I'm Getting Published!

Yes, it's true. I'm getting published. Well, maybe I should amend that. My romance writing, outspoken, bossy alter ego is getting published.

Recently I was perusing through some publishing websites to see what they were looking for, if anything. (Okay, fine. I was supposed to be doing research for school but I was procrastinating.) Anyway, I found a reputable e-publisher (they do print as well, but are very well known for their e-books) who had an open call for submission for a short story anthology. There were a few requirements listed within the call. First of all, this particular publisher only deals in romance - some of which is definitely adult only content. The story had to involve some type of online/computer/social media element, and had to meet word count parameters along with a few other requirements. Also, space for this particular anthology was limited. I thought about it for a few days and started working out a story idea in my head. I didn't think I'd actually submit it, but I thought something like that could be fun to write. Let's face it - I like to read in a number of genres, including romance and it's sub-genres, (50 Shades, anyone?) but I don't write romance. I write short, dark, twisted, and depraved stories about death and revenge. But I digress.

I finished writing the story and asked a classmate of mine (who happens to be a genius editor) to work her editing magic on it. After I made the necessary changes, I put together the required submission packet including the synopsis and query letter. I felt a sense of relief (along with abject terror) when I hit the "send" button. A few days later, I got a huge surprise - an email stating that they are going to publish it. I was shocked. Then the publisher sent me my first book contract (I'm going to earn royalties!), which I signed and promptly sent back, all the while doing the happy dance. My alter ego is also ecstatic, and she is already working on a novel which she plans to submit to the publisher - another romance. (Did I mention she also has a one-track mind?)

It has been less than a year since I quit my job to go back to school and pursue writing full time. There are days when I feel frazzled (actually that happens on any day that ends in "y"). There are times that I wake up in the middle of the night wondering what in the gay hell I'm thinking by pursuing my dream instead of working a "normal" job. But now I have a bit of something to show for my hard work - I'm finally going to be a published author. Ahem, my alter ego just punched me. SHE is the published author. Either way, it's a reason to celebrate. ;-) So get your e-reader ready!

Barbie: Does She Really Have It All?

Both of my daughters are enamored with everything that is Barbie related. This can be a blessing or a curse, depending on one’s viewpoint. For example, Barbie does keep them both entertained for hours at a time. That means that I can do exciting things, like laundry, or even shower alone and still have time left over to do other important activities. (Like Scramble With Friends, my newest time suck. Or better yet, study.)

However, the aftermath of a marathon Barbie session is brutal. Between both girls we have approximately two dozen Barbies. Each of those Barbies has at least two dozen outfits with matching shoes. (Many of those outfits make Barbie look like a cheap hooker on Hollywood Boulevard, but that’s beside the point.) Needless to say that when it’s time to clean the Barbie mess up, I am the one who is scrambling around on the floor on my hands and knees packing everything away. As I was cleaning the 5 y.o.’s room yesterday, I found myself getting slightly jealous. Of Barbie.  

I live in a plain three bedroom, 1 ½ bathroom ranch style home. Barbie has a three level house complete with an elevator and a hot tub. She has a swimming pool. Plus a beach house. Her toilet sings to her when it flushes.

I have a severely anemic closet. The cute clothes I used to wear are long gone and I now live in yoga pants or if I really feel like dressing up, corduroys. Barbie has an infinite supply of clothing. And shoes. I have one pair of high-heeled black shoes. I can’t remember the last time I wore them. Barbie has heels in every color imaginable. And she wears them. All the time.

I am constantly doing things around the house and picking up after everyone. Barbie never has to clean or do laundry. She’s too busy being a doctor, doing her hair, or cooking a fabulous gourmet meal in her fancy kitchen. Barbie has never changed a shitty diaper. Barbie has never had to clean up puke. Barbie does not have to clean cat litter every day.

I spend a lot of time driving. Taking kids to and from school, play dates, running errands, etc. I like my little SUV, but Barbie has a sweet pink convertible that she can ride around in all day (and all night). And she never has to pay $4.00 per gallon for gas.

I could go on, but I won’t because I think I’ve made my point.

But then I thought of something that put everything into perspective.

Barbie’s wine glass.

                                                                      My wine glass.

Poor Barbie. I wonder who’s jealous now. 

Butt In Chair: Write, Edit, Polish, Publish. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

I created this blog to write about a number of things. (Hence the description “A blog about writing, motherhood, love, and life in general.”) I’ve reviewed some of my more recent posts and I realized I had a few rants in there (Family, Fundraising, and Four Years of Lies). There are also posts about motherhood, (Things I’ve Learned) and little bit about love. (Matrimony 2.0.) However, I haven’t written much lately about writing. And then I realized I haven’t been doing as much writing for myself because I have been doing a lot of writing for school. (Damn those pesky professors who want me to write essays like they grow on trees! Kidding – their guidance and feedback have been invaluable.) I have also been doing a fair amount of ghostwriting, which provides a modicum of income and tons of practice regarding the actual craft of writing. But ultimately I want to write for ME -- not some corporation or business that needs help with managing their blogs or website content.

I think about writing all the time. (Ok, I’ll be honest. I obsess over writing. I’m constantly thinking about the novel I’m working on, along with the short stories etc). I troll the Interweb looking for writing blogs, I connect with other writers via Twitter and the FB and I belong to a writers group. However, all that isn’t worth shit if I’m not actually writing.

Then there’s the publishing aspect of the whole process. As a writer, I am super curious as to how the publishing world works. I know traditional publishing is hard to break into. To be honest, I haven’t even tried. I want to, and when I finish my novel I will definitely query some agents to see if I can spark their interest and maybe get some attention from a traditional publisher. But in the meantime, I’m going to try my hand at e-publishing. I’m putting together a small anthology of short stories that I’ve written and I might submit them to one of the smaller e-book publishers. I know some people who have published this way and they seem happy with their experiences. Seems like a good idea for a newbie.

Another avenue I’m interested in is self-publishing. That means I do all of the work -- formatting, cover art, blah blah blah…. but I also clear almost all of the profit. I’m not the most computer literate person in the world, but I have a friend or two who said they were willing to help me through the process of publishing for e-readers such as Kindles and Nooks and iPads and the list goes on – I’ve made my point. For this venture I will be writing in a specific genre and using a pen name.  

The world of publishing is changing, it seems as if on a daily basis. I’d like to be part of that change. So that means sitting my butt in my chair and writing, and hopefully writing something that people might actually buy. I am a writer – and although at the moment I am unpublished, I am going to work hard to make sure that 2012 is the year I turn into a (insert trumpets, drumroll, etc. here) PUBLISHED AUTHOR! Who knows…maybe in a few short months you’ll be downloading one (or more) of my books on your handy dandy e-reader? 

Things I've Learned....

Things I've learned as the mom of two girls (currently ages 5 & 7):

1. I am the only one who can flush a toilet.
2. I am the only one who can close the toilet lid.
3. I am the only one who can fish things out of the unflushed toilet, such as toothbrushes, hair ties, and handsoap.
4. I can no longer take a shower (or use the toilet) by myself. I will always have a child (or the cat) who needs my attention during those times.
5. I am the only one who can change a roll of toilet paper.
6. Kids will only puke in the middle of the night.
7. I can make a casserole with all the foods they love (chicken, tomatoes, mac & cheese, veggies) and they will hate it.
8. Barbie's clothes make her look like a hooker. Don't get me started on her shoes.
9. Ken likes to wear Barbie's clothes.
10. Nintendo DS games have a special black hole they disappear into never to be seen again because the concept of putting the games back into their cases will not get through certain thick skulls. 
11. World War III will always start when I am writing/doing dishes/cleaning/talking on the phone because one of the 25 Barbies is missing and that is the one they can't live without even though she looks the same as all the others. I can only hope she isn't in the toilet.
12. Bedtime takes two hours because someone always has to get up and pee, usually multiple times. Or they can't find their favorite stuffed animal or their left big toe hurts or they want to know why Zombies eat brains.
13. They will always ask why I say words like hell and shit, usually in public places such as the grocery or pre-school.
14. They will always see the midget/old man's buttcrack/morbidly obese person on the scooter in the grocery story and point he/she out, very loudly.
15. Some days there just isn't enough wine. 

Proof That I'm Getting Older. Dammit.

For most of my 37 years on this planet I have been relatively healthy. That is kind of an amazing feat, considering my family history of diseases and maladies, both rare and common. Heart issues run rampant on both sides of my family. Diseases such as dementia, glaucoma, and cataracts are also common, along with high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and arthritis. Those are just the “normal” health issues that many people face. But in my family, we also have our fair share of abnormal conditions. My sister has Pompe’s Disease, which is a glycogen storage disease that affects the muscles. It is very rare, only affecting around 1 in 40,000 births. My mother has Factor 5 blood clotting disorder, another rare disorder that only affects about 5% of the population. My daughter was born with a rare disease called Biliary Atresia, which affects 1 in 15,000 to 20,000 births. It is fatal if not caught in time, and although an initial procedure called a Kasai can be done, it is not always successful.  Many babies (including Bittle) end up needing a liver transplant – again, another rare procedure.  So you could see how I’ve surmised how lucky I am regarding my own good health. However, my luck has recently hit a snag.

A little over a year ago, I started experiencing serious neck and shoulder pain. At first I thought I did something to myself when I was working out so I stopped. Then I thought maybe I was sleeping the wrong way. Then I blamed the pain on sitting at the computer for too long, which I do quite a bit as a writer. As time passed, the pain seemed to get worse. But since I admittedly have a bit of a God complex, I kept thinking it was in issue I could fix, instead of consulting a doctor. Finally, I couldn’t take the pain anymore. My neck, shoulder and upper back hurt so much that I could barely move by the end of the day and I was having frequent headaches. So a few weeks ago I decided to go to the doctor. After he took what seemed like half of my blood for about a billion tests and undergoing a few CT scans, I had my answers.

My doctor told me the good news first – he said that my head CT was normal. (I started to take out a notebook from my purse to take notes with, but he assured me I would get a printout of what we talked about. I then asked him to list the statement “Head CT is normal” at the top of the printout in bold letters, so I have proof and can show it to certain people who doubt my sanity sometimes. You know, like my children, John, and my parents.) Then he said that I had high cholesterol, but it could be controlled with diet and exercise and gave me tips on how to lower the bad cholesterol but keep the good cholesterol high. (Here is yet another shameless plug for my love of red wine, as it is probably a factor in keeping my good cholesterol number high.) 

But then he told me the doozy: I have fairly progressive arthritis in my neck. That’s what has been causing the excruciating pain I have been feeling for over a year.

To be quite honest, the high cholesterol diagnosis along with arthritis really threw me for a loop, considering how healthy I’ve been all my life. I associate cholesterol issues and arthritis with people who are overweight and, well, old. I’m 5’2” and 110lbs, which is certainly not overweight. And let’s not forget, I’m 37, not 67. My doctor was very understanding of my reaction and offered tips and advice for dealing with arthritis. Before leaving the office I received a shot of something called Toradol, something I had never heard of, along with a prescription for high-test 500mg Naproxen, which I was to take twice a day for 10 days. When I called John from the parking lot, he told me Toradol is given to football players to get them back into the game after an injury. I thought that was super, as I was headed to Krogers and a pain numbing shot could make grocery shopping so much easier.

For about a week, I had no pain. But then I started developing chest pains and ended up in the ER – most likely a result of the high-test NSAIDs running through my bloodstream. Needless to say, that also scared the bejesus out of me.

Immediately following my diagnosis from my doctor, I had made a few dietary changes. A few days after the trip to the ER I started doing my beloved P90X again. (I have a love/hate relationship with that maniac, Tony Horton.) Since making the changes and adapting to a regular exercise routine I have felt better and the pain in my neck is minimal. I’m really hoping it stays that way.   

Bittle's Four Year Liver-versary!

Four years ago today my baby had her liver transplant. It has been four years of ups and downs, but I would not have traded it for the world.

Because of Bittle’s transplant, she has been given a chance to live – something she did not have before the operation. In fact, her doctors had warned us that she was getting to the point where surgery might not be an option at all, as there is a window of opportunity that closes if a person gets too ill. Getting a liver transplant and hoping that it worked was our only option for giving Bittle a chance at life. I know we are incredibly lucky, as many people on the transplant list do not get the organs they need to survive.

I often think of the donor family and the person they lost. I hope they have healed, although I know the loss of a loved one is something that always leaves a hole in your heart. I want them to know that what they did saved my daughter’s life. I want them to know that their loved one is living on through my daughter and that every extra day with my daughter is a miracle. I want them to know that they are the reason my daughter is with us today, and for that I will always be grateful.

I love my Bittle and every day throughout her long sickness I wanted to trade places with her. I wanted her to have the childhood she deserved. I wanted her to be able to learn to walk, to go to school and to learn to ride a bike. I wanted to take the pain away from her, but I didn’t have the power to do that. However, a stranger, a person we never met, gave my daughter the chance at life. 

My Bittle is now 5 years old and has blossomed into an independent little girl. She loves life, and has a truly impish nature that keeps us on our toes. She loves school and loves learning. Someday, I want her to go to college and be happy in her chosen profession, no matter what it is. Someday, in the far off future, I want her to fall in love. But for right now, I take one day at a time, and simply marvel at how she has grown. Biddle’s liver transplant healed her, and it went a long way toward healing our family. She is our miracle.

Words With Friends - A Valuable Teaching Tool. Maybe.

Okay, I admit it. I am addicted to a little game called Words With Friends. (I believe I've mentioned this game before.) It’s like Scrabble, and people can play it via Facebook or download the app on their smartphones. For those of you who have not yet discovered this little gem of a game, I have a question: What rock have you been hiding under? I would go so far as to say I spend more time playing Words With Friends than I do on Facebook, Twitter, and Google+ combined. (In case you’re wondering, no, I do not have a life.)

            Don’t get me wrong; I still carve time out of my day to tend to my responsibilities, namely, the girls. I still manage to keep a (somewhat) clean house, get both kids to their schools, and also manage the duties of being a full time student myself. If I'm really lucky I fit in some time to do some freelance work and actually earn money. But I have to admit, hearing that special sound on my phone that notifies me it’s my turn in any number of the games I have going on still makes my heart flutter.

            As both a writer and a parent, I rationalize my constant obsession with this game by saying that it is a teaching form of entertainment.  After all, I’m expanding my vocabulary. I’m constantly exercising my mind. I’m even helping my children, as they also like to help me “make words”. That’s responsible parenting, right? I’m engaging my children in a game. But not some repetitive and mind-numbing video game that has no educational value (although those have their place in my household too). The way I see it, Words With Friends is a valuable teaching tool.

            One recent evening, I tossed the seven year old, Pie, in the shower. I surveyed the domain and realized that the dishes were done (mostly), the laundry was (almost) put away and the cat was fed. Perfect time to play a few games, as it was my turn in eight of the 14 games I had going on and I most certainly do not like to keep other players waiting when it’s my turn.

            I tapped my finger on the game I wanted to play in first. This game was becoming extremely dicey, as I was losing against my friend by 30 points. I’m not a sore loser; I just don’t like to lose—especially to people who cheat, which I believe my friend in this particular game does on a regular basis with one of the cheating apps. Seriously, how the hell does a person who regularly misspells all of their Facebook status updates know the words “ferly” or “quaen?” I’ve never even heard of those words and I have four damn dictionaries and two thesauruses.

            As I studied my seven letters and the layout of the board, I realized that I could quickly surge ahead by placing my W in a spot that would conjoin two words. This particular spot also happened to be a “TL” square, which means I would get triple points for the W for both words – a whopping 24 extra points on top of the actual points I would get for the words themselves. Then I looked at the board again and realized that if I added an “S” to the end of the one word it would also be a triple word, meaning that my points for the whole word would triple. Happy Birthday to me!

            However, I was doubtful about this move, because this game can be touchy sometimes and words that are deemed derogatory are not playable. One of the words that I was about to create was the word “whores”, which could be construed as derogatory in certain company. Oh well, I had to try, right? I owed it to my self to get as many points (without cheating) as possible. I placed the letters and hit “play.” To my eternal delight, the game accepted the words and I got a whopping 64 points, thereby knocking my opponent out on his proverbial butt. Score!

            At that moment, the hubs walked into the kitchen with the 5 year old, Bittle, trailing behind him. She was trying to show him her latest efforts at cross-dressing her Ken doll, but I thwarted her by shoving my phone in John’s face. I wanted to show him what I did, so that he could praise my expertise and obvious intelligence in this clever word game. I also did not want to say the word out loud, as the 5 year old has a propensity to repeat any word that might be considered as bad. Words such as damn, shit, and hell have all been uttered from her lips, and although I have told her those are bad words, her response to me is that she heard it from me and why do I say those worlds if they’re bad?

            “It let you play whores? Wow. Good job.” John said, followed by an eye roll.

            “Whatever, I’m stoked. I got 64 points for it. And this isn’t one of our games.” I was beating him in three of the five games we had going on, a fact that he was slightly touchy about.

            Bittle promptly left the kitchen, still clutching on to the Ken doll dressed in one of Barbie’s ball gowns. She hustled straight to the bathroom where Pie was showering.

            “Pie, guess what?”

            “What? I’m in the shower.”

            “But mommy played whore for 64 points in her words game! She’s very excited.”

            “What?”

            “I said, mommy played whore,” she yelled at the top of her lungs.

            “What’s a whore?” Pie yelled back.

            “I don’t know but it must be good. Mommy is very happy right now. Maybe she’ll let us have ice cream for a snack.”

            I might be rethinking my teaching tools.