Patience: Something I hope you discover before you’re fifteen.

I happened to be at the high school this week waiting for my daughter’s violin lessons to finish when I heard some loud thumping going on in the main hall. Curious, and let’s face it, nosy, I walked out and saw a group of teenagers pounding on the vending machine.

Before I could say anything, a teacher appeared at the other end of the hall. “Don’t beat on the machine,” she said.

One of the girls in the group complained that whatever she’d bought from the machine was still stuck inside, and she’d enlisted the help of a bunch of boys to get it out.

“I’m sorry, but you still can’t beat on the machine,” the teacher said. “Go to the office tomorrow morning, and they’ll give you a refund.”

The group moved away from the machine, so I went back to into the music room’s hallway to continue waiting. Not five minutes later, there was a huge crash in the main hall.

I rushed out from where was sitting to see teenagers scattering like rats from the vending machine now lying on its side. Did they really think running was going to help them? A teacher had warned them just a few minutes before to leave the machine alone. No doubt being a teacher, she could ID every kid in the group.

Stupid, stupid, stupid—they broke the vending machine over something that probably cost less than a dollar. And the teacher had told the student if she went to the office tomorrow morning they would have given her a refund. Now she and her friends owed the school a new machine, which I’m going to go out on a limb and assume cost more than the messily thing that had been stuck inside. A little patience on their part could have saved them from a huge expense.

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Go with it

I spent a lot of time outlining the first book I ever wrote. I had every chapter mapped out, every plot twist planned, but when I began to write the novel the characters took over. Sounds psychotic but it’s true, they took on a life of their own and didn’t want to go where I had planned. At first, I tried to force them, but something about the action and dialogue seemed insincere. I finally gave up, and let them take me where they wanted. The story ended up being far from the outline I had originally designed, but a fantastic novel just the same.

When I began my second novel, I outlined like before, but once again the characters took over. This time, I didn’t fight it as much. I had successfully finished the first, so I had no doubt I could it again. My second novel was even more surprising. As you can guess, I no longer outline my stories. I have an idea for a beginning, and a faint inclination of where it might end. The characters do the rest, which makes it fun, I’m discovering just like a reader would the twists in my plots. Although, most professionals will tell you it’s difficult to create good flow without outlining, it doesn’t work for me. That’s the most important lesson of all if you want to write or create anything—approach it however it feels best to you, who cares if it’s unorthodox.

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“soon”….sigh

The anticipation of my first novel being published is both irritating and exciting. Those who know I’ve sold my first novel continually ask when it’s coming out. I’d love to be able to say something more specific than “soon”. In fact, I say “soon” so often I worry people are starting to think this whole author business is something I’ve made up. If I hadn’t spent several months in painstaking re-edits, I might believe it as well.
I was ready six years ago, when I finished this first novel, for the world to see it. After all the work I’ve done lately, I’m even more ready. I know putting my work out there for the public eye means I’ll be standing before the proverbial fire squad, laying myself open to either criticism or praise. But after this long of blindly being bound to the post of anticipation, I really wish someone could fire away. Put me out of my misery and the endless “soon” I can’t seem to escape.

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Living in the aftermath

What I wouldn’t give for absolute self-control. I could squash my temperament, which tends to run on the hot side, before I explode and say and do things I shouldn’t.  After I calm down, I always feel like a fool.  I’m not five-years-old, I know better than to allow myself to be goaded by the actions of others. Yet, every once and awhile, BOOM, my inner child clouds over my reasoning and I spout off.

The biggest problem, even if I win the verbal argument, someone is left with a perception of me that is less than complementary. I’ve never claimed to be perfect, but I have got to be better than this. In the business of writing, I’m not only selling my words to an audience but myself. When my book eventually comes out, people who don’t like me are not going to run out and buy it. Yep, self-control is what I need, lots and lots of self-control, and maybe a mental closet where I can stuff my inner child.

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The frienemy on top of my head

You’d think since I’m a girl hair wouldn’t drive me crazy, but it does.  I can only stand for it to be on my neck for so long before I’m pulling it up into a severe bun. Eventually, even the bun isn’t enough, and I whack it off completely, which is what happened this week. I killed my hair.  I hadn’t cut it in several years, which I think is a record for me. I even considered having the pictures at the top of the blog retaken to match what I looked like now.  Good thing I didn’t.  I guess know myself too well.

Me and hair, we’re “frienemies”. My hair tries so hard to show me how pretty it can be—and I’ve learned to love my curls.  I didn’t always—not until I discovered products that took the frizz away, but the curls, rub and tickle my neck.  Unfortunately for my hair, I need a happy neck more than luxurious long tresses. Besides, the kind of curl I have can work at almost any length, so it’s “off with the ends”.

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Gutsy move!

Our oldest son started wrestling last year.  His first season was hard. It was hard for me too.  He didn’t win a match. This season we have seen a vast improvement in him.  He’s won about half of his matches, which is pretty amazing when you think about what happened the first season.

This past weekend we attended a tournament that offered both Folkstyle and Freestyle wrestling.  If you don’t know the difference, it’s okay, they look pretty similar to me. The biggest difference is the scoring. Anyway, back to my story…

We really haven’t spent much time on Freestyle.  Folkstyle is more common—used in grade schools up through colleges.  This tournament didn’t offer a separate fee for the two styles, you could opt to do only one, but the fee was the same whether you did one or both, so of course we did both. If I have to pay, I’m getting my money’s worth.

All morning long my oldest son stressed about the Freestyle portion coming after Folkstyle was finished.  He’d never done it, so my husband took him down on an open mat and showed him how to do a few freestyle moves, one of them being the Russian roll.

Now came the big moment, his very first Freestyle match.  He took the kid down to the mat with ease. Takedowns are definitely his strength.  What happened next amazed me even more, he tried to put the Russian roll on the kid.  And it worked!—kind of.  He rolled the boy over once, but lost momentum in the middle of his second turn and ended up stuck on the bottom.  Basically, the other boy, now on top, got credit for pinning my son.  Yet, I couldn’t have been prouder. It takes guts to attempt things out of our comfort zone, and he’d done it with flare, using a move he barely knew.  That’s my boy!

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Don’t hide your mistakes: Things I wish I would have known when I was fifteen

To live a life without mistakes is impossible, but trying to cover up those mistakes, as my daughter found out this week, only makes the initial mistake worse.

She loves accessories, bows, flowers, pretty things for her hair.  I’m far less girlie, but over the years my sisters have given her many fun, and fancy things.  This week one of the flowers my sister made for her popped off its barrette.  Rather than tell me, my daughter decided to fix the problem herself.  Except, the lid on the super glue bottle she found was stuck.  Again, rather than ask for help she took a knife and tried to force the lid off.  Oh it finally came off, along with the entire top, spilling super glue all over the bathroom counter and sink.  A big mistake for sure, but too scared to tell me what she had done, she wiped at the glue with toilet paper and left the bathroom hoping I wouldn’t notice.

Dried super glue is pretty hard to miss.  I walked into the bathroom thinking what had the kids been doing with the toothpaste, but this toothpaste wouldn’t come off no matter how hard I scrubbed.  Of course I start an inquisition, but every one of my children said, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”  The stuff had magically appeared all by itself.  As you can imagine, after spending more than an hour scrubbing at the hard stuff that won’t come off, I’m pretty ticked off.  In walks my daughter and finally admits what she had done.

If this isn’t the perfect example of how a mistake is made so much worse by trying to conceal it, I don’t know what is.  Hopefully, my daughter has learned her lesson as well as anyone who reads this.  Hiding our mistakes doesn’t make them go away.  They are always found out–eventually.

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Jester or bully

While growing up, I felt bullied only a few times in my life.  I ignored it when I could, and the one time when I couldn’t, I punched the person in the face and we both got expelled for a day.  But now I’m a mother, and the bully isn’t coming after me. They’ve set their sights on my child.  It’s one thing to attack me.  I know I can take it.  I place no importance on the outside words and actions of others beyond my small circle of family and friends.  My child, however, is still young, he doesn’t have the years of experience or the built up mental barriers.  I want to act, charge into the school like a momma bear defending her cub, but my son begs me to leave it alone. “Don’t make it worse,” he says. Maybe he’s right.  I overcame the few bullies I experienced.  Is this how I help him grow? After all, everyone else keeps calling it, “just plain old teasing between boys.” Are they right? Is he more of a jester than a bully?  The only problem, I’ve been a witness to some of this “teasing”. It looked more like thinly veiled hazing to me.

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A romance role model

This week I stumbled upon a television version of Jane Austen’s Emma I had never seen before.  This particular story is my favorite of Austen’s work.  I’ve read the book several times and watched so many movie variations, you’d think I could have just turned the channel—but I didn’t, or maybe I should say couldn’t.  It doesn’t matter I know every twist and turn to the plot, the story of Emma never gets old for me. It’s what truly sets Jane Austen’s novels apart, they transcend time. Yes, we no longer have the same social barriers she used as her backdrop 200 years ago, but her grasp of the intricate dance everyone goes through for romance is profound.  From the longing looks infatuation brings, to the thrilling joy found when the one you want returns your affection.  Whenever I write romantic interludes in my novels, I try to remember that.  It’s not about the physicality of relationships; it’s the sweet buildup of growing tension that makes a reader squeal in delight.

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Worth the read: The Hourglass Door by Lis Mangum

The Hourglass Door by Lisa Mangum is a very original spin on a good old fashion love story.

Abby, our heroine, is a senior who’s living a life of “status quo”.  The boyfriend, though cute, was handpicked for her when she was a child. She’s applied to all the colleges her parents and friends expect her to go.  Her life is going according to everyone else’s plans, until he transfers into her school.

Dante is different than any boy she’s ever met.  He’s Italian, keeps to himself, wears gloves on his hands, and it feels like time slows down whenever he is near—of course she’s intrigued. But giving into her attraction draws her into the tragic tale of where he’s come from—sixteenth-century Florence!  Condemned to the future for crimes he didn’t commit.  But he wasn’t the only one forced through the hourglass door, and they are dangerous.

When these men force Abby to reopen the hourglass door, Dante must follow and stop them before they can change the past and affect the future.  Abby fears she’s lost Dante forever until a package is delivered showing her how to remake the hourglass door…

Yep, it’s a series.  The next book is entitled The Golden Spiral. I love it, hate it when they keep me hanging.

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