea how to write a 'killer' query?  Will someone fall asleep within my first five pages?  Are my hooks intense enough?  Are they too intense?" BLAH!!! *pulls hair out*
          The idea of sitting in a room with a bunch of overly ambitious, amateur writers (I'm including myself here, I obviously have no clue what I'm doing), frantically taking notes and awaiting patiently the words of each speaker terrifies me.  I'm worried I'll look around and think one of two things, 1." Wow, if they can't get published, there's no way I can!" or 2."Oh my gosh, look at this pathetic lot I've found myself immersed with, I think I took the wrong turn to the crazy house, and I'm just hoping they will let me leave unharmed!"  I don't know if I can survive a writer's conference!  I'll probably get too caught up writing about it in my blog while I'm supposed to be listening! *bites nails*
      I sincerely am taking a look at all my psychotic competition and wondering if I will ever live up to them.   Originally, I had no idea how complicated it was to get published.  Between Query Letters, first five pages, Agents, Publishers, Editors, it's a wonder books ever get published.  The more I learn about the process the more terrified I get and I start wondering if maybe it's better to keep a manuscript you love under your mattress for the sake of not allowing it to be defiled by the harshness of the world out there.  My poor darlings!  I feel extremely motherly towards them, I just can't bear the idea of someone tearing up my work and telling me to cut out half their world!
     So, the question is, are they worth fighting for?  Do I love them enough and have enough confident in how real they are to put them out there and let them shine?  I know I don't have much of a choice, they deserve to be loved by other people, just like I love them.  I always fantasize about the day where I'm being interviewed by some news anchor and they ask me, "So, what kept you going with writing, what kept you inspired?"  and I can look at her dyed blonde hair and overdone makeup, laugh and say "I fell in love with my characters, and I wanted everyone else to fall in love with them too!"

I won't give up on you guys!  You are 2 cool 2 4-get!

*Dedicated to Ethney, Illumina, Rahuin and Malcolm!  I love you guys!*

St, Patty's Day - a true holiday

    I love St. Patrick's day.  I have loved it for years, and I REALLY loved it when my favorite color was green, which was about a year ago.  Unfortunately, it has moved to red, though that has not reflected in my choice of holidays as I still greatly despise Valentine's day.  I do love St. Patrick's day, although I think it is ironic that 100 years ago the Irish were looked down on so terribly and now they are one of the few Ethnic groups who get their own Holiday (what can I say, we freakin' rock) and I my new red hair color helps me feel very festive, I wonder if I could pick up some freckles from somewhere?

Due to the fact that I come from a rather proud Irish Heritage, celebrating St. Patrick's day has always been fairly important.  My last name is a solid reminder of our ancestry, and my dad has never been one to forgetting our round and jolly relatives (no, I'm not talking about Santa Claus).  My first memories of St. Patrick's day usually involved our family sitting down to watch Darby O'Gill and the Little People (a pure classic, with some very impressive special affects for their time, along with Sean Connery singing, who could resist, right?) and possibly Far and Away (also a classic, but of a different sort). 

    St. Patty's traditionally became the day of the year where we would watch Darby O'Gill, Far and Away, and the Quiet Man (also a great classic).  It was around this time that my grandma and grandpa traveled South to hang out with their desert-living son, my dad, and we came to integrate food in our Irish traditions, I was probably about 9 or 10.  My grandma, my dad's mom, was not particularly Irish, but she was an excellent cook (as you can recognize by the potato shape of herself and all her children, no offense, dad!) and unexpectedly the Green day was a favorite of her's to cook for.  

  As children we adored helping out with the feast preparations and grandma was fairly traditional, creating corned beef, potatoes, clover buns (tiny rolls made by separating the dough into three round balls, so when they cooked they looked like clover) and cinnamon rolls (I don't think these were traditionally Irish, I think Grandma just really enjoyed making them).  At first I didn't particularly appreciate corned beef, as it's a rather stringy, thick, weird kind of meat, but as someone willing to get a little edgy for the sake of a holiday, I partook and learned to enjoy. Since then, my grandma has gotten quite a bit older and now lives in a nursing home and doesn't cook (which I think she may be secretly relieved over) so we rarely get to experience her traditional meals. 

This is a particular reason I was quite pleased when we were invited over for dinner at my dad and stepmom's house for dinner this year.  Although I know my brother was slightly dubious over having to remain to watch four potential movies (we added the Secret of Roan Inish into our traditional Irish films, also a great movie) he still showed up, but missed most of the fun.  My stepmom (thanks again Randi, cause you are AWESOME) had created a green feast one of which I had never seen the comparison to, despite being brought up Irish. 

Randi had greenified mashed potatoes, created lemonade with a lime slice and put them in green cups (making them very Pattied) had green jello with kiwis (is that spelled right?) and (the best) green mint ice cream (though she didn't have to greenify that cause you know mint ice cream is already green.) It made me green with envy on how superbly everything turned out (he he he, okay that wasn't an overly inventive joke, but I couldn't resist).  

Here is the picture of the greenified mashed potatoes, which I found particularly funny.  My daughter (6) has always insisted that she dislikes mashed potatoes (how very lacking in Irishness of her) but when she saw these green ones she was estatic (did not see that coming).  She ate two helpings (unbelievable) and kept telling me how it looked like ice cream with chocolate syrup on top (this would be the dark brown gravy).  I had to laugh, so all I had to do to make her eat her food was to color it something funky. Randi and I joked about making the next meal pink for her birthday...who knows :P

 So that's the general gist of my St. Patrick's day.  Juliah's dad, also sent her a box containing dance clothes, which she put on and unexpectedly looked just like a cute little Irish dancer, so we made her do a couple jigs for us, as shown below.

Cute huh?  Anyway, next year I really hope with stick with the Irish Accents Only, I better start practicing now :P

 

Emotions

Emotions are funny things. They are also sad things, and depressing things, and horrible things and joyful things. I've thought a lot about emotions over the years, but I find myself thinking about them the most when I see a situation that is emotional in a way I can't relate to. I was thinking about this the last few days and I realized that I just don't think I have as wide an expanse of feelings as I used to.

I'm pretty sure this is what we refer to as being burnt out. I am burnt out. I'm burnt out on relationships. I get stressed out by them easily, and I give up on them quickly. I tend to work towards them for a little while, but when it takes too much work to get things right I just back off and say "Nope, I don't care, I'm not going to worry about this" and I don't. It's too much for me to work towards, when in the end things just get more screwed up.

Right now, believe it or not I'm actually on the high point of re-establishing relationships. I have realized though, that I never put 100% into any relationship anymore. Even with my daughter, I know that as a teenager she will probably hate me and want to move out and be mad over something I did and I don't really care. I'll do the best I can but I'm not going to put 100% of my focus on that because I'm sure it's likely to be unsuccessful at some points, but life isn't about perfection, it's about dealing with shit. Honestly it is. If she experiences things she doesn't like (like me doing her hair in some way she hates, or wearing clothes or shoes she doesn't like or not going to a party she wants to go to when she's older) than that will give her more power to deal with the vast amounts of disappointment that are sure to be on their way. Yeah, that's a pretty negative view, but unfortunately we haven't been doomed with perfection yet, so I find it's not best to expect it all along, that's how you set yourself up for being sorely disappointed.

Back to what I was talking about though, emotions. Emotions are all the difference. For years, I've tried to handle my emotions so that they aren't right there on the surface, and because of that they haven't been, but they were always in the background and some of the worst things I've ever done were because I didn't acknowledge the feelings I had about things. What I should have told person A was...

"Yes _____ you are a bitch. No I'm not going to do whatever the hell you want. In fact I'm saying SHOVE IT while giving you the finger! So what if you think I'm not doing things right. So what if you think that you have some great enlightenment about how I'm supposed to live my life. So what if I'm younger, sweeter and more innocent than you, after this I won't be! Take that for relationships!"

Or I should have said "No, I don't feel like we are bonded, I don't love you and I 'm not blaming you but I'm updating you. I know you have the world on your shoulders and you're busy, but I actually want a real relationship with you. One where we talk. One where I tell you how my day went. One were you actually give a damn without lecturing me about something. One where we are on the same page instead of you being 40 pages ahead. You haven't given me any of those things, and I've hidden what that I've wanted them for so long, but it's actually wrong for me to be in denial over this and it hurts me physically. Literally, I am dying piece by piece and although I haven't realized it all this time something has to change or there is no way I will survive this."

Those are things I should have said. The mistakes I've made were my own stupidity and I'm taking responsibility for them, and I have been held accountable. I have gone through hell because of my own stupidity. This time, I hope to be a lot more aware of my limitations and what I will and will not put up with.

Someone once told me that you teach people how to treat you and that is absolutely true. I've remembered that in nearly every relationship since then and I take it very closely to heart. I don't intend on being emotionally manipulated again, and I try not to emotionally manipulate. If someone doesn't want to do something you want them to do, then you can sit down and explain your viewpoint (guilt-free) and then allow them to make their own decisions now that they have your perspective to add to it, but I try not to allow my expression of emotion to convince someone to do something I want them to do. I think that's wrong. I grew up that way. I grew up walking on eggshells. I grew up in terror that my mom would not be happy with some choice I made, so I just hid them from her. That was how I was trained to survive - hide everything, say nothing, pretend I'm happy. That's the only way I knew to survive.

I was wrong. Not saying how things are is not the way to go, because not saying it doesn't make it no longer exist, it just hides it for a longer time and soon you wonder if you can find it until suddenly it comes out in a different area completely and you don't know how to handle it. I guess that's what people mean when they talk about healthy relationships. Talking about things instead of hiding them away. I'm scared of people. I get intimidated easily. I'm bullied by people I'm afraid of easily. How do you cope with that? I'm still working on it, but I have found I have to be honest with myself and how I feel first, before I can ever explain it to them. I just hate how I always end up being wrong. How they always make me feel guilty for my feelings. I guess that is good in some cases, but that's also why I've always found emotions such a bad thing - I seem to have the wrong ones all the time. Maybe I'm just mis-wired. If that's even a word.

Maybe I'm wrong, I honestly have no idea. Admitting the emotion exists seems half the battle, and removing the feeling that I need to be in control, is the other half. There's my soap box.

Constantine

Last night my brother and I watched the movie Constantine. I've wanted to see it for a while. Last time I tried I ended up making out and missed pretty much all but the first five minutes. Anyway, I went in expecting it to be pretty dark and scary (it was dark, and had a few scary parts) but I really enjoyed it.

Just as an overview, it's about Keanu Reeves who is an exorcist, and he comes across demons and sends them to hell as a daily routine. He bumps into Rachel Weiz who's sister just committed suicide and was sent to hell. They have to team up and save the world from Satan's son and the angel Gabriel (who is played by the White Witch from Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe) who are plotting to destroy the world, although Gabriel is hoping the influx of evil will bring out greater good in everyone. Anyway, there are lots of views of demons and hell and stuff like that, so it's fairly intense.

In the past I've been quite terrified of demons and hell-like creatures, and I thought I wouldn't want to watch it on a movie, but watching it did something that I think was good for me. I'll take this chance to go over some personal history.

I developed severe insomnia for quite some time because I was so terrified of sleeping, I always dreamed of being sent to hell. I found it was easier to just not sleep. I felt very haunted by hell and demons and ghosts and it was something that I had to war with on a daily level. Dealing with that sort of thing can make someone go crazy. I never have actually seen anything real, but my mind could create some amazing life-like comparisons, especially after one of my best friends died, I felt like he was staring at me whenever I went to sleep, and sleeping became an impossible task.

I viewed hell as being completely surrounded by nothing, floating through a world of stars where you have no control over anything and were so lonely that that was the only emotion you could actually feel and you would have been willing to die just so that you could feel something again. I remember going nearly a week without sleep, trying to close my eyes but the energy of fear taking over and all I could do was watch my room get darker and darker, and then lighter and lighter, being so petrified from the fear that I couldn't get up until it became light outside. After a while I learned I could only sleep when it was day time, that was when memories wouldn't haunt me and I could cope with things better. Even if I woke up in a cold sweat, at least I could immediately see everything that was around me. As soon as light would reach through my window I would fade from being so exhausted almost immediately, but I always had nightmares. A lot of them involved death or being raped or wars or the people I loved being murdered in some horrible way that I was responsible for.

Even in day time I was scared always that I was going to die. Whenever I got in a car I would always feel "Today, you are going to die." I had to make sure I told my daughter how much I loved her because I was scared I wouldn't see her again. I knew I was going to be taken at some point, and I was waiting for it everyday. This lasted for months, even a couple years. I developed anxiety over everything, over being seen by anyone I had known before because I felt they could see the differences painted on my face. They would recognize how much I had changed and how much I deserved it. I started isolating myself. I searched for ways to get away from it, to run from everything, from everyone who could see what was going on. I couldn't be here, I wasn't me anymore, I was something else, someone who couldn't deal with any of it. I was terrified that I was the worst parent in the world, and I wanted to leave, to be away from my daughter before I ruined her life like I had ruined mine. I tried numbing the pain, and that worked for a while. I just let go of the memories, of the thoughts, of the beliefs and then I didn't have to deal with the fear, but the insomnia still drove me crazy.

Finally, I found a way to cope with the lack of sleep, frightful nightmares and being terrified of ghosts and my impending death, and that was by accepting it. I came to grips with my place in hell, I've more or less accepted that I deserve to be in there and I should just make the best of it. I admitted I was the worst person in the world, that no one could ever be worse than I was and that I deserved to be in hell.

Once I was willing to accept that I was going to be burned in hell eternally everything changed. It was facing a fear, facing the most terrifying thing ever. I was going to live and die a horribly painful death and then I was going to be alone forever. That was my fate and I knew it. I accepted it, I was able to actually find peace with it. The nightmares didn't end. The insomnia didn't end, but it didn't hold the terror that it had before. After I accepted it I was able to joke about it. Then I became nonchalant. Then I became disrespectful. Then I just didn't give a damn anymore.

That was when I found hope. I talked to someone I trusted a great deal and they told me I had a small amount of hope. They still doubted I would survive anything, although they didn't know anything of what I had already gone through, but they just reminded me that there was a little bit of hope out there. That alone was able to end the nightmares and the insomnia because I had given up myself for loss for so long.

Watching this movie brought back only the memories of the terror, but not the terror itself. It reminded me that there are angels and demons out there. It reminded me to respect the reality of those things. It also reminded me that our fate isn't always doomed because we've done something wrong, and that even if no one believes we could ever do something right or fix what we've broken it's still possible if we believe it is. That was what this movie reminded me. It was a great and horrible movie. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone unless they have experienced their own hell and know what it was like to come back. That's when it's a movie worth watching.

I'm Dyeing

Yes. I did something awesome today. I dyed my hair a nice reddish color. Apparently it was so subtle no one really noticed. I'm not sure if I liked that or not. Or maybe everyone thinks my hair is this naturally beautiful rich red color. I can live with that :P.

That's So Cute

So, I want to talk about something we are all very familiar with. This would be the comparison to cute and ugly. There are many differing opinions, and everyone is well aware of the "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" and "love is blind". These are important concepts, and even I tend for get this now and then. I was reminded of the difference of opinion recently when my brother told me he found something cute that someone did. I was really quite shocked because I had always viewed this thing as really rather annoying and for him to admit he thought it was kinda cute was funny and interesting at the same time. It reminded me that even though I may view my opinion as the ultimate in the long run, someone is going to disagree with me, and because of that disagreement sometimes it can help shed some light on a subject, get a different perspective on it. The thing he thought was cute, on further observation I didn't find quite as annoying anymore because I could see it better through his eyes. What I want to wish for us all is to be willing to see the cuteness that others see in those we might have considered ugly :P

Lots of Prizes and Other Cool Stuff

So, there's this cool website http://suzettesaxton.blogspot.com/ that is currently running a contest that includes having a literary agent give a partial critique on 40 pages of a manuscript. I've been writing my book for about three years now, and this is super exciting news. I get cool extra points for blogging about it, so if anyone out there is an obsessive writer like I am, visit the website and fill out the information, and you could potentially win that or even a copy of The Host by Stephanie Meyer (amazing book btw).

Wrath of the Piano Tuner

I recently had my piano tuned. In fact the guy walked out less than five minutes ago. It was a very different experience for me. I've determined to detail it here so I don't forget how terrible I feel now that it's all over.

The Piano Tuner was not what I expected. I knew he would be male, but I was expecting the typical plumber-male. This meant between 35-45, grungy clothing, silently awkward about entering foreign homes, yet willing to make a red neck joke here and there to ease the tension. Maybe I just was expecting a mechanic. What I got was something completely different.

The doorbell rang and I opened it to a very elderly man (pushing 75 I would surmise) wearing a suit, complete with black tie, followed by what I could only guess was a small carry-on like suitcase. I had to ask who he was, because my only guess was that this poor old man had lost his way home from the temple (thus the suit perhaps?) or the local Jehovah's Witness' were getting really desperate for missionaries. I was wrong, this was THE piano tuner. (gasp here please)

I showed him the piano, (it's pretty much right when you walk in, so I knew he wouldn't be overwhelmed with the distance) and he asked me how old it was.

"Really old, my grandma told me it was over a hundred years old, and that was twenty years ago."

He attempted to open it from the top ( I'd always wondered what that hinge was there for, I just assumed some sort of secret ritual pianos fulfilled at night) wherein I had to assist him by heaving and pushing and hitting until our ancient piano revealed its inner belly. It was obvious that it had not been opened for some time. He played a few notes, intensely horrified.

"I'll try to tune this, if it's even possible." (no words can describe the disbelief in his tone) "when was the last time this was tuned?"

No idea. "Um, sometime in the last fifty years...hopefully." I'm pretty sure he grunted at this point.

He spent the next hour or so, methodologically (yes, that is spelled right) playing the keys attempting to bring them to some semblance of intended sound.

As he prepared to leave he told me that for most pianos they needed to be tuned at least once a year.

"If you can, play it as much as possible, and for this one particularly" he said as he patted it affectionately, "get it tuned every six months."

I felt like a patient who had stopped taking my meds. I assured him I would be sure to have it tuned regularly. As he was walking out he shook his head at the piano dubiously. If there was a PETA for pianos, I'm sure he would have been on his cell phone the moment he was in his car.

What I Could Have Said

I had lunch with someone I care a lot about today. It was kinda funny because I had been thinking about them for a quite a while. We've had a rough few years, but we were really close in High School and I really wanted to get that back. I texted them and told them we should have lunch so we could talk about our friendship. I'm sure they were amused and surprised, but I realized I just wanted to mend what was broken instead of just wondering why it wasn't fixed. I hate telling people "we need to talk" because that makes everything sound so serious, as if the world depended on our conversation, instead I just told her we needed to talk about our friendship, something that doesn't sound quite as harrowing.

Before we had lunch, I was nervous. I felt my mind go through 20 different conversations I could have with her. "I'm sorry I've been such a bitch. I'm sorry I lied to you so many times. I'm sorry I didn't know what I wanted and I was mad when you pointed it out. I'm sorry I was a slut for a while. I'm sorry I stabbed you in the back. I'm sorry I gave up on our friendship. I'm sorry I didn't care enough about our friendship to do the effort to keep you. I'm sorry for actually being a bitch. I'm sorry for the bitterness I've blamed on you for my own faults. I'm sorry you can't trust me. I'm sorry I didn't know what the hell I wanted and it separated us, I didn't know that would happen. I thought I valued you more."

What I wanted to say so much that it hurt. I knew I would cry when I saw her. I knew I wouldn't know what to say. I knew I HAD to tell her all of that. She needed to know that I didn't blame her, that I knew things were my fault, that I was the one who had changed and that I regretted that. I wanted her to know that I thought about her all the time and the void she had left when we stopped telling each other the deep truth was a pain I deserved. I wanted her to know I was horribly sorry for everything. I wanted to tell her that her kids were beautiful and wonderful and I was so happy for her even if I was terribly jealous over her life. I wanted her to know that it was still me, that I still loved her.

I didn't tell her any of that when I saw her. Despite my camouflage and sunglasses, I was still scared. I was afraid of hearing it from her, of her telling me how bad I was, how hard it had been and how much she couldn't forget. But I learned something about what I could have said, but didn't. We talked about food, we talked about movies, we talked about children, we talked about ex's. I never got a chance to say I'm sorry, but in the end I didn't need to.

I Only Watch It For Sayid

Mmmm...What a HOTTIE!!! Everyone who is anyone is into Lost. They all have their favorite characters. My daughter, who is six, is apparently in love with Sawyer (no idea why, other than that he's blond and has dimples, I really hope she doesn't develop a desire for bad boys as she grows older) anyway, I thought that I should dedicate a blog to my favorite -Sayid. Now, many people would think Jack is someone pretty awesome, but I find Jack aggravating because of his constant need to fix things and his occasional indecisiveness. Even Locke suffers from not knowing what to do at times and they screw things up because of it. Now, Sayid on the other hand always knows what to do - kill someone. That's pretty much his answer for everything. Somehow I find that absolute-no-doubts-about-it attitude pretty sexy. He doesn't have inner turmoil (except over torturing people, but no one's perfect right?) whereas Jack and Locke are always crying about their past, but they were from America, it really wasn't that bad.

Sayid now, he has something to cry about but he rarely does. I can't approve of his taste in women (Shannon was such a bitch/loser) but I'm going to throw that up to being stuck on a desert island with limited hot women, and she used her wiles against him, I can't blame him for falling for her gorgeous-if-wenchy body.

Plus, Sayid is a freakin' hotty. I love his dark rippling muscles and his mildly salting hair ( I find it very dignified). Mainly I love that he always knows what to do, and he's oh-so-protective. You don't have to have a lot of doubts when you're hanging out with Sayid. And did you see that episode where he totally killed that guy with his leg ninja moves! Even Hurley had to say something about it. I know his whole torturing Sawyer thing didn't go over too well, but let's just remember Jack is the one who instigated that (well, mostly). So, yeah, Sayid's a hottie and my favorite. I hope he's single. :P

Follow-up: My daughter just woke up and told me she had a dream about Lost. "Mom, I hate to tell you, but Sayid and Ben are dead. The good news is, nothing happened to Sawyer!" Kids these days.

Don't Ask People You Don't Normally Agree With For Criticisim.

I've learned something valuable as of yesterday, that I really need to remember so I'm going to dedicate some space on this loverly blog just for such a moment. Lesson Learned - Don't ask for criticism from someone who you rarely see eye to eye with. Yeah. That's the lesson, now run along and memorize it.

For further explanation, I'll tell the following story:

There I was faithfully pouring over my shiny black computer and thinking to myself, "Man, I need to become a brilliant writer because this story I'm writing is KICK ASS!!!" (Yeah, I think that way, what of it?! Geez...) Anyway, I love my characters. They make me laugh, they make me cry, I fall in love with them just as I would with anyone else, and they have little minds of their own that I just can't stop them when they set their mind to it (I have to re-write entire sections when the two of us don't agree). They are my babies and we both love each other. Because of this close relationship I am very sensitive to complaints people have about them. I realizing this now more than before, when I wasn't really attached to them because they weren't as deeply written. Now that they are more realities with lives of their own I hate hearing someone complain about them, it's not just painful to me, but it's painful to them too. People just don't understand where they are coming from. "Why did they do that? I don't get why they would do that?" Grr...because they would, that's why, damn it. I know it's not a great explanation but you can't actually expect me to control the people that are in my head. *laughing to self after reading that statement*

Anyway, I let one of my friends read my little darlings and I asked for some feedback. I said "I'm really sensitive about them, so for now I just want to hear the good things you have to say." Okay, so the good things they had to say were - It was too fast paced, it was confusing because there was no prologue (prologues are lame, I never read them, just get into the story!) I don't like that you switch between two characters. While one is doing something the whole time I wonder what the other one is doing and it makes me have to read through it to find out what is going on (duh! That's the point of a BOOK you IMBECILE!!!!!! *sigh*). The names are too weird, I'm not use to them (cool names are, well, COOL. Besides Ethne isn't that weird of name, who wants a Brittany and Jeff in every other sentence anyway, grow up you uncultured prick!) I'm going to keep complaining, even though I'm going to admit that I can't remember any details because I skimmed over it. (GRR... I HATE YOU!!! I HATE YOU!!! I HATE YOU!!!!)

Look, you don't have to read my book, in fact it was really stupid of both of us to agree to this when I should have realized that you have terrible taste in movies and you've never given me accurate criticism on nearly anything. I was such an idiot to have you read my darlings! *stupid me, stupid me*. Next time, let's just keep the conversation to the weather and your health.

Now, good feedback is in the form of "Oh, I really loved your main character, I think it would be great if you could write more of their background, where did he come from, what's his story? You should add that. I also thought the part about those dragons was confusing maybe you could explain how that happened. I think you jump from person to person a little too much and I can't keep track of it, maybe if you added their name at the beginning of the chapter I would know who it was. " Those were all really good suggestions that I could implement without re-writing the entire book for no apparent reason.

So, what we have learned here is that I shouldn't hand over my babies to someone who probably won't like them, especially when I know we don't like the same things. I should recognize and accept that things I love and laugh over not everyone is going to enjoy. I can hope they do, but it shouldn't hurt when they don't. Now remember that O Female Of Ridiculous Expectations!

Going to the Movies!

So, last night my daughter, brother, and one of my best friends went and saw the new Alice in Wonderland. I must admit, I was dubious because I am not a fan of Tim Burton (I don't like dark, scary movies) and I was never much of a fan of Alice in Wonderland, because it never made any sense to me. I was really not sure what to expect, as one of my friends told me most of it was depressing and pretty dark, and there were very few good moments in the movie, but aside from that harrowing review we decided to go see it anyway.

I enjoyed it immensely. Some people were displeased with it because this is actually Alice's second time through Wonderland, and so it doesn't quite stick with the original Disney version, but I thought that this added to the story greatly. I found the characters inventive, original and likable (even the Red Queen had her moments) and because it didn't go along with the first one it was not predictable. I loved the Hatter, Johnny Depp did a comical and yet tragic performance. Anne Hathaway as the White Queen was elegant, yet unexpected and Helen Bonham Carter was particularly gruesome and hilarious. Alice was also very well acted, even though I had never seen the actress before. I didn't find it depressing at all, I thought it was actually inspiring. If you like colorful, inventive and witty I think you would enjoy this. It wasn't a dark Tim Burton movie. It just had his creative costuming.

A Single Mom - Every woman's fantasy

So I know that everyone talks about what a sacrifice it is being a single mom and how hard it is, and I'm not going to argue with that, but I'm going to add my thoughts as to why it's also totally awesome. I could add a top ten list of why it sucks, but I'm going to go with the things that make me really grateful that I'm a single mom:

#10. There is one less adult in the house who I have to argue with over what to watch on TV.

#9. I don't have to make sure to hide my chocolate from someone who is taller than me.

#8. I have a lot more dresser space.

#7. I don't have to argue with someone over how to teach my daughter, I get to learn that for myself.

#6. When I want to go somewhere girly, I don't have to feel guilty doing it or ask anyone's permission.

#5. I don't have to share my car with anyone.

#4. I always have a little girl who loves to snuggle with me.

#3. No one is there to remind me that I look fat in those pants.

#2. When decorating I can do what I want without anyone telling me something is crooked and not liking my color scheme

#1. I don't always have to be the "bad guy", without dad, I'm the "good guy" too! :P

I used to think I would never last being single. I remember laying in my bed crying silently to myself thinking how horrible it was to be alone night after night. While I was in High School I always believed that I would be really happy once I got married, and most of all I wouldn't have to sleep alone because I was so terrified of the dark. I used to imagine someone holding me throughout the night, someone who would always be there for me. When I got married I found out my husband had insomnia. He slept in bed with me a couple nights a week the first month or so, but after that I learned he just didn't sleep, and if he fell asleep it was on the couch in the living room. I took it personally at first, and I didn't know what I had done to scare him away.

Most of all it hurt that I was alone again at night. I remember wondering what I had done to deserve being alone like that. I wondered if he would get past his insomnia or if I could find away to just have him hold me. I didn't realize he had issues of his own and that insomnia wasn't something he even wanted fixed. He went to bed less and less with me and I was left in the dark night after night. After we divorced and I got remarried I hoped that I would find another husband who would spend the night occasionally with me, but again that didn't work out. I was more terrified of the dark than ever before. My terror of being alone in the dark was something I found I had to face off with because it was so frightening to me. I couldn't sleep, and I would just stare into the smokey blackness, huddled in my blankets and aching inside. I hated being in the dark. All the scary movies I had ever seen came back to me vividly because I was always alone.

Finally, I realized that I had a daughter and she was scared of the dark just like me. Knowing that she was there brought me a lot of peace, and I realized that she needed me just as much as I needed her. I would let her crawl into bed with me and cuddle up, and I wasn't afraid anymore. I realized I had to be strong for her, I had to become the protector because now I had someone to protect. Now I don't have to sleep alone in the dark anymore, I always have a little one who lets me hug her all night and who doesn't have to leave because she has insomnia or has somewhere else to go. It's great being a single mom. We've learned to depend on each other because no one else is ever there.

The Joy of Random House Cleaning Projects

As a note, if you read my last blog I am pretty suicidal-free. I have also been trying to catch up on Lost episodes. That show has some really crazy shit. Just in case you didn't know :P


So, I've been really having a great time painting two of my pieces of furniture. I was looking at them thinking "man these are ugly" and then I thought "I could paint them so easily" so, I did! And they look amazing. Ferrari red as my dad said. Along with that I bought a sewing machine, which I'm going to start quilting with! YAY!!! And I"m getting my munchkin involved in all these different things, soccer, dancing, 4-H, swimming all that jazz, and I'm getting kinda excited about it. Course I need to really lose weight now that I've finished my book and handed it out.

I'm also trying to read all of the scriptures this year. I'm already into my second book which is fairly good. I need to work on it a bit more. Oh, and I need to get to my garage. That place is really messy. I need to fix my bike. Those are the things I want to do. Shockingly I'm actually getting through my "to do" list really quickly.

1. Paint bedroom furniture
2. Buy and set up garage shelves
3. Buy sewing machine
4. Reorganize Living room shelves
5. Reorganize closet
6. Reorganize book shelves
7. Reorganize art closet
8. Re-write novel

So, I'm actually doing pretty well. I just can't wait for spring. I want to go outside and run and jump and play. Strangely, I really want to play baseball! They have a really cute pink baseball bat at Wally World. I want to get it and practice with my Pie. I've determined that my childhood had two serious disadvantages 1. my parents hated each other (apparently this can be emotionally disturbing to some children) and 2. We were really inactive. so, I don't have to worry about parents hating each other, the next thing is to be really active and get my little child into sports! Kids need to feel that dirty competition, or at least that nice teamwork about stuff. Somehow it's inspiring or helpful for the rest of their lives, who knows. Hopefully it helps her :P

Death is only the beginning...

Here I am again, trying to blog away the depression that seems to stalk my life. Of course, my life is made up of some really great things that happen. For one, I'm holding a guinea pig. Yeah, I think they are cute and adorable. For two, I sent a copy of my novel to one of my friends to read it. Who says I won't see my name in print? I just did, as it was coming out of my printer - so there unbelievers! Also, despite living a pretty un-athletic existence and I going to put my small one into soccer and dance (hopefully). I'm homeschooling and I've been kinda worried I would fail, or scare my child to the point that she would hate me cause I make her read instead of watch anime episodes. It's amazing what kind of doubt goes through a mother's head.

Recently, there were a series of suicides that went through my little social community. They made me think a lot about my life. Sadly, they didn't make me more grateful for what I had, quite the opposite - I was jealous. I know you're thinking that's pretty sick and no one should feel that, but I think I had hit a really low when it came to ultimate self-loathing and I just kept asking myself, "Why can't I do something like that? Why am I so weak and afraid that I couldn't end it like they did? What gave them the guts to do that?" Yeah, I know it sounds sick. It just kept pestering me. The last few years have really sucked, and I know everyone is always like "well, it's never worth throwing your life away for" but what if you felt like you were giving yourself a second chance? Like God had given up on you and all you really had to wait for was to die off. Dark thoughts I know, but that's pretty much what I was thinking. The only thing I live for is and has been my daughter. I gave up on myself quite awhile ago.

I saw this movie, "About A Boy" a few years ago, and towards the beginning the mother tries to kill herself but her son shows up before she does, and so she isn't able to go through with it. That scene has stopped me from ever doing anything serious, I don't want my daughter to live without her mother. That's pretty much the thing that keeps me alive everyday. It's been that way for about three years, I really had just given up. Something did change this week though. Because of the issue being brought to the surface, I knew I really wanted to end it, but I didn't have the guts, I didn't want to leave her with a hell of a life. Recognizing that openly, and admitting how close to the edge I was really woke me up. I don't know what happened, but just acknowledging it somehow deflated the idea I had had in the back of my mind all these years. It reminded me of Edward when he tells Bella that he had planned his suicide if anything ever happened to Bella. That was me, if something happened to my daughter - my life would be meaningless.

Anyway, after I calmly and openly admitted that to myself, I felt the desire to do anything completely release and disappear. I don't know if I was being stalked by dark thoughts or if I just called my own bluff but ever since then I don't feel that way. Nothing else has changed and I'm not glowing with inner appreciation over the beauty of the world - but I do feel differently. I don't want to die anymore.