Write by Candlelight

Fall--A Review and a Contest!

2011-09-15T23:22:00.000-07:00

Every so often a book comes along that you can't put down. Fall, by Jennifer Hurst, was that book for me. And what a blessed relief that this was the case! My week had been crazy-busy, crammed with my not-always-impressive efforts to help get the kiddos back into the groove of school and trying to coax all of us out of our summertime funk of no schedules and few responsibilities. We all were suffering from system shock--me worse than anyone. That's probably why I put off sticking my nose into this book until just a few days ago, even though I had a review coming up that had to be finished by the 15th. But because reading is my favorite thing, I couldn't put it at the top of my "do now" list.

No worries, I thought. I'll just cram through it--painfully difficult or not. To my great delight, no pain was involved, unless you count the discomfort I felt on many occasions when I had to put the derned thing down and go be productive. I guess the aforementioned kiddos like to eat at regular intervals. Go figure.

So here's the synopsis from Jennifer Hurst's website:

Women and construction shouldn’t mix. At least, that is what the client, Mr. Blackwell, thinks when Twenty-one year old Julia D. Halstead is promoted to project manager and tasked with remodeling a turn-of-the-century schoolhouse into a bed and breakfast in the tourist town of Torrey, Utah. However, the schoolhouse contains a dark secret that has been hidden for over a hundred years. A secret that will unleash the furies of Hell and cause the Angels in Heaven to weep as ethereal brothers, Matthew and Nathan battle over Julia’s very soul." Click here to read more.

It just so happens, construction is in MY blood too. My dad is a general contractor, his dad was a general contractor, three of my brothers are in the construction business, and yes, even my husband is a construction project manager/general contractor. I was destined to find a kindred spirit in the main character, Julia, or JD, as she insists on being called. And that's just what happened.

Hurst weaves a great tale of romance, suspense, and paranormal intrigue, intermingled with strong character development that keeps the reader emotionally invested in the outcome of the story. Just like any great romance, I found myself "falling in love" along with the heroine and feeling her pain when things don't turn out the way she had planned. I enjoyed the strong, quirky female lead. And the setting is rich and interesting and winds up taking a big part in the story.

There were some typos and grammatical errors in my ARC (advanced-reader copy), which I've been assured are fixed in the most recent copy. I didn't find them to detract from my overall enjoyment of the book, though. My only concern with the book centered on the fact that some of the premises were not as fleshed out as I would like to have seen. I often found myself questioning what exactly the rules were for her characters' paranormal abilities, as well as what rules governed their world. Much of this was left unexplained or barely touched upon. The premise is such an interesting one that I wanted to understand it all much better. In addition, JD's past is mentioned as significant, but we don't get sufficient details to piece it all together. Finally, the resolution ended abruptly and still left me with numerous questions. I think Hurst was leaving open the option for a sequel or a group of sequels, but some of the answers to crucial questions that help a reader feel satisfied at the end of a story were missing. If they are meant to be covered in future installments, an indication of that would be nice. If not, please throw us a few more morsels of delicious resolution.

In addition to my delight in having this book be such a page-turner (or a page-forward-button-pusher if you read it on your electronic reading device, as I did) I was struck with one of those other sensations we writers sometimes get when we come across a fabulous idea crafted into a captivating book. It's perhaps the best praise I can give anyone, and that is--I wish I'd written that. To purchase Jennifer's book, click here.

Best of luck to you Jennifer. And by the way . . . GREAT name!

And now--THE CONTEST!

The setting in Fall is one of the characters. I defy you to read it and not be struck with a longing to visit Torrey, Utah and the fabulous schoolhouse bed and breakfast, which is a real place. The fabulous news for you is that one lucky reader will get to do just that!

In conjunction with this blog tour, Jennifer is holding a contest. It will involve any of the blogs that Jennifer visits or where her book is featured and will close on December 31st, 2011. The entrants have to answer three questions about the book they’ve read (bought, borrowed, or stolen - shame on you) and post a link to Jennifer's website on their Twitter, Facebook, or blog (need link for verification).

Then the names will be entered in a random name picker generator (http://textmechanic.com/Random-Line-Picker.html) and announced on Jennifer's website (www.jenniferhurst.com) on January 31st, 2012. The winner will receive a gift certificate for a night’s stay at the actual bed and breakfast where the story takes place.

Other prizes include an autographed copy of FALL, and she will randomly select 3 contestants’ names to use in the sequel to FALL. Plus, they will receive a free copy of that book when it is published.

Each blog that Jennifer Hurst visits will have a different set of questions people can answer, and they may enter as many times as they want - but they can enter once per blog site that they visit. So the more sites you visit, the more you can enter your name, thus increasing your chances of winning the gift certificate, a copy of the book FALL, and your name in the sequel.
Get the book, read the book, and then read over the questions below. Once you have your answers, e-mail them to Jennifer. fall.jenniferhurst@gmail.com

Your privacy is respected and your email address will NOT be used for anything but the contest. Once the contest is over - your email address will be deleted from the database.
Here are the questions for you to answer:
What did Missy give to JD for Christmas?
Which marathon was Rick training for?
What is Mr. Blackwell's wife's name?

If you would like to visit the other sites, go here for the master list of all participating sites: http://fallbyjenniferhurst.wordpress.com/
Best of luck, and thanks for participating!

Hooked on the Writing Craft

2011-06-09T12:25:00.000-07:00

If you're even remotely interested in writing, you HAVE to read Hooked, by Les Edgerton.

There. Assignment issued. I won't even mind too much if you stop reading my post to go purchase it.

Of course if you're like me and need a little more INFORMATION before you depart with your hard-earned cash, then read on to discover my glowing review.

The book, itself, is short and squatty, but it makes the most of its small stature, cramming into its tiny frame plenty of meaty tips to infuse your writing with page-turning power. I recommend reading it with a highlighter in hand. The rebel in me (which is admittedly pretty starved for action) loves an excuse to color away on any book, and this one gave me plenty of practice drawing my straight yellow lines.

Some of my favorites:

"Summary doesn't convince anyone of anything."

"The single biggest fault of most writers is that they simply don't trust the reader's intelligence to 'get' what's going on without providing lengthy backstory."

"If stories are always about one thing and one thing only--trouble--then the story shouldn't really begin at any time other than when the trouble begins. The story simply doesn't exist before that point."

Edgerton uses his vast experience in the publishing, writing, and teaching industries to create a book that informs you like a textbook and charms you like a bestseller.

Plus, he gives examples of his favorite first liners.

Which begs the question--what is your favorite first line from a book?

Happy Reading.

Story Engineering: Mastering the Six Core Competencies of Successful Writing

2011-05-19T00:23:00.000-07:00

First I have to say, this book changed my writing life.

That's a bold statement, I know, but I stand by it. Before I picked up this snapshot into the successful writing world, I was like a treading-water writer. In other words, I was quite apt at working extremely hard at GOING NOWHERE.

Having said that, I know this is not the particular problem of a lot of writers. Many are capable of sitting down and scribbling out a first draft, without hardly stopping for a breath. And some of those actually create something amazing without much need for touch up.

I, on the other hand, pluck along at the computer keys, trying to create, while the pushy editor in my head is shouting: "THIS IS NO GOOD!" "You call THAT writing?" "The only one who's going to want to read this is YOU." "And maybe your mom. Maybe." When my pushy editor is in a good mood she tones down her criticism, but her words are every bit as invasive. "Are you sure you want that word there?" "Isn't there a better way to say that?" "I know you've already rewritten this scene 153 1/2 times but I think you've got another one to fifty rewrites left in you." And the worst of all, "Do you really think you're good enough?"

This was my own form of writer's block.

The Six Core Competencies and Story Engineering really changed that for me. I've never experienced such a practical guide to polishing the craft and really working through all the issues, all the necessary characteristics of great writing. Brooks teaches you what to do to achieve "professional" levels in the core competencies. His most helpful advice for me dealt with structuring the story. After I finished his book, I applied the techniques and FINALLY pushed through my novel. I had tools for success.

A word of warning. Brooks loves his metaphors. A lot. And he spends too much time defending his position of story engineering verses "pantsing" or writing your story organically, with little to know consideration for outlining. I can understand why. He is probably constantly having to defend this position to experienced writers who do the same techniques he talks about but without consciously knowing it.

But if you can plow through his metaphors (some of which are marvelous) to the main parts, you'll undoubtedly find the jewels of advice that I did.

Happy Writing!

Book Review: Depth of Deceit

2011-04-22T12:45:00.000-07:00

2010 Winner of the Silver Quill for second place in the Fiction category for the League of Utah Writers Publication Awards.

Blond and stunningly beautiful, fledgling attorney Stephanie Saunders vows to protect the innocent even though as indigent defense attorney her clients rarely are. Does that include Josh Durrant, who seems to be following her? Stephanie is dismayed when her peers begin calling her "Prom Queen" like boyfriend, Todd Saxton, often does. While desperately trying to prove her credibility in her profession, she overlooks a scheme to steal her innocence. Although she plans to forgive Todd for his ultimate betrayal, she is never given the chance. Her boss, Attorney Charles Connelly, offers support, but is Stephanie's welfare, or his own, top priority? The only thing that keeps Stephanie sane in her insane world are the hores she loves but does not own. The example of the abused mare, Riskie Business, helps Stephanie make the most difficult decision of her life. Relying on wit and courage, Stephanie must save herself and another during the final showdown where she proves a loyalty and strength of which she never knew herself capable.

Well, this blurb had me interested, I have to admit. I love a good romance thriller, and throw in a mix of law (which usually leads to crazy bad guys) and horses (which makes me all happy and nostalgic, even though I know nothing about them) and I figure I'm in for a good read. So when a friend of mine asked me to review this book for a fellow writer, Betty Briggs, I couldn't refuse. For my participation, I received a free copy of the book in question. Yes!

This book has many things going for it. It is a clean romance thriller with a heroine you want to root for and a love interest that's, well, loveable. Not to mention hunky. The premise is intriguing, and the danger the heroine faces keeps the pace moving along nicely. The majority of the book is a quick read, which makes it the perfect companion for a weekend getaway--the way I enjoyed it. I also loved the substory of Stephanie with the horses she loves. There was sadness and darkness in the story, too, which adds to the reader's desire to root for the heroine, yet Brigg's keeps it light enough that it doesn't cause despair. I also found many of the descriptions to be beautifully-written.

My biggest complaint about this story is with the character development of the heroine and other key players. It was difficult to comprehend some of the heroine's motivations and actions because we know so little about her beyond the fact that she is an orphan. A little more background information might have lent itself to helping the reader understand why Stephanie does what she does, or even why she seems so naive for a 21st-century woman. I also would have loved to have her figure out more of the mystery on her own insead of having most of it told to her by others. And a little more time interacting with (or combatting)the main villains, who have almost no "screen time," would have helped to show her strength. At times, I found the dialogue to be forced and unnatural, and sometimes the verbal sparring between Stephanie and her love interest missed the mark. Finally, the author failed to capture a strong finish when she allowed the resolution to drag on for several chapters after her gripping climax.

If you enjoy reading clean romance thrillers and a quick read with likeable characters, then this might just be the thing for you. To order Depth of Deceit, click here.

About the Author (from book cover): A retired legal secretary of thirty-three years and lifetime horse lover, Betty notes that some of her experiences sneak into her story lines, but not without embellishments. Already the author of four young adult books, she is excited to introduce Depth of Deceit, her first mainstream novel. She is the mother of two grown children adn grandmother to five. She lives in teh Rocky Mountains with her husband, Scott. Her three horses round out the family. Find out more about Betty and her books at www.bettybriggs.com.

Extreme Mothering: Tiger-Mom Verses Absent-Mom Verses the REAL Mom

2011-03-05T11:06:00.000-08:00

A month ago I read the article in Time Magazine about the self-proclaimed Tiger Mom, Amy Chua, who berated, threatened, and strong-armed her children into "excellence"--her form of excellence anyway. Ms. Chua's in-your-face mothering leaves little wiggle room for her children to step a toe out of line as she molds them into the adults she wants them to be. (Read full article here.)

Contrast that with the article I read today about a woman who took the opposite extreme--divorced her husband and gave up custodial rights to her children when she had an "a-ha" moment and realized she no longer wanted to be a mother but would rather pursue her professional writing ambitions. She claims this new lack of 24/7 mothering gives her the opportunity to be the kind of mother she wants to be when her kids come to visit. You know the one--she meets her kids at the door with a plate of cookies to snack on before they sit down to her well-planned, perfectly wholesome dinner. This mother is fresh and energetic to help her children with any concerns or troubles they might have in the short time she has with them. (Read full article here.)

Well, yeah! Of course she's a better mom for those two or three days she gets them. But I have to wonder what her measure of a good mom is. She didn't have to stay up all night with the child who had a cough and fever the week before, so OF COURSE she feels fresh and eager to talk to him for five minutes about his day and then pat herself on the back and think with self-congratulation--"My, what a good mother I am now." She didn't spend hours helping one kid struggle through a science fair entry and another work on an essay for literature class, but she sure is one great mom for having a fresh plate of cookies for them when they come to visit.

Inserting finger into mouth and gagging now.

These two ladies get recognized because of their extreme forms of mothering. In short, their kind of stories sell. They cause a buzz. People talk. And then those people feel strong emotions one way or the other. And some question what they are doing. Should they adopt similar extreme attitudes?

But what about all those mothers who are out there quietly doing the back-breaking, time-chewing, self-forgetting job of REAL motherhood? Their stories aren't as juicy, as gossip-happy. The only thing extreme about them is their love for their children. They don't have fancy methods. In fact much of the time they wonder if they're really cut out for the job. They KNOW they don't hold all the answers. Maybe their children watch too much TV sometimes, or they don't learn to read before they enter kindergarten. Maybe their children have runny noses a few minutes too long before they get wiped. And sometimes dinner is a box of macaroni and cheese or "GASP" cold cereal. But these mothers find a few moments during the day to sit and read to their child. They let her make a mess in the kitchen when she wants to make pancakes on a Saturday morning, and then they praise her for her less-than-perfect results. They puzzle for hours over a new method to teach math so their 2nd grader won't fall behind in his studies. They clean a bathroom when they'd rather be reading a book. And they are making their chocolate-chip cookies with a six-month old on one hip and a two-year-old who can't wait to pour in the chips--and the whole group waiting eagerly to lick the bowl, spoon, and beaters.

And if necessary, these are the ones who modify or place on hold their own ambitions in order to help their children achieve their full potential. You might not read about their story at all, but they're out there, thank goodness.

These are the REAL mothers. And in my opinion they deserve the most attention of all.

Another Retreat

2010-11-15T14:06:00.000-08:00

From reading my blog, you might be tempted to think I spend my life hopping from one retreat to another, and while this is partially true, there are a lot of other things that fill up the moments in between. Those other things just don't give me as much to fill up the white space on a blog. I mean, who really wants to read about my adventures in freshman math homework? Or my travelings to and from piano lessons? Although the time I got lost for two hours somewhere in the Redmond, Washington farmlands might prove for good reading. All I can say is Thank GOODNESS for books on CD. And thank goodness my son is a virtual saint and doesn't mind being picked up an hour late. And thank GOODNESS he had the good sense to walk to the nearest place of business so the piano teacher didn't get to learn about my ditsyness!

But getting back to my obsession with conferences, retreats, seminars, or anything that says, "Come and partake of something great!" It's fair to claim that I'm a junky. My friend *Marnie is too. Our most recent escapade was a trip to Time Out For Women, presented by Deseret Book. We hopped in Marnie's car and headed for Portland last weekend for a ladies' getaway.

"Road trip" takes on a new meaning when it's with a great friend (and no one's whining, "How much longer?"). And even the rain in Portland didn't dampen our spirits as we trekked through the streets searching for a great spot to eat the second night.
We settled on Jake's Famous Crawfish. Imagine our delight when our meanderings landed us at the doorstep of one of Portland's oldest and most favored restaurants. We enjoyed a delicious seafood dinner before returning to our room for the night.

The highlight for me, though, was the conference itself. The theme centered on Hope, yet I heard tales of struggle, trial, and even tragedy from nearly every presenter. It was how they faced these tradegies with hope intact that made it such a beautiful and meaningful experience.

We arrived home just in time for me to attend church with my family. A little over an hour later I was called to be the Primary President of our ward. Retreat OVER!

*Name changed to protect the innocent. But you know who you are Marnie!

Northwest Writer's Retreat

2010-10-11T12:33:00.000-07:00

I just got back from the Northwest Writer's Retreat. A glowing report follows.

First off, the scenery was breathtaking. Nestled in a tiny cove near Deception Pass State Park, the Rosario Beach Marine Laboratory was like an artist's depiction of a writer's getaway. Don't let the name worry you. They kept the science laboratories well hidden so as not to freak out us writerly types.

The cabins were charming and eerily "Lost"-like, lined up in neat even rows as though in anticipation of "the Others" coming home from a raid in the jungle. I kept expecting Juliette or Sawyer, or--heaven forbid!--Benjamin Linus to walk around the corner at any moment. Fortunately, or unfortunately in the case of Sawyer--I could've gone for him calling me "Freckles,"--that didn't happen. The name would fit, though, don't you think? But see here, my imagination is getting away from me. Occupational hazard.

Anyway, upon arriving I took one look at the ocean shore of the picturesque cove and felt like I had just landed in a writer's paradise. Could I please just stay here for a month with nothing to do but write? Well, okay, I'd probably go nuts for my husband and kids after that long but a WEEK! A week is all I ask.

Instead I was destined for two days. But how well they were spent! The food was delicious, the classes on writing, perfection. The networking with talented, like-minded souls--priceless. I sort of feel like a credit card commercial now, but seriously, it was tremendous.

Janette Rallison, the author in residence, is as classy and generous a lady as you can ever meet, with a vast understanding of the business. I had the distinct pleasure of driving her and another great lady to the airport after the retreat. I know, poor me, right?

The event's sponsors, the INTUIT ladies of ANWA (American Night Writer's Association) know how to shine, and they seem to want nothing more than to spread their light around. So if you are also a like-minded soul, come on up next year. How could you possibly not after that report?

Book Review--Defensive Tactics by Steve Westover

2010-09-29T13:43:00.000-07:00

Steve Westover's debut novel Defensive Tactics is an LDS action thriller that tackles more than just a corrupt judge, a crime boss, a possible FBI mole, and all the bad-guy goons we love to see in this type of story. He also delves into deeper issues like moral relativism. How far should one go, for example, in performing the requirements of a job--especially if that job is one that can affect the greater good? And what are the implications of doing the right thing for the wrong reasons? Or what is the proper response to sexual harrassment?

Paul Stevens has a great job at the FBI and a budding romance with the beautiful Emily, a fellow agent. Then Jimmy, a childhood friend who's life has taken a tragic turn, winds up on his doorstep looking for a handout. Jimmy's interest in Emily puts Paul's friendship to the test. Meanwhile, Emily's work to take down a corrupt judge places her life in danger, and Paul is forced to put his job on the line to protect her. Soon Jimmy and Paul join forces as they race to save her life.

There are many things I liked about this book. First of all, Westover manages to play nicely into one of my own fantasies--to be an FBI (or CIA) agent. Of course I imagine myself speaking a half dozen languages and kung fu-ing bad guys until they beg for mercy, but Emily's response to undercover work is a lot closer to what my reality would be, which, oddly enough, worked for me quite well. The escape scene toward the end was one of my favorite parts of the book, and Emily proves that sometimes it's good to be underestimated. Which is great, since my language skills won't send the CIA knocking on my door anytime soon and my kung fu would be more of the Kung Fu Panda style rather than the Sidney Bristow style. But hey, that's where imagination comes in. Anyway, sometimes it's nice when imagination doesn't have to work quite so hard, and I could really relate to the character of Emily.

I also liked that Westover gave the reader bigger picture ideas to think about in his book. As mentioned before, this book isn't simply a quick, action-packed read--though the pace does move along nicely. Westover seeks to show how everyday life can sometimes bring out the best and worst in each of us. And like any good book should, his ends with his main characters achieving real growth.

The English major in me can't help but point out that several times I wanted to take out my red pen and mark passages that I found either poorly executed or lacking in typical conventions I would expect in published work. Sometimes point of view shifted inappropriately, for one. These issues might not be so nails-on-the-chalkboard for some readers, but it was enough to cause me to cringe more than once. At other times the story lagged or seemed contrived or that resolution of difficult issues came too easily. There were also issues that never seemed to be resolved with the main characters, like Jimmy's broken relationship at the beginning of the book that gets mentioned only in passing later on, even though it seems like it should have had more fleshing out.

Perhaps my biggest complaint would be that I wanted more out of the story and more character development. The plot is fantastic, the characters are likeable, if sometimes predictable, but I think so much more could have been developed here. Having said that, Westover leaves the story with unanswered questions that could work nicely into a second novel with the same characters. I, for one, would want to read it if he does.

Overall, this is a great first novel, and Steve Westover shows promise in this genre. I look forward to his future work.

To learn more about Steve Westover visit his blog
here.

To purchase this book at Amazon, click here.

Please share your comments below! I love to hear from you.

In exchange for my review, I received an advanced reader's copy of this book. This in no way affected my review.

Quote for the Day

2010-09-03T09:01:00.000-07:00

"Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to . . . live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat." Theodore Roosevelt

Blushingly Yours

2010-06-03T08:06:00.001-07:00

It's hard to believe it's been two months since my last post. That proves it right there. My life's been busy. If I never have another spring like this past one, that's okay by me.

Though it's had its little beauties too.

Last night I witnessed my son take home the MVP award for his high school lacrosse team. As the only goalie for both the freshman and JV teams, he single-handedly won it on most-games-played alone, which averaged about three a week. But he is a great goalie too. Even if I weren't his proud mama, I'd think so. Still, you add three games a week and practice every other day but Sunday (occasional Saturdays off) and we had a doozy of a season.

And that's just kiddo number one.

I also attended numerous competitive cheer competitions in which my fourteen-year-old daughter helped her team to an undefeated champion-ship season in her division. The culminating event was the All-Level Cheer Competition in Long Beach. Yes, I flew to Long Beach too. I know. Poor me.

All in all it has been a busy-but-happy spring. And I'm looking forward to a great--and hopefully relaxing summer.

The Help: A Review

2010-03-25T12:28:00.001-07:00

Quite simply--I. Loved. It.

I really can't think of a thing I didn't like. I only wanted it to last longer. If you don't have time to read the rest of my review, just know it's worth your time to read this book. Go on. Read it.

And now, for the review--

One of my favorite things about reading is the chance it gives me to leave my own life behind--what is living, breathing reality to me--and experience the reality of another.

It's thrilling, actually. In a matter of minutes I zip into another world, another time, another country, and experience what I'd never experience if I lived a hundred times over. And as my fingers slide through the pages, my mind slides into the consciousness of another, and I am feeling, breathing, living that life--if for only a few hours.

Of course some writers capture me better than others. Some beckon me so strongly to that other world that I must force myself back to my own, scraping up the will power to WAIT. I don't want to miss my own life going on all around me, after all, even if that life is waiting for me in the form of dishes or laundry or bathrooms. Okay. Maybe not so much then.

Anyway, some books do their job so well that when the visit is over, my heart hurts a bit at the finality of "The End." It seems almost a tragedy not to have the characters--now my dear friends--step out of the book and into my life. For in the pages they seem so real. I LOVE it when that happens!

And no matter what my rational mind tells me. Those characters are real. So real I can hear them breathing.

The characters that most recently "breathed" for me are the three heroines of The Help, a touching story set in the south during the turbulent 1960s.

Eugenia "Skeeter" returns home to Jackson, Mississippi, after graduating from Ole Miss. She returns to her parents and her high-society friends but struggles to return to her old way of living and viewing life. The black maid who raised her, and whom she loves dearly, is nowhere to be found, and mystery surrounds her departure. She starts to notice the hypocrisy and ugliness of her society in general and her own friends in particular.

Wise and regal Aibileen is a black maid who works in the home of Skeeter's friend, Elizabeth. She is raising her 17th white child. After years of service to wealthy white families, something inside her changes when her only son, Treelore, is killed in a terrible accident. She tells her story in an eloquent yet authentic dialect.

Minny is Aibileen's best friend and mother to many of her own children. She is sassy and strong, but her tongue has gotten her into trouble, and she finds herself fired, yet again.

Together these three women embark on a dangerous journey of "what if." What if, in a world where people seem frantic to hold on to the ugliness and injustices of the past, things could change?

From a 21st century perspective, it's almost appalling to believe that just a short time ago things were in such need of changing. My own visit in this particular "life" sent me swinging from relief that things are not like that anymore to horror that it was ever that bad.

And yes, I paid attention in history class. I learned about the civil rights movement. And I love it every year when my kids come home and tell me what they've learned about Martin Luther King or Rosa Parks. But there is something different--something life-giving--to the experience when you read about it in fiction.

Does fiction make it truer? More real? I wonder, sometimes. This particular portion of history is truer for me now than it has ever been before.

The Help is told masterfully, alternating from the perspectives of each of these women. I loved the authenticity of their voices--each different and each a treasure of humor, sorrow, wisdom, and individual growth. The relationship of Aibileen and her "17th child," Mae Mobley, is reason enough to read the book, but there are so many others.

Quite simply I loved it. And you're so lucky if you still have this journey ahead of you. My advice--take it soon.

Will Power and Peanut Butter Kiss Cookies

2010-03-22T13:55:00.001-07:00

I ask you. . . . Is it my fault my husband left the Hershey's Kisses my daughter won in an estimating contest out on the counter? Can I be blamed for the fact that as I walked past them, sitting all shiny and inviting on the counter, I was forced to acknowledge the best way to enjoy those drops of milk chocolate is when they're sitting squatty and soft on the cushion of a warm peanut butter cookie? Can you really fault me for remembering with some satisfaction that I possess what is arguably the best peanut butter cookie recipe on the planet (thank you Mom). And is it further my fault that upon thinking this I immediately remembered the jar of creamy peanut butter in my cupboard that may as well be used right now?

I think not.

I pause for a moment, though. My extra ten pounds are laughing at me. They know they've been given a reprieve, having had war declared on them in January. A glance again at the Kisses seals the deal. As I gather the ingredients I comfort myself with this oft-told truth: "Tomorrow is another day with no mistakes in it." Thank you Anne Shirley. I feel so much better.

The first two ingredients are my favorite to do. The peanut butter and butter blend together into a smooth pattern of golden ripples that glide across the bottom of the mixing bowl. It's like art. There's no turning back now--even if I wanted to. Which, of course, I don't.

As I add the sugar and the rest of the ingredients, as I form the cookies into little balls of peanut butter bliss and place them on the cookie sheet, as I unwrap each individual kiss, I consider ways of disposing of the evidence of my New-Years-resolution-breaking "crime."

Hmm. Maybe I'll eat them all before he gets home from the gym.

And so you can enjoy them too . . .

Here's the recipe.

Peanut Butter Kiss Cookies
1/2 cup buttter, softened
1/2 cup peanut butter
1 1/3 cups flour
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1/3 cup sour cream
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Mix peanut butter and butter with an electric mixer on medium speed for 30 seconds.
Add 1/2 cup flour, the sugars, baking soda, baking powder, vanilla, and egg. Beat until thoroughly combined.
Fold in sour cream, and then add remaining flour. Mix.
Cover and chill dough until easy to manage. (Unless you can't wait, like me at this particular time, in which case you can forgo the "shaping" step below and plop them with a spoon onto cookie sheet to put in the oven even quicker!)
Shape dough into 1-inch balls and place on a cookie sheet.
Bake at 375 degrees for 7 to 9 minutes. For softest cookies, do not overbake. (Plus, you can eat them that much sooner.)
Remove from oven and place an unwrapped kiss in the center of each cookie while cookie is still warm. Allow kiss to sit for several seconds, melting the bottom and then press it down again.
Try to have more self-control than I do when enjoying these treats.

Book Review: The Sapphire Flute by Karen E. Hoover

2010-03-18T04:27:00.000-07:00

I'm excited to share my first official book review. Official because my friend--the fabulous Tristi Pinkston, editor and author extraordinaire--asked me to review a book that is being released by Valor Publishing Group, a company for which she is the senior editor. For doing so, I have received an Advanced Reader's Edition. I feel so official!

Karen Hoover's debut novel, The Sapphire Flute , is the first in The Wolfchild Saga. It was released on March 16, 2010, so you can get it right now by clicking this nifty Amazon link here. (I'm very proud of myself for figuring out how to do that.)

This story follows two young women.

Kayla is on the verge of achieving her dreams. After years of banishment, the king has recognized her worth as a musician of extraordinary and even magical talent. Now she is on the verge of getting everything she's ever wanted--reinstatement and a return to honor for her family, and marriage to the man of her dreams. But when the king honors her with the guardianship of the Sapphire Flute, her life is thrown into a whirlwind of danger as the evil and desperate C'Tan will stop at nothing to capture this powerful magical tool.

Ember has been hidden all her life from this same C'Tan, who seeks her for an entirely different reason. As Ember starts to uncover the mystery of who she really is, she learns she possesses remarkable powers of her own, including an inherited secret from her father--a secret that brings deadly forces against her.

My Review--

This Story starts out terrific. A father rushes to save his baby daughter from his enemy--someone he thought he could trust. Someone he even loved. The betrayal is devastating, and his sacrifice touches the reader with emotion. I was definitely ready for a gripping story by the end of the prologue.

The pace did not hold consistently, however, for the rest of the story. At times it moved along in a rhythm that captured me and urged me on, but often it was slow and a bit unnatural-feeling. I should note that interruptions to the pace are an intentional part of the story because the author jumps back and forth between the two main characters so that the reader jumps to a different story just when he or she is getting into the groove of the other one. At times this worked more effectively than others, especially when both stories were at a crucial point. But occasionally it was a bit irritating--in an I-want-to-skip-to-the-next-chapter sort of way.

I also would've liked to see more character development. I liked all the characters, but sometimes their actions seemed a little too conveniently naive. I didn't get enough from each to make them feel unique and like living, breathing beings. I imagine this will change as the story progresses in later books.

There were a lot of things I really liked about the book, though. Some of Hoover's ideas were quite creative. I loved the concept of being able to see different types of magic as different colors. I also really liked the special gift Ember's father gave her by way of his friend, though we don't understand much about its significance in this book. Hoover does a great job of bringing the reader along in the thought process Ember goes through as she learns of her powers and how to use them. In general Ember's character seemed more developed and natural to me.

Overall, I would recommend this book to those who love epic fantasy because it promises to be an interesting series as the writer grows with her characters and her story.

If you want to learn more about Karen E. Hoover, visit her website here.

If you want to congratulate me on successfully posting two links to my first-ever official book review or if you want to tell me anything at all, leave a comment below!

Bleeding on the Screen

2010-03-03T10:33:00.000-08:00

"Your best writing . . . will come out of you when you care what you're writing about. Caring will draw things out of you that have nothing to do with spelling or query letters or subscriptions to writing magazines. Bleed your caring onto the paper or computer screen." Jerry Spinelli

That last phrase is the one that hooked me. Up till then Jerry's advice was, well, nothing new. No offense Jerry. I'm sure you "cared" about what you were writing and all, but I've heard this particular writing tip so many times it's practically useless--like telling a boxer if he wants to win the match he needs to punch his opponent. But then you said "bleed." Now that's something.

I've had a few bleeding moments, I've decided, in my writing "career." But nothing recently. And isn't it ironic that when you get that bleeding moment you actually feel . . . ALIVE!

Books Are My Shoes: Memoirs of a Shopaholic . . . of sorts

2010-02-03T13:39:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I went to the bookstore looking for The Lightening Thief series for my kids.

Okay. I'll be honest. It was for me first. Then my kids. But the movie's out, and I LOVE an excuse to go to the movies--especially a good fantasy. There's something about munching on the heart-attack-in-a-bucket popcorn, sipping an ice-filled-all-the-way-to-the-top diet coke, and melting into the adventure on the bigscreen that just hits a bullseye on my little happiness spot. However, since I'm a reader first--my true love in life--I try to keep myself to one simple rule.

Read the book first.

Enter a trip to the bookstore.

This time, as I made my way through the familiar doors, I noticed a new display reminding me that it is black history month and urging me to pick up something to help me celebrate. I was sufficiently urged.

My eye fell on a book with a beautiful black woman on the cover. Kindred, it was called, by Octavia Butler. It tells of a 26-year-old modern black woman who keeps getting sent back in time to rescue slaves. Mmm. Danger and intrigue mixed with history and a dash of science fiction. I half-heartedly perused some other possibilities, but the truth is this one spoke to me from the first--kind of like that scene from Memoirs of a Shopaholic when the green scarf talks to Becky Bloomwood. And while the book didn't go so far as to promise me my dream job, I knew, as soon as I riffled through its pages, that I would walk out of there with it neatly clutched in my hands.

My other selection, besides The Lightening Thief--yes, I actually bought the book I had come for--was The Princess Bride. I know what you're thinking. Hasn't she seen the movie? Of course, she has! And I think it might actually cause me physical pain to read a book for which I have not only seen the movie, but also memorized numerous favorite parts. It's a classic. However, this is for a book club I belong to, so I'm hoping the promise of book-conversation (another favorite) will make up for the lack of "surprise." Who am I kidding--I know I'll enjoy the book because, well, it's a book! But oh how I HATE knowing the ending--plus a lot of the juicy middles--before I've even turned the first page. Hopefully there will be some surprises along the way anyhow.

I might have known I'd go into the store for one book and come out with three. I'm such a sucker for books. My kids know this about me and sneakily ask for them at every opportunity, sensing an easy sale. I've started to catch on and have put my foot down until they finish the stacks on their bookshelves at home.

I decided on this particular trip to the bookstore, though, as my heart lightened and my mood improved in anticipation of my purchases, that I'm not like many women I know who experience such feelings when they walk by a display of designer shoes. I've never had that tingling for shoes. Then I realized--books are my shoes.

And I've got it just as bad as anyone.

What Should I Have Done?

2010-01-22T13:40:00.001-08:00

You know that feeling you get when you WISH you had the right words in a given situation, but they don't come to you until after the fact? Right about the time when whoever or whatever has "gotten your goat" is long gone, possibly even smirking at your expense? Well Miss Not-So-Quick-On-Her-Toes here gets this feeling a little too often--and not just when I'm trying to reason with my teenagers! Maybe that's one reason I enjoy writing. I can take as long as I want to formulate the best response, the most argument-stopping dialogue if I have a moment or two to sift through the piles of such stuff stored (not so neatly) in my head.

Though being tongue-tied is a regular occurrence for me, getting upset enough for confrontation is rare. But listen to this.

Wednesday night, a little before 9:00 P.M. I got a call from a soliciter who wanted to talk to my 15-year-old son. "No way," I'm thinking, so I asked him what it was regarding. He said he wanted to pay him $75 to test out video games on Saturday. Now granted, I was a little on the peaved side to be getting a call like this in the evening when I want the rest of the day to myself and when I automatically assume any calls I get will be from people I actually want to talk to. So I may not have been my most patient self, but considering the fact that I'd rather have Christopher do actual work if he's going to get paid for something, and the fact that I'd have little or no say over what video games he was testing out, and the fact that he doesn't need a reason to play more video games, I gave a polite but resounding "no thank you." There was a pause at the other end of the phone, and I could tell the guy was thinking--"What right do you have to make that decision."

A few minutes later I got a call from my friend, who'd given him our name but told him not to call so late. Apparently he had called her back and asked if there was a way to get around me because I had "shut him down." She told him very politely that he should not bother us anymore because it was obvious that it wasn't something we were interested in and that my son was a minor and his parents would ultimately make that decision. We chatted for a few minutes and sort of laughed about his persistence and his sneakiness by calling my friend. I thought that would be the end of it.

The next night at 6:00 P.M., dinner hour, we got a phone call, and this time my son picked up. I could tell the call was for him, which was unusual since his friends always call him on his cell phone. Immediately I thought it might be the same person who'd called the night before but then dismissed the idea. I mean who's that brazen? I listened with half my attention while I continued to make dinner, but I could tell almost immediately it was the same person, and my son was really getting excited about what he was hearing. Finally after a few moments I looked over at my son and gave him this knowing-mother-look thing that if he weren't such a great kid he probably would've wanted to roll his eyes at.

"You're not going," I said sweetly, though my blood was about as boiling as the water for the rice I was preparing. At this point it probably wouldn't have mattered if the guy was completely legitimate and quadrupeling his offer. I was too angry. The NERVE!

"What?" he mouthed, confused.

"I talked with this person last night and specifically told him we wouldn't be interested, and I'm appalled he would call back and try to get around me."

I thought Christopher would've let the conversation take its normal course and then politely hang up with a non-committal response, but he surprised me by telling the guy what I said. I found out later that the man stumbled out a response that he thought Christopher was old enough to drive and could therefore come on his own.

Can you believe that?

So did I overreact? Or is that guy a creep and his "deal" a little too good to be true? What do you think? I'm dying to know.

Getting Behind!

2010-01-19T13:27:00.001-08:00

Reading a book a week is not as easy as I thought. Okay so maybe I never thought it would be easy, but I'm notorious for underestimating the challenge of a given task and overestimating my ability to accomplish said task. It would be easier if I could give in to the teenager inside me completely and "go on vacation" for 52 weeks, but this is the real world. And in the real world I'm a mom. So things like the holidays (Christmas in particular) don't take off without a huge contribution on my part. Neither do homework assignments, bathroom cleanings, dinner preparations, etc. ETC. ETC!

And to make things even more interesting, I have been rather demanding of myself in this particular goal--raising the standard for myself, I suppose. I have wanted to experience a wide variety of reading materials, a large portion of which would be more challenging, so I have taken measures to make sure I'm not just reading quick-to-process books. That is so tempting, but honestly, I wouldn't really get what I want to out of this experience. So a balance is necessary.

However . . .

In an effort to get back on track, I have bumped a few of my quicker reads up to the top of the list. Hence my latest two books. Read about them below!

There is something so exhilarating about a quick read!

New Series . . . Sort of

2010-01-19T12:50:00.000-08:00

Okay, so "Hunger Games" isn't exactly a new series, but it's new to me! And the 3rd book in the trilogy isn't scheduled for release until August 2010, so I guess technically it's sort of new. Anyway, I just finished reading book two: Catching Fire, and I now enter that deliciously frustrating phase of WAITING. FOR. THE. NEXT. BOOK!

Ugh! (Drumming fingers on laptop keyboard and watching the clock!)

Fortunately, I have a large stack of books at my bedside still awaiting my touch. I shall pass the time well enough.

In the meantime . . .

This exciting trilogy takes place in future North America--only the country as we know it no longer exists. Instead you find yourself thrust into the dark and devastating world of Panem--a brutal country where freedom is a thing of the past, the very distant past.

Years before, the citizens of Panem, living in 13 districts controlled by an all-powerful capital, launched a rebellion to gain their freedom. The rebellion failed, and the thirteenth district, the instigator, was completely destroyed. As punishment, the remaining 12 districts are now forced to send one boy and one girl, between the ages of 12 and 18, every year to The Hunger Games--a fight to the death. And there can be only one victor.

When her 12-year-old sister is chosen from her district, 16-year-old Katniss Everdeen immediately volunteers to take her place. What follows is a gripping story of love and sacrifice and of coming-of-age within the horrors of the worst imaginable human cruelty. You will ask yourself how this could possibly ever happen even as you realize how shockingly it resembles some of history's darkest moments.

Having said that--

From the description, I have to admit I wouldn't have picked up this book had it not been for the GLOWING recommendation of a dear and admired friend. It just didn't sound like me. So here is a case, as so often happens, when word-of-mouth made all the difference for me. Hopefully it will make all the difference for you too.

Quote for the Day

2010-01-08T10:23:00.001-08:00

Life is lonely right now. Guess I'll go socialize with a book.
--Me

Quote for the Day

2010-01-07T12:12:00.001-08:00

"A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us."
--Franz Kafka

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle

2010-01-07T11:25:00.001-08:00

Many of you are ahead of me, I'm sure, and already know what a great book this is. For those of you who haven't read it yet--

Wow.

I've just finished it this morning and am overcome with a whirlwind of emotions. In fact I'm still in the dream of the book. You'll know what I mean when you read it.

And the only thing I can rightly say is read it. I got it by chance at the library and remembered a vague reference to it on Oprah--back in my television days. I figured it would be a worthy candidate for my 52 in 52. Indeed it was.

I knew I was in trouble with my library copy when I was overcome with the desire to take out my trusty highlighter and shade in all the brillilant lines. There are many. Halfway through I bought my own book when the desire became too insistent. I'd like to go on with details of the book, plot, characters, etc.--it's a book that must be discussed, afterall. You'll find it difficult to take this journey alone, and perhaps impossible to experience it mute--like Edgar.

I'm here for you when you're done!

But for now, I can't say anymore. I hope you will take the journey fresh and without expectations. If you can stand it, (I don't know that I'd have the resolve) read it without looking inside the cover for hints, and without seeking out the numerous recommendations and reviews that flood the front pages.

Know that it is good.

Read it for the language. Read it for the characters--so real. Read it for the plot that refuses to be ordinary. Read it for the love of a dog.

You have a great journey--all new--before you. And I sort of envy you that.

By Moonlight

2009-12-29T00:35:00.001-08:00

It's not every night a nearly-full moon lines up just right with the skylight in my bathroom to create a glow strong enough to creep into my bedroom. At first I thought I'd left a light on somewhere and I went to investigate. There, like a nearly perfect pearl in the sky, it beamed down into my bathroom and cast a moonlit path that stretched across the floor and then spread like a decorative blanket over a large triangle of my bed. I could have shut the bathroom door to have the perfect darkness I usually need for sleep, but falling asleep by moonlight sounded so romantic.

Trouble is, it was a little too romantic. Literarily speaking.

Immediately my brain went to work advertising all the creative ideas I'd sent on holiday since Thanksgiving. Things I could do for my children. Things I was looking forward to doing with my children--our trip to Florida in February, for one. Books I could be reading. Books I could be writing. And of course: my blogs.

Those of you who know me well already know that sleepless nights are not unusual for me. If I have let the busyness of life take me away from creative pursuits for too long, sooner or later it catches up with me and sleep is beyond reach. Hence the name of this blog, though to be more accurate I should probably dub it: "write by computer-light" since that is typically how it goes down.

When I am caught in a frenzy of creativity, there is little more to do than sneak away from my bed (so as not to disturb my husband who rarely shares this problem) and head for the computer.

Only there can I find relief from the sentences that were forming in my mind moments before. Only then can I hope to find the eventual sleep I will need for the tasks that come by morning light.

So tonight, as the moon now peeks through my office window, it's "write by moonlight" for me.

Quote for the Day

2009-11-09T10:38:00.000-08:00

If you make your birthday cake with freshly ground whole wheat flour, does that mean you get to eat two pieces?
--Me ;)

Quote for the Day

2009-11-06T21:30:00.000-08:00

"If you're not prepared to be wrong, you'll never come up with anything original."

--Sir Ken Robinson

Quote for the Day

2009-11-05T16:25:00.000-08:00

"Today I will do what others won't, so tomorrow I can accomplish what others can't."
--Jerry Rice, football player

52 in 52

2009-11-05T11:57:00.000-08:00

Books, that is. In weeks.

I'm blushing that I haven't posted something in two months. This is more a function of my "not-with-it-ness" than that I've been too busy. Busy, yes. But too busy? Um . . . no. Afraid not. Jim has been gone for much of that time, and I've gotten to experience single motherhood (sort of--it's not like I have to earn all the money too), but let's face it, I still found time to watch Dancing with the Stars, Castle, Heroes, Survivor, and The Amazing Race. Several episodes of each, in fact. For the truly committed, each episode could have represented a blog post or several hundred words in my novel.

But beyond single-motherhood (sort of) and television--which I sneak on my laptop via the internet since we've been "tv-free" since February--I have been busy with another activity.

And I love it.

So much.

I have challenged myself to read 52 books in 52 weeks. My goal coincides with the start of the school year, so this particular blog post should have come out some time in early September. Oh well. Perfection is for the next life.

The real point here, though, is that I have come back to something I love. For the first time in a long time I feel like I am actually being me.

Perhaps you know what I mean. Perhaps you have a kindred tale. Here's a brief glimpse of mine.

For the past 15 years I have been someone's mom--to one, then two, then three wonderful children. And let me be the first to exclaim there is nothing better than that. There is no title I hold dearer to my heart. There is nothing that gives greater joy and there is nothing that gives a greater challenge. But sometimes because of that joy and that challenge and all the other pieces that come together to form motherhood, it is easy to lose track of who you are as a person. When you scrape away all the other parts of your life and it's just you--not your kids, not your spouse. Who are you?

And what parts of yourself have you left behind along the way?

When I answered these questions I realized there were many items on the list.

And in reality, it is not fair for me to blame the loss of all of them on my being a mother and a spouse. Surely time management comes into the equation somewhere. And effort. Determination. Diligence.

As I look back on my life and the sacrifices I've made for my children and my husband there is not one sacrifice I would have changed if I could. In fact, the only thing I would change now if I could would be my own actions in response to a given sacrifice. What did I do with all the dead space in my life? What could I have accomplished if I had been a better steward of that time?

Perhaps the reason I feel so happy now is that I have taken a step towards filling the dead space of my life with beauty. Accomplishment. Intelligence.

So here is my goal.

1. Read 52 books in 52 weeks. By my estimation I will actually read more than this.

2. Read only books I have never read before. I can't go back to my favorites.

3. Read at least 30 books from authors I have never read.

4. Read at least 30 books that are considered classics.

5. Read at least one book recommended by each of my children.

6. Read at least one book with each of my children.

7. Read at least one book from each of the following genres: romance, young adult, fantasy, science fiction, mystery, historical fiction, children's fiction, British literary classic, French literary classic, American literary classic, Russian literary classic, Chinese/Japanese/Asian literary classic, memoir, self-improvement, poetry, biography, and general non-fiction.

8. Write about what I read.

Here is my first entry that should've been put into my blog.

September 3, 2009

52 books in 52 Weeks

Last night I was awakened by Annie at 3:38 A.M. It was an "emergency," she said. Lately I've had trouble getting her to stay in her own room all night long. I'm sure this has something to do with Jim being gone again. She has been coming in with grievances or concerns, both real and imaginary, more nights than not, so by way of encouragement I have "bribed" her with earning stars for staying all night long in her room--at least until the sun has been up for awhile. After she reaches a certain number of stars she gets a trip to Build-a-Bear. She's a sucker for all things cuddly.

Turns out it WAS an emergency. Her night light had burnt out. I took her back to bed and turned on the hall light for her.

But then I was up.

I knew what this meant. Still, I tried to deny it. I closed my eyes valiantly for nearly an hour trying to turn my brain off so I could go back to sleep, but it was no use. My brain had decided 4 hours of sleep was enough, and I needed to be up and feeding it or exercising it. Feeding it would have been reading. Exercising it would have been writing. Those are always my choices. As it was so early, and I was still a bit resentful that I wasn't able to return to dreamland, I decided on feeding. I had a smattering of books on my nightstand, all ones I snatch a chapter out of every now and then, but I grabbed the one I had gone to sleep with. It was a recommendation from Mae, which I had started reading so I could go to the movie with her when it comes out in winter 2010. It also happened to be the one I was racing her to finish. She was reading the second in the series while I read the first. I felt somewhat mischievous for reading our race book during the "forbidden" hours of the night. Hours in which I'd never let her read. It gave me a great advantage. But there should be some advantages to being a mom, right?

So there I lay reading for three-undisturbed hours. At one point I had hoped I would get sleepy enough to fall asleep again, but soon the pure joy of having so much time to myself was exactly what I wanted. Sleep. Shmeep!

I reluctantly returned to responsibility at 7:30 and went for a run--one of my goals this school year is to lose 10 pounds. The air was moist and filled with fog. It was refreshing, beautiful, the perfect atmosphere for my imagination, which had just been fed most heartily. The forest was like a snapshot from all the childhood fairytales I had read, and it proved as fertile to my imagination as its soil was to the trees and plants that surrounded me. I thought about my writing projects and my goals as I ran. I thought about the people who had inspired me over the summer with their greatness and goodness. I thought about the close call we had just had with H's health and how grateful I was that everything was okay. It felt like I had been given a second chance at life. I had prepared myself for one journey and had been magically handed another with beautiful and exciting possibilities. All of the sudden, it seemed, I could PLAN.

And plan I did.

Inspired by my sister-in-law's blogs, as well as a summer where "being all you can be" and "bloom where you're planted" and "there's no reason to put off doing what needs to be done" was repeatedly reinforced (thank you Uncle Ben and Aunt Lori), I made my plan.

This day had started with my acting like I hadn't acted in ages--like a girl with no worries for the next day. It would end with a plan to keep doing the same. I couldn't remember the last time I had read the night away. As a teenager it was quite common for me to read 1 to 2 books per week, but as an adult (when I wasn't in school and required to read) I was lucky if I plowed through one book a month. Chalk it up to responsibilities, I guess. Or too much TV. Or just plain laziness. But the truth is, I was living a lie. I wasn't being the person I was meant to be, the person I wanted to be. I was just letting life pass me by, throwing in a little effort from time to time when the inclination (or guilt) hit me, but more than anything, I was not reaching for any greatness within.

I've learned to take my inspiration when it comes, wherever it comes. Sometimes it's in the quiet moments at night when the kids are asleep and I am filling up the last moments before sleep. Sometimes it is in the car, driving from errand to errand. Sometimes it is when I'm busy about performing the duties of motherhood. This last is how my 52 books in 52 weeks idea came about. I had once accomplished this naturally while at school at BYU getting my English Literature degree. As I had recently put off my opportunity to finish my master’s degree due to family and financial needs, I was struck with the thrill of being the master of my own learning.
So, here goes . . .

Ignorance is Bliss

2009-08-28T23:11:00.000-07:00

A shot in the behind is not such a big deal, I thought, rather smugly, I might add, as I drove from the Costco pharmacy to my doctor's office. I even smiled at the trepidation in which my eight-year-old would have made the same journey if it had been she who would be pulling down her pants and supplying the nurse with a clear "shot" at her target, namely, my exposed derriere. Oh the drama, the tears (both real and engineered) that would have circulated my mini van had that been the case! But I--I was a pro with such things, I congratulated myself. So I happily performed my end of the deal by picking up the Rocephin shot from the pharmacy and driving the distance to the doctor's office with no more concern than that of a delivery boy . . . er girl, in this case.

Then I got to the doctor's office.

They greeted me amiably and asked me to sit in the waiting area after I explained my purpose for being there. The visit was all pre-arranged, of course, but that didn't stop the concern and hushed voices that drifted past the front desk and into my hearing as they discussed me. A moment later an aide came up to me and asked for the "instructions" from the pharmacist.

Okay.

I'm a big girl. It isn't necessarily alarming if the doctor's office needs to brush up on the instructions for administering a shot right? I wasn't sure if I was convincing myself. After enduring 30 minutes in an empty waiting room I decided I wasn't. They were seriously clueless.

I closed my eyes and imagined what website they were using for their crash course.

A few minutes later the nurse called me back. She looked nice. And young. I tried not to consider what she knew . . . or didn't know about shots, specifically Rocephin shots.

I didn't have to wait long to find out.

"This is one of the worst shots you can get. I'm afraid it's going to hurt," she said apologetically. "It won't be from the needle prick, but the liquid I'm injecting is very thick, and it hurts going in. You will probably be sore for quite some time, and you will be worse tomorrow. You may experience some bruising too."

Pain. I can handle pain, I thought. It probably won't even be very long--just a quick prick and then I'm done.

I'm such an optimist. If only optimism could have a more significant impact on reality.

If I were exaggerating I would say the shot took about 10 minutes but felt like an hour. In reality it took about 2, but I felt every second. In fact, I had the distinct sensation that someone (that nice, smiling nurse, no doubt, though it was all a bit foggy) was trying to stretch my skin to enclose an elephant, and while she was at it she might as well make sure to aim one of his tusks into my muscle and wriggle it around a bit for good measure. I felt hot and my face flushed with the pain. And there was something else too--dead leg. My left "cheek" was starting to feel like I had just climbed a mountain using only my left leg. Surely it must be nearly over, I thought after what seemed an eternity. When I felt I would die if it lasted much longer the nurse comforted me with the news that she was "just about half-way done." Uncle!

"Just about 10% left now," she said after several moments more. And then--finally--it was over.

At least the stretching of my skin to enclose the elephant was over. And the elephant had apparently stopped ramming his tusk into my muscle too. Now I was just left with the aftermath of such an experience, which, for me, meant a spasm of pain from my hip to my toes.

And dizziness.

And heat.

I thanked the nurse because that's just the way I am, and I seem to worry more about the rudeness of not offering up my gratitude than the fact that I really wasn't thankful at that moment. Then I gathered my things and launched a valiant effort to leave before I realized I wasn't going anywhere. Seeing my pale yet fevered face, the nurse helped me back to the exam room, and I lay down for a few minutes until the heat flash and dizziness wore off.

And as I lay there (with one "cheek" off the bed) I thought how wise--how spot-on--my daughter is, afterall, to shed a few tears in dread of a shot.

2009-07-21T11:49:00.001-07:00

I have spent the past three weeks as a houseguest.

And you know what they say about company and stinking fish.

Well let's just say I felt pretty putrid after I had passed the three-day mark. Sure I spread that three weeks out among lots of different family and friends, but I still couldn't help but feel like the one person who hasn't showered for several days and then has the nerve to push her sweaty way to the middle of a cramped-together summer crowd with temperatures at 100+ degrees.

I think part of this is that I caught a cold one week into the visit. Nothing is more keenly suited for testing the love of family members. One minute they are smiling and welcoming, planning outings, basking in the contentment of togetherness after a long time apart; the next they are discretely shewing their children away from the aim of your coughing, sputtering self.

If I hadn't been committed to staying for the duration of my son's sports camp I would have coughed my way home at the first tickle in my throat. Instead I was faced with the nearly impossible task of being together yet remaining apart.

This is not easy to do when there are a bunch of adorable nieces and nephews running about and you've already suffered a drought from their cuddles.

But I suppose I--and my family--should be thankful. At least I didn't have the stomach flu. Then I would have really stunk. Pun intended.

2009-06-11T10:50:00.000-07:00

Today I put on a shirt that makes me look pregnant, thanks in part to the five pounds I've gained (all stomach fat, apparently) since quitting our gym membership a few months ago and the fact that I'm a stress eater. Thank you bad economy!

This shirt plays up the deception though. It has the tight fit through the chest and the loose spread around the stomach. A classic maternity look. But it was $5 at Target and it was white. Need I say more?

Anyway, normally when this happens I take off the offending garment at once and scrounge in my closet for something else. Nothing is worse than having someone wonder, "Is she . . .?" when she decidely isn't. But today the you-look-pregnant look was working for me. I decided to blame this odd phenomenon on my two pregnant sisters--one of which is currently dilated to an EIGHT and huffing and puffing through labor pains as I type. I know she is huffing and puffing because we had a lengthy conversation yesterday about the merits of active breathing during hard labor. None of this "go-to-your-happy-place-and-relax-breathing." No way. Not for that job.

So here I sit in my fairly comfortable chair, wishing I could be there with her, but the thirteen-hour drive and responsibilities with my own children (whom I could also blame for the bulge around my middle) keep me here.

Love you Em. Happy Huffing. Soon you will be skinnier than me. ;)

Annie

2009-06-08T10:43:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I needed a nap.

Annie didn't.

When my eyes were drooping she was busily making necklaces and bracelets from the leftover green and brown pipecleaners from her Tropical Rain Forest project. Not the most popular colors for personal jewelry, I know, but she was making do with what she had, I suppose.

On the rare occasion I do get a nap, it is my custom to make sure the kiddos are set up with something quiet to do. The older kids were on the computer. Annie was, as I said, making "jewelry."

A lot of jewelry. Some part of this nagged at me since it seemed like she was "wasting" the pipecleaners. I mustered a feeble "don't make too many," but there was no punch to it. I realized it didn't matter and I would probably have "saved" the pipecleaners for another project but never remembered I had them, or if I did, they would still be the wrong color, etc.

"Well, maybe you could "give" them away to your friends tomorrow at school."

"No Mom. I want to sell them for charity."

Okay. Hands rubbing temples. I couldn't deny that this was an incredibly noble idea. I loved her tender heart for it. But I also couldn't help but think . . . "She's my daughter, and I think these necklaces are . . . well . . . less than pretty. Nobody will want to buy these." Granted--I would buy one or two. I would even wear them (around the house), but I had a hard time thinking anyone else would want to buy them. However, this was a problem that was too difficult for my sleep-deprived brain to concentrate on. I needed a delay. Then I would figure out a pleasant compromise. Maybe I could help her make some jewelry . . . you know . . . with colors (and product for that matter) that people might actually use.

She unwittingly gave me my next move when she said, "I was going to go door-to-door to sell them." Oh No! That would never do. Too dangerous for her and too embarrassing for me to go along with her. Sorry. But that's the glaring reality of my lack of perfection as a mother.

The nap was still calling. "No, that's not safe for you to do alone, and I need a nap." Then, knowing Annie, I added--"You need to stay home while I'm sleeping."

"Okay Mom." I knew the wheels in her head were turning. She had a determined attitude I could tell, but I literally couldn't do anymore. I had not had enough sleep the previous week--mostly due to being a single mom while Howard had been out of town. My body was shutting down. My brain had already initiated the "shes-finally-going-to-let-us-sleep" process, and my body wasn't going to let me back out now. Annie's disobedient preparations were just a foggy sensation that, like Scarlet O'Hara, I was going to worry about "tomorrow"--or at least after my nap.

I awoke about an hour later to Mae's giggles sounding from the front door. Annie had already earned close to $10 from her "jewelry" sales. She had set up a table at the end of our driveway and solicited sales to passersby. Mae was laughing because some teenage boys from next door had just come to purchase some jewelry. They were quite enthusiastic in their delight. I'm not sure which of my daughters "delighted" them more--the quiet teenage beauty, or the outgoing, never-to-be-stopped-or-intimidated eight-year-old.

I've got to learn to stop TRYING to stop Annie.

Any good ideas for a charity?

The Northwest in Springtime

2009-04-28T11:04:00.000-07:00

Today on my morning run I realized I live in paradise. Only colder.

I mean it though. To a desert-grown gal the lush Washington spring seems to be out of a fairytale, and I cannot fathom a more beautiful sight--even when that beautiful sight comes along side a busy street, as is often the case for my walks.

We have numerous walking trails near our home--winding, mostly paved, up-and-down trails--lined with giant trees on either side and sprinkled with pine needles year round. This creates a natural effect that makes it easy for me to pretend I'm far away from everything and everyone. But in the spring the vines and low-cut bushes creep out to narrow the path. The leaves fill in the trees with a deep green, a healthy green that--thanks to the clouds--is unbleached by the sun. And the spring blossoms pop out in deep colors like the forest's own fireworks. Then I know I'm in my own little paradise.

And maybe I don't mind the cool air. Heat can be overrated.

There are rules for these trails though. Little hints that society has taken over. The most predominant one is directed toward four-legged trail patrons--and their owners. It is assumed, and perhaps decreed, that all four-legged patrons must be accompanied by bag-toting two-legged companions who will promptly confiscate droppings and place them within the confines of the aforementioned bag. To make it easier to comply, the trail is marked, at intervals, with wooden boxes (in keeping with the natural theme of course) that house designer disposal bags in earth tones (also in keeping with the natural theme).

The result of this societal interference? On all my walks over the year in which we have lived here I have seen numerous, loveable, four-legged companions, but I have NEVER seen their droppings.

Yep. I live in paradise.

Now if only we could do something about the ducks. . . .