Happy Birthday, Jack

Everyone has a favorite author, I like C S Lewis.  Even the essays he wrote on topics where he drew different conclusions from what I've reached (everything he had to say about women and the relationships of men and women) are written in a style that I find enchanting.  His grasp of language and ability to communicate his ideas with poetic beauty and surgical clarity is unequalled. 

I have quoted from his works often before, I'm sure I'll do so again.  The room I'm sitting in now is lined with books I have hundreds of volumes within arms reach.  My bedroom only has a few.  On the top of my chest, I have a boxed set of Tolkien's LOTR, Hobbit and Silmarillion. Immediately beside that is another boxed set, Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia.  I wonder if they will make the transition from page to screen as well as the Tolkien opus did ... since the Narnia books are at present being filmed I suppose I'll find out soon enough. 

Other than a few slight changes and additions the biography below was lifted in whole without permission from the email newsletter Garrison Keillor sends every day (Writer's Almanac). I tried to simply figure out a way to give you a link, but I couldn't.  I recommend the newsletter to all my writing friends and especially you poets. 

C S (Clive Staples) Lewis was born in Belfast, Ireland (1898). He disliked his given name so much that he insisted that other people call him Jack, which was how his friends and family addressed him.  He said of his childhood, "I am a product...[of] books. There were books in the study, books in the drawing-room, books in the cloak room, books in a bedroom, books piled as high as my shoulder in the attic, books of all kinds reflecting every transient stage of my parents' interests, books readable and unreadable, books suitable for a child and books most emphatically not. Nothing was forbidden me. In the seemingly endless rainy afternoons I took volume after volume from the shelves."

Lewis's parents were Anglicans and took him to church as a boy, but he found religion cold and boring. He preferred pagan mythology: Irish, Norse, and Greek myths he read in storybooks. He created an imaginary country called "Boxen" and wrote stories about it. He said, "My early stories were an attempt to combine my two chief literary pleasures—'dressed animals' and 'knights in armour.' As a result, I wrote about chivalrous mice and rabbits who rode out in complete mail to kill not giants but cats."

He began teaching philosophy at Oxford, where he met J.R.R. Tolkien. The night of their first meeting, Lewis wrote in his diary, "No harm in him: only needs a smack or two." Tolkien was a devout Christian and Lewis was an atheist, but they shared a love for mythology. They took a long walks around the Oxford grounds, debating the existence of God. Tolkien tried to persuade Lewis that the story of Jesus was a myth but that it had also actually happened.

The morning after one of those walks, Lewis went with his brother to the zoo. He said, "When we set out [for the zoo] I did not believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and when we reached the zoo I did. Yet I had not exactly spent the journey in thought. Nor in great emotion." He came to believe that the pagan stories he had always loved were God expressing Himself through the minds of poets, while the life of Jesus was God expressing Himself through reality.

At a time when European philosophy and science were turning away from Christianity, Lewis became the most prominent Christian apologist in the world. He recorded a series of lectures for radio, which were broadcast in England during World War II, and many people gathered around their radios to take comfort from his ideas in the midst of bombing raids. The lectures were collected into his book Mere Christianity (1952).

But he is best remembered for the seven books in the Chronicles of Narnia, which he started publishing in 1950. Lewis decided to write for children, even though he never had any children himself and had never had any strong relationships with children. He wanted to give children what he had gotten himself from fairytales when he was a child. Lewis said, "When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up."

Today, the Narnia books sell about a million copies a year.

C.S. Lewis said, "Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see."

And, "You can't get a cup of tea big enough or a book long enough to suit me."

A final note to people who are fans of LOTR - the talking trees, the Ents are Tolkien's creations based on his friend Jack's ponderous speaking style and values. 

Crossing the Line

I crossed the NaNoWriMo finish line to the roar of ... well there was no roar.  It was a little after five a.m. when I clicked on the icon to check my word count and saw that it had reached 50, 690.  So I stopped.  I went immediately to the NaNo site and had my word count validated.  I lifted all four of the WINNER icons, printed out the certificate, and that as they say is that.

My novel isn't finished.  I figured out last night that there is a major plot problem that is going to require some immediate rewriting before I can start tying up the loose ends.  But I completed the challenge I set of 50,000 words in thirty days. 

Wanna see a snippet?  This will give you an idea of just how ROUGH a rough draft can be. I think the scene is pretty self-explanatory even though it comes from the smack-dab middle of the book.  Katherine is a University Professor - Nino is a student in her class, he's a couple years older than she is and returning to school for required degree credits because he wants a career change. 

 

 

The only problem with having the students take over discussion was that it gave Katherine opportunity to notice her tired aching feet.  A wiser woman might have said “no”, but wisdom didn’t often play a part in decisions that had anything to do with Cheryl.  So when her sister called and said, “Pleeeeeeeeeeease, you know you have at least an hour you can give to help me look at this furniture.  I want it to be right and you have a much better eye than I do for what will look good.”  Katherine agreed to go shopping. 

 

Only it wasn’t just an hour.  It was never just an hour.  They saw first one thing and then another, visited three stores, and talked to a clerk about special ordering fabrics online.  The kind of day that is better spent in sneakers than high heels.  But Katherine hadn’t bothered to change her clothes so she was stuck with her choice.  By the time that Cheryl dropped her at the campus, she had missed her chance to even stop by her office before class started. 

 

Now her feet hurt, she was tired, and it was difficult to pay strict attention to the material at hand.  She backed up to the desk and slid onto it, crossing her legs at the knee with her feet hanging well above the floor.  She slipped her heel out of one shoe and allowed it to dangle from her toe.  

 

She answered a question and then allowed the discussion to continue it’s swirl around her head.  This was the perfect sized class as well, 23 students.  Small enough for each to have his or her voice heard, but large enough to take off pressure to speak at length.  Katherine was surprised by one girl who had started off the semester seeming very quiet.  But as the weeks went by she revealed that quiet hid a strength of wit and confidence that enabled her to stand her ground when some of the others went in a direction she didn’t support. 

 

Glancing around at their faces, Katherine noticed one student who didn’t have much to say.  Nino, like her, didn’t appear to be following the discussion at all.  In fact, he was looking at her with an odd expression of appraisal. 

 

At the next pause, Katherine addressed him, “Mr. Martin, did you have anything to add to the discussion of Kierkegaard’s statement that man must either choose to be religious or fall into despair?”

 

He smiled slowly before answering, “Well, Dr. James, I think that such a statement must have been a bombshell in the ears of academics who reached their zenith in Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason.  They would have heard it as a repudiation of everything achieved by the enlightenment.  But I think he was onto something as has been born out by where the movement has gone since then.  Science alone is mere fact. We need more than facts to base our lives on.”

 

She nodded, and even as another student broke in to argue for the supremacy of scientific thought as the foundation of modern life she didn’t break eye contact with Nino until his smile broadened almost imperceptibly and she realized she was staring.  She broke the contact and applied herself to monitoring and facilitating the group without looking back at him.  But the damage was done.  She didn’t have to look at him to feel his eyes upon her. 

 

After the class was dismissed she gathered her things into the leather bag she carried and exited the classroom.  Nino was waiting with one foot propped against the wall.  She stopped.

 

“Did you have a question?  I have office hours and you certainly know how to reach me via email.”

 

“No, I have no questions.  I’m going to walk you to your car.”

 

“Oh, really that won’t be necessary.”

 

“Humor me.  It’s dark and I’ll feel better if I know that you are safely in your car.”

 

“Okay, then, Nino.  Thank you.”

 

He held the door for her and they walked in silence.  Katherine tried to think of something to say, but the thing that popped into her mind was “I’m sorry about your wife.” And she didn’t want to bring that up.  But the thought of his broader life did lead to a question she felt safer asking. 

 

“My sister tells me that you’re pretty successful.  Martin homes have a great reputation.  And I’m curious.  What are you doing taking an Existentialism class?”

 

“It’s not so difficult.  I’ve been rethinking my life.  Some … things … have happened that make me wonder whether I’m giving back what I owe to the world.  And I’ve always been someone that other people turn to for a listening ear and a shoulder.  I decided to come back to school for my MSW.”

 

“You don’t have to have my class for that degree.”

 

“No, that’s true.  But I saw it in the course catalog and the description made it sound like something I need to have for myself.”

 

Katherine didn’t know what to say to that, so she lapsed into an easy silence as they walked.  The faculty parking lot wasn’t far and it didn’t dawn on her until she looked up and saw the empty space that tonight, she had no car. 

 

“Oh, God, I’ve screwed up.” 

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Well, do you see space number 23?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And do you see the car that’s in it?”

 

“There is no car in it.”

 

:”That’s how I’ve screwed up.  My sister dropped me off today after we went shopping and I forgot that I would need a ride home.”  She reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone.  “Call Cheryl’s Home.”

 

The phone rang once on the other end and Cheryl’s cheery voice answered, “This is Cheryl.  Dr. Tom and I have decided to take the phone off the hook and have an evening just to ourselves.  So unless you’re trying to sell me something, leave a message.  If you are trying to sell me something, don’t.  I’m broke, I’m not a good candidate for your services, and I already gave at the office.”

 

“Oh, Crap.  She and Dr. Tom have taken the phone off the hook.”

 

“Dr. Tom?”

 

“Her husband, we all call him Dr. Tom.”

 

“Is he a doctor?”

 

Katherine knew but it was too late to back out.  “Yes, Dr. Tom Elliot.” 

 

She watched as comprehension dawned in his face.  “Yes, I know Dr. Tom very well.”

“I’m sorry, Nino.  I didn’t want to bring up a sad memory.”

 

He took a deep breath.  “Well, it’s kind of hard not to.  The memories are everywhere.”  He shook his head as if to dislodge them.  “I take it that you know then.”

 

“Cheryl told me.”

 

He nodded.  “Thank you for trying to be kind.  It’s okay to mention her.  I’ve gotten past the point where I break down and cry in front of strangers.  In fact, it would feel good sometimes to just say her name out loud without everyone in the room getting that look of need to escape.”

 

“What was her name?”

 

“Gabriela.”  He breathed it out.  “But she was my Ofelia.  Her family all called her Gabby, but it just didn’t fit.  I wish my choice hadn’t been so prophetic”  He paused, then looked down at Katherine. “Thank you for asking.”

 

She nodded.

 

“Okay, then.  Let’s get you home.”

 

“Oh, I can call a cab.  It’s okay.”  She raised her hand to indicate that she still held the cell phone.

 

“Dr. James, unless you think I’m some kind of wild rapist out to do you harm, I’d rather take you home.  It’s what a man does when a woman is stranded.  And if that’s an offensive sexist thing to say, I’m not apologizing.”

 

“Well, if you’re not apologizing, I suppose there’s nothing for me to say but, ‘lay on MacDuff, And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!.’”

 

Nino laughed.  “I think I like you, Dr. James.”  He turned toward the student lot then stopped in his tracks and eyed her outfit.  “I think we’re about to find out just how adventurous you are.”

 

“Why is that Mr. Martin?”

 

“Because you are wearing a lovely snug little skirt, and I am here on my chopper.”  He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.  “You know, as in motorcycle.”

 

Katherine thought about it for a minute.  She could insist on a taxi.  But then again there was something about the image of herself on the back of a bike.  She didn’t bat an eyelash.  “I know what a chopper is Mr. Martin.  Lead the way.”

 

He didn’t speak again until they were standing beside the bike.  Katherine could feel her chin trying to drop but forcibly kept it in place my clenching her jaw.  Nino handed her his helmet and took her briefcase.  He opened the … do you call it a trunk on a motorcycle?  Katherine knew that the second she opened her mouth he was going to laugh at her.  So she watched him in silence as he stowed her bag.

 

“This, my dear,” Nino began with a flourish, “is a chopper, with a 7 inch rake, extended fairing, a teardrop tank, a sissy, and a … a … an… ahem … p-pad seat.”

 

“Nino, you’re blushing.”

 

“No, Ma’am, I’m just thinking that this might not be the most comfortable for you.  The other kind of seat, King/Queen, that’s the one with the raised seat for a passenger on back.  But this one is more designed for a man who doesn’t expect a lot of company.”

 

“It seems fine to me.”

 

“Okay, have you ridden on a bike before?”

 

“No.”

 

“It’s not hard, but there are rules for passengers.  Number one, hold on, there’s a strap on the seat or you can hang on to me.  Number two, don’t lean.  Leaning will make us turn and well, just don’t do it, okay?  Put your foot here, and keep away from the tailpipe, it will burn you if you touch it.  In fact, keep your feet right on these pegs.  But the most important thing … have fun.”  He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it across her shoulders.  “That silk blouse isn’t going to be much protection for you, you’ll need this.”

 

He swung his leg over and settled on the seat.  “Ready?”

 

Katherine swallowed hard.  Stepping gingerly up to the bike, she raised her foot to the peg and swung her leg across behind Nino.  Her skirt immediately rose to the top of her thighs.  She could hold the strap between her legs but she was going to be exposed to the night air and the gaze of anyone who glanced their direction.  She hesitated a moment then spread her thighs further and slid up against Nino’s back.  She slid her arms around his waist as he turned the key and closed her eyes as they drove into the night. 

 

Then a monster appeared out of nowhere and ate Randolph.  The end.

For those of us doing the NaNoWriMo challenge there are helpful forums available to guide us in research and plot resolution.  There are forums where we brag about how well it's going and forums where we post the next time and place of the local meeting.  My favorite forum is called "I hate myself and want to die."  This is the forum for people who are convinced that everything they've written really is crap, their plots are hopeless, and their characters are insipid bores.  In other words, people in even worse shape than me. 

Anne Lamott is certain that her attitude toward certain people in her life causes Jesus to quietly drink himself to sleep.  I think he looks at me with an indulgent air of tolerance.  He wishes that I wouldn't have to compare myself to others in order to feel good.  He wishes that I could grow up and not need so much validation.  But he knows that this side of heaven I'm always going to be insecure and neurotic.  He also knows that there are days when it would be kind of fun to write that a monster are Randolph because Randoph is obviously a moron with no life who needs to be sacrificed in order to make my story better.  Never mind that Randolph is the protagonist in a monster-free world. 

And I think that Jesus gave me access to the "I hate myself and want to die" forum to remind me that I don't. 

As of this moment, my novel has 44,841 words out of 50,000.  So I have four days to write a little over 5,000 words.  I can do it.  If I have caffeine, chocolate, and chaos.  My story won't be finished at 50,000 words, I think I've said that before, but it kind of looms large now as I wish that I had a clue how to get these people from the mess I've gleefully made of their lives to that happy and inevitable feeling resolution that will make my story a satisfying read. 

And in the meantime, I hope you are having a fabulous weekend. 

Happy Thanksgiving

I cooked all morning, I cleaned all afternoon.  There is enough leftover turkey to feed us for the next three weeks.  I have boiled the poor denuded carcass to make soup.  The boys have played outside in their new snowboots and I have instructed them faithfully in the tradition of the Thanksgiving Nap.  My jeans are severely starchy from wiping my hands on them during the course of all the above. 

In other words, we had a wonderful day. 

I hope yours was too. 

BIG HUG

Terri

Inspired to Write

    
I'm still doing the wild wild ride of NaNoWriMo and I'm on a steady
course to be a "winner".  There is no prize for winning except the
satisfaction of having accomplished the goal I set for myself, and the
book I'm writing is probably not going to be finished when I get to
50,000 words.  I'm guessing that the ultimate length will be more
in the neighborhood of 85,000 - 95,000 words. 

    
I have said that I don't want to post excerpts and I still think that's
a good idea.  But I am so consumed with writing it that it's hard
to write a blog that's not about books or writing.  I've been very
lucky this year to be joined by friends who are also commited
to finishing their book.  In addition there is a group
of writers in Colorado Springs whom I'd never met before signing up
with the NaNoWriMo website, but they have banded together to support
each other and brainstorm through plot problems.  In the most
recent discussion we worked it out how a female thief wearing a
figure-hugging formal gown could conceal a spray of diamonds pinched at
a crowded ball.

    
I'm learning things this year, or better I should say that I'm applying
things I've learned before.  Its a first draft, that's the point
on NaNo, to get the first draft written so you can start revising,
editing, and polishing to make it a publishable work.  But I'm
happier with this book at this stage than I have been with
other books that were in the final stages of
completion.   

    
One of my companion writer's sent me this in an email yesterday and I
loved it so much that I thought I'd like to share it with you. 
Whether you are writing a book or not, Xanga is a community of writers
and I hope that you will be as encouraged, inspired, and motivated as I
was by these words.

Having
nothing to say and being bored and tired of writing has never stopped
the determined writer. You just discipline yourself to sit down and
write, whether you feel brilliant or dull as dirt, and then do it. If
you sit around and wait for the Muse to come and whisper endearments in
your ear, she will be off whispering to some guy hacking away at his
keyboard. The Muse does not bestow her favors on sluggards. She is
attracted to the sound of the clacking of the keys, someone who feels
dull and has nothing to say but who nevertheless is beavering away and
suddenly she whispers and he is filled with inspiration and the thing
gets written.

 

-Garrison Keillor, Dear Mr. Blue column, Salon Magazine, Nov. 21, 2000

The Week from Hell

Seriously, this has been one of those weeks that I'm tempted just to not even write about because it's depressing enough to simply have lived through it.  But I made that comment to someone yesterday and was encouraged that other people are in the same place I was a few short months ago.  Simply unaware of the kind of things I'm learning now and that some people have been living with for years. 

My bad week started on Tuesday morning.  See, isn't that just typical?  You have a decent Monday and you relax a little then wham, it gets you.  I had an appointment at 9 am to be oriented to my rights and responsibilities now that I'm officially in the system.  8:30 am My kids have to be dropped at school which is in the far north eastern corner of Colorado Springs, and the location of my appointment is downtown.  Far Far away.  According to yahoo maps, it's a 25 minute trip.  I made it in 20. 

8:50 am Take my place in the line of people waiting to sign in.

9:05 am Still in line, they come and remove the sign-in sheet when I ask about it, the woman lectures me on my responsibility to arrive in a "timely" manner.  I've been informed that my attendance is mandatory to demonstrate my "compliance" with the rules.  So I ask what my options are.  I'm told I have to come back that afternoon at 1:30 for the next session.  These sessions are three hours.  My kids get out of school at 3:45 - I'm seeing a problem.

Back at home, I call everyone I know which doesn't take long.  There isn't anyone available to pick up my kids for me.  I called the afterschool program that meets at my kids elementary school and get a recording saying they will call me back within 24 hours.

12:15 I pick up my kids from school

1:00 we arrive together downtown

1:45 - the 1:30 meeting begins which irritates me terribly since I was there and in LINE this morning but they couldn't give me five minutes grace to get upstairs and now I'm having to wait on them taking their time.  But I'm nice, I don't say anything.

1:47 - the woman leading the meeting singles me out for a lecture because I brought my kids with me.  I'm told that this is not allowed and that it's my responsibility to make arrangements for them.  With as much dignity as I can muster, I inform her that I have no option and either they are with me, or I have to leave.  She continues the lecture for a few more minutes but then tells me that this one time, she'll be "nice".

For the next 2 1/2 hours we are spoken to alternately as though we have an IQ of 10 or as though we are criminals attempting to defraud the system.  I learn that the way it works is that the amount of benefit assigned to my family is divided by minimum wage and I am required to "volunteer" that many hours at a non-profit agency to which I will be assigned.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't this the very definition of indentured servitude?  And I'm wondering, what if I had three or four children?  Because as it stands now, they are talking about approximately 30 hours of my time - PER WEEK.  In addition to working, I mean "Volunteering", to demonstrate my good faith (any lack of volunteering will result in an escalating list of "sanctions"), I'm supposed to be making a set number of job contacts per week in an effort to get myself gainfully employeed as soon as possible.

You know what?  I understand the need to be gainfully employeed.  I understand the need for people to support themselves and leave the government to do what it does best, interfering on a large scale in the affairs of nations rather than forcing it to be concerned with individual citizens and their children.  I even understand how some legislator who has never been where I am and never come closer than the anectdotes about "welfare queens" to understanding the issues involved ... I can understand how this person might think that this is a good idea. 

But can I be honest?  By the end of the day, I wanted nothing more than to invite any and all representatives of this system to shove it up their ass.  It's only the fact that I'm trying to take care of my kids first and foremost before I salvage my pride that I was able to keep my mouth shut.

Oh, and when I left, other the people in the room stopped me, or stopped one of my kids and complimented us on how well behaved they were, how non-disruptive they were.  They spent their time sitting quietly in the corner drawing in their coloring books.  Twice they made a quiet trip around the perimeter of the room to a water fountain and then returned to their place. 

That was just my Tuesday, btw. 

I have learned that I'm in a very privileged position considering what I could be facing.  I have a computer and Internet access (thanks to the kind insistence of a friend to be allowed to pay for it)  which gives me access to making online job applications.  I have a college degree.  I have reliable transportation.  I have access to a phone.  I have a mailing address.  I have my own apartment where my kids and I have our own beds.  I have so MANY things that other people don't have.  Mostly thanks again to my friends who have determined that they are not going to let me fall.  And still, finding my way into a job, has been an uphill nightmare that I'm not out of yet. 

Then there's child care.  I finally got a call back from the afterschool program.  Their minimum is the flexible 1-2 day a week plan for which I would have to pay $22 per child per week whether we ever use it or not.  That's the program for people who have limited means. 

I've gone through training to be a loan officer with a wonderful mortgage broker here in Colorado Springs and I know that if I can close even two loans a month, I'll be able to support myself and my kids.  So I'm doing everything I can to make contact with realtors, I'm networking, I'm handing out business cards.  I've taken three applications this month and one of those is going to close, so I am making progress. 

I didn't know how hard it could be.  I didn't know how many obstacles are placed between people who are sincerely trying and the goals for which they are working.  I just didn't know and it makes me ashamed now that I haven't done more in the past to be sensitive and supportive of people I knew who were trying and weren't getting very far very fast. 

When Tim and I divorced, our agreement included 6 months of maintenance for me, designed to help me while I was getting on my feet.  The bulk of that money went to cover the cost of maintaining my health insurance.  And since it's been more than six months, I now have no maintenance and no insurance.  I asked about community resources when I applied at the welfare office and I was told they could put me on a waiting list and that usually they could get people in for an appointment with a physician within 4-6 months.  I know she thought I was being sarcastic, but I asked her what if I have something now that I need to be seen for.  And her answer was that "beggars can't be choosers".

I'm a healthy person with education motivation and resources.  My friends have been fantastic.  They have over the course of these months picked up the tab for bills I couldn't pay, and for luxuries I wouldn't have bought for myself.  My kids have experienced the care of friends from far away who have gone above and beyond to make sure that they know that they are loved and that they are valuable people.  It has become an adventure for them to go to the mailbox.  And it makes their Momi cry to see how much it means to them when they receive a card, a box of markers, some Halloween candy. 

We had the IEP meeting at the school this week.  And I heard that although my kids have issues, Michael's autism in particular is a real obstacle for us to work through, both the boys are doing well.  I heard from the counselor who sees them in group therapy that they are both doing very well adjusting to the massive life changes they've experienced. 

I have a friend who says that if he wins the lottery, his ultimate dream is to open a soup kitchen.  A place that looks like a real restaurant where no one is presented with a bill.  You pay what you can afford to pay as you leave and no one asks you for more.  No one makes you listen to a sermon or talks to you like you are stupid or criminal.  A place where people can receive mail and make phone calls.  A place where a voicemail box for messages can be established for anyone who asks.  A place that offers a chance to people who literally have no access to the things they need in order to get into that magical place of opportunity.  It's not a dream I would have understood a year ago.  I'd have said, Aaaaaaawwww, that's NICE!  But I wouldn't have understood it. 

I know a lot of you are thinking now about opportunities your family will have for service this coming Holiday season.  I'd like to make a couple of suggestions.  That Christmas tree at the mall?  Where there are paper ornaments with names of kids who won't be unwrapping a present if we don't help?  That's a really good place to start.  The Salvation Army is hurting really bad thanks to an enormous financial "gift" that came with so many strings attached that it can't be used - so people are thinking that "hey, they just got a ton of money so we'll give our dollar to someone else this year."  We still have service men and women around the world who need to be remembered.  It's the time of year that many charities depend on for donations to support their efforts throughout the year.  Find one with a mission you can relate to.  And give something of yourself.   

Don't send donations to me.  I already have a people who are doing everything that they can to take care of us.   I would like your prayers that I'll be able to connect with people in this community to build my mortgage lending business.  I'm with a very good company that can help people with less than perfect credit to get better loans than anyone else can offer.  Plus all this experience is giving me something to write about.  Right? 

 

 

You Love Me - You REALLY Love Me ...

  Thank you to whoever nominated me for the contest over on Tiffany's site. 

Tucker is sick and at home today, so I'm getting approximately squat done today. 

The unofficial name for this NASA photo ... Eye of God. 

 

You'll never guess who I invited to lunch ...

Okay for the pacing of my book I need at LEAST one more chapter before these people consummat  their relationship.  I mean I don't want either of them to take it for granted or think the other "easy."  So what to do, what to do?  I didn't know! 

I opened an Anne Tyler book, When we were Grown-ups and read the following sentence which begins her chapter 7:  "You'll never guess in a million years who I've asked to dinner," Rebecca told her mother on the phone.

So I stole it.  Blatantly, unapologetically stole it.  “You’ll never guess in a million years who I’ve invited for lunch.”  Cheryl said in an annoyingly cheerful sing song voice.  Now my protagonist and her sister are having lunch with a hooker and all of a sudden without realizing that there was a subplot to the novel, I have another 1,425 words. 

Yes, I know, Cheryl is my real life sister's name.  The real Cheryl is neither a prostitute nor the inviter to lunch of prostitutes - at least not on a regular basis.  But that's neither here nor there for my book.

I name people names that make sense.  So if I need a sister, its either Cheryl, or Sam or maybe Annie cause that's Cheryl's middle name and its easy for me to remember.  If I ever get this published I'm gonna have to change a LOT of names and place names or I'm gonna get sued. 

Word Count - 19,259

Finding the Crack

It's an illness, I know.  I have a perverse need to find the crack in everything.  (Stephanie says that's because I smoke the stuff, but she's young ...) Leonard Cohen sings about it, "There's a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in..."  and I console myself that I'm just looking for the light.  But that's not really true.

I'm not comfortable when things are going too well.  I start to feel a little anxious.  My emotional barometer starts sending off signals that something is coming.  I don't know what or when and sometimes in my anxiety I've created the something just to say, "there, see?  I knew it wasn't perfect."  But I don't have to do that this time.  I've found the chink in the armor of Colorado Springs' perfection. 

Boogers

Living in the Mile High Air dries out the nasal passages something fierce.  I wake every morning with one hand reaching for the tissue.  And a couple times, I've even had nose bleeds.  Yes, life here has a down side.  It's not perfect.  And now that I've settled that lingering question, well, to borrow a line from my Mom,  "I'm as happy as a dead pig in sunshine."