Big Life Decisions

First an update on my NaNoWriMo progress. So far, I remain on target and I'm very proud of that. I don't know if I'll meet today's target, though. I feel as though my brain needs a break from all of this creativity. I'm tired of my twisted, go nowhere story, but I think that's the point of all this. Learn to carry on. If you don't like the story, change it. In the words of Erin Morgenstern, "when in doubt, just add ninjas." Why not? If the story is boring, or feels like it's going nowhere, throw a wrench in it. Throw an obstacle at your characters, give them a ridiculous nervous tick, do whatever you need to make your story more exciting and enjoyable to write. The purpose of NaNoWriMo is not to come up with a pullitzer winning novel. The point is to teach yourself to write every day, to challenge yourself and free yourself to be as creative as possible. Maybe my brain doesn't need a break from creativity, maybe it needs another dose of it!
Unfortunately, this is not my only problem. As any of my loyal readers know (and I love you by the way), I consistently have a ridiculous amount of problems. I blame my ability to make the worst decisions possible. Whatever the wrong decision is, that's the one I choose. Now, I've done a few things right. I married a wonderful man. I bought a house when there was a lull in the market and now at today's prices I would never have been able to afford a house. At the same time, my husband and I were not financially ready to buy a house when we did. And we certainly shouldn't have gone on vacation. And we really shouldn't have bought a dog a few months before we went on that vacation. And I really shouldn't have signed up for a $1000 massage course for right after that vacation. Oops.
Now, the fact that our dog ended up eating a rag, getting deathly ill and accumulating $3000 in vet bills is just bad luck. And the fact that this happened when it was too late to back out and get a refund on the class was just unfortunate timing. But I never should have signed up for the class when we had so much going on. And we shouldn't have rung up such a huge bill while on vacation when we had just bought a house and a dog.
We are still recovering from a long line of bad financial decisions. We're doing really great and we're making progress, but climbing out of the hole you've dug is a whole lot harder than digging it.
So, here's my problem. I have a very happy home. A home that's content and full of love. And there's a dog that needs a home. A beautiful six year old Great Dane, a boy. Would taking on another dog be another of my terrible life decisions? Can we afford another dog? Do we have enough room? Do we have enough room in our hearts? And if we didn't take him and he got destroyed, could I forgive myself? I don't know. And I've been tormented for days.
Tomorrow, my husband and I are going to meet him. I don't know if we're meant to be his new home, or if we're meant to help find him his new home. I don't know if he's the right fit for our family. I'm trying to proceed with caution. The plan is to meet him, sleep on it, talk it over and then, if it feels right, let him meet our dog, Maddie. If that goes well then we'll sleep on it, talk it over and maybe see him again, take him and Maddie for a walk. I want to take it slow. I can't afford to let another stupid decision break the decidedly hard-earned peace in our home. Ugh. I hate life decisions.

The Devil Loves Hairspray

Yesterday was what I like to call a 'semi-special' day at work. It was gala night in the cosmetics department, meaning that the store stayed open late, our counters were decorated, food was served and we glammed it up in cocktail dresses for the evening.
I'd like to say that people poured in and spent a ton of cash, but unfortunately we didn't even match what we pulled in last year. So, I wouldn't call it a rip-roaring success.
For this special evening, the hair salon would be offering five minute touch ups. In order to showcase their work and entice customers to give it a go, they decided they do updos for everyone that worked in the cosmetics department. We had no idea this would be happening until the day of, when our manager started ordering us over to the hair salon.
The first girl came back with a matronly french twist backcombed into beehive size proportions. Not bad. Not great of course, but not bad. The second girl did not fare so well. She came back looking like a who from whoville in Dr. Seuss. Atop her head stood a tower of hair going up like a ski slope. She could have decorated it like a Christmas tree. Needless to say, she did not take my suggestion that she actually do so with the seriousness I'd hoped. (I can still picture what it would have looked like, all done up with twinkling lights...)
Naturally, when it came time for my own face off with the hair dresser, I was fairly certain I too would end up a walking debacle of towering hair design. But, putting on a brave face, I hopped resolutely into the chair. I knew, as with most cases in working retail, resistance was futile.
The man who did my hair was probably in his mid-late forties, was balding on top and wearing glasses. You would have thought he'd be sweet and gentle. After all, the only customers they ever have are fragile old ladies. But no, he wasn't. He didn't speak a word to me when I hopped up into the chair, not one word. He turned my chair and started raking through my hair with his fingers, pulling through whatever small tangles there were with cold efficiency. He jabbed at my head with his fingers whenever he wanted me to turn, look down or look up. I would have appreciated it if he'd simply asked me to move my head, but apparently this would waste precious seconds. He backcombed the bejeezus out of my hair, ruthless and vicious with his little metal comb as I cringed at the amount of damage he was doing to my already fragile hair. Not to mention it hurt like hell. He went at me with so much hairspray I was coughing for twenty minutes after. I had to make sure I stayed away from open flames, I was pretty sure I'd ignite like a pile of dry leaves. Every step of the way the can of hairspray was unloaded on my head as though it was the sealant that would keep the damn from breaking. My hair was as sticky and dry as brittle wood, and afterward I had to wash the back of my neck in order to move my head, he'd sprayed so much hairspray I was literally glued into position.
The end result? Nowhere near as bad as girl number two. Instead of a sculpted hair tower, I looked more as though I had a giant bow on the top of my head, akin to the kind of updo you see at graduations and weddings. I was definitely too done up for a gala evening at work, but so was everyone else so I'd take it. It almost looked as though the massive bouquet of curls was trying to eat the rest of my head.
Getting it out when I finally got home was a real pain in the butt, or more accurately - head. After rooting around my head for the millionth bobby pin, I was stuck trying to brush out the obsessively hair sprayed, backcombed mess. It felt as though I was trying to tear the hair from my head. And I did. My dress, the couch, all were covered in hair. It was like I had a golden retriever roll all over me. It took a half an hour to comb it all out, and even still, the next day it still reeks of hair spray.

I Did It!

I know the title of this post was a dead give away but I don't care. I did it! Not only am I where I should be for word count for NaNoWriMo, I'm 150 words ahead! HAH! Take that world! When I put my mind to something I cannot fail! Not only that, I did as much work on my HerStory Calendar profiles as was allowable (one of my subjects refuses to get back to me so I'll have to pick a new candidate), and I even managed to fit in some extra work on a few other projects as well as some social time. Go Superwoman! Which in this case, is me.
I realize of course that I'm being an obnoxious braggart, but I think I've earned it. In two days, I've written 9,000 words among all my other chores and responsibilities. Go me! (See? I can't stop!) The only bad news is that I must return to work tomorrow. Ick. I'm not looking forward to it. It's going to be a late evening. But at least I can go to work without the burden of an overabundant word count weighing on me. If I want to stay on track, all I need to do tomorrow is right 1,517 words. That should be doable. At least we'll see. Let's keep our fingers crossed that I can stay on track!

The End of Week One

All right. I've reached the end of week one and I'm pretty far behind. And by pretty far behind I mean insanely far behind. I currently have 2792 words and I'm supposed to be at 8335. But am I giving up? No sir! I have the next two days off, which means locking myself inside and having a good old fashioned write in. Although unfortunately it won't all be on my book. I have a looming deadline for HerStory Calendar, so I'm going to finish it once and for all. The rest of the time will be dedicated to book writing.
Keep in mind, I use the term 'book' loosely. It's more stream of consciousness nonsense vaguely resembling a plot. But I'm definitely enjoying going along for the ride. I have no idea where this story is going. I'm just waiting to find out. It's a fun method. Did you know that author extraordinaire James Lee Burke has the same approach? He never thinks further than two scenes ahead. According to him, if he knew the ending when he started the reader would too. Interesting, no?
It's been a crazy week, what with everything going on in my writing universe and the unfortunate circumstances of my day job, I'm exhausted. But I have a lot to do, and there's nothing more satisfying than finishing your To Do List. When I have my HerStory Calendar stuff done I know I'm going to breathe a lot easier. I could probably use the weekend off, but 48 hours of sleep just can't match the restorative powers of getting something done. Keep your fingers crossed that I end the weekend with a self satisfied I Did It! post instead of a despair and self loathing I Failed!

NaNoWriMo Day 2

Well, it's the end of day two and I have 1519 words. I was technically supposed to be at 3334, but I'm still feeling pretty good. So far, I'm having a blast and thank God cause today was one of the worst days I've ever had at work to date.
I won't get into it, as it's unprofessional and immature (I know, when has that stopped me before?) but I'll sum it up in one word - soul crushing. Okay, that was two words, but cut me some slack. I'm tired and had a bad day. The highlight of which was my ten minute long conversation with a homeless man who claimed to be an artist and told me he invented a building that was hung from wires - you know, so an earthquake couldn't damage it. And I'm not exaggerating when I say this was the highlight. He was actually nice to me, which I appreciated.
You know those scenes in movies and TV shows, when the main character goes into a store and is ignored by the salesperson who's talking on the phone, clearly to a friend or boyfriend? I realize they're portraying the salesperson as the villain, behaving unprofessionally and rude, but I got to say. I'm always on their side. It's probably from years of customer service, but those people are my heroes. All day, every day, people in customer service are ground under the boot heels of customers, managers and fellow employees. When I watch scenes like that, all I can think is - "Yeah! How do you like it? It's not nice when people treat you like they're more important than you, is it?"
Clearly I'm blathering on - okay, complaining - and I'm not even really sure I have a point. All I know is, people suck. And there are people out there who've realized this fact. They're called hermits. And they too are my heroes.

NaNoWriMo!

I've decided (one hour ago to be precise) to accept the challenge of NaNoWriMo. And just in time too! (It takes place in Novemeber). NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, and in this challenge you write a novel in one month. It is of course, by no means done. It will still need extensive editing and so forth, but it's a great exercise to get you writing every day and challenge yourself to just let go and let the writing flow! (That's right. I rhymed. Deal with it.)
Of course, I will keep you apprised of my progress. And since I have a number of other deadlines to accomplish this month, I'm sure you'll also be forced to listen to me moan and complain about how I'm a complete idiot for attempting this, how I'll never get everything done, that I'm tired, stressed and etc. So, please enjoy! HAH. If I suffer, we all suffer.
The funny thing is how I found out about it. I'd never heard of it until about an hour and twenty minutes ago, when I was reading the blog of Allison Winn Scotch. She answered a question about it and curious, I googled it. Before I knew head from tales I was signing up, going through the forum, RSVPing for events and getting down to business. That's right, I've already cracked out 458 words. Off to a smashing good start I think! I believe the goal for week one is 1667 words, so we'll see how I do. Frankly I'm just super excited to see what I come up with! Wish me luck!

Tales of Ridiculosity

Today something stupid happened. It began innocently enough, at 11:00AM. I let the dog out and she immediately started to bark. Incessantly. Fearing the complaints of unhappy neighbours I yanked open the sliding glass door and began to shout at her to shut up. Having no success with matching her noise with my own (who would have thought yelling wouldn't stop another creature from also yelling?), I grumpily yanked on my husband's over sized boots sitting by the door and ran out to grab her.
Now here's where things get stupid. October, up in my neck of the woods, is cold. At this point of the month the leaves have long since fallen from the trees, and more often than not you'll see the kids trick or treating in winter coats and snow boots with barely visible costumes underneath. So, of course I slid the door shut behind me to prevent valuable heat from escaping. Having convinced Maddie (my dog) to stay quiet, I returned to the door and gave it a hard yank, anxious to return to the warm innards of my house. Nothing. I yanked again, frowning. It was stuck. I stared through the glass at the lock handle that had fallen into position when I'd closed the door behind me. I was locked out.
Fighting down panic, I took a deep breath. I had no phone, I was wearing my husband's giant boots and had no leash for Maddie. Therefore, walking to my sister's was out. My husband was in a class and wouldn't be home until sometime after 12:00. I walked (well, more accurately I stomped. It was impossible not to in those boots) over to my neighbours. After several rings and no response I realized I was sunk. Until they, or my husband came home I wasn't going anywhere.
Returning to the backyard, I assessed my options. I needed to stay warm. Luckily, I was wearing a long sleeved, hooded sweater. Which was good, because unfortunately my hair was still very wet from my shower. I pulled the hood over my head to cover my hair. I was also very lucky to have such a sheltered backyard, with high fences and plenty of tree cover, which meant very minimal wind. Really, it wasn't too bad.
I needed an activity that would keep me warm and help pass the time. I opened the tiny metal shed in the corner of the yard and pulled out the rake. I guess there was no time like the present to rake up the obscene amount of leaves decorating our backyard.
I worked my butt off, raking leaves and throwing sticks for the dog until the yard was spotless, except for two neatly raked, gigantic piles. The entire time I kept my ears trained for the sound of my husband's car, desperate to hear the delicious honk as he pressed the lock button a ridiculous amount of times 'just to make sure'. I kept thinking of one of the lines in a prayer we all use to repeat in church. "As we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ." I was waiting in joyful hope all right.
When I finally heard my husband's car pull up, I almost couldn't believe it. I'd just finished with the raking and was feeling particularly full of despair at the thought of nothing to do but wait. I was like a deer, cautiously stepping towards the fence, anxious not to get my hopes up. But I didn't have to worry. It was him! He was home! I ran (or rather, clomped) down the walkway, leaping into the arms of my saviour.
As you can now tell, I'm obviously safe and back inside where I belong. I still feel rather dumb, and have vowed to take the phone with me every time I go to grab the dog from here on in. Because next time, it could be snowing.

There's a Reason Why Productive People Don't Watch TV

I have a headache tonight, and I know exactly what caused it. Whenever I watch too much TV (more than an hour or two), I always wind up with a headache. I've been completely headache free for my entire week off until tonight, mostly because I've been trying to be productive. You'd think the incessant headaches would teach me to get off my lazy ass and do something with my life, but no. I'm positively addicted to my beloved shows. Yes, from Castle and The Mentalist to The Big Bang Theory and Happy Endings, my TV shows just cannot go unwatched.
But, as I sit here with a throbbing skull, I can't help but think I'm being punished for sliding back into my lazy ways. Therefore, I've decided to keep my TV watching in check, and spend the rest of my vacation as I pronounced I would on the first day. No more headaches, lots more productivity. Not to mention I prefer having something to show for my time other than the unrelenting urge to take a power drill to my forehead.

Success at Last!

Yesterday I finally managed to put on a pair of false eyelashes. As it turns out, all it took was a lot of practice, a few swears and trimming them so they weren't too long for my eyes. Oops. That might have been a larger part of my lack of success. (Insert bashful laughter here). In any case, I'm just happy to have accomplished something, however minor.
I'm starting to get annoyed with my lack of writing success. Over the last two days I should have produced a large amount of workable material, and I honestly don't feel I have much to show. It's embarrassing. There really aren't enough hours in the day. Although I guess if I cut out the false eyelash applying part of the day I'd have a little more time for literary pursuits. Whatever. I needed a win! And man, did I look awesome. Those babies were crazy long, cut on an angle so the longest lashes were in the outer corners of the eyes. And it helped that no one asked if I was crazy or wearing false eyelashes. I had to tell my hair stylist and she didn't believe me at first. Double win! Now if I could just get something worthwhile accomplished...

Day Two

I've decided to proclaim day two a success. Not only did I steer clear of couch and TV induced zombie-ism, I actually got some stuff done. Not a lot, but enough.
I'm happy to say that I started my day off writing. After a long, restful sleep I got up and ate my breakfast with an open notebook, instead of in front of the TV as usual. After breakfast I worked on my writing assignment for my online writing class, showered, made lunch and walked the dog. When I got home Maddie and I did some yard work in the backyard, followed by some spirited tag and stick throwing. With Maddie passed out on the couch I was free to go to the grocery store. When I got home I started dinner - Baked Pumpkin Ziti. Delicious!
Now I'm doing laundry and after this post I'm going to make my husband's lunch for tomorrow. That's right, I'm channeling my inner domestic diva.
I realize of course that none of this is of any interest to you, I'm merely demonstrating that I managed to knock a few items off the To Do list. In other words, I'm bragging.
Tomorrow I have a haircut and I'd like to do some shopping, but I want to concentrate most of my time and energy on writing. After my vacation's over I'm going to be lethargic, depressed and probably pretty stressed out. I want to take as much off my plate as possible. The greatest gift I could give myself would be a new job, but we'll have to see how that goes.

Time to Get Down to Business

Is it possible to be both super excited and kind of depressed at the same time? If so that's me.
Why am I excited? Because I have the next week off.
Why am I depressed? Because I have the next week off.
I know, it's weird right? But hear me out.
First off, I'm excited. I get time off work, which I sorely needed. I get to buckle down and get all my current writing assignments done, catch up on sleep, reading, cleaning and spend some quality time with my pooch. I'm also planning on using the time to go on a mad search for a new job, so keep your fingers crossed for me!
But I'm also depressed. When this vacation is over, I have nothing to look forward to. Literally, nothing. There are no more vacations, no relief in sight. If I don't find a better paying job I'm stuck in retail hell working through yet another (shudder) Christmas season. It's a little upsetting how much working retail destroys Christmas. You think it's bad being one of the shoppers? Trying being the person at the till. It's a nightmare. You thought you were sick of Christmas music last year? Try listening to it eight hours a day, five days a week since November 1st. It sucks all the joy out of your heart and replaces it with a big ball of bitter. Hence, the mad hunt for a new job.
I'm trying not to let it bother me. This is my vacation. I can be depressed when it's over. I know that if I just concentrate on getting all my stuff done and making the most of it, then at least I can hold onto my sense of triumph when I get back. I can soothe myself with accolades of a job well done. So hold onto your hats, I'm about to take this vacation by storm!

Wisdom Teeth

Today, my sister had her wisdom teeth removed. She'd resisted the idea for years, but recently they'd grown (literally) rather painful and momentary awfulness became more appealing than a lifetime of irritating. It was necessary for her to be put under for the procedure, so I was called off the bench and into action. I took the day off work to drive her to and from the appointment, pick up her prescriptions and just take care of her in general. Luckily, our very good friend was also free and volunteered to come along and help. I'll admit, at the time I didn't think I'd need the help, I was mostly just grateful for the extra company in the waiting room. As it turned out, her help was not only appreciated but necessary. It's surprisingly difficult to negotiate a semi-conscious individual into a car, at least it would have been alone. With help - easy! The same went with dropping off and picking up her prescriptions, getting her in bed and keeping her company. All was a better with help.
The fact that I'm smug and should never assume that I won't require assistance wasn't the only lesson of the day. Today I realized with abundant clarity that I would make a complete basket case of a mom. It's true, I've never wanted kids and I'm still repelled by the idea, and it's also true that I'm a complete basket case over the care of my dog, Maddie. But the extent of my worry and fear showed itself today in the waiting room of the oral surgeon's. Watching my sister, clearly terrified, get up and follow the nurse into the unknown brought the sincere threat of tears to my eyes. Anxiety and panic took over as I began feverishly texting everyone I could think of to say a prayer for her. My friend had to calm me down in the waiting room as I lamented over the horror that they'd have to stick my darling sister with a needle for the IV. Keep in mind this is how I reacted over a routine oral surgery for my adult sister. Imagine me with a baby. Not pretty.
Yes, today was an interesting day. My sister is recuperating, and now without wisdom teeth, I'm relieved that it's over and happy that she's safely home, as well as grateful that I don't have children and my sanity remains intact. As for anyone out there who would feel the need to comment and suggest that I should have children - save it. My wisdom teeth may be gone, but my wisdom remains. Not going to happen.

Tolstoy and Fake Eyelashes

It's amazing how one can be both enlightened and an idiot at the same time. Take myself for example. Lately, I've been broadening my horizons. I'm taking writing courses, had a recent phone interview with an accomplished female Canadian involved in working to better women's health and stop social injustice, and I've even begun reading Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy.
But, before I come across too cocky, you should know that I spent the better part of yesterday watching Merlin on Netflix, a show so unbelievably bad I wait until my husband is out and the curtains are closed so no one will see my shameful enjoyment of something so tacky and ridiculous. That's not even to say that I enjoy it, which is probably even sadder. The more accurate description would be that I'm bored and have run out of everything else. But that's not all. My idiocy extends further than a mere inaccurate and poorly executed fantasy show about an awkward teenage wizard (oh Lord the shame!). Lately I've been experiencing an unusual amount of delight in false eyelashes. With Halloween around the corner I've been on the lookout for some seriously wicked false eyelashes. I've been perusing drug stores, Halloween costume shops and even online eyelash boutiques. What I didn't think about is that I have yet to put a pair on. So, a few days ago when I pulled out a set and went about applying them, I was surprised to realize that it's a lot harder than I thought it'd be. Not quite 'glued my eyes shut' bad, but I have yet to successfully wear a pair of falsies.
Which brings me to my point. Here I am, an adult woman reading Tolstoy and conversing with a Phd carrying social activist, while at the same time watching seriously uninspired television and playing with false eyelashes. I'm a walking contradiction. I'm part idiot, part intellectual. I guess it's better than being all idiot. And you have to admit, people that are too seriously intellectual are often pretty boring or snobby. (No one enjoys being seated at the boring accountant side of the dinner table). I think I'm just going to appreciate having a humble, false eyelash wearing side, and continue to develop my more intellectual Tolstoy loving side. If there's one thing I've learned in this life, it's that balance is important. Everything in moderation. It works with nutrition and it works with everything else.

Am I the Only One?

Lately my personal essay class is throwing me for a complete loop. There's one thing I've discovered through all of the assignments, the instructor's comments and critiques and my research into possible markets and that's this: I'm the odd man out.
I love personal essays. I find them entertaining, engaging; they're my favourite part of magazines. But here's the thing. I hate the serious ones. You know the ones where they probe deep into their experiences, are super emotional and look at every angle of their actions and what it means to them and their growth as a person? Yeah. I hate those. I love the funny ones where they make fun of their quirks or sass the Nintendo Wii's 'Wii Fit' for calling them fat. They're hilarious and I love them. Unfortunately, that is not what my class is about, and that's not what 99% of publications look for. So, when it came to finding markets for my essay, I found myself coming up consistently short.
Am I alone in this? Am I the only one that prefers the light and funny when it comes to personal essays? Hello? Anyone out there? Calling all those sarcastic and witty...

Submit! Submit! Submit!

It's been a while since I posted and I apologize, but honestly you'd be very proud of me. Over the last week I've made a valiant (and successful!) effort of dedicating my free time to writing and meeting my various deadlines. My personal essay class is still going very well, with our latest class focusing on the art of submitting your work. It's all about editing and appraising. First of all, getting your draft into the best possible shape before even considering sending it out, and secondly, appraising all possible venues that might fit with your piece. It's important to really look into each venue, reading several pieces from the section you're interested in submitting to and making sure your essay fits in terms of style and tone.
All this talk of submissions got me thinking, and I realized I've really let the ball drop on my own submissions. There are so many contests and open calls for submissions that I need to be taking advantage of. It's true that I won't win any of these contests, or get picked up for publication right away, but treating each deadline as a work or assignment deadline means I'll actually force myself to get some writing done. And the more you practice, the better you get. So far I've made three deadlines and I couldn't be more excited. I'm having fun with all the writing I'm doing and every time I finish a challenge I look forward to the next one. Only time will tell if my personal essay class actually leads to an essay of mine getting published, but so far I've really enjoyed the experience and the kick in the pants its given me to treat deadlines seriously.

Word on the Street

I had to work today. This was upsetting more than in the usual way for two specific reasons. First of all, it was gorgeous out and who knows how many beautiful days we have left. Second of all and more importantly, today was the Word on the Street. For one amazing day, a small side street downtown was transformed into a bustling marketplace of authors, book sellers, publishers, food vendors, poets and people. People who love books. And I'm one of those people. I was supposed to be bustling about with the rest of them, listening to all the authors give readings, buying books and getting them signed, saturating myself in an atmosphere of creativity and the mutual love of books. Instead, I stood in a severely uncomfortable pair of shoes behind a makeup counter, helping shallow people feel good about themselves.
I realize of course that I'm being particularly harsh. After all, I love makeup and skincare so if anything, I'm as shallow as the next person. But I wanted to be out there, nay - needed to be out there. I needed the electric buzz of being around all those authors, to feel the intense longing to be one of them so that I could go home, set myself in front of my computer and write with all the energy and verve of a truly inspired person.
I did manage to sneak out during my lunch hour. I only had time for one reading, but I knew exactly who I wanted to hear. Alice Kuipers. My beloved Writer in Residence. Just being in the same tent with her for half an hour made me feel better, more creative. Her work was incredible. I'm not lying when I say she's incredibly talented. She writes Young Adult novels, but honestly they're an incredible read. I highly recommend you read her work. It's fantastic. For that short half hour, I forgot about work. I forgot that I make a ridiculously tiny wage and more often than not want to bang my head on the counter over what a failure I am. Instead, I felt powerful. I felt capable. I wanted to find a quiet spot and write. Write anything!
It really was a gorgeous day today. And as I walked back to work, feet pinched and mangled horribly by my wretched shoes, I breathed deep. It was crazy hot out, sweating like a pig hot out, but all the leaves were turning. It's fall. And although summer may be ending, the trees and greenery dying for another year, it felt like a beginning. A fresh start. Like something great is just around the corner.
That is, of course, until I got back to work, was bored and tired with feet screaming to be let out of their shoes and once again began banging my head against the counter.

Zombie Nightmare #2

Well, it's 4:00AM and I just had another zombie nightmare. That makes two nights in a row. I guess I better finish that book.

Zombie Nightmares

What would you do in a zombie apocalypse? Where would you go? How would you survive?
I've just started reading Alison Hewitt is Trapped, a Zombie Novel by Madeleine Roux. It stars Allison Hewitt, who's caught at work in a book store when the zombie apocalypse begins. She manages to write a blog throughout her ordeal, making use of an emergency network.
It's a really great read, but here's the thing: I just started reading it yesterday and early this morning I already had a long, involved nightmare about a zombie apocalypse. When I woke up all I could do was sigh. I'm probably going to have a zombie nightmares every night until I finish the book.
That's the thing about my subconscious, it's as impressionable as a small child. Zombies especially tend to stick close to the surface, rising up after even the smallest exposure. Maybe because after seeing as many zombie movies as I have, you begin to think it might actually happen.
And if it did, what would you do?
Where would you go?
How would you survive?

Need More Energy

It's possible I bit off more than I can chew. This morning at 11:48 I was busily writing a one thousand word essay for my writing class... that was due at noon. It was my third attempt at an essay, having started to write two others before getting fed up and discarding them. I also really need to concentrate on hammering out my assignments for the HerStory Calendar (my new gig!), as I really don't want to leave it to the last minute. My full time job is definitely getting in the way though, as is my other part time job and my desire to spend time with my husband, dog and friends. Sigh. I need way more energy.
I've been reading I Don't Know How She Does It by Allison Pearson and frankly, I think it's stressing me out. The main character is a mother with a high powered, crazy stressful job in an office with sexist, chauvinistic brats. Being inside her head is so depressing and stressful that I find myself completely angst ridden. I guess that's a testament to the skillfulness of the writing.
I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, I just wish I had more energy. I feel like I could hibernate for months. Maybe some wheat grass shots are in order. In any case I have to figure out something. I'm so tired I can barely hold my head up to write this.

Writing Class!

This past Wednesday night I officially started my new writing class with mediabistro (FYI: great resource for writers). It's a personal essay class, online, that lasts eight delicious weeks. I'm so excited! Eight weeks of encouragement, constructive criticism and inspiration. What could be better?
I'm especially excited by our first assignment, a 500-750 word essay on a specific moment in which we realized something new about ourselves. I already wrote one but I think I'm going to write another, my first one is a little bland. It's just so much fun to be challenged! I can't wait to turn it in and get some feedback (a little scared too, I'll admit). But the main thing is, learning is progress, and I could do with some progress. It's been a little too long since I've seen some progress. I'm a goal orientated person, and floating aimlessly just isn't my bag. Or, to be more specific, it is way too much my bag. When I have a specific goal and steps I can take to accomplish it, I work feverishly. Without direction, I'm a lazy coach potato that spends her days and evenings watching things like Burn Notice, True Blood and Drop Dead Diva. Hmmm, I could probably find a better use for my time.
Luckily, I have and I couldn't be more excited about it. Perfect timing too. September, the official back to school time, although this time it will be to a school I actually enjoy and get something out of. I never thought I'd say those words again. In any case, it should be a lot of fun and I'll be sure to fill you in on my progress. (Whether you care or not is none of my concern).

The Art of Improvement

Normally, I really don't enjoy "how to improve your writing" articles. I prefer articles on finding inspiration, finding a good editor, an agent, etc. The How To articles are often bland and general without any really valuable advice. It's just too general to be that helpful. I prefer one on one advice based on specific pieces of my writing. However, I did find an article on the Writer's Digest website that is positively loaded with great advice. Even if you only take one pointer you further ahead than when you started, so have a look.
25 Ways to Improve Your Writing in 30 Minutes a Day

Mystery Solved

Well, the dog and I are doing much better today and the mystery of how Maddie got sick in the first place was solved last night when my husband discovered her eating from the garbage (a banana peel to be specific).
Our Maddie is a sneaky creature, so we don't even keep our garbage in the kitchen anymore. We keep it in the office where we can close the door and completely deny her access to it. Unfortunately, my husband is absentminded and has been forgetting to close the door, which resulted in a mischievous dog sneaking bites of garbage. Ugh. So, now I've been careful to close doors after my distracted husband and keeping a close eye on my mischievous dog. A mom's work is never done.

Like Puppy, Like Mommy

Yesterday, my husband and I both had the day off. This is a startlingly rare occurrence so we decided it should be 'date day'. Unfortunately, I woke up congested with a sore throat. I thought I could shake it off, but after lunch, my cold also developed a headache, and then stomach and joint pain were added to the mix. Today I have a full fledged flu (there's an interesting word combo) and I'm stuck on the couch in my jammies, watching tv while trying to coax down some liquids. But I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about my dog.
Maddie's life thus far has been riddled with bumps in the road in regards to her health. My baby has a delicate stomach, prone to long and trying bouts with diarrhea and when she was only eight months old she was subjected to major surgery after ingesting some kind of rag or towel. I still haven't the faintest clue as to how she managed to eat it without my noticing. I am, after all, a truly overbearing mommy. I worry constantly and I always have my eye on her. Well, last night as I alternated between shaking like a leaf and sweating buckets on the couch, Maddie lay on the rug at my feet. She seemed perfectly fine until out of nowhere she threw up. I'd hoped she'd just eaten something that upset her tummy, but this morning she has the runs, and she hasn't had the runs for months now. To make matters worse, I think I saw a little blood in it. Now I'm terrified. Maddie is like my child, her health is my number one priority. I'm still hoping that it's minor and she simply ate something disagreeable. But let's just say my own symptoms aren't my number one priority at the moment.

Halloween is Coming!

What do you do when you hate your job, but there's still a bunch of stuff you want to buy there? Do you stay and wait until you've purchased everything you like (however long that takes), do you quit, suck it up and buy things at full price. or do you buy everything you want in one big swoop and then quit? I don't know what to do.
I promised myself I wouldn't still be at the furniture store at Christmas, but last night we had a staff meeting. Not only did they have out all the Halloween stuff, but during the course of the meeting they showed us a sneak peek of the upcoming Christmas merchandise. I'm fairly certain it was all a convoluted plot to keep me from quitting. (Don't worry, I'm being sarcastic. I'm not that delusional. If retail stores really didn't want their staff to quit, they'd pay better. As it is, they don't and we're all replaceable. I accept that.)
Every year the same thing happens. As summer nears its end (and I cry myself to sleep every night at the prospect of another long, bitterly cold winter), retail stores begin bringing out their Halloween merchandise. And a funny thing happens. Like a child who's lost their balloon, but forgets it immediately at the prospect of an ice cream cone, I too completely forget that summer is leaving and focus on Halloween. It's not until Halloween is over that I remember once again that summer has left me, but luckily the Christmas season is there to distract me. Of course, in January there's no longer anything fun to focus on and the bitterness of winter slowly beats the joy out of me as I wait for spring.
Anyway, getting back to Halloween, last night at the staff meeting I barely heard a thing. All I could do was stare at the Halloween decorations, plots for Halloween dinner parties and haunted houses filling my head. I love Halloween. The costumes, the decor, the candy. I love taking the dismal emptiness of fall and turning it into a spooky wonderland. Honestly, it makes me wish I had more friends. I'd love to throw an epic, gigantic Halloween bash, but I"m a small circle of friends kind of person. So instead I focus on intimate, spooky dinner parties. And this year (if I can convince my husband) I'd love to buy nearly everything from the furniture store's Halloween decor and throw a fabulously haunted dinner party. Yes, that would keep thoughts of a long winter firmly banished from my brain.

A Bad Day with a Sweet Aftertaste

I had kind of a crappy day today. First, when I left for work I forgot my lunch, only remembering when I was too far away to turn around. Then, completely distracted by the fact that I would have to eat lousy food court food, I parked my car in a pay parking lot and marched into work without remembering to buy a ticket. By the time I remembered, it was three hours later and I'd already been awarded a thirty five dollar fine for my absent mindedness. Taking that into consideration with my less than stellar sales for the day and subsequent boredom and it added up to a really lousy day. That is, until afterward.
When work was finally done for the day I raced out to my car, exhilaration giving me new energy. I was going for coffee with a dear friend of mine. Sitting in that coffee shop, laughing and chatting with her, all the stress and irritation of the day melted away. Honestly? It was hard to say goodbye and go home afterward.
Sometimes there's only one way to get rid of the bitter taste of a bad day. And that's to chase it with something sweet. And so, I sit at home now, about to go to bed and I feel good. I feel peaceful and ready to face another day tomorrow. Although I'll definitely be parking somewhere else.

To Fix or Not to Fix?

Last week, on my epic Tuesday 'Writing Day', I made a startling and unpleasant discovery. As some of you may know, I finished the (very) rough draft of my novel at the end of May. My plan was to spend the summer editing it myself before getting it professionally edited. Unfortunately, that hasn't gone exactly according to plan. Truth be told, I've done a pitifully small amount of work on it thus far. Well, I decided to turn it all around and use my epic writing day to give it a thorough read through, making notes as I went along. About midway through the book I set it down, a frown of dismay plastered on my face.
To fully relate my discovery, I will now delve into deep metaphor (prepare yourselves). If you've ever bought a house, or went looking for one, you've probably toured a fixer upper. You did your walk through, horrified at the abysmal decor, realizing that it needs a ton of renovations. Despite the unfathomable design choices of the previous owners, you begin to see the charms underneath and decide that with a lot of hard work, elbow grease, and a little love it could really be something. It could be amazing.
You put in a bid and get a building inspection and wait for the verdict. When the building inspector comes through and finishes his inspection, he hands you his assessment. There's structural damage. Not only does it need a complete face lift but the bones underneath aren't good.
Now it's decision time. Do you want to take on such a massive, time-intensive and possibly unresolvable project? Or, do you walk away and find something that doesn't need so much work?
This is exactly how I feel about my book. I was prepared for it to be bad, horrible actually. I was prepared to take on massive edits (and it needs it), but as it turns out I have major issues with the plot. And now I have to decide if I want to stick with it, tear it down to the roots and rebuild, or walk away and start a whole new project. What's a gal to do?

Unwanted Advice

Have you ever received unwanted advice from someone? Don't you just hate their smug, self-satisfied words, their torrent of better-than-you knowledge flowing unwelcomingly into your ears despite having made no request for their advice? Well, today I made the most unpleasant discovery. I am that awful person. Oh horror of horrors! I am that delusional idiot spouting off completely unasked for advice to tortured individuals unable to escape my egotistical rants.
Today's victim? One of my very best friends. Poor thing never even saw my e-mail full of relationship advice coming. What can I say? As my sister tells me, I was born without a filter, which means I say/write things that get me in major trouble without thinking. The problem this time? I really thought that I'd well, thought it through. What I didn't consider was the fact that I had absolutely no right to give her advice in the first place. Oops. Now, I'm left trying to fix my terrible mistake. Unfortunately, she's incredibly offended (and has every right to be) and I have no idea how I can put it to rights.
I just can't believe I'm that person. I always thought I did such a good job of not being that irritating advice giver, but now that I look back on it, the evidence is clear. My husband would make a star witness if this were my trial. He'd be able to bring load after load of incriminating evidence, showcasing my bossy, know it all tendencies. (Although I usually give myself a pass when it comes to him. He's my husband, he has to take it!) My sister is another casualty of my abundant advice giving. The poor thing's spent far too many an hour putting up with my lectures on all things I have no right to give advice on. But this time a good friend has taken the hit of my irritating habit, and I know I've gone too far. I hope she can forgive me, because in truth I couldn't possibly be more contrite. I feel like an idiot (probably because I've been one) and I don't know what to do.
The first course of action is clearly an apology, oh ever so many more apologies. For the second I'm considering getting my husband to sign off on everything I say and write. He's a much better judge of what's appropriate than I am. And thirdly, I think whenever I feel the need to give advice, I should write it down, read it over and then burn it. Burn it into a pile of smokey ashes and walk away. Because advice unasked for is just harassment.

Writing Day

In keeping with my 'brand new week' writing philosophy, I've decided that tomorrow - my only day off this week - will officially be writing day. To prepare for tomorrow's endeavors, I've made an evening run to Walmart to get supplies. My plan is to have no feasible reason to leave the house aside from walking the dog, and therefore avoid distractions.
A small word of wisdom - don't go for groceries when you're already jonesing for chocolate. I came home with chocolate chunk cookie dough, two king size Reese Big Cups, and a party size bag of M&Ms. Somehow I don't think that's going to be 'thinking food'. Even still, I'm feeling pretty good.
I'm hoping that my brain will still be functioning at maximum capacity. It seems rare these days to be awake, sharp and ambitious. Most of the time I either have a headache or I'm barely conscious. But with a good night's sleep I think I should be all right. The hard part is knowing that the day is dedicated to writing. Often times, the pressure gets to me and I end up spending the entire day working my way through seasons of Top Gear, Drop Dead Diva and the like. Which is why I have a plan to get myself going. I'm going to start the day with my morning pages.
I read about this technique in The Right to Write, which is a decent book on writing although tends toward being a little too hippie and new-agey for my tastes. But basically the long and short of it is you're supposed to start each day by writing three pages. They can be on anything you like, although for me they usually end up being a kind of journal entry. I like it because it gets my wheels turning, it puts me in the frame of mind for writing. It's a great way to get past the obstacle of actually getting started. Writing those three pages gets ideas (and words) flowing and I'm able to approach other projects with a lot more zest and creativity.
But now it's time to get to bed and get a good night's sleep. Keep your fingers crossed for me that I'll have a successful day, although with king size helpings of Reese Big Cups I don't see how I can lose!

A New Week and A Good Sleep

It's amazing how the days can just flee from you when you have a pile of work to do. For the past five days I've been knocking my head against the wall trying to find time to write. Both my schedule and circumstances have not been kind to my writing goals but it's the start of a brand new week and I have high hopes that I'm going to get some solid work accomplished and make some serious headway in my writing.
But first, I need to get some sleep. The past two nights I've averaged about six hours of sleep per night and that is not enough. I'm a night owl that requires a great deal of sleep to function. Ideally, every night I'd get at least eight hours, preferably nine to ten. I've heard it's detrimental to sleep more than nine hours but I don't care. My body decides how much it needs and is very good at waking me up when its had enough. I prefer this system to the irritating blare of alarms.
Unfortunately, my night owl habits have had to be put to rest lately (literally), thanks to my dog. Maddie is very insistent that she should get her breakfast impossibly early each morning. She wakes me up at the crack of 7:00 every day (trust me, for me this is very early) and won't leave me alone until she's been let out and fed. After that she's perfectly content to climb back into bed and sleep for another hour or two, but sadly I'm the type who once they're up stays up. So, in order to get my recommended amount of sleep I've had to go to bed earlier and earlier. I'm getting used to it, but I'm not happy about it. I do my best work at night. This is when all the cogs and wheels of my brain are firing at full capacity. Just ask my husband. Every night as we attempt to fall asleep I can't help but babble on endlessly about all my ideas, worries, fears, everything that still needs to be done, travel and vacation ideas, zombie apocalypse action plans and so forth. I am the Maddie to his falling asleep.
Still, it could be worse. At least neither of us snores.

I Miss My Wizard

Never underestimate just how much you're going to need the moral support of others to make a go of it as a writer. And I'm not just talking about friends and family, because let's face it - sometimes it's hard to believe praise or criticism when it comes from loved ones. When they say your work is really good, it's hard not to believe they're only saying it because they love you. And when they tell you something needs work, it's hard to take their editorial advice seriously.
It's been about three months now since I last met with the Writer in Residence (my wizard of oz), as her residency has now ended, and I won't lie - I feel a little lost. Every time I went to talk with her it felt as though she'd lit a fire under me. Suddenly I was filled with inspiration and the only thing standing between me and my dreams was myself. Not to mention it felt good to have a professional see potential in my work. (Even if that work needed some serious tweaking.)
I'm on my own now, and a sense of woe and lethargy has descended like a fog. Where's the fire? It seems to have sputtered out and been replaced with a confusion of what I should do next. Suddenly everything seems to be in the way and sitting down to edit my book feels like a trip to the dentist.
I'd like to take a class or attend a conference to give me another kick in the pants, but with three jobs that seems almost impossible to fit in.
I need to find a way to motivate myself, but I"m not sure how.

A Day Off

Today is the first actual day off I've had in a long time. When I'm not working full time at the make up counter I'm usually at the home furnishing store or doing a restaurant review. But not today. Today there was no where I have to be. No appointments, nothing. And so far it's been wonderful.
I slept in (relatively) this morning, took the dog for a long walk, went to the grocery store to big up some goodies for supper and then went for another walk with the dog and hubbie to get some soft serve ice cream at a nearby cafe. My flavour of choice? Pina colada. And yes, it was delicious. Now I'm just going to put my feet up for a little while, do a little leisurely work on writing and then prepare my (hopefully) amazing supper. What a fantastic day off. Not to mention Maddie (the dog) is happily passed out on the floor from all of the walking fun. Now if I only had a pool to go for a refreshing swim in (it's crazy hot and we have no air conditioning) then everything would be perfect.

I Like Being Funny

Sometimes, when I hear especially intelligent writers pontificate on their craft I feel a little bad about myself. I'm not that smart and I'm not that serious. I prefer comedy. I don't like reading Oprah's Book Club style novels. They stress me out and I often find them depressing. I prefer to use my leisure time for light-hearted and clever writing, something that entertains and makes me laugh. That's also what I prefer to write. I can't help it, I just can't take it all so seriously. I like being ridiculous and sarcastic. Comedy gives a freedom that serious writing just doesn't. When I give myself the freedom to be ridiculous and off the wall, my writing comes easier, flows better and is a lot less predictable. I'm more creative when I'm funny.
And so, I may never win a noble prize for literature, or a pulitzer prize, but I don't mind. If I can make people smile, and a few of them even laugh out loud, then I can hold my head high. I'm happy in the role of the playful jester. After all, some of the smartest and most universal things I've ever heard have been in jokes. And that ain't bad.

Why Do I Write? Because It Isn't There

Sometimes when having three jobs starts to get to me, when I'm feeling tired and frustrated and I can't seem to find the time to write, I forget why it is I do write. And the answer to that is because it isn't there. I write because I have experiences, opinions or small witticisms I want to share. I write because I love expressing myself and I love entertaining others. I write because it's fun, because it allows me to unleash my creative juices and go hog wild with boundless imagination. I write because I have to, because nothing else makes sense.
It's funny how simple it is when I actually sit down and write it down. There it is in black and white. This is why I write. And suddenly, it's a lot easier to shuffle my schedule, to pull out my laptop even though I'm tired and grouchy and all I want to do is turn my brain off with some good TV. Suddenly, the sacrifices of today are worthwhile, because who knows? Down the road writing might be my only job. But only if I make it a priority today.
"Why do writers write? Because it isn't there." Thomas Berger. Why do I write? Because there's a voice that's missing, and it's mine.

Time to Quit?

Today I went to my job at the home furnishings store. I've cut my hours back to only one day a week now that I work full time at a make up counter, and honestly the only reason I haven't quit is because I enjoy the safety net. I like knowing that if I quit one job I still have another job waiting in the wings, but today really made me think about quitting.
When I arrived at work, my boss was there (which she usually isn't) and I went out of my way to say hi and exchange pleasantries. Did she return the favour? No. She immediately demanded to know why I wasn't at the staff meeting last night. Why wasn't I at the staff meeting? Because it wasn't on a Monday. DUH. I only work here on Mondays. You know this. I've explicitly told you and put through paperwork to make it abundantly clear that I'm only available on Mondays. When I told her I was at one of my other two jobs, she didn't let it go. She wanted to know when I was finished. When I told her six, she told me the staff meeting had started at 7:00. Uh huh, but here's the thing: I only work on Mondays! I don't care what time I was done yesterday, I wasn't coming to work after.
Thoroughly disgusted with her lack of tact and common sense, I started my shift in a nasty mood. Which got me to thinking, why am I still here? Aside from the coworkers that I adore, why do I bother to hang onto this job? Yeah, the extra money is good, but it only amounts to an extra forty dollars a week. That's not really worth how irritated and bored I am with it, or the fact that I'm working six days a week (aside from my restaurant reviews) to keep it. Maybe its time to let if fall by the wayside and move on. Maybe its time to quit.

Tonight I'm Down

Sometimes life just gets you down. I was phoning restaurants today, trying to set up a review for this coming week, and one particular restaurant manager was especially rude. He snarled at me that I shouldn't phone on a weekend because people are busy having fun and don't want to be bothered. After I hung up I couldn't help it. I cried. He was a complete dick and obviously his restaurant will get no kind words from me, but it still shouldn't have caused me to break into tears upon hanging up the phone. I just couldn't help but feel completely frustrated. Here I was, doing his restaurant a favour, and he couldn't even do me the courtesy of being polite. And I still don't have anything booked for this week. Sigh.
I'll keep trying tomorrow, and hopefully get something booked. But tonight I'm down and I hope that karma takes a bite out of that jerk manager. (I'm not a big enough person yet to be above it all)

Mountain Climbing

Building a writing career is a lot like climbing a mountain. You start out at the bottom, trying to get your first foothold. Bit by bit you make your way up, reaching for the next hand or foothold, more often than not missing and staying exactly where you are. It's a trial of hard work and determination, never letting the feeling of despair or the almost impossible odds get you down. Inch by inch you begin carving your way up the stone face of your mountain, working your way up until you reach the summit. Very cheesy, I'll admit, but accurate. Although at least with writing it's very rare to lose a few fingers.

My Own Backyard

Lately I've been researching my own backyard. For those of you that don't know me, I'm a travel junkie. My parents own a travel agency, so I was lucky enough to grow up jet setting around the world since a very young age. The first plane ride I remember being on was at age six when we went to Germany to visit family, but I was on a plane even when I was still in my mother's womb, on a trip to Japan. This has resulted in a deep-seated travel bug. Every year I get antsy to go somewhere, to hop on a plane and see something new. Mostly, I prefer hot, luxurious locales, but I dig history and culture too.
In any case, despite my best attempts I'm not yet filthy rich, which means no vacation this year. It'll be the first time since my husband and I got married that we won't be going on vacation, which has been three years in a row. Sadly, 2011 has crept by without a single bought of jet lag or turbulence induced nausea. Am I a little depressed? Yes. But am I going to let it get me down? No! Instead, I've decided to research my own province and see what it has to offer in the form of luxurious, unique experiences. Perhaps a weekend getaway to a hidden local gem will lessen the sting of my airplane-free year.
At the very least, it serves as a perfect distraction from hauntingly tropical destinations and may just teach me to appreciate my own little piece of heaven here at home.

How Do I Do It?

I am SO busy. I honestly don't know how other writers do it. They all seem to have full time jobs and children on top of their writing and it positively staggers me. Even without children I feel completely overwhelmed. Not that my life is especially easy, I am currently working three jobs. I work five days a week at a make up counter (trying desperately to earn a very piddly commission), I work one day a week at a home furnishing and decor store, and in my free time (I know what you're thinking, 'what free time?') I write for VerbNews. My work doesn't end there, in what little time is left I try to write. I edit my novel, I work at getting a freelancing career off the ground, and even attempt to have a social life. And, honestly? I'm exhausted.
I took last week off from doing a restaurant review for VerbNews because I was busy working on my first feature for them, which was very exciting. That's all done and turned in, so I turned my attention back to my restaurant reviews and attempted to book a restaurant for this week. No go. I couldn't get a hold of anybody until it was too late in the week. Now I have to do three next week, because I've officially had two weeks off and completely lost the lead time I had from doing multiples before. Which means I had to book a restaurant review on the anniversary weekend I'd booked off to spend with my husband. Damn it.
I'm not a happy camper at the moment, and it's got me wondering what it's all for. How can I be working three jobs and still be poor? How am I supposed to get any extra writing done when I have so little free time? And how can I sequester some special time to spend with my husband when I can't even keep my anniversary weekend sacred? I mean, it's not all bad, I didn't book it on my actual anniversary. But I'm mad. I was hoping for two days off, back to back, just for the purpose of having a fun, relaxing stay-cation with my hubbie.
Which brings me back to my original question. You know that old question, 'how does she do it?' Well, I'm asking it. I've read articles about hardworking writers who work full time as freelancers, have three kids and still manage to churn out best selling novels. I would really like a sample of the drugs they're on that they're able to be that productive and work that hard. Because I'm tired, and I don't know how I'm going to do it.

Gourmet Prose

A few days ago I finished Gourmet Rhapsody by Muriel Barbery. This was her first book, but I'd read her second book first. I'm glad I did, because honestly her second book was better. By reading her second book first, I was able to appreciate the subtleties of the first. If I hadn't, I might have been a little too bored and given up. But because I was already familiar with her style, I could just relax and enjoy her beautiful prose.
Gourmet Rhapsody is the story of a food critic on his death bed. He hasn't been a very good man, he's a terrible father, husband and in general, human being. But on his death bed, when you'd think he'd be pondering all his failures as a person, he's thinking about flavours. With only 48 hours until his demise, all he wants is to taste a particular flavour once more. The only problem is, he doesn't know what it is. So he thinks back over everything he's tasted in his life, looking for the flavour that he's missing.
It's an interesting book, not especially riveting, but I really enjoyed the descriptions of the food. Muriel Barbery is an especially talented writer when it comes to crafting beautiful prose, but the story line was indeed lacking. But, if you're willing to just have a book that you take your time with and just enjoy the poetry of the language, then it's a fine read.

What Have I Gotten Myself Into Now?

I've already written (multiple times) that I have to keep a day job besides writing in order to pay my bills. For nearly two years I've been working at a Home Decor store, but in April I started looking for a new job. I wasn't making enough money working there, I needed to upgrade. It didn't take me long to realize there wasn't much out there. For someone like me, a woman whose only secondary education was in massage therapy, there wasn't a lot of options. Every job I looked at paid just as terribly as my current job. So, I reached out to friends and family, asking them to brainstorm ideas of where I might be able to make a better wage. The only feasible idea they came up with was at a department store make up counter. Those girls were supposed to get paid much better, as well as earn commission - meaning I could have a little more control over my income. Excited, I set off to apply. Two months later, after four excruciating interviews (yes, four!), I had my first day.
Never in my life have I felt more defeated, deflated and depressed. When I signed the paperwork, I finally saw what they would be paying me. And I wanted to throw up. Ten dollars an hour and only 3% commission. Parking alone was $2.00 an hour to work there, so my wage was really only eight dollars an hour, and 3% commission meant that with every hundred dollars of product I sold, I would be paid only three dollars. Three dollars. Three f*cking dollars. I wanted to quit that day, but  friends convinced me not to.
"You don't know how much they sell in a day, it still might be worth it."
So, I decided to give the job another day to prove itself. Sadly, the outlook was horrible at best. The daily sales targets for my counter were two hundred dollars. That meant six dollars in commission, not even enough to cover parking. Determined to quit, I marched over to the manager and explained that I was actually making less money at this new job than at my old one, a feat I didn't think was possible. She convinced me to give it some time, explaining that the sales targets were so unbelievably low because no one had been manning the counter for such a long time. Frankly, I wasn't convinced, but I'd already booked the time off my old job, so I figured I might as well be earning something.
It's been two days now with me on the sales floor, attempting to sell my wares and I've only sold three hundred and seventeen dollars worth of product. The forecast for this job isn't bright. I'm waiting until after the weekend to give my pronouncement, but barring a miracle, I will be quitting soon.
I honestly don't know where this particular department store gets off offering such a shitty wage when the parking is so expensive. And offering 3% commission? Why not just be brave and slap me in the face? What a sneaky, underhanded way to insult someone. I don't know if I can stay, just from sheer disgust with the department store.
It's too bad, really. I actually really like the product. But I started looking for a new job to make more money, not less. And it's not as though working there is a carnival of ice cream and candy. It's work. It's long hour after long hour of work. If they aren't going to pay me properly for it, why would I stay? They need to realize this is why they're so understaffed. No one can afford to work there. You couldn't possibly live off the wage they're giving you.
We'll see what happens after this weekend, but stay tuned for the 'I quit my job' announcement. Because I don't think this place has a hope in hell.

My Fair Lazy

Today I finished the first book on my summer reading list, My Fair Lazy by Jen Lancaster. It was actually really surprising. It never takes me that long to get through a book, especially one by my favourite author. Admittedly, this wasn't one of her best. It was a little boring, not as funny. But I really enjoyed the ending. She brought it all together at the end and I just can't deny that I adore her. I love her unconditionally. Why? Because she was the one that first got me thinking about being a writer. Reading Bitter is the New Black was the very first step in my journey towards becoming a writer. It awakened a longing in me. I know it's silly, but I never realized an author was allowed to write about themselves when their lives really weren't altogether that fantastic or unusual. I didn't realize that an author could be funny, that they could break all the rules. Reading her first novel, with all of its hilarious footnotes, was like seeing an airplane for the first time. I didn't realize it was possible to fly.
And so, I will always be grateful to her. And I will always be excited to read her books. Because she proves that its possible to follow your dream. Maybe one day I'll get to tell her that in person.

My First Feature

Another small step for me (and my career). I've received my first feature. I'll be covering the Taste of Saskatchewan for VerbNews and I couldn't be more excited. It's the first time I'll have to conduct an interview and my heart is all a flutter. What if I ask stupid questions? What if I don't get what I need? What if my interviewee thinks I'm completely unprofessional or immature? As my nerves begin firing in a fit of stress and anticipation, all I can think to do is prepare. I've been brainstorming questions and researching recording devices so I don't miss a word. I'm hoping to cover everything I possibly can, in as much detail as possible, in order to properly choose the direction of my article. If no stone is left unturned then nothing is left to chance. My biggest fear is sitting down to draft the article and realizing I didn't ask some all important question.
The feature itself is quite small (just 500 words) but it's an opportunity I don't plan to squander. The more experience I get, the more varied my repertoire, the better chance I have of moving forward. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Getting Some Sage Advice

Tonight I had coffee with Amy Jo Ehman, city editor at Western Living magazine and author of Prairie Feast, A Writer's Journey Home for Dinner. She was kind enough to sit down with me and let me pick her brain on magazine writing, freelancing and writing in general.
It was a lovely evening, Amy is a gifted writer with an incredibly kind and generous spirit. Talking to her started all the rusted wheels and cobs in my brain turning. She gave me advice on possible magazines I might want to try breaking into, on the types of pitches they're looking for and things to keep in mind with query letters. If there's one thing all potential writers should keep in mind, it's that a query letter should be of the highest possible quality. It's an editor's first taste of your writing, and if it isn't top notch, why would they keep reading? Having a great idea isn't enough, the presentation has to be stellar as well and fit with the magazine's tone, style and interests.
Talking to her, I felt the ideas begin to flow. After all, there's something so inspirational about talking shop with a fellow writer. (I use the term 'fellow writer' loosely, as she's clearly miles and miles ahead of me.) You'd think writers would be competitive and catty with each other (and God knows, some of them are), but as for the rest of us, there's a communal spirit, a comradery that binds us together. Maybe because we all know what it's like, the struggles, the ups and downs. Fellow writers get it in a way that others can't. I don't know what it is, but sitting with Amy I felt a renewal of hope, a surge of will to keep on trying.
I think it's important that all writers connect with the writing community around them. It keeps us motivated, challenges us to take our work to the next level, and offers much needed support. If at all possible, you should check out what's available in your area and tap into the creative channels that surround you. You'd be surprised just how much it helps to just sit down and have coffee with a fellow writer. God knows, it does wonders for me.

Starting At Rock Bottom

Being a writer is a very humbling experience. There are very few that start off already on top. I have absolutely no statistics to back me up, but my guess would be no higher than one percent. Think about J.K. Rowling, she started off writing notes on napkins. It seems that most of us come from humble beginnings.
I'm certainly no different. My day job gets me down some days. It's a hard hit to one's self esteem when you realize that others value your time at only ten dollars an hour. That hurts. You feel like a failure. Couple that with all the rejection that comes with writing and sometimes it's hard to get out of bed. But I just keep slogging through the mud, pushing through the pain and frustration, hoping that one day it will all be worthwhile. I don't need J.K. Rowling's level of success. I'd be happy just making my living from writing (no day job!).
A lot of the time it's just pure force of will that keeps me going, the belief that I'm worth more than my current state. My skin isn't always as thick as it needs to be, but the hurt helps fuel me on. Maybe if my day job wasn't so mind numbingly painful I wouldn't be so driven to follow my dream. I don't know if I'll ever be a success. But I do know I won't ever stop trying.

Expanding My Repertoire

Now that I've gotten the hang of writing for VerbNews I've decided it's time to continue my search for publication. Just because I have one job doesn't mean I shouldn't be on the search for another. After all, if I ever hope to make my living solely from writing, it definitely won't be with just one gig. VerbNews is great, they gave me the opportunity to get my foot in the door, gain experience and build up a few clips, but I won't be happy with just that.
I've decided to start small. I'm reaching out to all the small, local papers and publications, hoping to catch my second break. If/when I do, then I will learn all I can from them and continue expanding. Next will be more provincial publications, followed hopefully by national ones. I'd love to nail down a job blogging or writing a column. My favourite is the personal essay (aside from novel writing of course), and if I can find a few publications that like one or two enough to print them I'd be in heaven.
It's always a little intimidating plotting out an e-mail, reaching out to people, knowing that rejection is a major part of the game, but it's better than plateauing. I don't want to get too comfortable. Success requires constant drive and a never give up attitude. To be incredibly lame, I have to be like the little engine that could. Do you remember that story? "'I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...'" It's silly but it's true. With all the rejection, writing can sometimes feel like you're trying to ice skate up hill. Why bother? But I have to bother, I have no other options. The only back up I have is working a dead end job and I really don't like that back up.

A Comedy of Errors

On Wednesday night I was sitting at home in my sweats, waiting for my hubbie to get home with a pizza, when I received a text message. It was from the photographer I work with at VerbNews, it read: "Am I at the right place?"
I froze, feeling the ripples of adrenaline and shock start rippling through my body as the realization washed over me. I forgot. I forgot about the restaurant review I'd booked for that evening.
I flew off the couch like someone had lit me on fire. I dialed him up, screeching that I'd forgotten and I'd be right there, all the while ripping off my sweats and throwing on a pair of jeans. I ran out the door and down the walkway - and it's at this point I should tell you I'd been watering the lawn for the past hour - and biffed it. Hard. The phone flew out of my hand as I fell flat on my butt on the wet and filthy walkway. Foot throbbing, I grabbed my phone yelled into it that I fell (not sure why) and that I'd be right there. I jumped in the car, immediately realizing that I'd forgotten my notebook. I ran back into the house, snatched it and sprinted back out the door. I didn't bother to lock it, and as my neighbour came running, asking if I was okay, I realized I didn't have time to call my husband and tell him why he'd be coming home to an empty, unlocked house. So I asked her to tell him, and look after my house. Well, not so much asked as screeched hysterically. But she got the message and I jumped in the car and raced off to the restaurant.
On the way to the restaurant I realized that my hands, forearms and elbows were smeared with mud. So, of course needing to get cleaned up, I proceeded to lick my hands and rub them on the seat to clean them off. I know, I know, disgusting. But desperate times... in any case, it worked. I parked and ran down the street to the restaurant, realizing as I ran that my butt was wet from falling and people probably thought that I was a) crazy and b) had wet my pants.
I arrived at the restaurant and the rest of the evening was lovely. I had a wonderful time. It was only when I got home that evening that I checked out my foot and realized that I'd grated it like cheddar on the sidewalk and it was swollen to goose egg proportions. Which brings me to the next morning, standing on one leg in the shower. I was doing this because it hurt like hell to have my foot in the water, and as I shampooed I couldn't help but think, "if this is how I die... slipping in the shower, standing on one leg... I'm going to be so pissed."

Summer Reading List

I've noticed a lot of my favourite authors putting out their summer reading lists of late, and it inspired me to do the same. However, there is a twist. This is not a list of books I recommend you read this summer. This is a list of books that I intend to read this summer. I can't say for sure whether or not they'll be good, as I haven't read them yet, but you're more than welcome to read them along with me. I'll be posting updates on the books as I finish them, letting you know which ones I find good and what not. But as for right now, I give you: The List.

Skipping a Beat - Sarah Pekkanen

Now, this book I've actually already read but I decided to put it on the list just for your benefit. This is Pekkanen's second book, the first being The Opposite of Me (another amazing novel), and I have to say, she's an amazing writer. Her characters are exquisitely written. They're complex and empathetic and you can't help but feel everything they're feeling. Her stories are beautiful and unexpected, and I honestly can't say enough good things about her books. So give this one a try, and if you haven't read her first one I highly suggest you add it to the list as well.

My Fair Lazy - Jen Lancaster

I know what you're all thinking, that book's been out for a long time. Jen already has another book out (her first work of fiction - Wish You Were Here). But here's the thing. I love Jen Lancaster and her work. I have to own it, but I only like seeing paperbacks on my shelf so I've been waiting for the paperback edition to come out. I could have rented it from the library in the meantime, but the thought of having to bring it back was torture so I very impatiently waited until it finally arrived on my bookstore's shelves. She has quite a few other books as well, which I highly recommend. (My two favourites are Bitter is the New Black and Such a Pretty Fat)

Gourmet Rhapsody - Muriel Barbery

I read her other book, The Elegance of the Hedgehog, and positively loved it. They are translated from French and her prose are beautiful. She offers a profound look at human nature and philosophy, all wrapped in exquisite story telling. The first book was a little dry at first but well worth staying with it. I'm hoping Gourmet Rhapsody is just as good.

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie - Alan Bradley

Alan Bradley offers the unique idea of a Nancy Drew type character (the lovely Flavia de Luce) that solves actual murders. She's also obsessed with poison and chemistry, often using chemistry in solving the crimes. So far there are three books in the series. The first is the above, the second is The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag, and the third is A Red Herring Without Mustard. I must confess, I've already read the second one. Yes, I'm reading them out of order! But I can tell you this, they're charming. They're unexpected and the character of Flavia is enamoring. It's a fabulous concept.

A Red Herring Without Mustard - Alan Bradley

No need to elaborate on this one.

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake - Aimee Bender

I have been staring at this book on the bookstore shelf for ages now, thoroughly intrigued. I've never read anything by Aimee Bender but the concept for this novel is too enticing to pass up. It's about a young girl who begins tasting her mother's emotions in the food she bakes. She realizes her mother isn't as happy as she appears and it leads to the uncovering of family secrets. Intrigued yet? I am.

Bite Me, A Love Story - Christopher Moore

I won't lie. I've read everything he's ever written, and with the exception of Fluke, I've loved every one of them. This book is the third of a series. The first being Bloodsucking Fiends and the second You Suck. I highly suggest you read all of his works, especially Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, The Stupidest Angel, and A Dirty Job. But honestly, they're all exceptional except, of course, for Fluke.

The Great Night - Chris Adrian

I've never read Chris Adrian, but I was intrigued by the story line of this novel. Simply put, it's a retelling of a Midsummer Night's Dream in a modern scenario. I have no idea if it will be any good or fall completely flat, but I'm going to give it a try.

The Raising - Laura Kasischke

Again, I have no idea how this one is going to turn out. It's a mystery about the death of young, straight A college student named Nicole. Some aren't sure she's really dead. I'm most attracted to this novel due to the raving reviews of her prose and apparently masterful storytelling. I'll let you all know my verdict when I'm done.

And that about does it for now. I'll be adding more to this as time goes on, as this definitely won't last me all summer, but for the time being I feel it's a reasonably good list to start me off. If you read any of them, let me know what you think!

Unsupervised

I'm sick of my day job. I think I desperately need a vacation, you know one, two, maybe three months. That ought to do it. But seriously, I'm really having trouble being anything other than miserable at work lately. And by lately, I mean since January. The trouble is, it's too regimented. They recently put in a new computer system and now we have to clock in and out for every shift. We're timed down to the minute. We even have to clock in and out for our lunch breaks.
It doesn't end there. The management team watches us all like a collective hawk. We're not allowed to talk to each other on the sales floor, just the customers. We aren't allowed to leave the sales floor without letting a manager know and even then, we don't dare stay away long.
We are constantly reminded of our sales target, prodded and nagged into remaining "customer focused". They never let us forget. And it drives me insane. Maybe, if we were paid decent wages I'd feel more responsible for our sales numbers. But we're not. We're paid garbage wages and our bonuses are terrible. We don't receive extra money at Christmas. We receive store money. Money that we can only spend in the store. What?!
To make matters worse, they're now going to be installing security cameras every where in the store. Somehow I don't think it's going to be used to catch shoplifters. I'm more than a little sure it's going to be used to monitor us instead. As if we weren't being watched enough.
Recently we received 'merit increases' and reviews. You know how much of a merit increase I received? 3%. Hmmm. Thanks? We aren't even consulted in our reviews. I'm used to the system in which you sit down with your manager, discuss your review and debate over your raise. You demand high and then barter down to something that's reasonable for both of you. Not here. A review is left on the staff room table for you, letting you know what they think of you and your performance. There's no discussion, you don't get to weigh in on how much you think you deserve.
It's a weird system. Maybe these little irritations wouldn't stand out so much if I hadn't been there for so long. But I'm closing in on two years and I'm beginning to realize I need to get out, or work there a lot less. Because it's all getting to be too much. I make no money, I'm supervised like a two year old by a babysitter, and I'm still dealing with customers. It sucks. I think I need a job where I can work independently and for better money. I need to be unsupervised, but that's a tough one to find.

The Terror in the Buzz

Today started off great, a perfectly normal and lovely morning. I got up early, showered and dressed, took my poor senior citizen car into the shop. I even walked home, stopping first to get a bagel and a lemonade (hadn't had breakfast yet) and had the forethought to stop along the way to pick up a sandwich for lunch since I'd be house-bound all day. After my care free walk through the glorious spring morning I was feeling efficient and hardworking so I put in a load of laundry, unloaded and loaded the dishwasher and finally nestled onto the couch with my laptop to get some work done.
And then I heard it. The buzzing. Very, very loud buzzing.
I stood up and looked around, terror filling my heart as adrenaline pumped through my veins. The buzzing was coming from inside the house. (You'd think a grown woman would have outgrown her terror of bees and wasps by now, but I haven't. When they show up I'm still very much a five year old girl, running, screaming and being reduced to tears). I pivoted slowly, attempting to locate the sound and find the intruder. He was trapped behind a picture I'd wedged into a window frame. Realizing I had precious little time before he figured out how to get out of there (basically, fly upwards), I grabbed my keys, phone and the dog and escaped my house. That's right. I ran away. Well, walked away, but it wasn't a proud moment. Not to mention it solved nothing. The bee would still be in my house, waiting for me (and my soul), when I returned.
I took the dog for a nice, long walk, attempting to formulate a plan (even going so far as to phone my sister and have her talk me down). When I finally returned, I hoped against hope it would be dead, but alas it was not. After ten minutes of circling around in my peaceful house, looking for it, I heard the buzzing again. He was still behind the picture.
I went outside, coming around so I could see the window from the outside and get a good look at what I was dealing with. The thing was gigantic. And furry. And gigantic. Shudders of disgust crept through me. He was still very much alive and I had no idea what to do. Until I saw the shovel.
What I liked about this particular shovel was its obscenely long handle. I could stand several feet away from the window and still use the shovel end to pry open the window. Fighting down waves of nauseous panic, I worked the shovel under the window and pushed up. Success! The bee flew out, I threw the shovel to the ground, the window slammed shut and I raced inside, slamming and locking the door behind me. (You know, just in case).
Who knew today I would prove myself a hero. I faced down the bee and survived.

One Small Step for Me...

Last week on Friday the 13th something amazing happened. I was published for the first time. It all started on April 28th, although now that I think about it it actually started a lot sooner than that. The real truth is, it started in April of last year, when I decided I wanted to seriously pursue becoming a writer. I'd dreamt about it since I was little but I never believed it was possible, and all the people I talked to confirmed it. But in April of last year something clicked. Instead of saying 'I can't' I started wondering 'why can't I?'
My first steps were shaky ones. I didn't know what to do or where to start. I didn't know what was expected of me, or what I even expected of myself. It was at that time that I experimented with trying to write my first book (which I finished but let's just say it was a trial run - not publish worthy but I proved to myself that I could finish something I started), as well as Suite101 and blogging. But nothing was really happening. It was in November (I think) that I got my idea for my second book. It started off innocently at first, as something that was just for fun that I could send in portions to my sister to amuse her. Then, with her encouragement I started to see the broader picture. This could really be something. It had potential. But I still suffered from a crippling sense of self doubt. I had no idea if I was any good at writing.
I'm not sure how I happened upon the information on the Writer in Residence, but somehow through my googling I found her. All I can say is, it was meant to be. I had my first appointment on December 1st, and I most recently had my last one on May 4th.
I was so freaked out at my first appointment, but it was amazing. It was exactly what I needed to light a fire under me. I think what made the biggest difference was how seriously she took me and my writing. She asked me the tough questions, why did I want to be a writer? What was I interested in writing? Not only that, she told me what I needed to hear. I was good. My idea was good. (Not that she didn't have plenty of constructive criticism - God knows I needed it!) and after that I was hooked. I worked feverishly on my manuscript, tried to meet with her once a month, took her classes on personal essay writing, editing and publishing. I learned the most important lesson any budding writer could learn - the art of editing.
I'd always thought that all great writers were great from the moment they'd clasped their pens, but it's not true. You have to be willing to write badly before you can write well. As Margaret Atwood once said, "If I waited for perfection, I would never write a word." And ain't that the truth.
It was because of the Writer in Residence that I started submitting personal essays to magazines, and it was because I was brave enough to send my writing into the void that I was brave enough to apply for a Food Writer position with VerbNews. And on the night of my highest honour yet as a writer, they gave me the job. It was on that night, that I was a featured writer in Writers in Progress. What's that? Well, every year at the end of their residency, the Writer in Residence in our program asks ten of the many, many people they work with (in my case over two hundred and fifty) to share a piece of their work at Writers in Progress. I was one of the lucky few granted that honour, and I couldn't have been prouder. My moment in the sun was made even more glorious by the news that I'd been chosen for the job as Food Writer (based solely on my writing sample) and I was over the moon.
And on Friday the 13th, of all the strange days for such an occurrence, my first article was published. It's nothing amazing, just a small four hundred word review of a restaurant, but it was a victory of epic proportions for me. I'm a published writer. I have my foot in the door, and I'm not pulling it out to save my life. Instead, I plan on having the rest of me walking through it, and I'll have the first draft of my new novel done by the end of the month to prove it. As the great author Alice Kuipers once said, "There's no point in spending your life in the pursuit of something that's easy." Amen, sister. Amen.

Shaving the Couch

Today I found myself bent over my couch with a dull razor, giving it a shave. Why you may ask, was I shaving my couch? No, I haven't gone crazy (relatively speaking). My couch has the nasty habit of becoming rather fuzzy. And after exhausting all other options to no avail, I followed a friend's advice and attacked my couch with a razor, desperately attempting to return it to its prior flawless condition.
I think the real question is, why would a fuzzy couch drive me to such extremes? Well, lately things have been rather out of my control, and every free moment I have I feel the need to fill with something. I write, I garden, I de-fuzzify the couch. I just can't sit still, because sitting still means allowing the clouds of worry and terror descend upon me and my fragile mind. Instead, I need to be occupied. Busy. Productive. The only way to maintain my sanity seems to be to act crazy. Why am I worried and feeling out of control? Well, I'm currently looking for a new job, as is my husband. My husband's job has finally ended (which is no surprise, we've known about it for a long time), but as such, I can no longer be content with the insufficient hours and low pay I receive at my current job. So, both of us are on the lookout. And there's only so much you can do. You apply and apply and apply, and then you wait. It's mind numbing. For so many jobs the process seems endless, and in the meantime all you can do is wait and worry. It's out of your hands.
Which brings me back to shaving my couch. I guess I just need to feel in control of something. When I do yard work, or shave the couch, I can see change occurring. I am affecting something, I am in control of it. Whereas with job hunting, so much of it is out of my control. So, I will continue to shave my couch, weed and rake my yard, scrub and clean my house, in an attempt to save my sanity through this nerve racking process. At least my couch is finally getting a good shave.

The Upside of Having a Day Job

I've read advice from many prominent writers in which they pontificate that having a regular day job can actually help with your writing. It provides valuable inspiration. I don't know about any of that, I work because I have bills to pay and I enjoy eating. Writing is something I have to make time for on the side, in hopes that it will one day be my only job.
I will admit that I do get a lot of my inspiration from my daily life and the experiences and actions of the people around me. I often find myself channeling my frustrations in any given situation into a piece of writing. The two are connected. I don't think I'd have near as many ideas if I didn't work around people as much as I do. People are strange creatures, and one can spend their entire life trying to understand their motives.
I'm still hoping to one day have writing as my only job, but until then I can appreciate my day job for what it brings me, money to pay my bills and buy food, and loads and loads of inspiration.

The Lesson The Hedgehog Taught Me

I recently read a novel called The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. It was beautiful. The author, an extremely intelligent woman, is not only a gifted story teller, but has untold skill with language. Her prose were utterly beautiful. I never thought a good book should have beautiful prose (not to say it should have bad or awkward prose, but rather that the author shouldn't be overly obsessed with making the words beautiful).
I'd always held the belief (and had read enough to back it up) that the power of a story would get lost in beautiful prose, that the reader would get too caught up in the language to appreciate the subtleties of the story. Instead, I found myself luxuriating in the silky flow of her words, puzzling over the intellectual phrases, and still finding myself immersed in the clever observations of the characters. I became invested in the main character's journey, so much so that the ending brought me to tears. But I wasn't upset. I appreciated the way the author chose to end it. I saw the beauty in the moment she created, the beauty of the ending itself, not just the lovely words she used to describe it. The book challenged me not just on a human level, but as a writer. It made me want to be a better. And for that, I will always be grateful.

A Call for Spring

Will winter last forever? As we near the end of March, I can only hope that spring will show its face sometime in April, because (and I'm sure you feel the same way), I can't take it anymore. There's something about winter that wears on you, that pulls at the corners of your soul and drags you down. Maybe it's the bitter cold and the way it nips and chews at your skin, the way it locks you indoors. Maybe it's the several hundred layers you need to pile on if you dare to leave your house. Maybe it's the snow and ice drenched roads, causing you to ponder the sum total of your life's accomplishments every time you leave the house. I suppose it could be the infuriatingly dry air (both indoors and out) that causes your hair to buzz and crackle and your skin to dry and crack like a sun baked desert. It could be the mind numbing abundance of grey. Either way, the magic twinkling of Christmas has long since passed and all we are left with now is the cold and the dreariness.
I imagine when spring finally does arrive, the peoples will stagger forth from their houses, arms outstretched like the thirsty reaching out for rain. Just as spring causes the seemingly dead trees and plants to burst forth with fresh blooms and greenery, we too will be as the dead coming back to life. That is, if it ever arrives. With each passing day we grow more hopeful and more depressed. It isn't here today, perhaps it will show up tomorrow? We're like a lonely old man, continually checking the mailbox for letters, or the window for a visitor.
Do you remember the story of Rip Van Winkle? I wish I could go to sleep and wake up when spring arrives. Although, in a way, I guess I am asleep. How else can you describe the sort of sleepwalking we all seem to be doing? We're shut down, waiting for spring to wake us up again. But it can't be much longer. It may not have shown up today, but maybe tomorrow...

Dwindling Patience

I've noticed lately that I have even less patience with people than usual. Take work for example. The other day a couple of our regular shoplifters came in, so sadly I, being the first one to see them, was forced to follow them throughout the store in an effort to prevent them from taking anything. I made no attempt to disguise the fact that I was following them, I had no desire to prevent their embarrassment or make them anything less than uncomfortable. So, when they eventually turned and demanded, "Are you following us?" I saw no reason to tell them anything but the truth.
"Yes," I said with a completely straight face. I made no attempt to look apologetic or polite. I simply didn't care anymore. They looked a little shocked, I guess they assumed I'd get embarrassed, lie and say I wasn't and abandon the chase. Nope. Sorry. I don't care. Frankly, I just want you out of the store so I can get back to doing my real job. I never signed up to be a babysitter, and I'm not a big fan of it now. I don't know what they expected to happen, I certainly didn't stop escorting them through the store. Even after they left I stayed by the door for fifteen minutes, as they have a tendency to leave, wait a few minutes and then run back in, grab something and run back out.
The next day I was back at work, this time at the till. Every time we ring through a customer we are required to ask them for their phone number and their e-mail. It's optional, they can say no, but what few seem to understand is that it isn't optional for us to ask. We have to ask. It is our job. Yes, it's annoying, but such is life. After one too many harsh answers and looks of sheer hatred for daring to request their e-mail, I became a little on edge. When the next customer gave me a blunt and rude "No" to the request for their e-mail, I couldn't help but look them in the eye, smile sweetly and say, "No, thank you." Luckily, she said nothing about my correction. That could have been the kind of thing that developed into a big issue. I was aware at the time that I shouldn't, that I should just hold it in, let it go, but I just couldn't. What has happened to basic courtesy? Where are our manners? When did it become so expected that staff should be ground under the boot heel of their customers? I blame the old adage "the customer is always right". No they're not. They are very often wrong.
Look, just so we're clear, I have no problem with providing excellent customer service. I just don't see why we can't also be treated with respect and good manners. You wouldn't expect your kids, your friends, your coworkers or your neighbours to talk to you like that, so why would you think it's okay to do it others? Others who've been nothing but kind and helpful to you?
Frankly, I think I just need a vacation. Or a new job. People are never going to change, it's a terrible idea to expect them to. But still, I find myself wondering if I got through to that one customer. Maybe next time, when someone asks her a question she'll think twice and answer with a no thank you, or a yes please. I hope so, cause that would mean a lot.