Rest Well Inspiration [RANT]

Once more life has crept in and piled stones on top of my muse. As she has been unable to breathe, the words dried up. I am working to lift off the stones but it is hard going, and people who claim to be helping are piling more stones on the pile faster than I can remove them. We’ll get there, dear readers. And then enjoyable stories will flow freely once more.

I need the stories to flow because, frankly, not having my own source of income has reached an untenable point. I have mentioned it before, but sometimes I just want to provide things for my children without having to ask, beg, or get a second or third opinion that agrees with mine and comes with a different degree than the two I possess. 

I have a BS in French and a BS in International Business. The university I received them from was accredited for both at the time of my graduation. I’ll spare you my disappointment with recent curriculum changes. But neither of those degrees was as industriously earned as the unofficial one I get every day in the trenches of motherhood and marriage. So trust me when I say that I have the best interests of my children at heart and I think about them all of the time. If I happen to forget, they invite me to cuddle them to sleep or allow me to pull them into my coat as we huddle at the bus stop in the freezing cold. If I have reached a conclusion regarding those tiny suns that I orbit, it isn’t a whim or a fancy, a lot of thought and planning went into my decision.

As previously alluded, November proved a dry month for my musings. Did you notice? I did but I couldn’t force out subpar writing and pass it off as worth the price of admission. So some feelings bled out in poetry and radio silence took hold here for a bit, but I am trying to rally. After all, I used to think I could write 50,000 words every November between family engagements and being high on pie.

The demise of Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) hit some of us a little harder than expected. Yes, we could still write but where were our comrades in the fight against that blank page? I feel disconnected from my writer friends. Was it COVID? Was it discovering part of my heart wandering around outside my body and needing mama’s love and attention? Maybe?

Maybe I need to rebuild some severed connections with people who get me and value my opinion and share my love for words and weird and wild and wonderful. Why do we let ourselves get disconnected? Why do we let our loved ones become less of who we fell in love with?

I’m all questions, so perhaps I should wrap this up and go answer questions my writing pieces have been asking for months now. Cheer me on!

That’s A Wrap… [RANT]

Until next year when we do it all again. I considered just throwing the last of my gratitudes on Friday’s post but I didn’t want to dampen your gratitude for an actual bit of fiction to usher in the joy of this most glorious holiday of light, love, and laughter.

Day 23: Being able to help people access information about their ancestors. Did you know there is a FamilySearch Center near you?

Day 24: My toes. They may be mad at me today after I walked 3.15 hours, but I still love those extra long little buggers. 

Day 25: People who keep their commitments, particularly when those commitments need fulfilled before the next step can be accomplished.

Day 26: When my dear darling babies sleep in over holiday breaks because no matter how hard I try to keep them happy, the chaos starts after they wake up. I know I am supposed to be grateful for the chaos, but who is perfect enough for that? Seriously, if it is you, share your secrets!

Day 27: Pumpkin pie. Even before I eat it, I know I will be happy when it is in my tummy.

Day 28: Friends who let me invade their house and pet their kitties.

Day 29: Pie for breakfast. Hobbits live by the happiness of our taste buds and the fullness of our bellies. It keeps us jolly.

Day 30: Reminders of how deeply loved I am. (John 3:16, anyone?)

So how did my November goals end?

I got 300,000 steps. I attribute this to no one wanting to chase me down to interrupt me as I wandered up and down hills.

I was 15,000 words short on my writing goal, but I have the start of at least four fascinating pieces, one of which is a novel. So GOAL 1 of December: Work on the bones of an idea that I started in November and bring my idea to life.

GOAL 2 of December: Work on the shorter pieces that popped into my head. They seem like good pieces to have reviewed by my writer’s group because…

GOAL 3 of December: Make time to meet up with other writers because clearly some of them are doing something right.

GOAL 4 of December: Get my Christmas cards out sooner rather than later.

GOAL 5 of December: Be better at being a light to the world.

GOAL 6 of December: Get my kitchen in order, which requires it to be finished first.

Every month is a busy month when one is known as Mom. My kids’ school even wants me to make sure my kids to wear specific items of clothing for each of the fifteen days of school this month. Thanks, administrators, we didn’t have enough to do.

The End is Nigh [RANT]

That is what I tell myself as I look at the number of words written versus those expected as I come toward the finish line. Am I limping along behind? Yes, I am definitely limping and have been for days. Does it have something to do with my confused brain giving November a thirty-first day in last week’s post? Or does it have something to do with remodels being loud and sweet children being louder? Have I just not eaten enough pie?

Day 16: Finding a husband who isn’t completely horrified by conversations about the current state of the fingernail I crushed and bruised in September. He didn’t even run screaming or turn a sickly shade of green when I used the turn “blood jam” to describe the current state of affairs and proceeded to show him my injury. Sorry for my squeamish readers. Now you can be grateful that I rarely include pictures. My husband has not been so lucky.

Day 17: My friends being willing to share their thoughts on scriptures and spirituality and translate my thoughts into concepts that make sense to normal humans. You probably need that service for my previous sentence.

Day 18: Finally hearing back from the electrician because I miss my kitchen.

Day 19: Not being too late to place an order for Thanksgiving dinner from a local restaurant. (See all previous statements about my kitchen.)

Day 20: My neighbor being willing to walk my girls home when I got delayed on my way to to the bus.

Day 21: Fresh fruits and vegetables and the magicians who grown them. The share I get from a local farm helps me expand my eating horizons and provides me with fresh deliciousness that I already know I adore.

Day 22: Being able to share with others. I do love to take advantage of the free turkey offers, but I can only hide one in the freezer, and (broken record) I will not be cooking my own turkey for Thanksgiving this year.

It has definitely been a week. Just to be safe, you should send pie ;)

Halfway Points [RANT]

At noon tomorrow, I reach my halfway mark for this wild party called National Novel Writing Month. But how goes my progress? It isn’t exactly good. I am mostly there if Murphy’s Law will stop jumping up to bite my ankles.

Aside from that, I need to add flesh to the bones of the chapters I have allegedly finished. When I glance back to confirm consistency and details, I see more telling than showing, which is less fun for my dear readers. Yet I forge through to new chapters and new turns of events because that is where my word count thrives and blossoms like kudzu.

And my celebrations of gratitude for pie? At this point, it looks like outsourcing our Thanksgiving feast will be the best option. While I find cooking fun and relaxing, for the most part, figuring out how to prepare my level of required deliciousness with the current state of my kitchen distracts me from all the other busyness exploding like fireworks in this November.

And finally, that little ray of sunshine we all need this month. The one that isn’t pie. What has this hobbit been grateful for this week?

Day 9: The ability to access so much information so quickly through the wonders of the internet.

Day 10: Fluffy socks make walks on cold mornings more viable even for a polar bear.

Day 11: When it rains at night. That way I can still walk myself in the morning and then get into everything else that requires my attention.

Day 12: Being reminded not to let the busyness get me down. Listened to a podcast yesterday that really delivered that message.

Day 13: Gentle writing reminders such as this, “If it’s curing insomnia or impossible to proofread, chuck it.” Yep, still fighting the word fight over here.

Day 14: Salad to cheer me up. Yes, sometimes even I need more than pie for sustenance.

Day 15: Friendly people who aren’t freaked out by my overly friendly oldest child who tried to make friends with everyone (and possibly a painting or two) at the eye doctor’s office this morning.

A Month for the Bees [RANT]

Every month is busy. For instance, November holds myriad tasks for me. What could possible contribute to the busyness of this particular month? Aside from being that master of all trades known as Mom?

First November special project? National Novel Writing Month, of course. A daily expectation of 1,667 words doesn’t seem quite as daunting until you are trying to get them on the digital page. So I must be prepared to bribe those muses with leftover Halloween candy and declarations of appreciation and respect.

Then we turn to the major focus of this month, appreciating what we have in our lives. I failed to get started with that on social media, so can I share some of that gratitude here with you? (If not, just scroll past the obvious list.)

Day 1: Making my first day of NaNoWriMo’s quota. 

Day 2: My muse keeping me up a little late in the interests of getting ahead of Sunday’s quota so I could focus on the Sabbath Day.

Day 3: That extra hour of sleep. No one ever seems quite as excited about Daylight Savings Time in the spring, do they?

Day 4: Friendly people even if they sometimes keep me on the phone when I should be writing.

Day 5: Opportunities to remind my friends they are amazing.

Day 6: The joy of freezer archaeology. You haven’t lived until you realize why people keep counseling you to write what you have hidden in the freezer backlog before placing it there.

Day 7: Sweet dog owners who let me love on their babies when we see them in the park. 

Day 8: The lady with the bright green safety sash who walks every day and makes me feel I can do it. I think I surprised her this morning by waving excitedly at her from across the street as we both wandered through the autumn chill and crisp leaves.

Anything you are grateful for? You don’t have to say free writings from me unless it is true.

And my anniversary falls this month. I may be without an oven to bake my anniversary cake. Uh-oh! Think I can talk my husband into purchasing me something fancy from a bakery besides my own?

But our oven might not be available because our kitchen is getting an upgrade. I have my fingers crossed that it will be completed before Thanksgiving (a couple days before Thanksgiving), but I am not feeling optimistic about that, which wasn’t helped by the electrician giggling when I told him that was my impossible dream. I am looking forward to having more room to dance while I cook and more prep space for the cookies and cakes that most people in my circle of influence seem to appreciate.

And, of course, Thanksgiving makes my heart flutter for obvious reasons. Who doesn’t love pie? And turkey? And the various sides? And family? And friends? And cranberry sauce whether you prefer it to have lumps or the shape of a can?

So now you may be asking, “What more could she have to do?” I keep remaking a commitment to myself to get out and walk more to counterbalance my obvious affection for food a smidge, so I have to throw that into my daily tasks. It is much easier to break a habit than to form one.

 

Then Christmas prep comes tumbling down the chute. I fell into the tradition of decorating and getting those cards started the day after Thanksgiving, so that also falls in November. Sometimes I craft handmade gifts for people, but between my kitchen being out of commission and my guest room overflowing with items moved from the kitchen to make a clean slate for the contractors, some recipients may not be happy with this elf this year. I ask forgiveness in advance.

What makes November busy for you?

Feels like my theme for this month is pop quizzes, doesn’t it? Anyone want to take pity on me and answer questions or are you waiting until December because you have 50,000 words to write?

Don’t worry, my muse declared that I must post something more fun and fictional for Black Friday, so keep checking in. Persistence and loyalty should be rewarded. That was definitely not a question. I already have most of your reward completed. Now it needs to steep before I come back through and review it to make it worthy of my dear readers.

NaNoWrimo Takes Me Away Again

November has come again. A time when my mind turns to pie and words. As my faithful readers probably can guess, I might not have much to share here, but don’t give up hope. Maybe this is the year my muse will inspire me daily and whip up a fire within me that leads to a completed novel for you and I to share.

Now for a pop quiz:

1. Are you wishing I would finish Opera’s story?

2. Are you excited for something new?

3. Would you share my writing with others if I did the unbelievable and finished something?

4. For those who have read my shorter pieces, what ones stood out to you?

Looking forward to some answers to my pop quiz. Email me or leave a comment below or private message me on Facebook. If you found your way here, I know you have at least one of those methods to contact me. 

A small update, I hit my quota today, so that is a step in the right direction.

Turkey Tricks [FICTION]

“I’m throwing an early Thanksgiving feast for some friends. Please tell me you are free Thursday at six.” My best friend Viv begs.

“Of course,” I accept and then glance back at the open Word document on my screen. “Unless I get too behind on my word count.”

She sighs. “Really? Since when do you pick words over food?”

“Every November since I discovered National Novel Writing Month.”

“Yes, I know. But you have to make time for me. I am your best friend after all.”

“Fine. I will make time for you, but be willing to forgive me when I show up with a pencil and a notepad.”

“Alright. I will see you and my competition on Thursday. Love ya. Bye.”

“Bye. Love ya.”

~

I outdo myself in the art of stringing words together over the next four days and even make time to whip up my coveted caramel pecan pumpkin pie. I gently place it in a pie carrier, grab a notebook and pen small enough to hide in my jacket pocket, and rush over to my best friend’s house. I arrive unfashionably early yet still struggle to find parking on her street. I don’t think much of this phenomenon since Friendsgiving and turkey hats have become all the rage again. I finally find a spot on a parallel street and walk briskly to her house.

As the door opens to my ring, I hold up my contribution. “I knew you would need one more pumpkin pie.”

Her mouth drops open as she peers through the clear lid. “That pecan caramel pumpkin wonder that I am addicted to?”

“None other.”

“I’ll just put this in the kitchen,” she fixes me with an odd look as she gently takes the pie.

I follow her into the house, but soft whispers in the living room draw me away from following her to the kitchen. Instead, I step into the living room. As my shoes click on the hardwood floors, the voices subside, so I enter a silent room to find numerous friends and relations waiting for me. Over the mantle, the word “intervention” adorned in glitter greets me. I stare at the sign for a second before taking a long sniff of the air and another to confirm that the scent of roasted turkey hasn’t permeated the house. Viv appears from the kitchen and joins the others as I finish processing.

“What exactly is going on here? I don’t smell turkey.”

“I’ll make you a turkey sandwich when we are done talking.” Viv assures me.

“But I came for fresh turkey.”

“You are going to get something much better.”

“Criticism?”

“Love, darling,” my mother interjects as she steps forward to wrap an arm around me.

Viv takes my hands and gently extracts me from my mother’s smothering embrace to guide me to the couch. She sits down and I follow.

“Bella, we worry about you every year, so we decided to do something about it this time.”

I raise my eyebrows in silent inquiry.

She pauses a moment before continuing, “Every November, you turn into a different person. We barely see you and when we do, you are typing or scribbling away. I had to promise you a lavish meal to even get you over here to spend time with me.”

“A lavish meal that I am clearly not going to receive.” I mumble.

“You are getting one next week. If you can pull yourself away from your writing long enough to attend.”

“Yes, dear,” my mother smiles, “I picked out the biggest turkey I could find, and Viv will bring her garlic mashed potatoes.”

“You mean her potato mashed garlic.” My mouth fills with saliva at the thought. “That is something else I was promised that I am not getting.”

“I will make you a deal,” Viv continues, “You relax a little with this writing obsession, and I will make you your own batch so you don’t have to share.”

“But I am so far behind.”

“On spending time with your family,” my cousin Betty says.

I sigh. Despite my desire to win all the badges available from the nanowrimo website, they have a point.

“Okay, Viv. I will be more present with you guys than my writing. Maybe that is just the change that will bring my muse around and I will finish early.”

“Maybe.” Viv fixes me with an intense stare and holds out her hand. “As a sign of good faith, hand them over until after dinner.”

“What?” I feign ignorance.

“The pen and paper that I am sure you have hidden in one of your pockets,” her eyes travel suspiciously between my jacket and my pants.

I grunt in annoyance that she knows me so well but hand them over. “So I get dinner after all?”

“I brought a sandwich tray from your favorite deli,” my mother beams at me.

“And you brought pie,” Viv adds.

“Sounds like dinner to me,” I say, wishing I had my notepad because that line would fit perfectly in my novel.

~~Clearly, I have National Novel Writing Month on mind. It helped me prep most of last year’s delightful offerings for you and I hope it gets us happily through 2022. I have so many wishes for 2022, don’t you? Right now, I just wish to stay on track with my word count. And on this the day I decided to present this turkey tale to lead us into a week of turkey obsession, both of my children returned from school with turkey headbands on their cute little heads. Protect those turkeys! Oh wait. That might be the theme of next week's post. I guess you will have to come back to see.

NOTE: Interventions are very serious. It is hard to love someone who is struggling, but it is even harder for them to admit they need help. I would refer you to places that can help, but honestly I have a few friends in recovery who had lead me to believe that it starts with the individual so keep loving them, praying for them, and sending them positive energy. When they are ready (and may it be soon), they will let you know how to help.~~

[NANOWRIMO] Day 13

As I stand gaping at her, Faun throws her arms open wide. As she envelopes me in a back-crunching hug, the aromas of sage and cinnamon assail my nostrils. I cough lightly and she laughs again. She releases me and steps back into the hall as her dark eyes survey me from hair to heels.

"Oh, Becca, you know I love you, but you worry too much."

"Mom does need us."

"You know she only needs you. Is this about Larry?"

I inhale sharply. "Why would I call you about him?"

"Because I am the only person who understands you." She grins as she grabs the handle of her bag and wheels it into the room.

I close the door and follow in her wake. She sits down on my couch, a queen on her throne, and gestures elegantly for me to sit down beside her.

"Have a seat on my couch and Dr. Freud and I will help you with your issues."

I frown at her but find myself seated beside her. "I don't..."

"...really want to talk about it." She reaches out to take my hand, flipping it over to peer at the lines on my palm. "That's okay. Your lifeline tells me everything I need to know, but maybe you should tell me what you need to know."

I try to wrap my head around her statement, find myself more confused, and shake my head. She leans in to stare deep into my eyes.

"It's okay, Becca. You will talk to me eventually, but I didn't come in response to all your messages."

"What?" Something about her gaze made me uncomfortable.

I tried to draw away, but she grabbed my other hand. Her eyes widened as she spoke softly. "I recently found out something about myself...about us..."

As she paused, I tried again to reclaim my hands. She held them tighter and continued. "We have a destiny. I want to embrace it , but we have to embrace it together."

I opened my mouth but lost my will to speak as her voice washed over me again. "I just need your blood to get things started."

"My blood?" Words found their way to my lips at last. "Should you be taking some sort of medication?"

"No. Just be quiet and close your eyes."

I don't want to obey, but something in the tone of her voice hypnotizes me. As she disappears behind my eyelashes, her smile falters. Then my eyelids block out the light and I wait. My heart beats faster in the darkness and I wait. Her grip on my hands loosens, but she doesn't let them go. Even if she did, I know I couldn't pull away now. Something draws me in. Curiosity?

What is she about to do? A part of me feels like I always knew her words to be true. We are meant to do something great or terrible. With my sister, I fear she might choose the terrible and drag me into the darkness with her.

Called away again by the hungry, but I finally posted. Tell me how excited you are or share your questions or comments below. It might inspire me.

[NANOWRIMO] Day 6

Clearly, a real try for 50,000 beautiful words would have proven a failure this month, but I have returned for another installment. Post any thoughts in the comments below.

"Faun?" I shudder slightly at the desperate sound of my voice.

"Yes, Becca." I can hear the smile in her voice. "Miss me?"

"Why haven't you called?"

"Right to business then?"

I don't respond. I know she is baiting me. After a minute of silence, she sighs. Another minute and she clears her throat loudly. I wait. She waits. I hit the mute button so she can't even hear me breath.

"You called me..."

I bite my lower lip and wait.

"...so what did you want?"

I click the mute button again. "You have to learn to listen to your messages."

"I did, but you didn't say what you really want."

"I did. I want you to come home." Annoyance forces the words out in short, clipped bursts.

"You can tell me whatever it is over the phone."

"I shouldn't have to. You..." A loud knock on the door cuts off my rant. "Hold on."

As I walk toward the door, Faun laughs. I frown and grab the knob. As I pull the door toward me, I peer into the hallway. My frown deepens as the gypsy girl standing there grins at me.

"Someone's at the door." Faun's voice floods over me. "Happy to see me?"

Have more to type, but my boss needs food. :)

[NANOWRIMO] Day 1

Not a lot of sparks were generated by my comments, which kind of leaves me to my own devices. Clearly, my readers don't realize how dangerous that can be. Let me shake my head and let some ideas bounce into each other.

The whir of the blender pulls me back out of my troubled thoughts. I didn't realize I hit the button and now my attempt at a milkshake has become thick, chocolatey milk. I shake my head and turn it off. I dump the frothy mixture into a large milkshake glass and open the top drawer, reaching to the back until I feel a straw. I pull it out, disinterestedly observing the lime green hue as I drop it into my concoction.

As the chilled chocolate rolls across my tongue, my mind wanders again. I close my eyes and picture a scene thousands of miles away. I wonder how accurate my vision can be with no response to dozens of emails and almost as many phone calls. I open my eyes and reach for my phone.

"No new messages."

Words that wound my heart flash across the screen. I flip it over so the unkind, unblinking face can't continue to scream my rejection. To further taunt me, the phone rings. The shrill tones inform me that the call is not the one I want. I sigh and turn away, refusing to let the real world pull me out of my attempts at prognostication.

As I step into the living room, I realize I have downed the entire milkshake in record time. I set the glass down on the end table and sit on the couch. I stare blankly at the television, willing visions to splash across the dark screen. Once more I am denied. I sigh and reach for the remote. The landline phone rings. I stare at it, waiting for the mechanical voice to break the silence.

"Faun's cell."

I jump for the phone.

Where do you think this should go?