I Must Slooooow Dooooown

I’ll admit it. I didn’t do much writing today. I have written myself into a corner with my short story, Autopsy of a Marriage. I knew this topic was outside my comfort zone but I had no idea my struggle would be such a mental ordeal. I’m way behind on my novel and Chapter 16 isn’t even stewing in my head. Perhaps, I’ll let this short story go and work on another one for now. Sometimes something brilliant (in my opinion anyway) will pop into my head when I least expect it.

This has happened before. Sometimes I need to take a break, but when I don’t write I get really bitchy. Oh, but I digress.

Bellevue Literary Review rejected the short story. They said they liked the concept but the writing could have been a littler tighter. They speak the truth. I rush through things when I need to expend more than one hundred percent. I don’t believe this is the case with my novel. There is almost instant gratification with finishing a short story when compared to the two and a half years I’ve been working on my novel. Anyhow, I submitted the same story to Bathtub Gin. If they reject it, then I’ll rewrite it and send it off again.

I submitted four poems to Skyline Magazine. They weren’t on submission anywhere else, so what the heck. I have tons of them.

Summer camp had their awards night tonight so I didn’t get home until almost eight-thirty. No one had eaten dinner and if the kids don’t get to bed by nine I cannot get them up in the morning. I was pretty proud of them. They didn’t get any awards for field day because we were on vacation but they got plenty of other awards. I may complain, but I couldn’t ask for better children.

I went to the library and checked out three critical essay books on Thoreau, Whitman, and Alcott. I’ve read much of their work but I like to read the essays to find what others say of their prose. If I identify the weaknesses of their work, perhaps I can strengthen my own. I’ll bet they took their time. I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to read them.

Everyone is talking about the Democratic Convention. I haven’t watched any of it. I hate politics as much as I hate television. It’s all emotional rhetoric. I read some of the speech excerpts on the BBC and its funny how the candidates say they are going to do this and going to fix that – as if they have sole control, which they don’t. I may hate politics, but I understand government and it will be nothing but bi-partisan gridlock for another four years.

I’m climbing off of my high horse now. . . .

The hot, muggy South. . . .

This heat sure does make for cranky and unruly kids. I have four of the worst. I love them dearly but my, do they try my patience. It is times like these I’m glad I have a day job.

I have finished Chapter 15 and completed a poem entitled Daydream. It is about my father who passed away in 1991. I know I’ve written something special when I cry as I write. One of my favorite authors, T. S. Elliot once said (and I’m paraphrasing here): One is prepared for art when he uses his emotions only as a source for material. I agree with only part of this statement. I agree one is prepared for art when he uses his emotions but that is where it ends. My emotions are my material. They are apart of me and I cannot just turn them on and off as my creative juices dictate.

I am planning to finish the second draft of Autopsy of a Marriage tonight. I’d like to submit it somewhere by the end of the week.

I am alone finally (I really hate the word finally, but sometimes there is no other word quite as appropriate) with my musicals friends – Vivaldi, Handel, and Enya. I was going to write about something else but since I’m thinking about words that I despise in writing I may as well list a few:

Finally, suddenly, heavily, morosely (Not even Steinbeck can get away with this one – see Of Mice and Men), a matter of fact, certainly, proceed, instantly, and generally. When I use these, they seem to take away any punch the sentence had. You would think suddenly wouldn't, but it does. I can’t stand when people say “I don’t disagree.” Just agree already.

I also don’t like when authors stick a fancy word in the middle of simple prose just to show off. Mellifluous comes to mind because I actually used it once. A published author who critiqued this particular chapter pretty much puked all over it.

I try to stay away from all adverbs but I’ll use them if it’s necessary and move on. I think I only do this because all the how-to books bust on them so much. J.K. seems to use them eloquently.

My two favorite words to use right now are lingered and withered – simple words, two syllables, yet sound almost musical me. I’ll have new favorites next week. A few weeks ago it was rambunctious. I don’t know why.

I’m beginning to sound as old and crotchety as Andy Rooney from 60 minutes. Quick, turn on some MTV! Just kidding, I really can’t stand that channel. I’m off to finish my short story.

Ideas, ideas, ideas. . .

Ideas are spilling out of my head so fast I can’t remember them. My characters are talking furious and nonstop and new storylines are emerging so fast I’m afraid I can’t keep up. I’m not one for astrology and I don’t believe in luck. It can’t be karma because I gave an idiot driver the finger on my way to work this morning. I don’t know what it is, but I’m loving it.

I submitted 2 more poems to Emerging Women Writers this afternoon. The editor emailed me back and said she liked them but it didn’t fit with their theme of “paper.” I offered up my artistic relationship between my prose and paper but I had to leave before she emailed me back.

Well, I submitted the short story that I submitted to Gettysburg Review to another publication. I haven’t given up on them yet but I’m afraid my poor submission is either lying in a pile of dust at the post office or crumpled in a recycle bin somewhere. It is a good story and I want to see it in print. The same with the short story I submitted to Bellevue Literary.

So, here is what I submitted today:

1 short story to Bathtub Gin
1 short story to Wildchild Publishing
2 poems to Emerging Women Writers
1 query for an idea to a place I’d rather not mention right now.

I have added some great dialogue to Chapter 15 and it will be finished tomorrow. I have also outlined the rest of the book and wrote my poem. Now all I need to do is rewrite a short story and I’ll be done for the week. If I get halfway on Chapter 16, that will be just dandy.

I listened to Devon Ellington on Artist First Network tonight in between playing referee for the children and two telephone calls. She has such a musical voice and she seems so pleasant. It made me think about my voice and how I sound to others. How bad is my southern accent? Do I articulate well? Do I sound like a dork? Or worse, do I sound like my mother?

I suppose this is why I don’t sing. . . .

Man, I can’t get anything done with this dang day job. . .

Ok, I’ve been out for a week and my boss is out this week, so this means I must cover for him. I suppose it is only fair but it sure does cut down on my writing time.

I did manage a critique for a cyber-pal. The story was very foreign to my life and made me cry. With a little tweaking, it could go really far. I am one to look through my rose colored glasses at times and not see situations of intolerance and bigotry for what they are. This story gave me a whole new perspective and I hope its remains a part of me.

My goals are light this week:

1. Final edit of Chapter 15
2. Outline remaining chapters and start Chapter 16
3. Rewrite a short story
4. Write a new poem

I did some book purchasing this morning before I had to get the dog from the kennel. She goes to a “bed and biscuit” and it’s more of a spa than an actual kennel. She seemed glad to be home.

Anyway, I purchased Catcher in the Rye; To Kill a Mockingbird; Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation; and On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. I went through a special link on a Forum I frequent. I think they’re supposed to get some money.

I read Catcher in the Rye years ago and I’ve tried to get my hands on it again from the library. The library nearest me is housed in a large building, but most of their selections are not my taste. It was part of the B&N summer sale so I thought – what the hell. It was the same with To Kill a Mockingbird. My novel has a similar southern theme and even though I don’t believe Ms. Lee brought the two stories in her book to a complete closure, I do enjoy her work and wish she’d written more.

There is much buzz on Eats, Shoots and Leaves and Steven King’s On Writing, so again I thought what the hell. At least I got free shipping.

I need to get my website complete, but I’m not too internet savvy. I can figure out most any software package out there, but I can’t get this darn site to look halfway decent. Maybe I should have purchased one of those Dummies books. The very title says it all!

I have shaken the sand out of my shorts and I’m now back on track. . . .

Relaxed and Refreshed

At least that is what I keep telling myself.  Never, ever order the fresh mackerel.  I’ve been in apain since Friday night. The three hour drive home was awful.

Bygone Days will be publishing Winter of 1917, the revised edition. They liked the story better with the last paragraph removed.  I told them that would be fine. 

So far I have :

Sanctuary published by Emerging Women Writers
Confessions of a Softball Mom by Emerging Women Writers
Winter of 1917 by Bygone Days.

Not bad even if I do say so myself.  I did get a rejection from Bathtub Gin for 4 of my poems.  I’ll send them 4 more this month. My current outstanding submissions are listed below.

1 short story to The Gettysburg Review (Sent 4/28/04)
1 short story to Bellevue Literary Review (Sent 4/28/04)
6 poems to Asheville Poetry Review (Sent 6/2/04)
2 poems to Wildchild Publishing (Sent 6/8/04 and 6/2/04)
1 poem to The Big Ugly Review (6/18/04)
1 short story to The Big Ugly Review (6/21/04)
1 short story to Appalachian Heritage Review (07/02/04)
2 poems to Wildchild Publishing (07/07/04)
1 short story to  StorySouth (07/09/04)

I didn’t do anything I wanted to get done while I was on vacation!  Now I’m really behind.  I have at least eight loads of laundry lying in the basement and I must get this done today.  My oldest daughter is back home for good and so it is off to softball practice at least three evenings this week plus her hundred fast pitches per night. It is a good thing I’m right handed because these pitches sting and I cannot feel my hand after about the first twenty five. Jenny Finch is now her idol. I suppose she’s better than one of those nasty entertainers.

Here's what I didn't get completed:

Re-write short story - no
Map Website - no
3 Critiques  - no
Outline rest of novel - no
Read, read, read – I some great critiques on T.S. Elliot and Salinger.  I also read books 1 & 2 of the Lemony Snicket series. 
Build a sand castle – built many
Consume moderate amounts of alcohol – ok, I had a few drinks Sleep – no

I belong to a few forums where writer motivation is sometimes a topic of discussion.  I seem to be unmotivated right now.  I’ll try to write something today, even if it is just a poem.  I need to review Chapter 15 one more time and outline the rest of the novel. I need to redo Autopsy of a Marriage and finish the 3 critiques.  Oh yeah, the website – well, if I get time.   I’ll try to write something I like.  That normally gets the creativity going. 

I’m really behind on my day job. . . . .

Gone Fishing

  Today will be my last correspondence until July 26th.  I’m on vacation. I’d definitely post if I had an internet connection, but where I’m going just has a phone, cable, indoor plumbing, and miles of pristine Carolina beach. I hope this wonderful weather we are having in the Piedmont follows me southeast to the shore.
 
I now have two works published.  I was on a high for awhile, but I have since landed and need to get back to work. My website is coming along slow.  I’ll probably do a sketch this week of how I want it mapped, what links I want to add, etc.
 
I have yet to get to the library to get my books for the beach.  I have quite a list of recommendations from my comrades printed and ready to go.
 
My daughter is coming home tonight.  I cannot wait. I have a lot of packing done but there is still so much more to do.
 
My to do list next week will be light:
 

One more edit of Chapter 15
Re-write short story
Map Website
3 Critiques
Outline rest of novel
Read, read, read,
Build a sand castle
Consume moderate amounts of alcohol
Sleep
 
See you in a week . . .

Need To Focus

It is a most wonderful day in the South. There was been a cold front coming through, which means mid-eighties and no humidity. There is a slight breeze and the sky is a polished blue with only a few white flaws.

I’ve finished Chapter 14. Chapter 15 needs one more run through then it will be done. I plan to take it all with me next week just in case I have some downtime. I’m up to 54K words on my novel. I’ll have to stop at this point and do an outline of the remaining chapters to see how they will play out. My blog stats say I've written over 10K words since I started on June 16th. I can't help but think I could be 64K instead of 54K. I probably wouln't be though, so I shouldn't fret. 64K is still a long way from THE END.

I HAVE heard something from one of my submissions. I got an email from the editor at Emerging Women Writers and my poem, Sanctuary, will be published in their July issue. I keep re-reading the note to make sure there is no mistake and I’m woozy from the adrenalin rush. I haven’t heard from any others, but I’m still hopeful and now, published.

I registered my pen name as an internet domain and started work on my website. With Sanctuary being published, at least I’ll have something to link. I also submitted Confession of a Softball Mom to Slow Trains. I submitted it to EWW but it wasn’t my best work. It reads much better now.

I cannot seem to get focused on my writing today. I did some editing at lunch but I’ll probably have to go over it again just to edit my edits. Does this madness ever end? I submitted Confessions of a Softball Mom to EWW but it wasn't in the best shape then. I made many changes to the manuscript since.

My daughter called me yesterday and told me she was coming home on Friday instead of Saturday. I’m so excited. I’ve got most of the items we’ll need next week gathered in a central area. Make that two central areas. I’ll get it packed tomorrow night. Nothing like waiting until the last minute.

I Got Something Done Despite Myself

Today is another grand summer day. The sky is blue and crisp, with no clouds in sight. There is a slight breeze, but it will wane with the sun's journey westward. By two today, it’ll be sticky and hazy and by tonight there’ll be torrential thunderstorms.

I love to sit in my sunroom and watch the storms with the windows open. The jagged bolts of lightening followed by deafening claps of thunder send many folks scurrying for cover. But not me. I love the whipping wind, the dark skies and the flurry of the leaves.

I haven’t heard anything from my submissions. (I’m really tired of typing those words). I’d love to hear something before I leave on vacation, just for inspiration, but I’m not counting on it.

I didn’t get to write one word until ten o’clock last night. I listened to a cyber-pal’s interview and Artists First Radio. She was wonderful and sounded much more relaxed than the person who interviewed her. I got a phone call about halfway through and missed some of it. I belong to the same small writer's forum as she does, and I consider my extremely fortunate to be included in such a distinguished group of writers.

My youngest child didn’t feel well and needed a little extra attention. My oldest daughter is still at the beach. They went to a zoo yesterday. I can't wait to see her on Saturday.

My interests strayed from my paper to of all things, a movie on the Lifetime Channel. It did have a southern historical theme so I’m not too ashamed.

I worked primarily on Chapter 15 and filled in some descriptions and action. The amount of dialogue was exhausting. I need to get it typed before lunch, so I can do one more edit before moving on. I also want to run through Chapter 14 one more time. Perhaps I'll have one more quiet evening.

Busy, busy, busy. . . .

A Sign of a Bad Day

Today is another hot sunny day in the South. Normally at this time, all the grass is brown, except for the meticulous and lush lawns of a few selfish individuals who insist on watering their lawn during a drought despite county-wide water restrictions, and the leaves droop from lack of hydration.

We’ve had enough rain the keep the grass green and the trees stand majestic beneath a brilliant blue sky. It supposed to get in the low nineties and it isn't hazy. I haven't got the notification from the engineer in the company responsible for notifying all employees regarding bad ozone. We laugh when we get them, as if this is the only task this poor soul is responsible for. I shouldn't make fun, I know. It is useful information to have.

I haven’t heard anything from my submissions. I think I’ll just put this on “autotype” to save keystrokes.

I finished the second edit of Chapter 14 and got through a first draft of Chapter 15. Chapter 15 is rather short – 8 pages – so it will need several rewrites before I’m happy with it. My novel has 53K words now.

I roughed a short story about a failing marriage and posted it in the critique section of the writer’s forum. I’ll look at it today and lunch and try to add some more emotion. I have the mechanics down but I want to make the reader cry when they read it. That will take some time. I’m on track to meet my goals for this week.

I’m probably taking this all wrong, but as I walked into work this morning, the maintenance man walked past me with a dead snake hanging over the handle of a shovel. I’m not afraid of snakes, as I learned a long time ago that humans are the most deadly species. I felt a little tinge of pity for the helpless reptile (or are they amphibians?).

I normally put little faith in superstitions, luck, omens, or even the zodiac. I believe to an extent, our paths are predestined and what we believe to be important, things such as material items, money, security, are insignificant in the eyes of our maker. I am not saying I believe they are insignificant. I love to spend money, I love to have things, and I fear for my security and the security of others, against brazen attacks of hostility.

I refuse to watch the news anymore. It’s too dreadful. I’ve made the BBC my homepage as I cannot tolerate the political spin, both left and right, that taints the information we are fed. I’m sure there is some sort of spin on the BBC too, I just haven’t discovered it yet.

I rarely listen to the radio anymore except to catch a traffic report or NPR news on the classical public radio. I constantly seek new music because I can’t stand popular crap that pollutes the airways.

Perhaps I’m just showing my age. . . .

Dog Days or Dogged Days?

Ah, the hazy, hot dog days of a Carolina summer. The air is choked with sweet honeysuckle and the crepe myrtles are in full bloom. Their flowers are brilliant purples, pinks, and a subtle white, but they leave quite the mess if planted anywhere near concrete.

I submitted Winter of 1917 to both Bygone Days and Story South. I figured the odds are better. I haven’t heard anything from any of my submissions, so I still picture them sitting on an editors desk, with the words – another Hemmingway or another Elliot - penciled in the margins by the assistant who screened them.

1 short story to The Gettysburg Review (Sent 4/28/04)
1 short story to Bellevue Literary Review (Sent 4/28/04)
2 poems to the New Yorker (Sent 5/11/04 - I suppose a gal can dream, can't she?)
6 poems to Asheville Poetry Review (Sent 6/2/04)
4 poems to Bathtub Gin (Sent 6/9/04)
2 poems to Wildchild Publishing (Sent 6/8/04 and 6/2/04)
1 short story to Emerging Women Writers (6/15/04)
1 poem to The Big Ugly Review (6/18/04)
1 short story to The Big Ugly Review (6/21/04)
1 poem to Emerging Women Writers (07/01/04)
1 short story to Appalachian Heritage Review (07/02/04)
2 poems to Wildchild Publishing (07/07/04)
1 short story to Bygone Days and StorySouth (07/09/04)

I’m going on vacation next week, so I have some pretty lofty goals this week.

1. Polish Chapter 14
2. Draft and Polish Chapter 15
3. Outline 1 short story
4. Yield to my poetry inspiration

I still find it difficult to make writing my first priority after my family and my day job. I’ll be by myself for most of this week, so there’s a good two to three hours of quiet after the children go to bed. I’ll settle for being bleary-eyed and grumpy this week. For next week it’s off to the Carolina coast for a week of fun, sun, and all the fried seafood I can eat – bring on the extra grease!

I don’t plan to get too much writing done while I’m there, but I’ll take my writing bag and AlphaSmart just in case the inspiration hits me. I’ll definitely do some reading though. I’m making a list of books then heading to the library on Friday.

I haven’t seen my oldest daughter for over a week now and I miss her terribly. I’ll see her Saturday and I cannot wait. She tries to put on her brave face when she calls each evening, but I can hear her fighting back tears when she says those four most precious words – “I love you mommy” . If she could only see my eyes well up and feel the emptiness inside me.

I’m hoping she won’t go next year. But by that time, her memories of being homesick will fade and she’ll recall all the fun times she had with her friend. Then off she’ll go and I’ll be left behind, feeling as though I’ve lost a limb. Sometimes, being a parent is painful.

I’m living for Saturday, despite my desire to live for the moment.

Something to Ponder

Today is sunny and will be getting into the nineties today. There is an Orange ozone alert but I need not worry as I sit, trapped behind concrete walls, staring through the slats of the open blinds at manicured grass and evenly spaced maple trees lining the walkway. It is this flawed perfection that makes me yearn to stroll through forests so silent, you can hear the acorns fall from the massive oaks. Where each scamper of a squirrel over the leaf covered floor is a symphony. The beauty is raw and spiritual, unmarred by the hands of man. It is the forests of my childhood.

I haven’t heard from my submissions (now there is a surprise). My novel is now 51K words and I’ve only typed four of the eight handwritten pages. I cannot type the rest at work and it has some negative racial remarks spouted my one of my more undesirable characters. I fear someone will walk up behind my screen and I’ll be sent to personnel.

Today I plan to finish the first draft of Chapter 14 and do one last edit of Winter of 1917 before I re-submit it to Bygone Days. The children have no activities this weekend so it’s off to the pool where they will wear themselves out and I’ll get a few hours of sun and then retreat into the shade to edit what I’ve written.

Another writer’s blog which I faithfully read each day, states wanting to write and wanting to be a writer are two different aspirations. I never really considered the difference. Her words were so honest and made me stop to think. I know I want to be a writer, but am I taking the correct path in pursuit of my dream? Have I sacrificed enough? When I answer this question with the honesty it deserves, my answer is no. Granted, I’ve come along way, from not writing a word for weeks to writing at least 500k words per day average. I used to focus all my efforts on my novel, but I have since branched out to short stories and poetry. I’m more comfortable with my voice as a result.

Of course there are areas of my life I cannot change – my family and my day job. But if I focus what I have left on my prose, that is all I can do. It is a goal worth working for.

My goals this week:

My goals for this week:

1. Critique 1 short story and 1 chapter for cyber-pals – complete
2. First draft of short story – not started
3. Write and Edit Chapter 14 – in process
4. Write 1 poem - complete
5. Edit Chapter 1 if I get time – not started.

There’s always next week. . . .

Well, I got a few tasks accomplished. . . .

Today is sunny and is supposed to get into the high nineties. The only time I really mind the heat is when I get into my vehicle. The trapped heat rolling from the leather takes my breath away.

So far I’ve completed the critiques for my cyber-pals, wrote three poems, and edited Winter of 1917. I tried to re-write the story in third person but it just didn’t work for me. I was going to print it off this morning and do one more run through before I re-submit it to Bygone Days, but I failed to copy it to the CD. I could have sworn I did. I have four legal pages of Chapter 14 written and I’m really behind on that one so I suppose I’ll write more today at lunch and type it tonight. I haven’t edited Chapter 1 nor have I written a first draft of a short story. I may have to add those to next weeks goals.

I have not heard anything from my submissions. I don't believe I ever will. If I didn't love the short stories and the poetry so much I'd stop writing them altogether. Finishing these is instant gratification when compared to my novel.

I submitted The Deception and Consumption to Wildchild Publishing. This will bring the total of poems submitted to four. I’m not submitting anything else to them until I hear back from these. Perhaps they’re not an appropriate fit and I’m wasting my time. If I am, I sure wish they’d tell me.

The sky is clear and so is my head. I have a fair amount of work from my day job, but there will be a few moments I will steal for my writing. I did manage to re-write Winter of 1917 yesterday evening, in between preparing dinner and two loads of laundry. It is amazing what I can get done if I just go into my office and shut the door. I completely forgot to pack the kids lunches for camp today, but a quick swab of peanut butter and jelly on multi-grain bread fixed that problem.

My eleven year old lost another tooth last night. The going rate for the tooth fairy is one dollar, but this was such a large tooth, she left two dollars.

My six year old has been writing stories on the computer while I write long hand on the sofa. She’s mastered the basics of MS Word pretty well for an emerging second grader. I even caught her using my dictionary. She dearly misses her older sister who is staying at the beach for two weeks with some friends. Last night after they talked on the telephone, she cried herself to sleep while she clutched her sister’s stuffed white tiger. It was a pitiful yet touching sight. I’ll remind her of this when life is back to normal and they are fighting again.

There must be a short story here somewhere. . . .

Sometimes I Wonder

I suppose every writer goes through this – questioning their ability to string a sentence, their creativity, and their marketability. I’ve had submissions out for some time now and it seems they been delivered into a wasteland, littered with the hopes and dreams of many writers and abandoned in the smoldering ash. Some of whom are probably much more talented than I am.

I rarely get depressed about my art but I do have moments when I question the use of my time. We only have one life. I say I keep going because I don’t want to look back in twenty years and wonder if I could have made it. However, what if I look back in twenty years and berate myself for wasting all those precious moments creating art that no one wants? What am I missing out on now?

I realized a long time ago that it will be nearly impossible to get my novel published unless I'm a celebrity, I’m established, or write words so profound, they cannot be ignored. I chose the latter two, as my lack of height, plastic, and vanity prohibit me from the first one.

There is no how-to instruction, no road map to achieve literary acceptance. I rely on others who share my journey, for only they know how treacherous my path may become. I want to have the “thick skin” to rise above the criticism of the business of writing, but I fear my skin will become so thick, I will be unable write another sentence.

The morning sun dances
Through both stained glass
And a dingy, crooked pane.
Which one am I looking through?

My view is blurred as I stand behind the dirty glass, my face pressed against it’s cold, unfeeling smoothness. There is no sun, no warmth, only gray skies and raindrops. My heart aches with envy of those who have their words printed and can now cry out, “Look at me, I’m published!” I can only watch from the sidelines and their achievement is paraded past me and the crowd of well-wishers trample me in their haste congratulate the victor.

Am I selfish? Absolutely. But I don’t believe I’m the only writer who feels this way. I’ve considered going back to school to teach, relying on the old saying, those who can do and those who can’t teach. At least I’ll be a part of words, even if I rest on the fringes of being a writer and shunned by those who’ve achieved the success I so desire. But alas, there are bills to pay and other life roles to play.

I must abandon my cloak of self-pity and move on. I drafted two legal pad pages of Chapter 14 and re-wrote a portion of Winter of 1917 in third person. I critiqued a section of a romance novel for a cyber-pal and a short story for another cyber-pal. I really enjoy doing this. Perhaps, I’ll set up a small business editing service and create a website.

It’s Wednesday and I’m already behind. So many words, so little time.

I'll Admit It

I didn't write a darn thing for three days. Not one word. I haven't heard anything on any of my submissions. I did not read anything nor did I edit anything. Slug, slug, slug is what I was. I have nothing to show for this weekend except horrible sunburn on my behind and back and a less than adequate bank account.

My party went fine. The fireworks from the country club were spectacular, the bourbon slush was just a little strong, and I didn't wake up Monday morning with a hangover. The kids cleaned up the yard and I cleaned up the kitchen. We were done in time to make it to the pool by noon.

My current submissions:

1 short story to The Gettysburg Review (Sent 4/28/04)
1 short story to Bellevue Literary Review (Sent 4/28/04)
2 poems to the New Yorker (Sent 5/11/04 - I suppose a gal can dream, can't she?)
6 poems to Asheville Poetry Review (Sent 6/2/04)
4 poems to Bathtub Gin (Sent 6/9/04)
2 poems to Wildchild Publishing (Sent 6/8/04 and 6/2/04)
1 short story to Emerging Women Writers (6/15/04)
1 poem to The Big Ugly Review (6/18/04)
1 short story to The Big Ugly Review (6/21/04)
1 poem to Emerging Women Writers (07/01/04)
1 short story to Appalachian Heritage Review (07/02/04)

My goals for this week:

1. Critique 1 short story and 1 chapter for cyber-pals
2. First draft of short story.
3. Write and Edit Chapter 14
4. Write 1 poem
5. Edit Chapter 1 if I get time.

I've stewed a short story in my head this weekend and decided on something more contemporary regarding relationships. By stepping out of my comfortable historical genre, I hope to broaden my avenues for submissions.

I have an idea already for next weeks short story. My son who is eleven has a friend who is the epitome of all character traits parents loathe. For example, my husband dropped my son, this boy, and another of his friends off at the pool yesterday. This kid was skipping line at the diving board, had to be reprimanded three times by the lifeguards - once for running and two times for what, I don't know. I buy him ice cream and he opens three cans of soda, only drinking about half of each can. Do I hear a 'thank you' at any time. No.

It is time to leave and he refuses to carry his own towel. I believe it's now in the lost and found at the pool because I sure as hell wasn't carrying it. It's hot and I have the air conditioner on high. This kids breaks wind and we have to turn off the air conditioning and put down the windows just to breathe. My truck has a back window which is now open to allow the putrid air to escape. This same kid spits a snot-ball through the window and into the truckbed. I made him clean it up when we got home. I'll need to pick up a parenting magazine and perhaps find a home for it. I sure there are other parents who live this same nightmare.

This should be interesting. . . .

Goals Achieved

Gray clouds linger above me, dampening my spirit and my clothes. Ok, so it’s not raining yet, but I loved my dramatic opening.

Well, I went to Aspire2Write yesterday and found a Poetry column. It was written ok, but I believe my pitch was better. So, I’ll mark that one as a rejected piece.

I haven’t received any news on any of my other submissions. I sent Caught In The Middle out today to Appalachian Heritage Literary Magazine. I should probably hear something in a month or two. I also submitted Sanctuary to Emerging Women Writers.

I’ll put the finishing touches on Chapter 13 today at lunch, then move on to Chapter 14. I need to re-write Winter of 1917 and come up with another idea for a short story. I’ve also have a story from another writer to look over. I also need to revise Chapter 1 with some feedback I received. I’m hoping to get a portion of this done over the long holiday weekend.

I found the Sheila Chandra CD at the third music store I went to. I haven’t listened to much of it yet. No one else in my family appreciates my taste in music, so I can only listen to it when I’m alone.

I’ll be sitting at the ball field for most of Saturday. My oldest daughter is leaving for beach Sunday to stay with a friend for two weeks. I have to get her things packed. It will be a tough two weeks before I see her again – unless she gets homesick like she did at camp. I see some poetry inspiration opportunities.

I won’t have much time to blog this weekend, so here are my goals for next week:

1. Write and polish Chapter 14
2. Write and Submit 1 Poem
3. Develop a Short Story Outline
4. Finish what I didn’t get done this weekend.
5. Edit Chapter 1

Not a long list. Perhaps I’ll get some reading done. Steinbeck always inspires, but I’d like to read something more contemporary. I won’t have time to visit the library, so I’ll have to chose something around the house.

My aunt, who died when I was in college was an avid mystery fan. She had an entire office of mystery books by Agatha Christie, Ellery Queen, Ian Fleming, and many others whose names I cannot recall. Most of them were copyrighted during the 1940’s through 1960’s. When she died my mother got the books because no one else wanted them. I’d forgotten about them until I tripped over them in her shed.

Well, to make a long story short, they came home with me and are now one of my most prized possessions. One day I’ll catalog them. Maybe I’ll pick up one of those and get lost in a mystery.

Things Just Seem To Work Out For Me

The sun is shining today. There was no news on my email today from any of my submissions. I heard a wonderful rumor at my day job. A manager who has made my life a living hell since January, put in his resignation today. I’m sure he has another opportunity, so it works out best for both of us. But again, the company could put someone worse in his place.

I rewrote Chapter 13. I have one more run through with it this week, then I’m off to Chapter 14. It’s moving along quite well. I finished touching up Caught In The Middle – my Civil War short story. Now I need to find a home for it. I’ll probably try Appalachian Heritage out of Berea, Kentucky. I want to also rewrite Winter of 1917 from a third person POV re-submit to Bygone Days. I received a critique from my cyber-friend. I’m actually looking forward to the edits on this one.

I have to have a Fourth of July party at my house Sunday. One may think I don’t have to have a party if I don’t want to, but I have to. I have to because my house sits behind a country club that has a spectacular fireworks show every year. Everyone seems to show up whether they are invited or not. I guess I’ll have to clean that *@#% grill.

My husband drives across the border to get the fireworks that are illegal in our state. He is famous for the pre-show. I’m off Monday so I plan to write most of the day, unless I’m in bed with a hangover.

My girls are playing softball this weekend on the same team. I’m not sure how this is going to work. This is a thrown together team – just to take a tournament trophy. The coach told me my oldest daughter will play first base and my younger daughter will pay second. If any of you know baseball, you know these positions are right next to each other. This is just a fight waiting to happen. I MUST remember my video camera.

Toodles . . . .