Don’t quit my day job –

– even though it seems I have quite the career as an armchair/earpiece counsellor. I spend more time advising people on their lives, relationships and self image than I do anything tending to anything relating to myself. Well, not really, but it does feel like it sometimes.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind it a bit. I love it, actually. And I’m pretty darn good at it, too. But I really think I need to start charging. Shouldn’t I be getting something for all of my thoughtful, insightful, well crafted advice? Time is money, after all.

There simply must be a solution. I mean, is Dr. Phil a real doctor? Or Dr. Laura? Maybe. But I KNOW there must be some folks out there who have the title but not the pedigree. I need to work on this. Find a way to peddle my intellectual wares. Any ideas?

~h

Fat is the new skinny?

Okay, maybe not, but it should be. As long as I’m on the not-slim end of things, anyway.

Don’t like the word fat? There are others.
Thick.
Chunky.
Big-boned (a true state of being, I believe).
Fluffy.
Round, all the way around.

I mean, let’s think about this, people. Being fat used to be a sign of wealth. Only the wealthy could afford to eat enough to get fat, therefore being fat meant you were wealthy. So all the poor skinny folks were ignored – weren’t even given a second glance – because what good are poor people, right? I mean, what do they have to offer? (SO not my belief, by the way)

I think we need to bring back Botticelli’s works of art. Let’s show the world what REAL women look like. Child-bearing women. After all, ladies, we need meat on our bones – in healthy doses – so we can ovulate for even a chance at having babies. Let’s see some women with real curves in real places. Women with something to hold onto, other than over-exposed clavicles and scapulas. Women whose ribs are buried deep enough under skin and fatty tissue so that you cannot count them from the outside. Women whose spines stay tucked inconspicuously inside their bodies.

Let’s make it happen. And in honor of the not-slim woman’s new place in respectable society I think we should have a celebratory banquet. For all the skinny people in the world. And FEED THEM, for crying out loud! Then the world would be a better, comfier, snugglier place. Hugs all around! And then – you guessed it – world peace.

So see? What can Fat do for you?

~h

20 things

Checking out a fellow writer’s blog I found this little nugget of fun. Thanks Regan!

20 things I’m too smart/cowardly to say (to people who shall remain nameless)

(For the record, I’ve actually gone out of my way and said some things that most people would only include on a list like this, so I included those, too – note the *)

1. Hey, I might not be a size 00 or even a size 10, but I’m an awesome person. You’re loss, pal.
2. How does it feel to take a life?* (not one of my better moments)
3. I’m sorry, but that outfit just is not working for you.
4. You are a selfish, homewrecking slut and I never want to speak to you again.*
5. Did I not get the part because I’m just a little not-slim, or was I really just no good?
6. I can do this, I’ve done it, and I’m good, and yet you still won’t hire me. Is it because I’m a female?
7. The way you said you wish someone would love you? I loved you like that. Still could.*
PAUSE – This is really hard, because I honestly usually say what I think. Hence all the asterisked ‘true story’ remarks. Okay, time to really dig deep.
8. Everyone knows you took the money. Every time. How can you look people in the face and lie?
9. I was renting that air conditioner for the summer? Are you f***ing kidding me?
10. That wasn’t a chocolate chip.
11. I’m glad you aren’t around. You don’t deserve to know him. You probably never did.
12. I just want to kiss you, I don’t want anything else.
13. I think you could be an awesome boyfriend, but I need someone who has a job, a real one. And who doesn’t do drugs (or sell them). And who takes their medication (or doesn’t need to).
14. You really are a horrible kisser. It might not be your fault, but it’s still true.
15. Those are attached!*
16. Sometimes I wish you were mine instead of hers, but I know everything happens for a reason.
17. I think it’s ridiculous that you’re 37 and still living with your parents, I don’t care how much money you’re saving.
18. You don’t deserve another minute with those boys, and I can’t wait till they grow up and realize what a deadbeat, disrespectful, dishonest, slandering, pandering, two-faced, selfish creature you are. I hope I’m there.
19. Shutup or divorce her already. I’m tired of hearing your whining. Divorce isn’t the end of the world. Neither are two of them. Just stand up for yourself for once!
20. GROW UP.* (I hate telling people this, because it’s totally overrated, but it was necessary in this particular instance.)

~h

One + one + two = three

It is essential for every writer with the thought of publishing to have a pitch. Gotta have a pitch. Gotta have that catchy, interesting hook to draw someone into your story before they ever actually read it. But you need more than one pitch – you need three: the one sentence, the one paragraph and the two paragraph.

The one sentence is your ‘Hi! I see you’re heading into the bathroom, and it looks urgent, so this will only take a second’ pitch. Okay, so you hopefully won’t ever go to those lengths. Unless, of course, you want some publisher/editor/agent going all primal monkey and flinging poo on you. You get the idea, right? Your one sentence must sum up the basic plot of your story, include the main character at least and hopefully be unique. Stay away from cliches, stay away from vague, hazy wording and get right to the nitty gritty. Make it shine, though.

The one paragraph pitch is basically your one sentence plus a little more info. A little more about the story, maybe the characters, and still pretty to the point. Add key elements you couldn’t use in the one sentence to spice it up. Keep it lively. Show the reader why they should spend their precious time on your story instead of the other hundreds and thousands of stories just waiting to be heard.

Finally, the two paragraph pitch. It’s the one sentence plus the one paragraph plus any other goodies you think will see your story. Those goodies should actually be in your story, of course. Think of the dust cover summary. That’s the basic idea, more or less.

Here’s a really good resource on all three of these pitches. An amazing guy who just so happens to be a literary agent and out there in the blogging world with all of us aspiring writers, Nathan Bransford.

And now, the point of this page – other than to inform and enlighten, of course – is to lay out the pitches for “Life Sucks”. They are works in progress, of course. So in progress, in fact, that I’ll have to edit this later to include them. A few things in my story have changed so I need to go back and tweak them.

But enjoy this blog anyway, won’t you? And be sure to check out Nathan’s web page for great info on all things writing and getting published.

Later gators.

~h

I love Bing!

Yes, Bing Crosby, too. But right now I’m speaking of the new search engine. It’s just so durn cool!

Every day is a new picture in the background, with all sorts of clickable links relating to said picture. I just think that’s nifty. It’s also a great marketing tool. Who woulda thunk it – Microsoft with a great marketing tool. Doesn’t Mr. Gates have enough money already? Sheesh. (hey, this whole linking to a bunch of random crap thing is fun!)

Okay, okay, enough of this. I’ve got a redbox movie that isn’t going to watch itself, a novel to be worked on, a shower to be taken and a sixth grade recognition ceremony to get to today. Time’s a wastin’!

~h

Oh, procrastination

I’ve been so wrapped up in this new blog of mine that I have conveniently neglected my novel. Imagine that!

Today I must make a pact. I must keep plugging away. Who cares if I’ve got more story than you can fit it one manuscript, right? Who cares if there are unanswered questions here and there. Right?

Okay, so here’s the deal. 500 words a day.
That’s all. Simple, right? And if i surpass it, so much the better.

Ready?
Set?
GO!

~h

UPDATE: okay, as of this moment – 381 words. figured almost 500 is better than none at all? ah well, tomorrow is another day.

A new plan

So I’ve decided that I should have some rhyme or reason to this here blog.

I think I’ll plan it out. (gasp! what’s this? not you!) Yes, me.

Starting tomorrow – a procrastinator’s work is never done today – I’ll have a theme. Or something. Maybe I’ll discuss books. Maybe I’ll talk about book-type things. Maybe I’ll talk about news. Maybe I’ll talk about Hollywood, or movies, or tv, or the Dalai Lama… who knows. Anyway, that’s what’s to come.

In the meantime, I’m off to auditions again today. Yesterday was cut a little short because my poor little muffin, my fearless five year old, broke his arm jumping off the monkey bars. “It feels like my bones are twisting!” – his wounded cry. Luckily, the people in the ER were very speedy, and we got processed and back and x-rayed lickety split. Waiting on the ER doc took awhile, but they came back with an IV kit and meds to help give him some relief. Let me tell ya, he took that IV better than many adults I’ve borne personal witness to! An hour or so later, the ortho doc came and they did conscious sedation and set his arm right there in the ER. Took a little bit to wake him up, but that’s probably because it took a little bit to put him under. My little toughie!

So today he’s basically miserable. Last night he said, about the cast, “This just isn’t working for me.” And today he’s very sad because it’s clunky and heavy and he can’t play the wii very well. The saddest little hurt eyes you’ve ever seen. 😦

So here’s to my little baby, my little boy – prayers for a speedy recovery and higher spirits. You won’t miss all the fun stuff of summer, I promise!

~h

Now I sit me in my chair

So thankful for this evening air! 

I love sitting outside on my computer.  I only wish I was more productive while doing it.  But now I’m even more frustrated with my story. 

I was going over my story with my friend and I got completely overwhelmed.  There’s just so much there!  How in the world can I get it all squared away and pick and choose what to include?  I’m feeling a little defeated right now. 

Help!

~h

What’s new, you ask?

Well, not tons.  I’m heading to auditions for the local summer theater today, in a little bit actually.  Haven’t been able to do it for over five years.  It’ll be nice to get back into it.  If they cast me in something other than the chorus, that is.  Sorry, greek play, but I’ve got a little too much on my plate to be stuck in the chorus.  We’ve had fun in the past, sure, but now – well, I just don’t think we’re a good fit anymore.  It’s not you, it’s me, I promise. 

I digress.  But really, that’s it for me and mine on this fine saturday.  But for my wip – there are new posts/pages afoot!  Be sure to check out Kate, Nathan and Wyatt’s first diary entries!   There will be more to come story-wise, too.  Check back soon for more detail on the story itself and watch it unfold through the eyes of the three main characters.  Who knows, another character or two may also make an appearance.  And if you like what you read, let me know!  Keep a gal’s hope alive and all.  And let me know what else you’d like to see and I’ll my best to oblige.

In the meantime, I’ll try to break a figurative leg and enjoy this beautiful day.

~h

Picture if you will…

Hey, this is an oldie but a goodie, and worth bringing back around.  Enjoy!  But uh, hey,  you might want to put down that snack before you start reading.  ~h

I had a truly interesting experience just the other day. Let me take you back…

It was a sunny, beautiful, breezily temperate day. Rather perfect, I thought, for an outing with just the three of us: myself and my two young boys, who are 7 and 11 months. I thought it would be fun to start our afternoon off with a walk to our local supermarket and have a bit of lunch in the eatery there. Nothing could have prepared me for what was to come.

In between the bites of my lukewarm pizza and perfectly scrumptious cantelope, I was feeding the baby his midday fare: Chicken Stew and Apricots. He ate his Chicken Stew with gusto, and – as usual – with nary a second to spare from one bite to the next. And then it was time for the apricots. This fruit portion of the mealtime regime usually goes even quicker than the first, since the fruit is practically a liquid and he takes it quicker.

But not today. He seemed, distracted, slightly uninterested. How unusual…

I kept regaining his attention, trying to infuse his not-so-little body with every last bit of the fruit, intent upon assuring his proper nutritional intake for the day. But it was getting increasingly more difficult to get the fruit from point A to point B.

At halfway through the jar, I set the jar down, resigned to finishing my own food, and getting back to him in a bit. But then it happened. While in his stroller, which was practically new from sheer lack of use, I saw him lean to rest against the backboard of the stroller and could never have predicted the event that followed.

He opened his tiny little mouth and from that baarely gaping 1 and 1/2″ oriface erupted the entire contents of his stomach. It was as if someone had turned on a faucet, full force, letting rip the thickest, most food-group discernable sludge, never-before seen exiting a child of his age.

And it just kept coming! Layer after layer of chunky chicken stew slathered itself smoothly across his cute little outfit, seeping between his body and the stroller padding, wedging its way into the very fibers of the belt and latch. And as each new layer burbled its way up from the depths of his little belly, a gentle, ‘sploosh’ could be heard as it slapped down on the ever-thickening pile of regurge settling all around him. I sat there with my hands out to my side, my eyes wide as silver dollars, absolutely aghast at the unbelievable sight before me, as my older son laughed beside me saying ‘it got on my shirt!’

The gastric flow finally came to a screeching halt, at long last, and not a moment too soon. My little man was sitting in his stroller, covered from neck to thigh in what can only be described as a weeks worth of Gerber’s best, looking at me as if nothing had happened. Bless his little heart! I stared in amazement at his predicament, my hands still raised, mouth agape, wondering how in the world I could even begin to clean this up. And then one of the deli workers comes to my rescue with… a paper towel. ONE single, solitary, barely absorbent scrap of recycled tissue. The considerate nature of the worker’s act was not lost in the ridiculous inadequacy of the single towel.

I looked worriedly around at the dozen or more customers peacefully eating nearby, and stared intently at my target: the restroom door. That was the light at the end of my puke-filled tunnel. But how to get there without driving the entire place into a downward spiral of nausea, swooning, and vomit? I told my older son to wait at the table and finish his lunch (of all things) and made a break for it. It was a straight shot, and I hollered out “Nobody look! Nobody look!” until I had made it safely to the confines of the public facilities. In retrospect, the warning shout probably only heightened people’s awareness of the situation and peaked their interest enough to turn and look… oh well.

Once in the bathroom, I found myself staring helplessly at this chubby little fellow, wallowing in his own upchuck, wishing there was another way to go about things. But there were just no other options. I tried, with much futility, to swipe away some of the barf from around the buckle so I could free my son from the surprisingly (and gratefully) odorless goo. No good. So it was time to get down and dirty. I plunged my hands down into the sloppy, warm mush and unbuckled him successfully. And then I plopped him down into the way-too-small-for-a-22pound-baby sink and turned the water on him. For all he knew it was bathtime.

It took about twenty minutes – and a roll of paper towels – to scrape, slide, scoop and swipe off the spew that had decorated our beautiful little stroller. Add in another 5 minutes or so for rinsing off the baby and 1 or 2 for ringing out the chunky, juicy baby outfit and there you have it.

One happy family outing, one mediocre lunch, and one unforgettably exorcist-esque midday upheaval, the holy trinity making up the perfect day.

Oh, and we continued on the rest of our outing like nothing had happened. Hey, we’re not ones to let a little puke ruin our plans… heck, not even if it’s a lot of puke.