...That's What She Said

How to be a blogosphere jerk:

Step 1: Find a lame excuse(s) such as being sick, having out-of-town guests and/or getting caught up watching all four seasons of Breaking Bad in two weeks.

Check.

Step 2: Procrastinate rectifying the situation by resuming regularly scheduled blogging as slowly as possible after establishing lame excuse(s).

Check.

Step 3: Forget and/or delay going back to and reviewing the results of a blog hop contest that you entered in a timely fashion to comment and congratulate the winners.

Check.

Step 4: Apologize for being such a jerk.

Ch... wait.  That's the step I'm missing.  Apologizing won't fill in the two week gap on my blog, but hopefully it will show how sorry I am!

It wasn't until a few days ago that I was able to go back and re-visit both Entertaining Interests and Bouquet of Books to see the results of the First Fight/First Kiss Blogfest last month... and wouldn't you know it?  Jackie, author behind Bouquet of Books, gave me an Honorable Mention Award for my First Fight entry!  Considering she only picked one winner and three honorable mentions out of 35 total entries, I am truly honored.  It was some very tough competition and so much fun! So... basically, this apology goes out to Jackie and Danielle.  I'm sorry for being such a slacker, but I feel the inspiration kicking back in... and I have the blogfest to thank for that.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Now I just have to figure out how to proudly display my very first award badge on my blog sidebar.  :-)

Previous posts by yours truly proclaimed that Facebook had killed blogging, at least the real time life update style that I'd been publishing to the web.  It wasn't until I switched gears from outward sharing to inward creativity that the connection between my blog and I was rekindled.  When the frequency of my posts began to increase, I received encouragement from my friends.  As my posts continued to center on my efforts to write, feedback from known friends diminished (while support from unknown fellow writers increased).

I sat in front of the computer for an hour while the little one was napping this afternoon uploading every photo I've taken this year whilst out and about in my new home of Texas.  After putting up just over 150 photos depicting family fun that was had between March and last week on a new Facebook photo album, I distinctly recall thinking, "Phew, there we go... now everyone is updated." And so I say again, the social network has taken all of the thinking and all of the writing out of being social.  I could have written a detailed account of each event from chowing down on some very fresh steak at the Ft. Worth Stockyards to the hilarity discovered at the region's largest Renaissance Festival to my astonishment at a three year old behaving himself through an hour long pre-recorded door of the Sixth Floor Museum...  Instead, I selected the most decent photos I'd taken at each event, clicked a button, and called it a day.

While this saddens me a bit, I'm justifying my lack of effort by telling myself that I'm conserving my energy for creative writing.  Does that make it right? Probably not... but I hope that I can make up for the recent disservice to my friends by giving them a free copy of my novel if and when I ever get it published.  In the meantime, I will share a snippet of inspiration that I found while being a tourist at Dealey Plaza a week ago.


My husband and our visiting friend are both JFK conspiracy nuts, but I enjoyed my exploration of the Sixth Floor Museum and The Grassy Knoll because everything was exactly as Stephen King had described it in his recent novel, 11/22/63. Reading King's sci-fi story that intertwined with a historical event that changed our nation right before moving to the Dallas area myself was perfect timing... and then getting to check out the landscape of the story in person just months after completing the book was simply amazing.  The novel contained such an interesting spin on time travel and is ultimately what sparked my interest to start writing again once I found myself friendless in a new city. As I gazed at the interior of the brick building that haunted memories call home, I was dumbstruck by how detailed and descriptive my favorite author is.  I wondered if I'd ever be able to write something half as good as anything he's written.  But last week, I stumbled across something on the internet that not only gave me hope, but reminded me that everyone's got to start somewhere:

The morning after my last post, which also happened to be a blog hop entry, I was attacked... by pollen and germs and quite possibly the grim reaper himself. While I teetered on the edge of a flu-like death, there was no way I could force myself to put fingertips to keyboard after overly long days at the office. A week later, things began to turn toward normalcy, but I was then consumed by a mini cleaning frenzy in preparation of a friend from Florida visit. Which brings us to now, post-holiday and two weeks overdue on some pent up writing, but more importantly, reading and commenting. My sickness kept me from perusing what I can only imagine were some fun-filled high school memories! By the end of the weekend, my first goal is to have played catch up enough to feel as though I haven't missed out on too much in the blogosphere. Goal number two shall be to share a post that's been brewing behind the scenes... or behind the sneezes, if I'm being completely accurate. ;-)

My So-Called Teenage Life Blog Hop

I'm going to be honest.  When I saw this blogfest, I thought I was going to unearth some long, lost profound thought from half a lifetime ago.  I actually spent 45 minutes in the garage digging through tupperware totes to find my authentic, hand-written high school diary.  It's pink, has hearts on it and the lock is missing.  The date inscribed inside the front has April 1991 scratched out and replaced by June 1992 and there are remnants of the missing pages that were torn from the beginning.  The first non-removed entry is dated June 20, 1992 and the diary ends 29 entries later at August 15, 1993, which should have recorded  my life from the summer prior to my freshman year of high school through the summer after.  In a way, I suppose it does... an abbreviated boy-crazy version, anyway.

It didn't take me long to read through all 29ish pages, as they're 3 x 5 sized... and as I read, I noticed a theme.  Instead of posting one full entry about a death of a classmate or the election of Bill Clinton, I'm going to post several excerpts that highlight something I actually found even more interesting.

A couple of years ago, my film aficionado husband thought it would be hysterical to make me watch the first Twilight movie, despite my vehement opposition.  He actually put the movie in our Netflix queue.  (To this day, I make sure to tell all of his male friends about this.)  Unfortunately, it made its way to our mailbox.  As we sat in the dark with our gigantic bowl of microwaved popcorn, it felt like it took well over four hours to watch the poofy-haired teenaged vampire and his bland, whiny teen human love interest being awkwardly interested in each other.  There were two instances where we paused the movie to openly complain about it.  Once was my (admittedly a slight over-reaction) rant about how vampires DO NOT sparkle as I threw the remote control on the floor.  The other was actually a few pauses over the exact same thing: meaningless/meaningful staring. It's this second issue that I want to focus on now, because (thank goodness) there were no sparkly, wussy vamps at my high school.  So, back to the staring contests... what was all that about?  I was so angry at that movie for stealing away 120 long minutes of my life that I could never get back... and it was mainly because over half of it was just people staring at one another with expressions as if they'd just gotten a whiff of bad cheese, then looking away.  My husband and I went on and on about how NO ONE does that.  Well, luckily, I didn't bet money on that statement.  Now, for your viewing pleasure, I present 100% true and accurately transcribed snippets (grammatical issues included) from my awful, awful, awful diary:

Thursday, August 27


"Anyway there's a guy in two of my classes, and his name's Andy Hernandez.  He remembered me from 5th grade!  I didn't reconize him, but I pretended I did.  He's pretty good looking !!  :-)  And he's been looking at me everytime I see him!"


Saturday, Sept. 13


"On to another guy (oops!) I mean subject.  There is a guy named Whitar.  I think he's Korean, but I'm not sure.  Anyway he's been looking at me alot."


Monday, October 5


"What does bother me is none of them have said they like me, but it's pretty obvious that they're constantly looking at me."


Thursday, November 19


"I was daydreaming at the bus loop and I looked up.  Suddenly, there we were, me and Whitar, staring at eachother.  It seems to happen alot...  Ever since the day I really noticed him, I see him everywhere on campus + each time he's looking at me, too."


Tuesday, December 1


"The same thing happens with Carl - the staring, I mean.  I really like him, but I'm not sure what to do.  I could almost melt when his eyes meet mine.  I have to turn away.  Maybe I can figure out a way to let him know I like him.  But how?  Oh Boy, life's tough."


Friday, January 29


"I love Carl!!! I can't help it.  The way he looks at me, everything about him."


Friday, June 4


"It's the last day of school, I mean, was the last day of school.  My freshman year is over...  I took one last look at him as my bus drove off."


If you actually made it through all that dribble, I offer both my thanks and my sincerest apologies.  I almost feel like I owe Stephenie Meyer an apology, too... Hey, I said almost.

I think that anyone who's read my recent blog hop postings can gather that my journey from childhood to present wasn't an easy one, but then again, who can truly say that theirs was? I've yet to meet a single human being that hasn't had to overcome obstacles in life. When I saw this particular blog fest that asked participants to write about a time that they didn't give up and accomplished something significant in their lives, about a billion things popped into my head. Should I share a snippet about an award won, a job promotion, or finding some luck in love? This is a difficult topic for me, as I feel like I'm still in "never surrender" mode right now, at this very moment. One of my personal goals that I've had since I first put pencil to paper has been to document my life story. I've always hoped that sharing my experiences might help someone feel inspired to keep pushing forward in their own endeavors. I've written tiny pieces of my story over the course of the last eight years, though none of it was cohesive enough to string together. Just before this Christmas past, I took a leap of faith and moved over a thousand miles away from my comfort zone and found inspiration in a place where I least expected it: from the kind words of strangers. Each of whom shares a common goal and passion for writing and sharing their stories. There's something to be said of establishing a sense if community and kinship with like minded people. And I have been reminded that I am so lucky to live in a time where technology can bring us together, regardless of physical distance, to encourage creative growth in one another. So, for my contribution to this theme, I believe THIS is me not surrendering, right here... right now. Unlike years past, I will not give up on writing. I will not use life distractions as excuses to go months without writing. I will not let doubtful thoughts deter me from sharing my story. I will not slack in sharing support for my fellow writers. I will finish what I started. I will never, ever surrender. And I have whomever is reading this to thank... so, thank you. Yes, YOU. :-)

The gentle, warm breeze pushed past the old red pick-up truck that my father allowed me to drive to work and puffed up the front of my matching red smock. It tickled the sliver of exposed skin between the hem of my vintage button up shirt and the waistband of my faded, black consignment shop dress pants, sending goose bumps up my spine and down the length of each bare arm. Fluorescent lights cast a rose glow onto the mostly abandoned parking lot below through the oversized, red plastic “K” mounted above the entryway to the closed storefront. It was after ten o’clock p.m. on a Friday night, and as the seventeen year old service desk manager of my friendly neighborhood K-Mart, it had been my job to count all of the cash drawers and cart the hundreds of pounds of profit back to the safe in the cash room behind the main stockroom. One might think it was unusual that such a young girl was tasked with such an important duty, but I’d always been responsible beyond my years. What I found to be far more unusual was that I was seventeen (nearly eighteen) and had never been kissed. I looked up at the glowing moon as I unlocked the truck door and thought about how that fact was finally about to change.

One by one, the late shift employees got into their cars and drove away. I’d removed my polyester employee vest, thrown it into the passenger seat and was applying lip gloss by the soft light of my vanity mirror when the general manager emerged from the building, keys in hand. Behind him, the last three employees, all stock boys, exited so that he could lock the doors. They all chattered the standard end of the night, see-you-tomorrow salutations and headed to their vehicles, with the exception of Jeremy, who was headed straight for my open driver’s window. In the fifteen minutes that I’d sat waiting, I’d romanticized the event soon to transpire… taking in the ambient whir of traffic on the main road beyond the lot and the wind rustling bits of trash through the wheels of the shopping carts that were nestled together in the metal corral. In reality, it was a dirty, old patch of pavement in front of a sub-par department store. However, for me, it may as well have been a deserted beach, at sunset, on an island in Fiji. I’d practiced what I was going to say to my very first “real” boyfriend for the entire five hours that I’d argued with customers about why they couldn’t return their dust-covered 1974 television set without a receipt and exchanged pants that didn’t fit for moo-moo nightgowns that did. It was going to be as perfect as the picture I’d so painstakingly painted in my mind, and not even the grating clatter of the empty beer bottle that rolled past my truck was going to change that.

Jeremy arrived at my parking spot and rested his forearm on the lip of the window frame. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey, yourself,” I replied. So far, so good, I thought, and continued, “So, I was thinking about you a lot today and I might be able to get my dad to un-ground me before my birthday…”

“You shouldn’t be grounded at all. It’s been like two months and I’ve only been able to take you out to dinner one time and that was to Burger King. It really sucks that you have to rush home every night all stressed out.” He furrowed his eyebrows out of genuine concern.

“I know, but my father is the biggest A-Hole on the planet and I don’t want to make things worse. Anyway, look… I know I’ll be able to go out and do something fun. It’ll be my birthday and I don’t want to have friends over or have a party… I just want to be with you. I want to be with you now, too... but if I’m not home by eleven…” I trailed off and searched Jeremy’s hazel eyes, which was an easy thing to do since they were magnified by his enormously thick black-framed lenses. He shifted from one Doc Martin to the other, looked down and then back up at me again. I was fairly certain that he was thinking the same thing that I was, and I knew that he was just as nervous, if not more so.

Jeremy, a few months older than I, was also a never-been-kissed statistic. My best friend, Brandi, said it was because he looked like a tortoise, but I thought it was just because he was shy and unsure of himself, like me. I supposed that was the reason my answer had been yes when he stopped me in this very same parking lot to ask me if I would be his girlfriend. Despite my enormous crush on another coworker, a strapping and classically handsome tall boy with black hair and deep blue eyes (and no glasses), I felt a kinship with Jeremy… a commonality that would surely bond us more than a silly attraction to a boy who probably didn’t even know that I existed. Since the night I’d given him my answer, work had been a lot more fun and I’d had something to look forward to outside of my normal daily grind. The store was in the next town over from where I lived, so we attended different high schools. In the last two weeks, I’d scheduled myself extra nights so that I could see him more often. I’d also been a little more lenient with people who wanted to return broken merchandise that would have to be picked up and brought to the stockroom... and I volunteered to deliver those returns in person. "Wow, service with a smile," he'd said as I'd entered the customer free zone that was his domain.

I turned my attention to the digital read out on the car stereo. It was 10:32. My commute home generally took about thirty minutes. “My dad’s gonna kill me if I’m late,” I said with a reluctant sigh. I was hoping that he’d noticed the extra emphasis I'd put into that sigh and would pick up on the fact that I wasn’t dead set on obeying the rules tonight.  But he was staring down at his scuffed boots again.

"Then I guess I'll just see you tomorrow," he nearly whispered as he stopped leaning on my door and took a step back, slowly lifting his gaze to meet mine.  He was visibly upset, but not more than I was. Were boys really so clueless? No, I'd planned the perfect thing to say, rehearsed it a hundred times and if there ever was a right time, it was now... whether he was picking up on my hints or not.

"Hold on a second," I began as I motioned for him to step closer. "I waited for you for a reason. What I mean is... well, you've been waiting for me this whole time and I don't want to just up and leave just because... Crap. Hold on, let me start over."  I took a deep breath, ignoring Jeremy's raised eyebrow. "Ok, so... did you hear the whole stupid blue light special announcement I had to make over the intercom to get rid off all that Valentine's Day stuff for seventy-five percent off?"

He nodded, still eying me suspiciously.

"Ok, well, did you hear the part where I said that thing about how any customer in the store tonight lucky enough to have someone to buy discounted candy for, should definitely pick some up even though the official holiday was over... and what a value it was to be able to show their love every day for such an unbelievably low price?"

He was grinning. "Oh yeah, I heard that part. All the guys were giving me total crap me about it. Talk about cheesy. They think you're more of a dork than I am!"

I briefly thought of my previous crush. Of course they did.

He went on, "But I could hear the sarcasm coming through, so it was funny. When you started doing those announcements, that's when I knew I had to ask you out... I mean, I always thought you were pretty, but... that stuff cracks me up." The smirk on his face was endearing.

"Yeah well, it was cheesy and all, but I was kinda talking about you," I informed him.  I reached into the oversized pocket of my work vest on the seat next to me and retrieved the foil wrapped, heart shape candy with the words "I Love You" stamped on the front.  Starting to feel as though my well rehearsed, albeit fifty cent valued, proclamation wasn't going to turn out the way I'd envisioned, I held it out to him before I was able to loose my nerve.  I was glad that the red tinted light covered the flush in my cheeks.

He took it and studied it for a moment.  Without words, he leaned in through the window. In that instant, a flood of thoughts hit me at once.  I was supposed to get OUT of the truck. I was supposed to end up in his arms, like a romance movie, with sweeping, epic music playing in my mind.  I was supposed to say something else, too... Before I could continue the process of over-thinking the situation, his lips touched mine.  I thought, "This is it... this is my perfect moment that I've been dreaming of and plotting for and planning every detail of since I was eleven years old!" Then all of a sudden I felt a sensation that I can only describe as being akin to my little brother's tackle box being dumped into my mouth. Something like one of those rubbery fishing worms was darting from tooth to tooth and nearly down my throat.  It was cold and wet and weird. "This is disgusting... is it supposed to be gross?," my flustered mind wondered.  Maybe it was the shock of things not feeling the way Hollywood portrayed them to be or maybe I'd just over planned the details and my mind wasn't where it should have been, but the sensation ended abruptly before I could analyze it further. The empty Budweiser bottle had resumed its journey across the lot and hit the wheel of a parked cart with a loud "Crack!"

"Ow!" Jeremy yelped, clasping his hand over his mouth.  I wasn't sure what it was yet, but something had undoubtedly gone terribly wrong. "I think you bit my tongue."

"Ow!" I immediately yelled back, putting my own hand over my mouth. I wasn't actually in any pain, but my panicked reaction was apparently to mimic him.

"Oh no," He stepped closer again, "Or maybe I bit yours? Or I bit my own? Oh, I'm so, so sorry!" He looked completely devastated.  Meanwhile, I felt horrible for shifting the blame onto him.  The entire event had been so confusing and I felt my eyes welling up with embarrassment. I realized that I'd selfishly been deconstructing every nuance of what I considered to be my personal milestone event... while simultaneously ruining his.

Before a tear could escape, I shut my eyes and gathered my thoughts.  Then I reached out my hand, which he took.  "I have no idea what just happened, but I'm pretty sure it was my fault.  I think I was a little bit nervous.  And I'm so sorry that I'm such a neurotic control freak. I don't know what I was thinking, but I do know that I was thinking too much.  Ugh. I suck at just going with the flow, ya know?"  Glancing at the clock that now read 10:39, I went on, "I'm also pretty sure I'm going to be late getting home tonight no matter what.  So, if I'm going to get double grounded or whatever, it should be worth it."  I studied his expression, trying to guess if I was seeing relief or shock. "It's only been a minute, can we have a re-do?"

Jeremy's gentle eyes were fixed on mine. "If my parents never let me do anything, I'd probably be a control freak, too. And I can totally help you out with the whole going with the flow thing.  So, if you really mean it, you can have as many re-dos as you want because I think I could use the practice," he replied with a smile that reminded me he had a cute dimple on just the left side of his mouth.

The big, red "K" reflected in his glasses, but I decided that his poor vision was obviously a bonus because he'd just called me pretty a few minutes earlier.  Had I already started to take such a sweet boy for granted? I shook my head in amazement, and with that shake, all thoughts of anyone else tumbled out and scattered in the breeze. This time, I opened the door, stepped onto the imperfectly painted line of the parking space, and closed in for what would be a truly perfect moment. A moment with the first boy who let me know that he honestly wanted to know me,  someone who wanted to gain an understanding of where I was coming from and who I was.  And in that moment, he was flawless...  I thought only of him as my lips' second touch from another's stirred an inner warmth in my heart that could only be described as the very beginnings of a first love.

The summer before I started high school was a mixture of adulthood anticipation and childhood nostalgia. Camped out in my backyard by the lake, the splintered picnic table served as my stage: front, center and behind the scenes. Living in a sprawling, unincorporated township filled with elderly people, trees and alligators, meant that the recently transplanted youth would have to travel miles to find one another. Given that, I felt very lucky to have found a friendship with a girl two years my senior named Kelly Jackson. I taught her how to sew discarded buttons onto old socks and soon we were giggling from behind the overturned wooden table. While our puppets entertained the nearby birds and squirrels, I wondered if this was what it felt like to have an older sister. Would she teach me how to put on make-up and let me borrow her clothes? The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to leave the childish play behind and explore her home, two neighborhoods away. Kelly, however, seemed quite content to stay, climb trees and explore the mucky lakeside, even when the puppeteering grew tiresome. As summer sped toward an ending, her visits grew less frequent. I had been so excited to show her the three new outfits I’d managed to purchase at the mall by scrounging together all of my babysitting money and I truly wanted to obtain her thoughts as to whether or not my dollar store canvas shoes could pass for Keds. I knew that her approval could open the doors out of nerddom, as just having a friend who was a junior in school would impress my fellow freshman… but add to it that this friend was Kelly Jackson, well, that was just as good as a “Get Out Of Jail Free” card. Kelly was a pretty, blonde, mid-drift showing, new boyfriend every month kind of girl… which was the polar opposite of everything I considered myself to be. I’d had one “boyfriend” in the sixth grade, and I got laughed at by everyone on the bus for not holding his hand correctly. Kelly was going to change everything for me. I was sure of it… so sure, that I brushed off her absence in the week before school started as her just wanting to prepare for the big first day back.

Monday morning greeted me with a wave of anxiety induced nausea as I smashed the snooze button and stumbled into the bathroom to begin the arduous process of waiting for the water to become hot. Running late, as usual, I scrunched my socks down, careful to make sure that the yellow on the left foot rose to the exact same height as the turquoise one on the right. With a cold Pop-Tart protruding from my mouth, I grabbed by backpack and raced down the sidewalk. I wasn’t sure if Kelly would be at the bus stop at the end of my cul-de-sac street or if she’d have caught a ride with someone lucky enough to drive their own car to school, but I wanted to get there early enough to say hi before the cheese wagon arrived. To my dismay, I heard the steady rumble of the large engine as I rounded the last bend and had just enough time to get in line behind the last fluorescent clad student before the pressurized doors were pulled shut by the driver. Kelly was sitting in the back, all seats full. I thought about waving, but I didn’t want to look like a complete dork when I hadn’t met the other older kids yet. Instead, I slumped down in one of the front seats and decided I’d catch up with her on the way home.

Later, the bells had released us back out into the Florida sunshine and diesel fumes, and I jogged past the first few busses idling in the loop to find the one that would take me clear across town to my section of swamp. I saw that Kelly had just arrived and took an empty seat two rows from the last. Before she had the chance to turn around, I plopped myself right beside her. Two older boys with sparse facial hair and a girl with enormous hoop earrings in the row behind Kelly turned their surprised looks toward her, as I smiled from ear to ear. She glared at me and demanded that I get out of her seat. Her snarl caught me by surprise and my only question of “why” was lodged in my throat. Without a sound, I slipped away and took my rightful place behind the bus driver. I paid no attention to the whispers of the other riders as we rolled forward, keeping my eyes locked straight ahead for fear that any movement might cause a tear to spill out and call further attention to my utter humiliation.

Sadly, my quiet embarrassment was not enough for Kelly Jackson. After the bus pulled away from the corner, I scurried as fast as I could down the uneven sidewalk. Kelly followed behind. She shouted at me to stop, but I couldn’t turn to face her. Her footsteps closed the gap between us and the straps of my backpack jerked my shoulders backward. She wanted to know “who the hell I thought I was” and demanded an explanation as to why I’d want to make her look bad. Voice cracking, I simply murmured that I thought we were friends. The fire in her eyes subsided for only a second before her clenched fist connected with my rib cage. The shock of what was happening caused me to miss the complete details of how I’d transitioned from holding my side, still upright… to lying face down on a bed of loose gravel, sand and dandelion weed. I could feel the impression that a broken shell was leaving in my cheek as intensely as I felt the toe of Kelly Jackson’s puffy-painted shoe jabbing into my left thigh. She screamed at me to get up and fight, and when I didn’t, she kicked at me again… each time harder, like an angry mule. The problem was, I didn’t know how to fight. This was my first time. Just like I didn’t know how to dress, how to kiss or how to be cool. I had foolishly hoped that the older girl from the other side of the street would teach me these things... in exchange for what I had taught her about sewing and construction paper prop making and recording our summer sock puppet performances on blank cassette tapes. She called me stupid and pathetic and finished with “I hate you” as a shower of kicked up dirt rained down upon my tangled, brown hair. Over the course of those few minutes that felt like hours, I didn’t say a word and I didn’t get up and hit her back, though it seemed as though she’d really wanted me to. I kept my eyes closed and my nose pressed down, even as I heard the soft crunching of sand that her departing footsteps made. As I tasted the dry earth on my tongue and crunched the tiny bits of tarred asphalt in my teeth, I realized that my only lesson from Kelly Jackson had just been learned.

• Post 1 will be on TODAY, June 12 - Share with us your 1st FIGHT scene on your blog. It can be physical or verbal, fists or magic. Whichever you want to share.
• Post 2 will be on Thursday, June 14 - Share with us your 1st KISS scene on your blog. It can be a peck on the cheek or a full fledge kissing session. Whatever you would like to tell us.
• Prizes? Absolutely! Jackie and I will each pick our favorite scene from each day. That’s 4 prizes total, folks. What are the fabulous gifts for the winners? $10 email-giftcards to Amazon or Barnes & Noble so you can choose that book you’ve been wanting or download it to your Kindle or Nook.)
  
  

Ok, ok, ok... I give in.  But I'm still not mixing my fictional short stories with my "regular blog".  I am however, nixing the third one that was supposed to be for my memoir style novel.  Instead, I'll keep the excerpts here... since they're about me, after-all... and there's a bunch of stuff already on here from several years ago that could probably be retooled for it, as well.  My new brilliant idea is to go back through and tag them all with a label called "autoblography" so that I can find them all later.  And to celebrate my new idea, here's the first one I'm tagging:

My last post focused on the negativity of indecisiveness and the perils of having a mild organizational OCD affliction. As an update: I am still feeling very conflicted about maintaining my three different blogs with three very different purposes, but I’ve settled on writing what I feel. Earlier in the week, I added a post to my memoir style fiction. That will always be easier for me, as it’s the very essence of writing what I know. My insecurity still lies with my other WIP, which is also my first ever sci-fi attempt, "The Grave Mistake".



So today, in honor of the IWSA (click above for details), I’m going to rein in some of the “I’m stuck and I don’t know how to motivate myself to push forward” complaining and focus on a positive tool that my husband, an aspiring screenwriter, has encouraged me to try out. It’s called the Blake Synder Beat Sheet and it’s basically a way to structure a story with 15 distinct “beats”… which when followed, will ensure that the body of your writing has a very strong and well defined backbone. Of course, adapting this outline method to a short story takes a little finesse, but it still works. The beat sheet format without the page number of where they should appear in a screenplay is as follows:

PROJECT TITLE:
GENRE:

1. Opening Image:
2. Theme Stated:
3. Set-up:
4. Catalyst:
5. Debate:
6. Break into 2:
7. B Story:
8. Fun and Games:
9. Midpoint:
10. Bad Guys Close In:
11. All Is Lost:
12. Dark Night of the Soul:
13. Break into 3:
14. Finale:
15. Final Image:

I’ve got my “beat sheet” completely filled out with the exception of numbers 10 through 13. For some reason, I’m having a really hard time getting my story from the midpoint to my finale and final image. I think it’s partly due to the fact that when I originally thought of the idea, most of the change and conflict within the story occurred within the main character’s head via inner dialogue. I’m now torn between adding external “bad guys” and keeping it based as an internalized event for my protagonist. Without a lot of external elements, I’m worried that I won’t fully capture the futuristic aspect of the world I’m writing about and even worse, could lose the interest of my potential readers. If you’ve been so kind as to have read the opening and Part 2 of my story on my blog “Breaking From Reality”, I’d love to hear your opinions on which way you see the story heading and what details you’d be most interested in learning. Don’t worry, my finale and final image are written in stone, so you are at no risk to change the outcome… but I would be open to adding more detail leading up to that point if it would serve my story well. Thanks in advance!

So... for the 4 people that have been following my unadvertised "private" blog for the past few years, the recent changes may have been unexpected. However, relocating halfway across the country away from my friends and family, with no babysitter to enable me to do a whole lot in the evenings while the hubs is working lead me to a decision: I could sit on my butt and watch TV every night, or I could pick up writing again. I created two additional blogs, one to start posting the "story of my life" and the other to post some of my fiction ideas. Then by a stroke of luck, I stumbled across a "blog fest" which was a flash fiction contest. I just couldn't resist. Now, I wasn't chosen as a finalist, but in my mind, it was still a win. I really and truly enjoyed hopping from blog to blog to see what other people had written for the contest. Even more overwhelming was the positive response and support everyone was showing for one another. Thus, I came to the conclusion that it might not be so bad to put myself out there. What good is creative writing if no one reads it? Being afraid of plagiarism is silly... and worst case scenario would be that I'll inspire others to write as they have inspired me. I'll still post things of random nature here, along with occasional Texas updates, but I hope to spend most of my time on the new blogs. And I think I'll participate in some more blog hops, too. Next up:




If you have a blog that's been neglected lately, why don't you join in on the fun?

Something very strange occurred somewhere between the state lines of Florida and Texas. I may very well have accidentally been sucked into a wormhole as I passed through the torrential rain of Mississippi. That... or the isolation that comes with relocation has put nostalgia into the forefront of my mind. First of all, the new job that brought me to this state is with a company I worked for 10 years ago. A few of the same people are out here at this office, but it's mostly new faces. Still, they say as much as things change, they don't at all. During my initial four year stint with this law firm, I was my boss's mole. My dependable, "do anything for the good of the company" work ethic often put me on the road to our satellite office to train staff and report back as to who was really doing what. Now, there's been a bit of an upheaval in the management structure of my current department. And despite the years that have passed, the training I've had, and the education and experience that advanced me into an executive level salary... I am once again being given the role of: mole. It's not that I have a problem with getting people in trouble who aren't cutting it in the workplace, but I can't help feel that my career has come full circle. Not to mention the fact that I once again see about five people on a regular basis that I used to see all those years ago... which is a bit strange on its own merit. In conjunction with this, the local radio station that I've yet to switch from plays nothing but late 90's and early 2000's alternative. I haven't thought about Incubus, Marcy Playground, Harvey Danger or Tripping Daisy in YEARS. So, for the few minutes before I plug in my iPhone, I get caught up in a wave of musically induced memories during my commutes to work. It could be the music more than the old/new office that has me thinking of the past a lot these days. I've thought about how I used to blog... and literally live to see the comments that I could post rebuttals to, continuing the thread with an entire set of witty banter. I've thought about several friends who I lost touch with for one reason or another. Ok, I've thought a lot about two of them specifically... a lot. Two ladies who once were my blog commenters, and I theirs. Ladies with whom I shared a fantastically absurd sense of humor. One whom I "broke up" with in the course of some very heated emails that spawned from my own insecurities about my love life as it was at the time. The other, I can only assume "broke up" with me, as one day we were in communication and the next we were not. Since moving to this state of desolation, I have thought about reaching out to both of them. Sadly though, my practical side tells me that if a relationship ends, it's for a reason... and one shouldn't go stirring up old messes. That same practical side reminds me that I have several dear friends (even if they are all a thousand miles away), and I should place my focus on staying in touch with them via phone, email... and of course, Facebook. I've thought on this over the course of the last few days and I believe I may just be looking to reconnect with the lost simply because they are familiar, they shared a bond with me that worked for a time... and that is much less frightening that going out and trying to make brand new friends. Especially in this materialistic God-fearing city. I really don't like country music, mini pigs, the mall or getting Botox done (not that I've had it done, but I assume I wouldn't like stabbing poison into my face), and those are the type of people I work with. I am a woman in her thirties who has no idea how to make friends. I used the internet to start a base of a friend circle in 2005 and cultivated it into THE most awesome group of friends ever over the course of the six years that followed. I really like those friends, whether I sought them out or they were a friend of a friend that I eventually stole... and I do not want to try to replace them with some local-yocals just because I don't like to drink alone. Two people have suggested that I join a meet-up group of some sort, but my interests are generally things I like to do solo. I love photography, but I absolutely do not like listening to others talk about theirs or try to critique mine. I enjoy writing, but I'm very protective of my ideas for fear that my original thoughts could be plagiarized. While I can imagine myself enjoying a hike or a canoe trip, I cannot imagine having a lot in common with outdoorsy people. The only reason camping went well in my old friend circle was because we were all kindred spirits with similar music tastes and an appreciation for liquor and beer by campfire... especially when the trip called for a rickety boat trip to a semi-deserted island. We were all the type of people who enjoyed the beach at night more than the day, as evident by our ironically pale Florida skin. I don't know how to find people like that out here... and maybe I don't want to. Because my biggest fear would be forgetting these friends after getting caught up in the lives of any potential new ones. The thought of losing touch with the circle I cherished with every ounce of my heart is likely one of the most terrifying fears I've ever had. Right now, in this moment, I wish I knew where that Mississippi wormhole was... because without hesitation, I would travel back just a few months to get a little more face time with the faces I miss the most.

It's hard to believe that I haven't written a blog in just over a year. I suppose one could say that being too busy to spend personal time on a computer is a good thing, or that a year flying by too quickly to stop to jot down memories is common. I'm not satisfied with either of those two statements. The simple truth is that it was a challenging year... 2011 started of with negativity and nostalgia and delved into uncertainty and dissatisfaction before it began it's upward decent toward a change that was a long time in the making. The main source being being centered around my career. I was wearing too many hats, working too late, too hard and caring too much... for employers that paid me too little and cared about me even less. It was crushing to realize that the organization I had believed in so deeply was riddled with corruption. Oddly enough, a fortune teller at our "roaring twenties" Halloween party told me that I would make a decision in mid-November that would put my career life back on the path it was meant to be. She also said that it would be a major change for my family. Not putting much credence in tarot readers, I didn't think much of it until I received a job offer that paid a bit more for less responsibility... in mid-December. Also, this new job was in Dallas, TX.

My final month in the Sunshine State was a whirlwind of driving, visiting, packing and planning... that lead me to begin 2012 in a new town, a new state and with endless possibilities. Just today, I took an hour long hike on a trail behind my development and made a new friend... a beautiful horse with a scar. For now, I'm not taking my work home with me and I'm focused on regaining my passions in life. Writing will resume soon, via blog and other creative outlets... and my photography already has...

I think that most blogs written around the new year are filled with anticipation and expectations for the future... but this isn't one of those. This new year, I've been thinking about the unfortunate subject of exes. I feel the need to preface this, however, by stating that none of this thinking was intended, on purpose or of my own choosing.

The first scenario involves the ex before the last ex... the "put my heart through a blender ex". Yes, THAT one. I'll try to skip through most of the boring stuff by simply saying that one of the new departments I was put in charge of helping create and install a system workflow for was the department that handles contacting my firm's existing clients who are nearing their contract expiration dates. This means that in order for us to continue representing them, they must sign another contract and pay an additional retainer in order for us to keep working on their case. Another of my new departments that I'm over-seeing is the mail room. Last week, the mail room was charged with mailing out a bulk batch of letters to the type of clients I described above. Upon checking in on the project, I noticed a name and address on an envelope that looked familiar. In the 16 months of working for my current employers, never once did I think of this ex, nor would I have had reason to check to see if he were a client of my law firm. Seeing the envelope led to me look up his electronic file... looking up his electronic file led me to an event that shocked me. On my very fist day on the job, the ex came into my office for the first time to drop off his legal paperwork to initiate legal work on his case. On the exact same day. In case anyone missed that last detail... on the exact same day. This ex once told me that our fates would be forever intertwined and that we'd attend one another's funerals and other dramatic, romantic nonsense. Luckily, I don't believe in fate. However, I do believe in Karma and forging one's path through the choices one makes. It would be unethical for me to disclose the unnamed ex's legal problems due to the fact that several of my most beloved friends (who might actually read this) were stolen from said ex... but I will say that his case probably would have yielded quicker results had someone as high up the chain as myself known about it and gotten involved. Had this ex not lied, cheated on and thoroughly used me... perhaps he could have had a friend to help him when he was truly in need.

The second scenario involves the most recent ex... the "we should have just stayed friends ex". Yes, THAT one. This instance can be detailed with fewer words as it doesn't require a lot of back story (if you've read my last few posts... ha!) It was New Year's Eve and I arrived to the front of a bar I once loved with a party of six, all decked out in hideous 80's prom attire. Two people behind me in this line was the ex and few of his friends (one of which used to be mine, too). Once inside, I waited at the bar to place a drink order while one of my party was approached by the ex who asked if "that was me over there". Now, I know I was covered in purple ruffles, but seriously? Anyway when our mutual friend simply stated yes, his response was "I guess she's mad at me, huh?" Again.... seriously? After that, I began to lose myself in the music, the dance floor... and the vodka. Strange girls I've never met crossed the crowd just to tell me how much they loved my dress. Two of them took pictures with me... I felt like a celebrity. Yes, my dress was that ugly. The night went on and aside from one or two "pretend you just didn't make eye contact" moments, I had a blast. During those brief glimpses toward the bar, I saw the ex texting on his phone and smoking. Said ex had been so proud of himself for quitting when we first became friends and throughout our relationship marveled at the fact that it was the best thing he'd ever done for his health. Beyond that regression, he looked alone... and not exactly sad, but not happy either. This can be a lonely situation for anyone in a crowd on New Year's Eve at midnight.

I suppose the point of this blog is to reflect on what was and what is... I don't take pleasure in other's misfortune and I don't wish for anyone to suffer through any failures or set backs in life. And despite my general nature to want to help those in need, I do not feel pity for these exes, nor would I ever wish them back into my life. However, I do hope that the new year brings them clarity and knowledge that will enable them to change and be good to others... so that their lives will get better, too. As for me, gaining these two little pieces of insight have helped to concrete my belief that the choices I've made have been the right ones. No matter how rough the road may get, I know it always leads to home... to happiness... to my family. Cheers to a new year.

On September 15th, I began writing a blog titled "Contentment with Content" and didn't get past the second line. It was going to be about how my career had taken a creative turn and express my joy over the full and complete transition from paralegal work into operations and web development. As a test run, I used free time to complete two different content writing projects with marketing keyword requirements... and I wrote circles around the crap that had been occupying my firm's web space. It was fun... and I got to use my writing skills... for work! Sadly, my joy was short lived as a professional was hired by one of the partners before my boss, the firm director, even had the chance to review my sample work. While I was disappointed, it tuned out to be a blessing in disguise. Since then, I've worn so many hats, I've got permanent, imaginary hat-hair. Until last week, I filled in as HR and Recruiting Manager... until I finally helped hire an HR Director. In between conducting a gazillion job interviews, I was also bombarded with enough projects under my fairly new "Product & Systems Manager" title to keep me busy enough to completely relinquish all paralegal duties. While I lost the opportunity to get paid for some creative writing, I did get a decent raise to write departmental operating procedures, training guides and study up on how to set up tracking systems in our case management system and write codes for custom reports. The latter parts of my job sent me to a software conference in New Mexico last month where I rubbed elbows with the top execs and brought my boss home some free stuff and new software tricks. All in all, management has stolen most of my free time for social networking, blogging and responding to personal emails... but it suits me (haha, suits me... get it?).

I thought I'd feel bad for selling out, going completely corporate and setting a good example with modest, professional attire... but I don't. I enjoy going to work every day. The six months I tried to work from home were a disaster, as much as I loved spending time with my son; I was a depressing mess. Now though, my little one is the smartest in his class and (as recently observed in a local playground) has learned the social art of politeness over violence. Each day I wonder how I could be more proud of him, and then each day trumps the one before. He loves his teachers and has a girlfriend whom he looks out for, while bossing around the other toddlers and helping the staff clean and organize. Part of me lives for the few hours a night we play and the weekends I devote solely to family... but I can't lie, the other part of me lives to climb the corporate chain. This may make me a suckier friend than I was in previous years, but I hope they all understand it's from lack of time and not lack of love. Then again, I don't have to hope... my closest friends have been rather busy themselves now that I think about it. Living in my thirties is so much different than my twenties, which was expected... but there are so many things I didn't see coming. I never thought I'd go more than a week without talking to those I considered best friends and I never thought I'd be so inconsiderate as to delay responses to texts and emails for hours, let alone weeks! I just hope all the thirty-somethings in my circle slow down enough to enjoy some of the things we used to... before we're... eeek... forty-somethings.