Tag Archive | writing

Almost

Today I was deep in my feelings of failure. I’d received another rejection– a very nice one, one that told me how much the editor liked my story and it invited me to submit again to their anthologies.

As soon as I saw the email, I thought to myself: Great, another rejection. I hadn’t even read it yet.

My inner critic came up and attacked me. It’s not an editor– an editor improves your work. The Inner Critic trashes your work and your soul. “Great, I’m still almost good enough. Not there, never there, but almost good enough.”

It  was enough to make me cry.

Last week, I showed a very personal short story that I had experimented with to some beta readers. Ok, only one of them was really one of my normal Beta readers. Mostly, while they enjoyed the story, it confounded them. It almost made sense. I haven’t read the notes my regular beta reader sent me, but I think I will soon. She reads as an editor, not a critic. My other, who actually HAS edited my work, hasn’t read it yet. It’s out of my wheel house.

It’s real.

No dragons, witches or even an AI or space ship. No elves. Just something this side of way too real. I wrote it for one class, rewrote it for another and… people didn’t get it. I completely ignored the feedback from a classmate whose writing and crits I highly admire, though. The one that said I had spot on characterization, and the details of being cold were right as well.

The class that starts on Monday I’ve been looking forward to. It’s on writing linked short stories. I have read the course page backwards and forwards, and it didn’t say anything about the stories we write having to be in the literary vein– i.e. no fantasy, sci fi, speculative fiction. Can I catch a break? The last “normal” story I wrote confounded people.

So I did what any good, self respecting sulking writer does. I called my sister. She’s been a second mother to me all my life, and we’ve gotten a lot closer in the last few years. We talk Monday through Friday. And she told me what I needed to hear.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

You’re not almost good enough.

You’re almost there.

 

 

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Hello, let’s talk mainstreaming

Hello my lovelies! It’s been a while since we’ve talked. Never fear, I’m still writing.

I started taking writing classes and it is definitely keeping me on my toes. It has a secondary affect, which could have been adverse. My 11 yr old son is being mainstreamed in English Language Arts (ELA) and math. I am hopeless with math, but English? Who Ohio! I’ve got a degree in that!

This is important. If you have a child going from Special Ed to Mainstream you need to listen carefully.

His teachers are phenomenal. But most classes in the SDP range are focused on reading, writing and spelling. Parts of speech, well… So we have a child that has fought his way through everything and is ready to cross the threshold hold but doesn’t know half of what’s being asked of him. Not because he’s dumb. Not because of bad teachers. But because the program that got him this far didn’t teach him those particular things.

He also has a problem with short term memory. Don’t feel bad though, his brain goes so super fast, he’s able to convert to long term memory. It might take him a bit, but he’s able to do it. Pre Mommy taking classes it was no problem.

With me taking classes it is a problem. There’s only so much time in the day. Also, my kid will be a turkey with me:crying, pouting, fit throwing, you know the drill. Our kids will push us to our limits of patience, but will be perfect angels for everyone else. This just childhood, nothing to do with dyspraxia.

But a tutor? And a person he already loves to death? Who also happens to be card carrying member of the Grammar Police? Oh yes, that will do. That will do nicely, thank you very much. No crying, no fits, just lots of learning. And that is a wonderful thing.

Now, I’m off to do your own homework. Ack! I promise, tho, no crying… well. I won’t throw a fit…. no. I promise to do my homework. How’s that?

Boys and poetry

The princeling and I often talk about stories. Last weekend, I listened to him try to rewrite all of my stories. Every single one. 

While cleaning up some papers, I came across a poem we had started together. I remembered the first line, but had forgotten he had written the second. And now I know why he and I don’t work poetry much. He’s 11. And a boy. And I shouldn’t have been suprised….

Here goes…..

If I had a robot heart,

Would I be able to fart.

Yup, my son has mad rhyming skills.

Niht Dance

The stars were crisp and clear 

in the night sky. 

Tree tops reached, 

trying to touch the tiny dancers, 

but they spun away,

too and fro, 

in a dance only

 a master can teach.

 Did they spin to and fro,

 or was the world

 spinning in its own dance?

Or did I finally 

Finally 

have a chance to see 

Night in all her glory

and breathe?

Busy Brain

I’m happy tonight. Bouncing around, music in my head that no one else can hear happy. Busy brain is starting to kick in.

Busy Brain is an anomaly. I don’t tend to like doing a lot of things. After work, I like coming home, getting comfy and being DONE for the day. But there are, unfortunately, only so many books to read or shows to watch before your ass gets covered in moss. I know! It’s so unfair!

I don’t know if I talked about my busy brain idea on here before or not. But… here goes. Way back when I was in college, even doing my Masters Degree full time, working a full time job and a couple of part time ones… I was happy. Bad days, good days, of course. But fundamentally happy.

If you’re happy and you know it….

So. After going through a mild depression, I decided to join Partylite to get myself out of the house and start the busy brain phenomenon rolling. Then, the Princeling and I went on a trip (woohoo! loved it!). A brief pause while I had the stomach flu and then…

I signed up for an online writing class. And am debating taking a certificate program modelled on MFA programs. I want it for the writing, not the degree (already have an MA). So I did my writing assignment, gave feedback to others, posted my assignment and am now busily plotting my weekend.

Which includes laser tag and a Ren fair. WOOHOO!

Work is going well. I’m working on putting up a blog for my job, which is interesting. I’m writing, both fiction and here. I have a few Partylite things going on. I have a busy brain and that brain is happy.

Smiles…

I even did a garbage version of bullet journals for my son and I. I say garbage because I am not into the big expensive leather bound journals. Instead, I made one out of graph comp books. I didn’t do anything too fancy schmancy and we’ll see how that goes. I’ll keep you posted ūüôā

I hope you had a great, music in your head bouncing around happy kind of day and are looking forward to a fantastic weekend.

Travelling

Today, the princeling and I are going on a trip, in our favorite rocket ship…. it’s time for us to go out and about. On our own. Well, sort of. We’re going to go visit family, but twill just be he and I in the car.

My son can’t remember the times we used to go travelling on our own. Admittedly, it’s only been twice, but still. My child thinks his mommy can’t travel on her own. Which if you knew my travel history is hilarious.

I love travelling with Linda. She’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Somewhere along the way, I’ve allowed myself to rely a bit too much on her. Yes, there are situations where I am uncomfortable. But something she said to me on the firstish trip (she ended up meeting me and a friend and ray in monterey) has been ringing in my head. “Why did you bring Her? You’re fine, you don’t need help with the princeling. You’re a good mom and you’ve got it handled”. 

And then I promptly let her handle the travel. Don’t get me wrong, I love travelling with her and T. It’s fun, and we get to talk answer laugh and share heart to heart moments. 

But my son sees me as weak. I write about kick ass women who save themselves and my son sees me as weak. It’s time to write a different story, one that includes travelling with Linda, but also some solo adventures with the princeling. 

It’s al,osteoporosis time for us to cut loose. Stay well my lovelies! 

I’m good at what I do

I have a day job. It’s not an industry¬†that I ever thought I’d get into, but I like it. I’m good at what I do– sales with a lot of customer service. I talk on the phone all day, and I connect with people.

Yes. I connect with people. Which is something I enjoy doing.

And I’m very good at it.

That’s not to say that I’m the best, the highest performing or what ever. But I like my customers, and care about them. Not just what they need. I know that it comes through in the way I deal with them.

I have customers dealing with cancer, and it breaks my heart. I have one who just had a new baby and she is the cutest thing ever. Others I chit chat with, catch up on the news about both our kids, and enjoy talking¬†and working with them. I’m good at¬†it— in a weird way it’s¬†being a friend. I’ve never met them, but I care about them. And it has little to do with money.

I’m really good at what I do. Not everyone can appreciate it, or accept it. My last boss didn’t. My current boss does. Which is wonderful, because even if I¬†started writing and selling full time, I don’t think I could just stay at home and write. I’m not that type of writer.

I’m not that type of worker either. I started out working at home– and while there were parts that I loved, for the most part it just isn’t for me. I enjoy the¬†hustle of the office: phones ringing, orders going in and out. Interaction with my co-workers and customers.

I really like what I do during the day. If you have a day job, I hope you’re blessed with a great job too.