technology dreams and hypnotherapy writing sessions.

You guys! November 2 is over in 14 hours here and I haven't written a single word for my NaNoWriMo novel. I have a huge stack of papers to grade and I need to write 3200 words before I go to bed. Because you have to write like 1600 words per day to be successful. NO EDITING.

In my defense (aka excuses, excuses), we had a busy week and weekend: Wednesday was getting M's hair done in honor of her birthday (omg, I love it when I'm not the one with the comb making her scream), Thursday was our nuclear family celebration at Dave & Buster's, Trick or Treating Friday, and then M had 3 little girlfriends over for a small birthday party yesterday. We're done with big production birthday parties for awhile. I'm all about small, laid back things at this point; my overflowing brain and blood pressure cannot handle Involved. For example, the party theme yesterday was Frozen, and I googled some Not Involved games with a Frozen theme we could play at her party. One was Toss Snowballs (or balled up white socks) into a Bucket. The other was Stick the Carrot Nose on Olaf. Except I forgot to get the bucket. And the white socks. And I never made a white posterboard Olaf. Or orange carrot noses. Because my brain had too much information in it on the account of I had a 2nd grade fire to put out on Friday afternoon and after that I had to emotionally decompress most of Friday evening before trick or treats, and when this happens I temporarily completely forget about my own child. This is my biggest complaint about public school teaching right now: Dear Parents...please raise your own children so we can focus on ours. Some of us do have our own children to raise, not just yours. Thanks, Mommy/Teachers Everywhere.

At any rate, it was fine. Turns out little kids don't give a rat's ass about games...they just want to play. Plus, they came up with their own game--yesterday's invention was a Dance Off competition. A very uncoordinated, LOUD dance off. And someone got her feelings hurt. And M started crying because she couldn't be first. And someone else ran off because SHE wanted to be first. Girls are exhausting. And loud. Did you know this? Girls are loud and exhausting. And they have too many emotions. And I can say that, because I am a girl. (Who is not loud, but CAN be emotionally exhausting.)

Speaking of socializing: Social Media thoughts...I've downloaded HootSuite. I hear it's THE way to go, in terms of managing your social media accounts and your time. I'm still teaching myself the HootSuite ins and outs, though, and this is a process.

(Related Side Story: When I was 13, my dad signed me up for a summer school computer class. This was back in 1985, when computers were the size of a table and you told them what to do in "string" format. I think about typing in these formulaic string codes, telling a computer the size of a table what to do. And then I think about how I bitterly cussed at HootSuite yesterday and got all annoyed with the process. When we were sitting at these gigantic machines typing string code, did we even KNOW we'd walk around with phones in our purses/pockets with more data in their microscopic computer chips than the entirety of all human knowledge since the dawn of time. I mean, you can stream a movie from the middle of the Sahara Desert if you can find a GPS cell tower connection. On Thursday, at Dave & Buster's, M and I paid 12 points off her swipe card to sit in a machine that made us feel like we were actually IN an animated movie. I can get on Skype and talk to someone on the other side of the world and a computer will translate the whole thing and beam it up to the alien nation of Alpha Centauri II for the love of all.

Still. Goddammit, HootSuite! Are you for real!? Why the hell can I not link my public writer Facebook page to you?! And damn you, I DO have a Google+ account under that email address what are you effing talking about, HootSuite?! expletive expletive expletive this is hard expletive.)

What I'm saying is: Jesus Christ. We need to manage our social media? I can't even manage my offline social life--make an app for THAT, Apple. ......Bet they have one, and I'm certain I'd swear bitterly at it, too.

Here is where Social Media does come in handy: yesterday I saw on Twitter where Jason Isaacs (watch DIG on USA starting March 2015!) tweeted to someone about how he uses YouTube hypnotherapy sessions to sleep. I read this and thought: what?! there are hypnotherapists on YouTube?! So I went over there and did some research. Sure as shit and Donald Trump is an egomaniac, there are! Y'all! There ARE hypnotherapists hypnotizing people about all kinds of things. On YouTube! Technology: it frustrates and amazes the brain.

Friends! The possibilities are endless! I'm going to try it on my class this week and see if I can make them be quiet. And then I'm going to try it to see if I can lose weight, actually want to run a 5K, get to sleep faster, be less stressed and more organized. And then I'm going to try to it to see if I can write more productively and win NaNoWriMo for the first time ever, and have one whole novel done. This is...this is just amazing. I'm just so happy I was exposed to this concept. I don't know if Jason Isaacs will ever know how drastically he just altered my life, but hopefully one day I'll run into him somewhere and can high five him for this knowledge share. He's proclaimed publicly he thinks social media is weird (so do I) and doesn't really get it (me neither) but apparently is doing it because it's what you're supposed to do if you're in the storytelling business these days (he's in my tribe!). Yet look at all the good he is doing on it, and he doesn't even know! He doesn't even know. Which is why he wins Best Human on Social Media for November.

(Related Side Story: Speaking of sleep hypnotherapy, I did try one of Jason's hypnotherapy YouTube videos and it does work. Which is why I really want to get on Twitter and leave Jason Isaacs and Jessica Chastain a whole series of tweets letting them know I dreamt about them both last night, thanks in part to a British lady's calming, hypnotic voice. I can see why Jason Isaacs wormed his way into my subconscious since I fell asleep on account of a video link he social media-shared, but I have no idea why or how Jessica Chastain got in there. At any rate, the plot of the dream was: Jason, Jessica, and I went to a theater. But not together--we went separately.

Jessica and I were sitting next to each other, and we were both behind Jason. When the play [or awards ceremony or movie or whatever we were doing] was finished, Jessica and I had a nice conversation and then I asked her to sign my file folder. My empty, letter-size, manila file folder. Because you'd totally bring that to a fancy theater with you. And I remember, in my dream, she asked me if I wanted a selfie with her, but I said no because I thought her hair looked more beautiful than mine. But then she was so interesting and friendly so it was really important she sign my file folder, and she did. She signed: "Love, Jessica Chastain." That was it.

I really wanted Jason Isaacs to sign my file folder, too, but I decided to just leave Jason Isaacs alone, because he seemed nice but I didn't want to bother him in case he was in a hurry. But then he stayed and talked to the person next to him and so I thought: why not. Maybe I'll ask him for a selfie. Maybe because my hair would look okay next to his? Brains are weird. So I did ask, and he was very kind and sweet and we took a selfie together. We actually took two, because he said the first selfie wasn't awesome enough to share on Facebook. And because he was concerned about making sure I had an awesome picture of me to share on social media, it made me brave. So I asked him to sign my file folder. And he did. And he wrote a 2 paragraph essay right next to Jessica's "Love, Jessica Chastain." On my file folder. And every time he wrote the letter "i" he made a heart on top instead of a dot.

However, I decided not to leave Jason Isaacs and Jessica Chastain a series of tweets about this that might show up in their Twitter @Mention feeds, because I didn't want to look crazy. You know how sometimes you'll have a dream about someone you know, and you'll tell them your dream, and they'll look at you like you're crazy and go: Um, Okay. And then that's it? You had this WHOLE involved dream about them, and their reaction is just: Whatever. 

?! What ?! No! If I dream about you, it's a compliment. Listen, I have a lot in my life going on, and a lot of other people my weird brain could be sticking into my dream pathways. If my brain pulls you out, it's a compliment. I always take it as a compliment when someone dreams about me. But I think other people don't, and when I tell them about the dream they were in I'm worried I'm creeping them out and they're thinking: Hey, tell your spooky brain to stop adding me to its dreams. 

Personally, I think when you dream about other people it means our souls may have connected interstellarly. But take that with a grain of salt, because I'm a double Pisces with a moon in Cancer and that's how we navigate this planet. Not everybody navigates it like this. Which is why I'm careful about telling people when they have a starring role in one of my dreams.

.....one time, I dreamt that Bradley Cooper and I went on a date together, and our date was gardening. We picked roses and weeded a garden. And a friend of mine said, "Oh, is THAT what you're calling it these days." And I said, "No. Seriously. We gardened. We weeded and picked roses. We GARDENED." Stop trying to sully up my chaste Bradley Cooper dreams, people. On an interstellar level, Bradley and I totally connected through flowers, and you're just jealous.

So anyway. I think this means that if I am ever anywhere that Jessica or Jason will be, I guess I need to bring an empty file folder with me so they can sign it. Or write a brief essay on it with heart-dotted i's. And if I ever run into Bradley Cooper and he brings up his love of rose gardens, I'll know my dream theory is correct and you atheists can all suck it. Meanwhile, Bradley and I will be bonding at the Botanical Gardens.)

So I'm off now. M's Big Halloween/Birthday Weekend: it's a wrap. And now I get to start my genre-less pirate/beach/ghost novel. A friend suggested I not worry about genre or how it sounds as I write; just write the damn thing and see what the hell happens. She didn't say that last part--I said that...she's very Southern and far too polite to say that. But seriously, she had a good point: just write it and see what happens. This was most astute, and incredibly impressive coming from someone who isn't doing NaNoWriMo. She wins Best Human on My Private Facebook Page for November. (Hi, G!)

In conclusion, I think the clue to getting much of anything creative done is to get some sleep, but also will yourself to stay off Social Media. I'm going to go to YouTube and see if they have a hypnotherapy session for that, too.

summer fade.

June is the slippery slope month. Oh, it's all fun and games that last week of May--the whole summer is ahead of me, and it's not even June yet! And then June 1 hits. And then June 2. And 3rd and so on. And now we're getting close to June double-digits. This is just like how fast kids grow up! Stop this roller coaster and point me to the carousel.

I've ordered an HP Chromebook, which is supposed to be here tomorrow. SO excited! I researched them and people rave about them, so fingers crossed. Really, I just need internet access and a writing tool. A friend and I are starting a writing project this month--we have an idea for a television show (aka "a pipe dream"). We have a whole world to share with people, and we think it's fascinating (possibly because we live it) and funny and we have seasons and seasons worth of material. Seriously--I've researched television writing/production/etc, and it appears one of the problems with tv is that it eats plot. Not so for this, we think...first, the plot practically writes itself, and second, so do the characters. And, in my experience as a story writer, characters are what drive the vehicle. You can have a great plot, but without interesting characters, it just doesn't work.

So I've been doing a lot of research for many months--reading a lot of television scripts, lurking on the Writers board over at imdb.com (omg, friends, have you BEEN there?? I don't get involved; I stay out of the frequent dysfunctional frays..it's for the best--who has that kind of time? not me), and we've emailed/called each other with different pitches for episodes or things we'd like to include in the overall story arc. (I like to throw show business terms like "pitches" around, because I think it makes me sound very Hollywood) (Hollywood would chew me up and spit me out-I'm way too nice-but please not until I have cocktails with Clive Owen at the Roosevelt, okay, Hollywood? Thanks.).

At any rate, one of the things that's kept me procrastinating (aka "researching") this long, besides a laptop on the skids, is the fact that I'm a story writer, not a scriptologist. I can tell you exactly how to craft a short story, but trying to sit down and type in script format? My brain isn't sure right now.  But I've also been watching copiously DVR'd episodes of The Sundance Channel's THE WRITER'S ROOM, and I love these people they feature. I watch these shows and think: Why did I go into education? This is not my tribe--the people THE WRITER'S ROOM have featured: that's my tribe. I wish we could go out and drink coffee and talk storytelling shop and beat drums and crap. But no. Poop. I have to go talk about place value in a few weeks and talk about "she said she was my friend but now she's not and she told her not to play with me and she said I wanted to kiss Juan Carlos" and tell people to stop eating the crayons and no you can't go to the bathroom, you just got back from it 3 minutes ago. Dammit. Hanging out with this tribe all day is like...like...being zebra caged with chimpanzees. I'm sorry. It's after midnight here. That's the best analogy my brain can come up with.

I've never written a script. I've been told I'm good at writing dialogue. But I've only ever written dialogue in short story format. How do you tell a story via only or mostly dialogue? Thankfully, I see some scripts have a lot of stage direction, and that's helpful to this story writer. Anyway, I decided to stop over thinking it (like I'm doing right now) and, once the new laptop gets here, I'm just going to sit down and start typing. The first draft is always shitty (says my hero Anne Lamott), so fine. I'll do a shitty first draft and then friend A and I can put our heads together and make it a crappy 2nd draft. And go from there.

Really, it's just so I can put out a tweet and use the hashtag #amwriting. It seems to be popular.

Speaking of twitter! (I'm sorry--I did say last time I'd stop.)  THE WRITERS ROOM retweeted my mention of them today. And I've gotten favorited by a bonafide television script writer. That's exciting progress, right? Jason Isaacs continues to ignore me. I sent him a fabulous birthday message--I read a lot of birthday messages people sent him yesterday and, honestly, not a single one of them wished that he'd get an Oscar nomination this year for his birthday. And I meant it when I typed it--a WHOLE Oscar nomination. For him! Maybe I should have just said "an Oscar." sigh. Frickin' actors.

It's okay! It's okay, Isaacs. Don't feel bad. I wrote my mom a really fabulous Happy Mother's Day super long paragraph on Facebook last month and she totally didn't respond to it, either. I tweeted my brother the other night and he tweeted me back and then I tweeted him back and then he ignored me after that. I'm totally used to being ignored on social media. My own family does it.

At any rate, I'm getting braver! So, so brave. Is it weird that I feel like this tweet-a-total-stranger thing is like an online version of ring the doorbell and run away? (Oh, wait! That just reminded me of how, when I was 14, we'd order pizzas for neighbors and then giggle our ridiculous heads off, watching from the bushes, as the neighbor and the delivery guy got all confused.) (Teenagers. What can you do?)

Miss M starts Swim Nazi lessons on Monday. I'm nervous. She has no idea what's about to happen. Occasionally, she checks with me to make sure Ms. Kim isn't going to make her put her head underwater. I may need to take earphones/earplugs, because I'm certain now there will be screaming. Screaming like Medieval torture chamber screaming. But watching her at my sister in law's pool the other day? Phew. Girlfriend has GOT to girl up. (I keep telling myself I'm doing this to save her life--how can you not know how to swim?? You HAVE to know how to swim.) She loves the pool, she loves water...clinging to the sides, hanging out on the steps. Take her out into 3 feet of water and it's like we're waterboarding her.

Where was I? Swimming, twitter, scripts, writing. Yes--I'm starting a script on Sunday or Monday and I have never ever written one before. I feel like I'm about to jump out of an airplane, praying the parachute works.

It's 1:30 AM and my brain has officially stopped working, so I'm ending this very very abruptly. I don't know why I titled this entry "summer fade," since there's nothing really fade-y about it.... (...except these elipses...)

stories are magic.

It's a weekday, and I am writing a blog post. The Apocalypse has formally begun (gather your zombie fighting gear). (Heh, see what I did there? I rarely write blog posts during the week...quite frankly, I rarely write blog posts, the end.)

Anywho.

Various different things going on in my brain (a list shall follow, as my brain loves these):

1-I have noticed that, by merely reading many chapter books, I have begun to teach 2nd graders about the difference between theme and lesson. And have developed a love of chapter book reading in them. It's really the only time I can get most of them to listen. There are the few knobheads (what would life be, without the knobheads??) who insist on not listening and try to muck it all up for the others, but for most of my small charges, chapter book read aloud time is one of their (and my) most favorite moments of the day.

I think my crying at the ending lines of Charlotte's Web ("It's not often someone comes along who's a good friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.") (Oh my god, I'm tearing up AGAIN!!) was the turning point for many of them: What's this? A teacher crying? Who normally yells at us? My god, stories are magic!

My job on Earth is complete, I feel, when I can impart this knowledge to other human beings: stories are magic.

So far, we've read the following (I've included theme/lesson we decided on as a class, in case you're interested):

Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie (my personal favorite, not theirs though)--theme: Bravery, lesson: never giving up

Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl (their favorite--good lord, they text-to-text connect this frickin' story to Every.Thing. now)--theme: Bravery, lesson: sometimes, you have to make hard decisions

Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum--theme: Dreams (and Travel) are Important, lesson: you don't have to travel far to find your dreams because everything you need to make them real is already inside you

Charlotte's Web by E.B. White--theme: Friendship, lesson: there is nothing more important in life than a good friend

The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams (not a chapter book, but still an awesome read nonetheless)--theme: Magic, lesson: if you really believe in something, anything is possible

Currently, we're reading The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate Dicamillo. We haven't discussed its theme/lesson yet, but I think they're: theme--love, lesson--you are capable of more love than even you know.

Do you read to children? You should; it teaches you a lot. It teaches them, but it also teaches you. It's simply the best part of my day.

....also, if you can find a movie that coincides well with your book, you can a get buttload of work done on a Friday while they compare and contrast the book and film versions. (If they were older, we'd also have a very frank discussion about why so many film versions of books suck so bad...but that's another opinionated blog rant for another day.)

2-I get Rob Brezny's amazing astrological forecasts in my email inbox every week. They never fail me. He's completely confounded me lately, though. This week, he told me I can shut what's been opened, or open what's been shut; just make sure I do so with high integrity. Last week, he told me I was evolving into a more soulful version of my idiosyncratic self. The week before that, he told me I'd get a second chance at something I'd passed up the last time it had come my way.

I have no idea what any of this means, but it sounds auspicious, ominous even. I think I'd just like to be a more soulful version of myself, when all is said and done. I'd like to live out loud. That's hard to do, but really cool when it works out.

3-This summer, I'd like to take a trip. I'd like to take a trip alone. I wish I could get on a plane and go far, far away. Instead, I think I'd like to take a trip alone to a lake, or the ocean. I would just like to stay for a night or two. Stick my feet in some water and think. Write some (incredibly BAD) poetry, and maybe the beginnings of a story (or two). I don't know if the people in my life understand my need to be alone. I don't mind Alone. It's quiet, and I like it. I feel better afterwards. (I test like 100% positive as an INFP on that Myers-Briggs thing, which I find to be far more accurate than any Pisces personality summary I've ever read.)

4-I have an idea for a novel (?) novella (?) or at least a very long short story:

My family (my father's family) is from the Pocono mountains of Pennsylvania. They have tragedy in their family line (not counting for the fact I may possibly be related to George W. Bush via his mother Barbara, via a Pilgrim ancestral connection named Henry Sampson--holy heavens, I can't imagine anything at all more tragic than being even loosely related to George W. Bush). I would like to call this book(?) story(?) Samson Road. Because in Lake Ariel, PA there is a road called Samson Road. That's my family's road. Except if I use that road name, then I worry I can't really fictionalize it; I'd like to fictionalize most of it...base it on real stories that happened, but in a fictional way (isn't that how we roll in the 21st century these days?). I'm talking: childhood drowning, accidental gun shootings, horse-riding suffragettes, the whole lot. People in Lake Ariel still refer to my grandfather as "Papa Joe," like he's The Godfather.

It's fascinating; my dad's family is fascinating to me and I have a deep suspicion they'd fascinate others as well. We have a lot of really complicated people on that side of the family, and I find complicated people to be the best characters in stories.

5-Speaking of families: My little Miss M, who is 5, is deathly terrified of water and has been all of her short, half-decade here on this ironically water-covered planet. Actually, she's not terrified of water itself, but rather of putting her head beneath it. She's taking swim lessons now, and I'm frustrated to the point of wanting to just throw her in the deep end and let her figure it out and get over this stupid B.S. The thing stopping me is I can just see the therapy bills. The other thing stopping me is my memory of being deathly afraid of water...until the day I figured out there was a whole 'nother world underwater, and I loved being there a lot. I was a mermaid (in a pool, in my head...I'm certain the neighborhood life guards thought I was an insane kid, flailing about in the deep end, pretending my feet were fins). I was a true dolphin wannabe; how does one join a dolphin pod? I wished so deeply to be part of one, at age 10. I wish so hard for similar discoveries in my 5 year old landlubber. I will take her for a dolphin ride if she ever gets there.

Today, we were driving back from (yet another) unsuccessful swim lesson, and she asked for a lollipop. Then she said, "Oh, right. I bet you only give lollipops to girls who put their heads underwater." And I said, "You got it, lady." And she said, "Well, I'll just lie to daddy. I'll tell him a story about today when I put my head underwater. I'm good at stories and he'll give me an ice cream cone I bet."

I didn't know whether to be proud of my budding little storyteller or to be horrified at the monster I've created. 

Stories are magic, but apparently they can also create family havoc. I'll have to watch this.

(Epilogue of The Swim Lesson: she tried to tell her story, and her story was whack. She did not get a lollipop or an ice cream cone. She did get a bath, and some Honey Kix cereal with a small glass of iced tea. A satisfying, and far healthier, ending.)

micromanaging travel people stories.

I have not edited or revised my story Emmaline. I don't know why; maybe it's the cheesy ending. Maybe it's the fact I can't get out of my day job until 5:00 pm at the earliest. Which is about an hour and a half better than last year--maybe next year I'll be able to leave by 4:00. Big plans, small steps.

I am writing right now: sitting at a computer, typing. Which means I *could* be revising Emmaline instead of typing randomly into the silent blogosphere. It is on my to-do list for today (revising Emmaline--typing randomly into the silent blogosphere was not). Along with meal menu planning, grocery store shopping, laundry and folding two baskets of laundry that have been sitting in my closet for 4 months. No, seriously. Four months, because laundry has been too much for me to handle (what hasn't been? Please add cleaning the kitchen, dusting, vacuuming, and toilets to this list. Of these five, toilets are the worst. I'm very tempted to go back to outhouses, and please know I type that with a very grave, serious face. Outhouses were a smelly but brilliant concept, and really only undoable in the dead of winter during a blizzard, which is when chamber pots came in handy) (I would not be able to handle chamber pots, by the way).

Really, I'm just here to write so I can keep my writing muscles conditioned, so if you have something to do (i.e., laundry to fold and put away, toilets to clean), may I gently urge you to click off this web page, shut down your computer, and go do it? Nothing worthwhile is about to happen here, and also I'm not feeling creative today so I really just have another list of random thoughts to share:


1-I can't imagine anything better in Life than people watching. Have you tried it? I like to watch people and try to figure out how they got from point A (babyhood) to point B (wherever I am watching them). Why does that old lady have a full arm sleeve of tattoos? When did she get them and why? Why is that lovely young couple sitting at the table across from me just staring sadly at their plates, not saying a word to each other? What happened? Where is that lady without pants on going with that big animal trap cage and long white blanket? Oh, there she is again! Where did the trap and blanket go? And where did she get the big maroon umbrella from? What just happened? Are the animals okay?!?

Story is everywhere.

I recently discovered this Facebook page: humans of new york. I think every city should have one (actually, there may be copy cat versions of this page for different cities worldwide all over Facebook, and I've just been too lazy to look for them). So many stories, and so many sweet human beings. And sad ones. It's my suspicion that even our most hardened criminals may have some sweet, sad life stories to tell. Even my 4 year old, who hasn't lived on the planet for long at all, has at least 4 sweet, sad life stories to tell (and she will tell them all to you, if you promise to take her on an outing to the park or somewhere).

2-I would like to take a trip. A Big Trip. I have never traveled outside the USA (Bahamas and Mexico don't count; they are too close), and I think it's incredibly important to travel outside of our confines and cultural comfort zones. Americans in particular, because we're such a huge country with so many travel-within-the-USA options--if you think about it, we really have a lot here: deserts, mountains (both rocky and green), beaches (tropical and rocky), many different kinds of forests, swamps, frozen tundra...I could go on. And we have 50 different states, each with their own sub-culture and personality. You could spend a lifetime just getting to know and see America.

But the planet is so vast, with so many different ways of life that are drastically different from the over-arcing common one we share here, and I would like to go see it; I think Minnesota would be a vastly different experience than what I'm used to here in Georgia, yet I wouldn't really be stretching my cultural comfort zone by going to Minnesota, would I? I could find a Starbucks there. And about 100 Wal-Marts, too (sadly).

I would like to visit somewhere in the world that has no idea what a Wal-Mart is. Or at least sit in a coffee shop in Mumbai and do some people watching. Or try to figure out someone's story in a restaurant in Italy. Or wonder about pants-less people wandering the streets of Argentina carrying animal traps around. Because I think humans all over the world are very similar at our core, but the why's may be vastly different, and I like that. Also, one of my big writer dreams is to write irreverent, off beat travel articles and I can't exactly do that if I just stick to one country (or, I suppose I can, but then I'm not stretching my cultural comfort zones and that's my point).

So, in typical insulated American style, of course I've decided to dip my toes into the world oceans by starting in the UK. They speak English there (mostly--sometimes I do need subtitles, and maybe a slang dictionary reference), and of course they have Prince Harry (thank you thank you, England!). My great great grandmother came from Wales, and I'd like to go there. And Scotland, because maybe I'll run into Gerard Butler or James McAvoy, and of course they have men in kilts there. Sometimes. And Ireland makes the best cheese and butter and stout beer ever.

What I'm saying is I'd like to stretch my cultural comfort zones, but in baby steps. I think Europe is a good place to start and then I'll be ready to stretch big and wide, with the intentions to end big--somewhere ancient and dangerous, like the the pyramids of Egypt. I hear it's dangerous in that part of the world now, and my prayer for them is that they are able to sort themselves out and my prayer for us is that we let them do that without forcing unsolicited advice or help onto them, because usually when America tries to sort other countries out without asking, "Hey, would you guys like a little help?" and then respecting them if they say, "Thanks, but no. We'd like to do it ourselves," they seem to end up hating us and it turns into just a big ol' mess and eventually some terrorist group forms and does something atrocious. In fact, I'm sure one reason the Middle East has to sort themselves out right now is because of our inability to not micromanage.

3-Micromanagers. Why? WHY??? I think if you feel the need to micromanage things or people, you've already lost the war. Forget the battle: you're drunk on power, and it's cost you the war. You're drunk, go home.

I need to fold and put away laundry and add food to the house (we have no food). And grade papers. Go deal with Emmaline's cheesy ending. Figure out how to budget for a trip overseas. Go find some interesting people to wonder about.

I'm so busy, yet I waste so much time. I should hire a micromanager to fix me, shouldn't I?

every summer has a story: mine is titled "Blessing in Disguise"

I have written, but not decently. Mostly, my writing practice takes place in the form of sporadic, long-winded Facebook status updates. Because when Life poops down poopy poop on me, this is what happens: (1) I crawl into a cave of self-pity grief and moping. The End. (There is no (2)...when I started making this list, I thought there would be a (2), but then I realized, nope. There is no (2). Just self-pity grief and moping.)

Since I last posted about genre-finding, I've experienced a series of unfortunate events, as Lemony Snicket would posit (there will be a more comprehensive list for this part):

1- After 12 years of classroom trailer teaching, I asked for--and was granted, thank you thank you thank you--a move into the building. But this also meant I had to pack up an entire classroom of stuff in a mere 5 hours (for those who think a mere 5 hours is plenty of time to pack up one little ol' classroom, let me laugh wildly here and suggest knowingly, "One does not simply....pack up...an entire elementary classroom in a mere 5 hours." Show me someone who thinks this is an easy human possibility, and I will show you someone who works closely with or for Michelle Rhee and her Corporate Education Reformer Friends, and/or someone who has spent minimal (MINIMAL) time doing actual classroom teaching as a legitimate job. One does not simply...pack up...an entire elementary classroom in mere hours and certainly not if they're doing it on their own, all by themselves.

Or, in my case, when they do, they end up breaking something. See below:

2-In my packing furor, I lost track of time (and also, you know, maybe ignored the softly suggested "get out!!" announcement over the PA system at 6:45 pm) and got locked out of the school but into Classroom Trailer Land...thus, I could not get out of the back part of school due to the locked outside gates and also could not get through the school to ultimate freedom due to the locked building doors.

3-I'd heard urban legends of certain teachers successfully climbing one area of the back lot chain link gate and decided if THOSE gals could do it, I could do it. I mean, who cares that I hadn't been to a gym in over 9 months and am pushing 42 with very little upper body strength?? SHE climbed that gate?? Oh snap, this is easy peasy. I immediately summoned my inner movie stunt woman/Spiderman super hero (who lacks a certain sense of danger and common sense, all at once) and climbed. And I made it! I made it over! Friends, I was over that gate, on the other side, minutes from getting into my car all triumphant and strong. I was thisclose to being An Official Urban Legend(tm).

4-Here's the problem (every good plot has one): (a) I was wearing flip flops and (b) I lost my grip just as I was about to make it off the fence. I landed, rolled my left ankle, and landed smack on top of the left top side of my left foot. My fifth metatarsal decided it wasn't up for full weight bearing on top of it that day and cracked (wimp). Yesterday, I found out via an update x-ray my 4th metatarsal decided to crack a little as well. Had I just cracked my fourth metatarsal, this would have been a minor inconvenience. It was that 5th one that has caused all the problems (wimp). Because, heh, who knew? If you're going to break a foot bone, you'll probably break the 5th one, and the 5th one is the one you have to stay off of if you fracture it in just the right (wimpy) spot. Which I did.

And thus the grief process began: 6-8 weeks of my summer gone...okay, not totally gone, but extremely reduced and limited. No big trips, no pool time, a cancellation of my plans to start Being a Runner again, all summarized by a rather large break down/freak about on being physically able/ready to get my new classroom ready before my teaching contract officially requires my presence and begins again.

And can I just interject here with a big dose of reality: Isn't that sad? My first thoughts were not: Woo! Lots of time to rest! Just what I needed after this crazy year! No, no. My first thoughts were: What if I can't get back to work in time??? (Though, in my defense, please note: I need to be at least back to 80-90% by mid-July, because ha! Teachers don't simply...get their classrooms ready for a new school year the week they're required to come back. That week in elementary school is unofficially known as Meetings Week, which is kind of like Shark Week only bloodier.)

Still, I think it's clear: SOMEbody needs an intervention....please keep reading, because I did get one.

Fortunately, while I do not possess tremendous good sense when it comes to assessing my own physical abilities and limitations in regards to tackling 6 foot chain link gates, I do possess a fair amount of good sense when it comes to who to surround myself with in regards to people and friends. Carol, one of my dearest friends, intervened and reminded me that these things, while upsetting and frustrating, are often the Universe's way of sending us a Big Message that we were probably ignoring over and over when It was attempting to communicate to us in the form of little subtle message. My Big Message appears to be: Slow Down, Rest, and Go Pin a Butt Load of Crap on Pinterest. Also, Read and Write.

So I have given myself 2 weeks of Slow Down and Rest. For the next 4 weeks, I will focus on Read and Write. And this will be a blessing in disguise kind of summer. I will have lots of time to focus on helping my little girl do some reading and writing (which I did NOT have time for this past August-May), and I will have lots of time to focus on doing some reading and writing for myself (which I did NOT have time for this past August-May). And maybe, along the way, I will train myself to notice when I'm going too fast. I am certain I will train myself to listen to messages on the school intercom that are telling me to leave (except, can I gently suggest that the "Time to Leave Now" soft, subtle alert would be more effective if done in an ominously threatening and very loud evil, deep and gravelly ghost-like voice that goes something like: GET OUUUUUUTTTT NOOOOOOWWWW!!!! DANGER IS IMMINENT!!!! ? I think something like that would have lit a fire under my butt 2 weeks ago...or not, because I'm notoriously obtuse when existing in my own little world).

In addition to all of that, I feel this may help jump-start my freelance writing career. I have been accepted as a writer at Blog Mutt, but have done zero writing due to time constraints (of which I have few to none, now) and initial shock at how long broken bones actually take to heal. I fully intend to hop over to Blog Mutt and see how many websites need an expert on broken fifth metatarsal bones--I feel that, due to the extensive Google research I have done over the last 2 weeks, I have enough information to start a new career as a fifth metatarsal bone knowledge doctor. I couldn't do surgery on your fifth metatarsal, but I can give you more information than you actually asked for or originally even wanted (it's a trait I inherited quite honestly from my father). I hear Blog Mutt pays $8 per article, and I figure if I can find enough bone-centric articles to concentrate on over the next 4 weeks, I can accrue at least enough money for a new pair of orthotic shoes just in time for School Year 2013-14.

And I had good news at the orthopedist's office yesterday after my update x-ray. Bones, which take a notoriously long time to heal (4 weeks for soft callous formation + 2 weeks for hard callous), can be tricky...every bone heals differently, and every person has DNA factors that contribute to bone healing time. I appear to have been fortunate with bone healing DNA (thanks, mom! thanks, dad! thanks, other ancestors who also contributed!), and my bones are already showing signs of being on the mend. And so I have relaxed a bit, and have decided to stop shaking my fists at the Universe, my poor gauge of physical fitness/decision-making under crisis, and my wimpy left foot bones for being such girlie men. I will take the next 4 weeks I've been ordered to stay off my left foot and read, write, and write some more.

I will also look at the positive side of things (another message I think the Universe was using both hand to yank on my face to look at, just like my only child daughter does when she needs me to focus): I can still drive, I will have a slightly bionic right foot/calf/thigh in another 4 weeks, amazing upper body strength (ironic, since that's exactly what I needed 2 weeks ago when I was on top of the gate), and my brain still works (most days, but never on Mondays and not while climbing gates).

And, when not out and about with my 90 year old woman walker (complete with tennis ball feet for easier sliding mobility), my mom and stepfather brought me a cool, ergonomic office chair to wheel myself around the house with (until you can't balance on both feet, you never think about needing feet to use your hands...it's an interdependent relationship most people with full feet use just don't consider--I've been out in public since the accident, and I am painfully observant of this. In fact, I spend a lot of time watching able-bodied adults rush about and I just want to grab them and go, "Do you know?! Do you even KNOW?! You have no idea how easily your whole world can change just by one foot! Say THANK YOU!). And, of course, I have, once again, become aware of how stupendously helpful and giving other human beings around me and in my life are when the going gets tough.

Grace and Thanksgiving, much like feet and hands, just seem to work best together. And that's probably on purpose, via some type of Universal Law of Physics.

I remain convinced my left foot is a wimp, though I'm being much kinder to it now during our heart to heart conversations about wellness and healing. I'm sure the Universe broke it to teach it some sort of lesson as well.

beginnings.

Hi, I'm Amy and I'm a writer. Technically, I'm NOT a writer. Technically I have a day job that gives me a nice paycheck once a month, provides health insurance, and puts food on my table, clothes on my back, and a roof over my head (these last three are really important things because I get pretty nasty-tempered when my blood sugar crashes, I have a slight problem in malls and at Target, and I think I'd make a really crappy homeless person/panhandler).

But I still like to call myself a writer (lower case w), even though I've never been published. And, uh, haven't done a lot of writing over the last few years. It's that last one that's really putting a cramp in my writerly aspirations.

Never been published: I've only sent one piece out to one place and it was promptly rejected.  This didn't stop me from writing; I'm just using it as an example to illustrate how very little focus I have when it comes to writing: I've written for years and years and years, and I've sent out exactly one piece, to one place, five years ago. The End.

I've been fascinated with words since I found out about them--a story my mom likes to float around about me is that, when I was 6, I liked to read the Wall Street Journal. (I wasn't actually reading the Wall Street Journal--just picking out all the sight words I was learning. Did you know the Wall Street Journal is chock full of grade school level sight words? It's true--go read one right now and count them all. I'll wait.) And ever since that one story about the owl family that delighted my 2nd grade teacher, I took my Wall Street Journal sight word reading skills and applied them to writing stories. Second grade narratives were followed by 7th grade sci-fi attempts, which were followed by bad romances featuring really classic, romantic figures like Michael Jackson.

Back around 2001, I wrote a piece reflecting on the sudden death of my dad and shared it with some family and friends who all said: this is good! (because that's what family and friends are SUPPOSED to say, homies). But then I shared it with some strangers who said the same thing. And then I said, "Well, maybe I should write some more and share some more with more strangers." And I did. I wrote some more and shared some more with strangers (of the non-publisher variety), but lost focus and here we are today.

Not writing: I haven't written a lot over the last 2 or 3 years. I could say this is because I had a kid, and that's why. But a lot of people have kids and still find the time to write books or music or paint or ski or lose 100 pounds or whatever, so it's just kind of an excuse I like to throw around. I use it for why I no longer run/work out, too, by the way. In fact, I find kids are really convenient for excuse-making, as well as fetching things from the kitchen for you. I'm not suggesting that's why I had one, but I'm also not denying it.

Not writing. That's pretty big, isn't it? You can't really, you know, get published if you don't have anything thing, say for example, written down that's kind of, I don't know, ready to be published. Can you call yourself a writer if the only writing you ever do is in your head?

Lately, I've thought a lot about writing while not writing. Once upon a time I wrote every single day. In fact, in my head I still write every single day; it's just that nothing from there ever makes it to paper or a computer screen. But the act of actual writing, sit-butt-in-chair-and-write writing? Not so much. You'll see me waste time on Facebook and Pinterest a lot. I spend a lot of time with my butt in a chair doing that. You'll see me Googling odd and bizarre things like "hot celebrity men a girl can daydream about." I do a lot of googling about things like that while butt sitting. I think I alone am responsible for the 10,000+ hits on Gerard Butler, Clive Owen, and Jason Isaacs' unofficial fan pages.

But that's not really writing is it? And if I really want to be a Writer (capital W), I suppose I'll have to sit down and do that. My writer/ spiritual hero Anne Lamott says you're supposed to do this if you're a writer, and if Anne Lamott says to do it, writerly people: you do it!

Anyway. The whole point of this blog is writing. Writing about writing, posting snippets of stuff I've written, and occasionally doing what I do best: mourning my life in writing, for all the world to see and judge and comment on (is that not why the concept of blogging even started in the first place? I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere on technogeek.com back in the early 2000's).

If you are here because I found your blog and stalked you into visiting mine, HI! I'm glad you gave in and came here. If you are here by accident, I'm sorry? Maybe you'll find something useful (sometimes I like to write about pairing the perfect bottle of cheap wine and grilled cheese).

If you are Clive Owen, Gerard Butler, or Jason Isaacs or one of their agents, could you please leave me a note with information on where/how to apply for a personal assistant job for you? I am good at: writing blog entries that ramble off into incomprehensible tangents, putting a load of laundry in the washer and then forgetting about it for 3 days, and pairing cheap wines with grilled cheese sandwiches. In fact, I can't believe no one in Hollywood knows how to pair cheap wines with grilled cheese sandwiches, and I think that's wrong, a complete travesty. You should hire me to rectify that for you. (I'll need to bring my 4 year old along on most jobs, but she's very adept at tippy-toe walking and having melt downs in public so it'll be an awesome experience for everyone, I promise!)