Snow Storm

We got more than a foot of snow in a twenty-four hour period.  In some parts of the world that would be next to nothing, but in Utah that's almost miraculous.  In Utah, getting anything other than sunshine coming down from the sky is almost miraculous.  So because of all the snow, the schools delayed starting by two hours yesterday.  The kids weren't excited about having two hours in which they were completely ready with nowhere to go, they were a little miffed that they had to have school at all.

My husband took the two older children to school and got stuck trying to get out of the driveway.  It took twenty minutes to get them on the road.

I really hate driving in the snow.  I go so slow the drivers behind me think I'm a ninety year-old.  And because I also hate getting stuck, I got my youngest child to help me shovel the driveway.  Let me just say that my muscles are still upset about being used.

Anyway, snow.  What a great way to start the new year.  Right? (I'm trying really hard not to be sarcastic.)  Ahem.  Yay snow!

(At least I don't live there!)

It's Christmastime, Charlie Brown.

This time of year, I forget about the simple pleasures of life.  Honestly.  There's too much to do.  Who has time to sit by the fire with a mug of hot cocoa and just be still?  (Not that I have a fireplace, or can drink hot cocoa, but I'm sure you get the idea.)  And if we do have, or make, the time to relax, doesn't it usually involve some kind of screen: phone, tablet, computer, TV, theater? It isn't like we're really taking in our surroundings, breathing in the atmosphere of the birth of the Savior and feeling the ho ho ho.

If I'm wrong, and you are the type of person who inhales Currier and Ives and exhales twinkle lights, I beg your pardon.

I'd love to be the kind of person who can gaze through the Winter darkness and focus on nothing more than the starlight, but I have to admit, after about two minutes of that, I'm bored.  Especially when there are still so many good books I haven't read yet, and so many concerts and games my kids are involved in, and so many presents to buy and wrap, family pictures to take, and so many cookies to bake.

But even with all that in mind, I'd like to take the opportunity to wish all of you a very Merry Christmas.  I wish you all the peace, joy, and hope the Light of the World brings to the hearts of us all.  And I also wish you a moment of quiet by the fire with your cup of cocoa, even if it is only metaphorically.

See You In The Funny Papers

I know I've already mentioned that I have a novella coming out in March, but this is the first time I've had a book contracted for publication before I was finished writing it.  And since I just finished a big, big round of edits, it's on my mind.

Over the last two weeks, I have asked myself repeatedly why I do this to myself.  Why write?  Why send my baby out into the world for other people to tear apart, or misunderstand, or attack me personally because of the writing I've done?  I love the craft of writing.  I love making a story that was alive only in my head become alive to someone else. I cannot say how many times I've given myself pep talks, saying that even if people aren't very nice about their "constructive criticism" it is useful to me by helping make me a better writer, helping my story become the best it can be.

Even still, keeping defensiveness under my metaphorical hat gets difficult sometimes.  I want to explain why my characters do things, and show people that I did explain it, or whatever the case may be.  But what my defensiveness is really showing is that I had it all worked out in my mind and didn't explain it well enough for the reader to understand.  And maybe it's just that one reader who didn't get it, but isn't that enough to reconsider the way I had it?  (That doesn't mean I change anything, per se, but I definitely consider it.)

I say all this calmly and rationally now.  Just don't talk to me about it directly after I hear someone tear apart my story.  Evidently, I go a little crazy and need several days of eating potato chips and bashing my head against tables before sense returns and I'm able to approach my story again with something that resembles willingness.

And then I found this comic, which is pretty much how I felt.

In my case, potato chips help get the green off.

Green With Envy (Or Ridicule)

I just wanted to show you all what arrived in front of our house the other day.

That's right.  My father-in-law was kind enough to deliver a handkerchief-sized bit of grass.  My kids have had loads of fun spraying it with water, as though it might actually grow up to be a lawn.

Every time I drive up to the house, or have occasion to look out the front door, I either roll my eyes or laugh at how ridiculous it looks.  Like we have delusions of having a putting green.  Or we left a green blanket outside on the dirt.  Or I tripped while holding green jello and dumped it there by accident.  Or we have an unruly patch of moss (that is, coincidently, a perfect square).

Now just .45 of an acre more and we'll have a yard!

Boring vs. Bored

For a blog my sister is starting, she asked me to write something about a day in my life.  And after writing it all down, I realized something.

I am boring.

That got me thinking.  Being boring is not the same thing as being bored. I am rarely bored.  If I have nothing to do, I read.  Problem solved.  Although, to be honest, I usually read when I should be doing something else.

Writing or talking about reading is boring, not only to other people, but also to myself.

However, in my eternal quest to be a better person, I've decided I need to read less, be interested in all the things I used to do before reading pushed them out of my life, spend more time listening to my children talk about playing video games (talk about boring!), and generally try harder not to let my tiredness lull me into doing things that are easy.  Because, as my last post brought home to me, my time on this earth is limited.  I should use it wisely.

But I've tried to give up reading before and I remember walking aimlessly around the house for hours at a time because I was so bored.  I'm fine with being boring, but I really don't want to be bored.

I can't be the only person that struggles with this: What is comfortable versus what is best.

Anyone have good advice about how to stay strong and suck it up and choose the right?  Cause it would seem I need some.

My Friend

The first time I met Wilhelmina, or Wil, as she prefers to be called, was on a cold day at a beach in Wellington, New Zealand.  She had made cookies for the only friend we had in common: Without a recipe.  Who makes cookies without a recipe?  Only the brilliant.

After that initial meeting, she invited me many times to her home.  We ate dinner with our two families several times.  We had more "sand"wiches than any person should need to consume as we solved the problems of this world while sitting on a beach watching our children frolic in the waves or build their own worlds in the sand.

When I was pregnant with my youngest child, she was the one I wanted to be there with my husband and I during the birth.  Being very pregnant herself, she ran down the hill to the hospital in the middle of the night to be there.

She has mentored and helped more children as their caregiver than I can count, and has been there to relieve the burdens of more friends than she realizes.  Her husband and four daughters love her dearly.  As do I.

She recently lost the fight with four kinds of cancer, and her family can't make ends meet without her.  Please click on the link below and give what you can to help this wonderful woman's husband and children.  The woman I consider a sister.

For Wil

Surprise!

Isn't that a beautiful cover?  And did you notice the third name down?  That's me.  So, after years of trying to be published again, it's finally happening!

This is a compilation of four novellas, all put together for your reading enjoyment.  The theme of each story is "marriage of convenience".  I don't know about you, but I love those types of stories.  In real life, marriages of convenience probably aren't all that romantic, but in fiction, they're great.

If you're interested in reading these four stories, you'll be able to around March 2017, just in time for Mother's Day (It'd make a great gift.  Not-so-subtle-hint).  Hooray for Mother's Day Anthologies!