Time Machine

In looking for something else, I found an essay I'd written back in the fall of 2012, months after James and I had started dating and months before we got married. It still holds true today, so I'm going to post it:

Sometimes I Feel Like I Don’t Have a Partner
November 15, 2012

“I hope you find whatever it is that you’re looking for.”

This is one of the last things that my ex-husband told me before I moved to Austin. He seemed genuinely baffled, as though I’d always been looking for something that he couldn’t give me, and maybe in a way this is true. But I’ve always known what I wanted, and I thought that I was pretty clear in communicating this to him… over and over and over for years and years. But it was apparently still a mystery to him.

This week, I went on vacation with D and James. When we got to the condo, James helped carry everything up, and when he saw that I was unpacking in my room, he went into his room to unpack. He told me, “If it were just me, I’d leave everything laying around.”

He wanted to help when I was cooking our meals. He wanted to go when D and I went to the playground to hang out. He was disappointed this morning when he learned that I’d taken the cooler down instead of letting him do it.

When we got to the trailer, he helped get everything in and helped put things away, get the laundry started, and made sure that I didn’t need anything else before he sat down to work on the computer.

I get the mess that is missed e-mail, and in our case NaNoWriMo catch-ups, and work that is now backlogged and all of that… so I never resent the need to get back to real life when vacation is over. But I didn’t realize fully how much I had missed and how nice it was to have someone to help me reacclimatize so that I could do the same.

I have, for my whole life, wanted a partner. I have wanted someone who was different enough from me that we’d have interesting conversations and be able to enjoy each other’s viewpoints, but who was willing to work with me to be a team. Andy tried to argue with me when we saw things differently. Ken was the same way. It wasn’t enough that I had an opinion or a thought that perhaps I’d very carefully considered before coming to the conclusion I had reached. I was wrong and needed to be taught how to think correctly. When I didn’t agree, there was a breakdown in community. We could never agree to disagree and then get on with life.

Ken in particular took my differences of opinion as disunity. I did not understand that. I wasn’t threatened or offended by his differences.

I was lonely, though. I wrote him letter upon letter about wanting company, about wanting someone who seemed to enjoy being around me, who liked spending time with me and would be “there” when he was there. 

This might not be something he was able to provide. It made for a lonely existence.

When Ken was with me, and later with D and me, he could be in the moment for a while, but then he would retreat into whatever reality he preferred and we were left to our own devices. This is fine now, when I expect it to be just D and me, but it was horribly sad when my expectation was that we were supposed to be in it together.

So often, it was him versus me. I never understood this. I never got why he would be so frustrated when I was happy or having a good time. This is one thing I especially appreciate about James. If I got the opportunity to spend a week in Europe with Rockapella or Weird Al or a group of girlfriends, James would be at the airport seeing me off with a big smile on his face and yelling behind me things like, “Take lots of pictures!” “Bring me back some good cheese!” “I’ll miss you!” Then he’d get on with his life that week, miss me a lot, and be very happy to see me when I returned.

What I just described sounds normal, as though of course this is what would happen. When you live with someone who isn’t your partner, though, there is a shift in reality, so that it is just slightly “off.” First of all, Ken never would have let me go to Europe without him because he would be afraid that I would do something “stupid.” If I were to go anyway, he’d sit at home all week, checking Facebook updates and pictures, and getting more and more angry with me. He might send an email message telling me to enjoy my trip because I was never going on a trip again.

When I got home, he’d have let the house get horribly messy, and he wouldn’t help me bring anything in from the car, and he would likely ignore me for a week.

This was my reality. I never went to Europe without Ken, but I was punished for being happy. I was made to feel guilty when I enjoyed life outside of my house. I was viewed with suspicion and resentment. And all that I wanted was a partner.

This is why, I believe, I fell into such deep “love” with my dearest friend after my marriage was over. My friend said that he was attracted to me, and the deep respect for and work ethic he had regarding marriage were extremely attractive to me. I thought that if the two of us got together, we could have an incredible partnership. Only it was going to cost him too much, so he backed out. The problem was that I had already fallen hard and fast for the idea of having a functional family, and all of the meals and reunions and fun outings and even the stress that goes with that.

I got caught in a repeating loop of need and wants and trying to talk someone unwilling to partner with me into doing so against his better judgment.

This time, though, things are different. I can feel it. James is an admitted introvert, and being “with people” is a challenge for him. After spending four full days in all-out family vacation mode, though, he said he didn’t feel like climbing the walls. That’s incredible. And he was in the moment the whole time, except for zoning out at dinner trying to figure out a plot device he’d used.

The point is that I never felt lonely. James wrote over 17,000 words during the days that we were on vacation, and we still spent more time together and had more conversation and hung out and played games and were genuinely together in a way that I have never experienced before. I feel like I’m heading toward something immense. And I am grateful.

All I have wanted my entire life is to have a partner, to have someone with me to share things and to show me things and to be with me. For the first time in years, I believe that this dream has a possibility of coming true.

For the first time in my life, I can watch a romantic movie and not be pensive; I can actually be happy for the lovers, and imagine how they feel. That might sound sappy and stupid, but that has never been an experience that I have had. I’ve never felt secure in any relationship that I have ever had, even the better of them.

I have always been afraid that I was one screw-up or prettier girl from losing. And I’m not scared anymore.

So I suppose that the most amazing thing about James is that I trust him. I trust him with my heart. I have given it to him completely, and I am not worried that he will be careless with it or unequal to the task.

James is a strong man, with very different experiences and views than mine. But he will make it right if he thinks I’ve misunderstood him. He will call me and say, “We’re so not breaking up over this.” He is willing to work. He has worked. He has proven himself truer in the most stressful of situations, and we continue to get stronger as a team. I love him. He loves me. We have acknowledged that neither of us is perfect, but that we are both perfect for each other.

It’s taken me half of my life, but I have a partner. Happy mid-life to me.

Old Work

Looking for an old apartment where I used to live, I happened across two articles that I'd written for the magazine Travel Weekly 20 years ago! The first one was about renting a houseboat on Lake Mead and the other one is about Las Vegas for kids. 

The digital format seems to have erased a bunch of the punctuation, which is weird.

The biggest thing I remember about writing these was that Travel Weekly paid $.25 per word for their articles ($.43 in today's money), which was easily 4 or 5 times what other outlets were willing to shell out. I remember being so giddy when one of the articles was about 900 words, because that was an absolute fortune to me, and the most I'd ever made writing at the time. 

I've gotten paid more for other pursuits since then, but writing about traveling to Las Vegas was my favorite thing I've done. Local bank commercials and sports reality show pilots weren't nearly as enjoyable for me.

I wanted to save these links, so I am posting here. Thanks for being my diary, journal!

Remember when I used to do reviews and stuff?

Back in the day when I was on social media and had a pretty expansive blog readership, I would post reviews of stuff: specific (usually limited-time-only) offerings from fast food restaurants, hair color, chocolate, energy drinks, recipes, etc. 

That might seem like "duh, of course; that's what social media is for" but at the time, I had a lot of audacity to think that people would want to read my opinion about the steak bagel at McDonald's (still my most viewed blog post of all time; it continues to get hits even though it's more than 12 years old and no one reads blogs anymore). 

That's not how I started out, and it's not what I do now... BUT I did want to weigh in on something:

Recently, I got a 3-month free trial of Apple+ TV. James got caught up on Foundation and is finishing The Expanse.

First, I binged the entire run of Ted Lasso, very late to the game. Everyone was right: It was a delight, start to finish. Built up my emotional investment and had a very enjoyable payoff at the end (no, I'm not going to try to watch the upcoming 4th season because why?). 

After that, though, I noticed a little recommendation for Acapulco, another three-season (third season still in progress) show that looked cheerfully-colored and interesting. 

I'm caught up and looking forward to the Wednesday releases of the rest of this season, and here's my take: This show is every bit as hopeful and surprisingly emotionally-engaging as Ted Lasso. It's set in the mid-1980s, so that's probably hitting right in my nostalgia. About 1/3 to 1/2 of each episode is in Spanish, so I'm learning a bunch of conversational touches I wouldn't have known otherwise (of course, it might just be 1980s slang and using it will make me sound dated, but I don't care; I like the sound of "que padre!" and I still say, "How cool!" to this day). 

Speaking of nostalgia, one of my favorite touches is that every episode, they have the resort singers perform one (or two) 80s hits in Spanish with choreography. Delightful.

Anyhoo. It seems like this show has had high ratings, so maybe I'm the last one on board here but I just wanted to throw my two cents in and highly recommend it if you have Apple+ TV or if you were looking for something to round out your free trial!

Spilling Some Tea (it's old, but it's still hot)

This morning, I remembered something that unlocked a deep resentment I'd forgotten about, and it is just another thing I look back on and wish I'd done differently.

First, I have MANY regrets about how I treated people, and I know I owe a lot of people apologies. If you're one of those people, please feel free to reach out to me. I am not reaching out to some folks because I don't want to reopen wounds that might have healed. But believe me, I know a lot of the junk from my life is my doing.

THIS EXAMPLE is not, and I regret so much that I did not stand up for myself at the time.

I filed for divorce on March 14, 2011. At the time, I was going to Sherman (TX) Bible Church. They found out almost immediately and pulled me off of a project I'd been working on for the Easter service. I had written a script and was supposed to be in the film for the weekend. The church said that they were giving me "time off to concentrate on your marriage" (they pulled my ex-husband off of his weekend camera service, too) but it was really because I had been too visible to be allowed to continue while going down the path of leaving my husband.

I'm going to address what I wish I'd done here in a moment, but I have to tell you the part that REALLY bothers me:

The short film that the team produced was based on something that really happened to the pastor of the church at the time (Dennis Henderson, who is currently serving in a support ministry role to his son's church, which just happens to be a few miles from here) who had been a police officer in Dallas and had sort of "befriended" a woman he'd arrested multiple times for prostitution. He and his family had welcomed her into their home and really extended the love of Christ to her. She kept telling him that she was going to leave her pimp and live a "clean" life, but in the end, she was murdered before she could get out.

Obviously, the Easter story didn't include the part about her killing. He wanted it to show that Christians could win people over just by loving them, no matter who the person was. Not a bad message, and honestly we should just extend love to people regardless of whether they ever believe in a god or not. But our task was to create a 15-minute video that would be shown at the Easter services.

At the time, the church did quite a lot of video production and live "skits" during church. I had been on arts planning teams for about a decade at this time. The arts minister; a lady I thought was my friend until my life got too "messy" for her; and I came up with an outline to the story we wanted to produce, and I went home and wrote it.

Not including listening to Dennis's story and collaborating with the arts team, I spent probably 20 hours at home working on and polishing up the script, then editing it after feedback.

Fast-forward to the part where I get kicked out of the process. They started filming it on a night when I was out of town with my kid at a gymnastics meet, anyway. I was texting with a friend who was involved in the filming and it sounded typical of shoots: fun. But not for me.

In the end, the project was completed and shown on Easter weekend, and people loved it. They made CDs of it available and gave them to the people who had been involved. Someone who was truly a friend, Randy Sedlacek, made sure that I got my copy, and he even invited me to the party the church was hosting to distribute the copies of the video. I couldn't bring myself to go, even though he encouraged me to ("you earned it!") because he's a solid guy. I'll always remember him fondly.

Here's the kicker: I found out that when people would ask Dennis who wrote the script, his answer was, "It wrote itself... it was a true story."

Now, if you're my mom and you're reading this, maybe close it out. Because I'm about to use a very un-Christian phrase: That dude can go fuck himself because what did he mean "the script wrote itself"?? Even if he DICTATED IT to someone, it had to be typed up and formatted. But he didn't. He gave us an idea and a partial story-line, and we turned it into something. Using my words. I was the conduit that took his words and stories and translated them into a film-able format. That is an art and a skill, and the absolute lack of respect for it and for me is astounding.

I'm literally shaking right now, just thinking about it. This guy who told me to stay in a doomed marriage because "what if Jesus is going to save your marriage tomorrow and you gave up one day too soon" wanted so badly for me to disappear when I didn't submit to the benevolent and wise male leadership of that church that he actually made me invisible. I wasn't someone who contributed heavily to the aesthetic appeal of that church for years. No. The stuff just wrote itself.

WHAT I DID: Nothing. I mean, I complained to close friends who were in the know. But at that point, I'd already been made to sign a thing that I wouldn't blog about what was going on between me and the church vis-à-vis my divorce. And I wanted them to realize that I was still the exact same person I'd always been and approve of me and accept me SO MUCH that I tried my absolute most sincerely to comply. To kowtow. To crawl through every single hoop they put in front of me to prove my worthiness of continued participation in the church. UGH. I did basically NOTHING. And they were still very angry with me about it.

WHAT I WISH I'D DONE: Revoked my permission for them to use my script. At that point, they probably already had it. But I wish I'd written certified letters to every member of leadership demanding that they write another script and not use mine because if they didn't want me involved, that was the only honorable thing to do. That they would use my work that was invisible while making sure my face didn't show up anywhere is vile. 

I don't think it would have changed anything, but I wish I'd expressed my anger and wish to be absolutely removed from everything. And then when they used it anyway, I wish I'd written about THAT. I wish I'd written about EVERYTHING in REAL TIME. I wish I'd had the strength to say,"If you don't like what I'm making public, then maybe don't do it in private."

They were a bunch of bullies who genuinely thought they were shepherding me in God's will. This is one reason that I will never EVER spiritually submit myself to another human as long as I live. It's one thing to make stupid decisions for yourself and get hurt, but to think that you can try to persuade someone else to made bad choices because YOU feel like there's some edict from above that it's your calling to enforce? No. I'm sorry. Not this lady. Never again.

Sins of the Past

The first client I ever used to "blog," from early 2001 until mid-2009, went through at some point and removed all old blogs. They kept them, and users could restore them for a fee. I did this, wishing I'd thought to download the data the last time that I visited.

Anyway, skimming over to make sure all of the posts were there, I was horrified by the me of a decade ago.

First is parenting. I was SUCH an authoritarian when D was younger! In one post, I was lamenting a recent bout of "attitude," using this exchange as an example: D had asked to make hot chocolate, but had not eaten dinner, so I stated that and said no. D responded with, "It doesn't make sense to eat when you're not hungry." WHICH IS TRUE. But at the time, I took it as being disrespectful or something. Ugh. So frustrating. I have since apologized. I've done that a lot since loosening up, actually.

Secondly, when I read things I wrote about what I believed in spiritually, it makes me cringe now. The god I believed in ten years ago is not one I'd want to worship today. I was very confident in the things I wrote, the answers I gave, the defenses I made. Everything got shaken up over the years between churches inviting me to leave because I was not making decisions as they advised, and D asking hard questions I'd glossed over but couldn't do so anymore and feel okay about it.

When I met with the pastor at the church I attend now, we were discussing spirituality and I said, "In the past, I have been a lot more certain in what I believed than I am now. I don't think that necessarily means my faith used to be stronger. I just think that before, I was carried along by so much spiritual inertia and an entire community structure that it seemed a lot simpler than it does now." He told me that he'd previously talked about faith as a journey, until his friend objected to that comparison, as a journey implies progress in a specific direction. He said his friend preferred to think of faith as seasons, and sometimes it's summer, sometimes it's winter. And I think sometimes there's just a weird pocket of unseasonable WTF, and the best you can do is try to keep your head down and power through.

The other day, I came across an old social media post where someone was ranting against me, sort of, and said, "SHE'S BEEN BRAINWASHED!" Reading this series of posts that I'd read in the past, after all of this time, my raw reaction was, "He's not wrong."

The things I believed about how to act and how to think and how to conduct a life now seem so foreign and embarrassing to me. I was confused at the time, trying to find my way, and I hurt people, including my own child, even if that's something all parents do and kids get over it, and I really hate that. I suppose it's helpful to have these records to remind us to proceed thoughtfully and never take for granted that there is only one way to do things.

We want there to be one "right" way. As much as we might protest, there's a big part of us that wants to be told exactly what we're supposed to do, so we can make sure we're on the correct side of things. The problem with that is that when we subscribe to a narrow view of how to approach anything in life (eating, learning, raising a family, caring for people), it closes us off from so many enriching options that we actually might find a much better fit.

When I think about some of the past stress and power struggles between D and myself, I wish I'd cottoned on sooner that if I stopped pushing, there'd be nothing to push against and it would get so much easier.

When I think about advice I gave a friend whose marriage was falling apart, I wish I'd just listened.

When I think about things I told other people about God, I want to track them down and apologize for being so far off of the mark. (I've done this with one person, and he was so graceful about it; I am grateful to have known some pretty amazing folks.)

It is my hope that when I'm in my mid-50s and catch a glimpse of the things I've recorded from this time, I'll be able to nod my head and think, "I was just starting to get it!" Although I might seriously wonder why I wrote several posts about Disney Pixar Cars. And if that's the case, it will mean that a giant chunk of the repetitive preschool parenting days has been mercifully erased from my memory.

Hashtag Retirement Suggestions

If I were any good at clickbait, I would have titled this more grabbingly, but I didn't want to be rude.

Anyhoo...

I did not come early to the Facebook game, joining sometime, I believe, in 2008. However, once I hit it, I hit it hard, and it quickly became my go-to for socialization in a life that was otherwise pretty lonely at the time (yes, please, let's all pour out some diet Coke for that past incarnation of Laura's World).

The one thing I never got behind, though, was the use of hashtags (our "pound signs" for those of you my age and older who also don't appreciate the dang hashbrown thingies). I eschewed other forms of social media, most notably Twitter and Instagram, for a long time... until the political landscape in mid- to late-2016 was so toxic, I took a couple of months' break from scrolling through the Facebook sludge and went to those two outlets to post and interact.

I loved how Instagram was mostly devoid of ranting, and quickly unfollowed people who only posted "infographics." It was bliss.

It was also this time that I started to appreciate the hashtag, in terms of ease of searching for related items. When we were thinking about moving to Spokane, I found #spokanedoesntsuck to offer some of the most fun and real slices of the city (as opposed to just looking for pictures tagged in Spokane).

Going down the rabbit trail of someone who "liked" one of my protein toddler concoctions, I found #macros that fascinated me for days. You have to wade through pictures of people weight-lifting and posing and whatnot, but there is so much food porn that's just incredible. These people who do extreme workouts get to the end of the day and often need to make up a bunch of fat and calories and protein to get their required macronutrients for the day (thus the hashtag). What they can get away with eating is incredible. Not worth working out, you know, but I like the pictures.

Which is to say, I "get" hashtags now, and appreciate their utility.

However, there are some hashtags that irritate me to the point that I think they just need to go away. You are welcome to disagree, but this is my blog, so I'm going to tell you what they are:

1) #nofilterneeded
It's probably a sign of the times we live in when I assume every image I view has been altered in some way. That's fine; a lot of times, I take a picture and what's in the view screen is not what my eyes interpreted. Punching these shots up to make up for your camera's white balance being off or your phone camera's inadequacy is cool. If someone takes an amazing picture and uses the hashtag #nofilter, I can more fully appreciate the magnificence of the capture as well as the subject. So I dig that one.

But the "no filter needed" hashtag is condescending. "This is one of God's beautifulest creations, and if you think that it requires altering through some basic pixel manipulation, then I will see you in hell, good sir." Thanks for the sermon.

2) #thestruggleisreal
This one, I get. There are lots of things that we can agree are common issues we butt up against every day. My problem is that, like "love," this gets applied all over the place. We can talk about the struggle for racial equality, or the struggle to lose that last 5 pounds. It can't mean everything, so it means nothing. Basically, it's suffering from overuse.

What if the Bible had been written in modern day? "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. #thestruggleisreal"

Thank goodness, it wasn't. Still, we're left with posts like this: "I need to put on pants to go to the store, but, ugh. Pants. #thestruggleisreal"

3) #blessed
The only acceptable use of this hashtag is ironically. For example: "This year, my husband celebrates being married to me for four years. #blessed" Or "Because I fractured my ankle, I get a temporary handicapped parking placard. #blessed"

When people say stuff like, "The MRI was clear! #blessed" or "Just got a raise! #blessed," they don't mean "blessed." In the first case, they mean maybe "fortunate." In the second, "hard work rewarded" or "lucky they're not paying attention."

4) When a hashtag actually just means you're adding another thought. Or many many thoughts.
Like I said, for searching's sake, or for grouping's sake, the hashtag is awesome. But often, people will write something like: "Just got home from vacation. #laundryfordays #realitysucks #ualostmybras #whereisthehamsterandwhydoesthesnakelooksohappy" or "Best day ever. #mysonborrowedmycarandlostmykeys #agarbagetruckhitmycat #poopedtwodifferentpairofpantscauseibs"

Just write it out. It takes so long to decipher the long hashtag with no spaces that I don't ever read that stuff. I'm just going to assume you really had the best day ever, and good for you. Besides, the odds are very small that you're ever going to remember that hashtag later, if you want to recall what you posted. "Was it #mykidborrowedmycarandlostthekeys or #sonborrowedcarlostleys or... oh, dang it."

In fact, in that second example it'd be better to write out what happened and use the #bestdayever. In the first, write out everything and use the hashtag #realitysucks. Oh, and goodness, can we stop using "vacay" or, worse, "vaca" (which is Spanish for cow, right?) in place of "vacation"? Sorry; it's not hashtag related, but it's a personal pet peeve.

My point is that those hashtagged items aren't incidental or searchable. They're part of what you want people to understand. So just write it out.

5) *sigh* Wedding hashtags?
Okay, okay. I'm waffling on this one just a bit. Admittedly, my first eye-roll reaction to this is likely my age, because "back in my day, we didn't have to come up with some clever classification just for the internets" or something like that.

But this is a lot of pressure if you're talking about a not-very-creative couple. You have to come up with something general enough to be easily remembered (even though you write it on your invitations, a rustic chalk board at the sign-in table, and probably have it on a piece of paper at your reception centerpieces) but also distinct enough that you can easily find YOUR stuff online.

For instance, if we'd used "jamesandlauraswedding," that might be like 5000 people and counting. We didn't do a wedding hashtag; though if we had, it might have been #junkmywedding. Because we got married at the Cathedral of Junk. My guess is #thisisajoke would have returned too many results (we got married on April 1). And #againreallylauraatsomepointyoumightwanttoadmitthatyouaretheproblem doesn't even fit nicely on one line in this blog, much less on people's phone screens.

I don't know. I can see how it's an inexpensive (free) way to gather pictures from your wedding on Instagram and save them for yourself. And I'm sure this phenomenon isn't going away, so... I don't hate it as much as I used to. I only half-roll my eyes.

6) #truthbomb
The visual of someone saying something so profound that all that's left is a devastating silence when they walk away was super powerful. Or it was when you first heard it. Now, like #thestruggle, it's just... whatever. "Poop stinks. #truthbomb" "His new girlfriend just isn't that pretty. #truthbomb" Nope. Let's stop it.

Related: #micdrop.

"I am #theway, the #truthbomb, and the #light. No one blows up the Father but by me. #micdrop" Some people are just understanding this passage for the first time.

That's it for now. As you might be able to tell from this entry, I'm going to be closer to 90 than birth pretty soon, so you can probably expect more of this type of opinion. OH NO. WAIT. THERE IS ONE MORE, on that note.

7) #hatersgonnahate
Who are we, that we have so many denigrators and detractors? Is it possible that there are largely imagined?

In addition to the fact that I don't think most people have genuine "haters," the redundancy of this is irritating: Haters are going to hate. Well, by definition, yeah.

Guess what else? Bakers gonna bake. Loafers gonna loaf. Children gonna chill. No, actually, they're not. I wish that ere true. But crackers gonna crack. I've seen it.

Stop fooling yourself that anyone thinks enough of what you're doing to summon up hate for it. Most of us have our own stuff going on and don't have the excess emotional energy to hate the fact that you ate an ice ream sundae for breakfast three days in a row. In fact, if I saw you, I'd give you a high five.

Okay. That's it. Fin.

Clearing Out and Pondering Stuff

We have this really cute curio cabinet that I mistakenly thought was a bookshelf, so I put books on it and... well, a picture is worth a bunch of words, apparently, so:

In addition to the wavy shelving, it was leaning forward. Way forward. And the shelf is on top of another cabinet unit, so you're basically looking at a death trap waiting to be sprung.

So, I did what any responsible parent would do: I gave the shelf to someone else. And as I was clearing it out this week, I came across a few things that made me stop and think. Dang, I hate it when that happens.

The first thing I found was this.

I bought this magazine in early 1998, about the same time I was buying tickets to go to the 20th anniversary sing-along showing of Grease at a theater in Las Vegas. I know, I know. Here in Austin with the Alamo Drafthouse, there are sing-alongs all of the time. But this wasn't the case nearly 20 years ago.

I loved Grease, and I thought this would be a neat magazine to have for posterity's sake. I was living in a condo near the airport at the time, and this magazine traveled with me to the house we bought in northwest Las Vegas, then to Boys Town, then to Washington state for a few months, back to Las Vegas, to our move to north Texas... For some reason, I remember that I kept this in the broken drawer of my built-in vanity at the house in Sherman. Anyway, when I went through the divorce and moved into the RV, it was there, and then to the Nuthaus and now to Vogelfutter.

So I look at this magazine now, and I wonder, "Why?!" I have zero emotional attachment to this thing, and why do I still have it?! I should just throw it away, but I can't help but feel that someone else might want it. But probably not. This thing has traveled with me for nearly twenty years! It's time for it to go bye-bye. Because I just can't remember why, or come up with a new one that justifies keeping it.

Another thing that I came across was James' 4th grade journal, and I set it aside to read last night. It was entertaining and insightful from beginning to end.

Three weeks in, James announced that he'd developed a couple of opinions about the school year: "1) I'm going to like the 4th grade. 2) I am not going to have to study harder." Have I mentioned that my husband is very very smart? Because he is and always has been. No joke.

Anyway, the thing that struck me most (yes, even more than the introduction of the "new" game of Frogger that he happily discovered delivered to his Safeway) was this thing.

Yes, he's a proud little guy. That shows up several times in his writings. But I love the enthusiasm of his "greatest idea." AND the "Why not?" attitude.

For a day or two, at least, because then this happened:

Do you hear a balloon deflating? The "wah-wah" trombone of Debbie Downer? "We don't get to do, nobody will supervise us."

It makes me so so sad. For fourth grade James, and for every kid who ever had an amazing idea that got shot down by a grown-up because it wasn't important to the grown up to try to find a way to make it happen.

Listen, I understand. There are probably liability issues with allowing a group of unsupervised kids use the gym or the front lawn or whatever outside of school hours. I get that teachers have families and lives and already give more than they have to to the school.

But, dang it, if just one person could have been there to say, "We can't do this officially as a school thing, but let's try to figure out how to make it happen, anyway..."

Sigh.

This. This is one reason I unschool. I want to see what the kids are going to do of their own volition. Maybe it's sit around and watch videos all day. And maybe it's writing a play comparable to Shakespeare or Miller. Or maybe it's just using the oven for the first time, even though you've always been scared of it, because *you* wanted to bake brownies, not because someone told you to make something.

Adults often complain that kids are not motivated or lazy, but the truth is that a lot of times, they just don't want to do the stuff we want them to do, things that seem important to us, but for which they have no context and don't find important in the least. What if we set them free to pursue what they find important? What could they accomplish? What would Mrs. White's 1981-1982 4th grade class have accomplished?

Finally, I've been seeing (and reseeing) a bunch of memes lately about the things that "drive me crazy": things like not replacing the toilet paper roll, but just putting a new roll of TP on the counter; a kid folding laundry but not doing the "right" folds on the towels; that kind of thing. In fact, I was doing a search for the toilet paper meme, and, good grief... You can actually get a sign to put in your bathroom that says, "Replacing the toilet paper will not give you brain damage." Someone PAYS to have a sign like that in their house.

I guess if you're using it as a humorous reminder, okay, whatever. But there is an anecdote that I believe was in 30 Days of Purpose, and if not, it was in something Rick Warren wrote... and it's literally the only thing I remember about him except that when he and his wife went to visit some small African village, their helicopter blew the corrugated steel roof off of the school building.

Anyway, he said that he used to get really bothered by the fact that his wife didn't refill the ice trays when she used ice. He said that every time he had to refill them himself, knowing he hadn't used the last ice, he would grumble in his head, if not out loud. One time, he was so bothered, his self-talk went like this: "Seriously, this only takes six seconds. It's not like--" Then he realized "it only takes six seconds" applied to him as well as to her. He allowed himself to consider whether his wife was worth serving, with kindness and no ill will, for six tiny seconds, as he did something that was very important to him, and apparently not important to her.

I've remembered this for probably 15+ years. I don't always practice it, but I really try to.

Do you know what I do when I got into either of our bathrooms and the toilet paper is out? I replace it. Do I get mad at the person who let it run out and didn't replace it? No. I sincerely don't. I'm sure I do and don't do things that the other people in this house wish I did differently, too. It's nothing for me to fix the toilet paper. I hope it's nothing for them to extend grace to me.

There are lots of things that could and used to get on my nerves that I realized don't bother me when I don't let them. Most of that annerved reaction is because of pride. Because I feel like I'm not being respected or that my time is too valuable to waste doing whatever it is that didn't get done.

An example: The other day, the trash was put out for the complex valet service, which means the container we use for recycling was outside. We just put a recycling bag in the pantry to use until we pull the empty can back in. My older child had brought some trash up and had basically just sat it on the floor, on top of the bag, but not in it. Me from several years ago would have gone into the bedroom, marched the child back into the kitchen, shown the child the offending trash, and insisted that it be put away correctly. This time? I just put it in the bag and mentioned later, "If you don't feel like putting the trash into the bag, just leave it on the counter and I'll throw it away." And the reaction made me think that it wasn't intentional. It hasn't happened again, either.

There is enough to be genuinely bothered about for me to waste negative energy at the people in my house. We're all on the same team. And now I'll get off of that soap box.

By the way, if Mal ever folds the towels, I'll put them away however he manages to stack them. I don't care. You can't see them when the cabinet is closed. Done and done.

Finally, somethnig... uh, interesting. James' co-worker brought these and thought I might appreciate them. Because I'm a moo-cow, you see? *sigh*

If you think that looks dirty, you're not alone. From this page: "Thought it was a certain action of the boys, and later learned that only 'milking'." Oh, those boys.

And speaking of boys, the same co-worker who brought this in for me is the one who drew a "cool/weird" scale about me and put me way higher on the "weird" side than the "cool" side.

Anyway, I'm going to have these for breakfast in the morning, so wish me luck.

A Word About My Husband (after a bunch more words)

It has been more than fifteen-and-a-half years since I published my first "blog" post, just a couple of years after the Diaryland site started, and just as the word "blog" (a shortened version of "weblog") was starting to be used. I called it an "online journal." If you're interested, here's the March 30, 2001 entry in all of its glory.

I started the blog because I wasn't ready to share the news of my first pregnancy with anyone else, but wanted a record. Then I knew that some people would want to stay updated (like my mom, and far-away friends), but I didn't want to be "that guy" sending out group emails every week. I figured an online journal was a good place to put info that people could check at their leisure, or ignore altogether.

I can't imagine how many words I've written since then. It's been a lot.

I've never had more than a core few dozen readers, and often many fewer than that. I think I took a two-year break when D was 7 or so because Facebook updates were faster and easier. Since then, obviously, I've started blogging more regularly... But the format is different now. I tend to write when I have what I think are bigger stories, or experiences or products to share.

Of all time, my most popular blog post has been the one several months ago where I made a bunch of weird food from a kid's video, and the company shared my link with their followers. The post that is visited as a result of the most searches is my review of the steak, egg, and cheese bagel from McDonald's. Yeah, that kind of insults the rest of my life. Whatever.

I've made it a point to write as honestly as I can, trying to be aware of the privacy of others. I've had to go back and remove some posts and edit some things after I've gotten feedback (times that also clued me in that maybe more people read my journal than I thought, back before they had counters standard on blog services).

I never want to make anyone look or feel bad. And I hope we can agree that, although I'm strongly opinionated and voice that often, I can also be brutal to myself.

Where am I going with this?

Oh, yeah...

Several years ago, I was divorced. When it came up, I tried to keep it classy. I actually ran into some trouble with the church I attended; it was communicated to me that my posts could be "divisive" to people reading but not getting all sides. I tried to rein all of that in; I really did. But I wanted people to know what I was going through, too.

Consequently, over the years, several women have messaged me privately to confide things like, "After XYZ years of emotional abuse, I have left my husband..." Now, I never think that the dissolution of a marriage is to be celebrated. And these women didn't want congratulations or praise or a party. They reached out because they learned, like I did, that when you elect to initiate divorce proceedings and your life gets really messy, you lose people. I think it's just a lot of drama, even if you try to keep it to a minimum, and it's hard. And some people don't have the emotional energy to deal with it.

So, in those cases, I'm so glad that I put my stuff "out there." I'm so glad that a few people knew they weren't the first, or the only. I'm glad I felt like a safe person.

Today, someone reached out to ask me a question that has had me ruminating over it for some time. It involved how you live functionally when the person who's supposed to love you the most actively and visibly resents and detests you.

Here's the truth, no finger-pointing, just reality: My older child's dad did not like many things about me, and he did not try to hide his disdain (or he wasn't good at it, if he did). I think that we got married so fast, he might have thought I had some quirks that weren't his favorite, but that the good stuff outweighed that. As the years passed, I think it just got to be too much for him. I felt "too much" a lot. Too big, too loud, too immature, too crazy, too excited. Embarrassing. On so many levels.

Now.

Here's what I want to tell you about my husband. If you're a guy, this is important. Actually, it's important no matter your gender. My husband is amazing at this. I still need to practice mindfulness about it.

Before we got married, James told me that he loved me, including the hard/bad stuff. Now, it's not because my annoying/wrong stuff is so adorable that he just can't help it. He was letting me know that he was making a choice to love ALL of me.

In fact, recently, we kind of butted heads and I said, "I'm a bitch sometimes, huh? Just a bossy little bitch." He didn't sugar-coat it and deny that. He nodded his head. And a bit later, he said, "I love that about you, too. Because it IS a part of who you are, and I love you."

Now, there's no way he's saying that when I have a bee in my bonnet that he's enjoying it big-time. What he's saying is not that we're lucky my "good stuff" outweighs my "bad stuff." He's saying it's all me, and he loves and accepts ME.

Maybe other people have this kind of thing and it's normal, but I feel like it's revolutionary. There is such a freedom to admit mistakes and talk about weaknesses and get things out in the open when you're not afraid you're going to disappoint someone out of loving you.

He's my role-model with this, because I want him to feel that same security and surety, and I want my kids to bask in it, as well.

Jackpot hit, friends.

Review: Amazon's Review System, and how it disincentivizes my writing further reviews

Amazon and I have a long history. The first review I wrote for them was nearly seventeen years ago. SEVENTEEN, FRIENDS.

I tend to review only when I really love or really hate something, so I've tried more recently to make it a point to review mehh things, like the amber necklace I got for Mal which was what it was but didn't do anything for us.

Over the years, I've written 45 reviews, and some have been voted "helpful." One, especially got some attention and landed me in a book. 

Because of these helpful votes and my what seems to me paltry review count, I'm in the top 20k reviewers on Amazon. I think I used to be higher, and am considered a "top reviewer."

A great deal of Amazon's credibility and trustability, I believe, comes from their customer reviews. They're given a cursory going-over before they're allowed, but Amazon doesn't weigh in favor of something by not allowing negative reviews. And authors/sellers can't delete reviews. It's brilliant.

However...

A couple of years ago, I started getting requests via email to read a book the author would give me for free in return for my posting an honest review. At first, I tried. I really did.

The first book I read... It was this one. The Story of the Sparklefly. 

"Date: Fri, 12 Sep 2014 21:42:19 -0400

"Subject: Please Review My Children's Book (portion of proceeds to support Children's Literacy Programs)

"Hello,

"I got your email address from Amazon's top reviewer list as well as preschool websites.  Being a top reviewer myself, I know you get many requests for reviews, so I really appreciate you taking the time to even read this email.  For the past year I have put my heart and soul into a very special children's book about dragonflies.  The first in this series (The Story of the Sparklefly about dragonflies) that will teach of love including self love, love for nature, love for each other and more, is finished. Even if you don't have children, feedback I've gotten from adults has been great, as they love it too.  It seems to bring out the child within and help you to look at things in a new light.  My book is free until Sept 3rd and I wonder if you might help me and give me an honest review. It's a very quick uplifting read.  I can't tell you how much I would appreciate it!  A portion of profits will go to help with children's literacy programs so I hope you'll consider helping me promote the book with the help of your review.

"Thank you!

"Mary Leckie"

I responded to her rather than leaving a review; I thought it would be kinder.

"Mary,

"Thank you for the invitation. However, I don't think you want for me to review your book on Amazon. I downloaded it and read the beginning, then skimmed the rest... and while I appreciate your effort, quite frankly, the book does not work on several levels.

"I've read your responses to several of the reviewers and you seem very defensive about your writing. I understand: when you put time and effort and love into something, it becomes your 'baby' and it is easy only to see and believe the best about it. Unfortunately, when one takes to writing as a profession, one has to learn to be ruthless in changing or cutting what doesn't work, and the beginning of that means being willing to listen to honest feedback and to implement it with a passion for becoming better.

"It is my opinion that what you have published is not a 'story' at all, as it doesn't meet the generally-understood standards of a story, namely some kind of arc that includes conflict, climax, and resolution. Instead, this reads more like a verbal painting. You're creating a world out of words, and that's saying something, but you need to coax an engaging story out of it. I understand that there is positivity and love and belief in magic and all of that, but it isn't enough. It's like being hungry for dinner and only getting the frosting off of a cupcake. I love frosting, but I'm hypoglycemic, and if I don't get something of substance, a little bit of sugar is just going to make me sick.

"One of my biggest problems with the book is that you do not properly punctuate, use consistent tense (or other grammatical structures), or appropriate capital letters. For someone who is wanting to support children's literacy programs, this seems like it would be essential to the mission.

"I urge you to find a professional editor for your book. Not just for the grammar issues, but because a professional editor will be able to pinpoint where you have missed out on opportunities to punch up the plot. The feedback of someone who knows the market will be invaluable.

"I wish you the best of luck, even as I believe you jumped the gun publishing this book. If you can implement some of the feedback you solicited in asking for reviews, that'd be a great start.

"Best,

"Laura"

I never heard back from her, but you can click on the "comments" and see how she responded (i.e. defended her choices rather than take anything to heart) to some early reviews.

After a couple more book requests, I made it a policy never to read those books. They were unanimously awful. But I started getting more and more requests for reviews.

Eventually, they started including product reviews. Some of the free stuff has looked cool, but the couple I've gotten were underwhelming once they were in hand. The cats ignored the playscape someone sent me. I felt bad leaving a "we put catnip in it and they still couldn't be bothered" review, so I didn't. Then I felt bad about getting free stuff when I didn't fulfill my end of the bargain.

It got to the point that I was receiving upwards of thirty (30!!) requests a day for reviews in exchange for free -- or, in some cases, DISCOUNTED (like I'm going to pay you for something I didn't know I wanted just so I can work for you??) -- items and books. Thirty a day. 

There is no way to set up a junk filter using the address, because they're sent from individual people and I don't want to put key words like "sample" or "review" in a junk rule because sometimes vendors I use on purpose ask me to review my order or offer samples, and I want to get those emails!

I Googled several things, like "How can I stop getting review requests on Amazon?" and similar, but all I ended up with were tutorials about how to solicit feedback when you're selling on Amazon. So, yeah, the opposite of what I needed.

Eventually, I went into my profile, hid my email, and put the following note.

That did nothing to stem the flow. I ended up contacting Amazon and explaining my predicament to them. The response was that they understood my need for privacy, would make sure that my email is hidden, etc. And it kind of slowed down for a few weeks, but now it's getting back up to half a dozen or more per day.

So, I'm not writing any more reviews. I'm hoping that soon, I'll drop out of the Top 20,000 and people will leave me alone. But I think there must be an old list out there that sellers can purchase, anyway, because they can't be getting my email from the current website anymore.

Basically, Amazon seems unable to protect their reviewers from harassment, and this is a huge disservice not only to customers, but to their own infrastructure. Maybe some people don't mind dealing with junk mail to that extend every day, but it really really gets on my nerves.

Anyone else had this issue? Anyone else successfully dealt with it? I welcome advice!

NaNoWriMo! coming soon...

It's that time of year again, and I'd really like to just switch gears and switch all my creative juices over to telling a story. We reminded Daphne tonight that it's coming up.

I have a vague idea about a story that I think might be fun to tell. It's based on a nightmare I had a month or so ago that, from a waking perspective, mostly just seems like a cheesy old horror movie.

Then again, Stephen King made a very lucrative career out of those. I don't have any interest in trying to replicate all the cocaine he did during his "glory years," but I really don't believe that makes you any more creative.

I know the Grateful Dead disagree with me, but they aren't a role model I consider very enticing either.

The problem is, I don't really have any creative output left.

NaNoWriMo is a marathon that really requires hours a day. You can slip behind a bit and catch up on weekends. And there are amazing people who crank out the entire thing in one sitting...then go on to reproduce that output night after night.

I simply cannot type that fast. Well, OK, I *can* type that fast. But I really need to spend a little time thinking about what I'm typing. It feels like cheating when I ditch my story to do things like write this blog post. It's all fair game, but it just doesn't feel kosher.

I fight hard to get an hour a day to myself to work on some sort of personal project. It's the piece of my daily TODO list that I fail to accomplish the most. Well, second-most. Guitar practice is the one that slips the most (as in basically never happens). It's something I need desperately, and I'm trying to come to grips with the basic reality that I simply will not have this luxury for the next few years.

I'm starting to understand why my father spent pretty much all his spare time tinkering around in his workshop. It's not that he didn't like us (well, I've gotten the impression that he didn't like his wives all that much, and I'm delighted that I didn't screw up that one). I think it might have been more of a "I'm doing dangerous things, and you'll screw it up anyway if you try to be involved."

When Mal wakes up from a nap and wants to play with my laptop, I think I almost feel that sort of frustration. I'm obviously not worried about the table saw slicing off his fingers, of course. But he gets pretty destructive with laptops.

I'd like to let him play with mine. Last time I did, the battery died. Totally not his fault, but the timing left me a little gun-shy. Laura let him play with hers today, commenting that she needs a replacement. I've been trying to convince her to replace that clunker since about 2 weeks after she bought it, but she's attached to the stickers.

And that's all just dodging the point. Nanowrimo is really a social thing. I'd either have to drag Mal out to events where I'd spend the entire time shepherding him instead of writing (and I don't really have anything to write), or I'd have to spend a huge chunk of the month away from my family.

That isn't an option. I spend too much time away from them already.

I just don't think we're in a position where I can seriously pretend that I have the sort of spare time this requires. Heck...I've been trying to find time to finish one book since we moved here in June. Admittedly, it's a really long book, and I've read a couple of others for work in the meantime, but...

It crushes my soul a bit to admit this.

Nanowrimo helped me get through one of the most difficult times of my life. I sat in a back bedroom writing while my father watched one of the last basketball games he'd ever get to see with the rest of his family. I really thought that I'd made the commitment to myself that I would finally start writing seriously and regularly.

I just have to remember that I'm working on something much more important.

NaNope

In three days time, National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) will start. The idea is to write every day, and basically produce a novel or its equivalent, the goal being 50,000 words during the month. James is participating. So is Daphne. This year, I am not.

I "did" NaNo last year. We were at the kick-off at Dragon's Lair, and that was very cool. Every day, for the most part, I wrote up to the goal and I ended up somewhere in the 80k range, I believe? I don't remember exactly, and I'm not going to look it up. Daphne did a good job, at 30k words, her own goal based on some recommendations made by the kids' program.

Why not give it a go again this year?

Several reasons. The biggest is that I felt burnt out and eaten alive by December 1, 2012. I had a story idea, and I wrote that for the first 50,000ish words. Then I ran out of idea and hadn't developed it enough to keep going. Instead, I wrote essays. Every day, or every writing session, I would give myself a topic. I ended up plumbing some pretty dark depths and felt like I had been through the ringer. I haven't gone back and looked at what I wrote. I am pretty sure I hate it and never want to see it again.

I realized that there are demons that shouldn't necessarily be exorcised onto the page. Sometimes, you've already buried them, and digging them back up is an emotional zombie apocalypse.

Another reason I'm not doing it is that I don't need "motivation" to write. I write a lot, and although my writing frequency and manner has changed over the years, I'm happy with it. I used to update my personal blog a lot more frequently, as in every few hours sometimes. The Facebook Status Update has done away with most of that fluff, so I only write when I have something to say. (This is based in importance as I rate it, not you, see.)

A third reason is that the mentality of "write as much as you can, get it on paper, don't think too much and don't edit" doesn't produce my best work. I like to craft as I go, and that can be slow. But I'm also competitive, and I liked to win the writing sprints, so I'd just babble. You're not supposed to care whether what you wrote under these circumstances is crap, but I care. I don't want to waste my time producing crap. (Insert disgusting biological humor here.)

So, I've designated myself the official snack-provider and cheer-leader of NaNo 2013. I can't wait to print out the "winner" certificates for my family and to see what they come up with. And I'm betting that this year, I'll have a lot more fun than I did last time.

Writing again! Part II: This time it's different.

For more than ten years, I had a pretty steady writing gig. It didn't pay anything, but I loved it. I wrote short sketches for the various churches I attended across that decade. I'd come to it in a church that produced in-house-written dramas at least a couple of weekends a month. These weren't the "youth group Christian skits" I knew from growing up... You know the treacly, sappy ones where there's a very overt message with which you are beaten repeatedly over the head? Things like the lady who wants to take up her cross like Jesus and goes into a shop but thinks the actual cross is too cumbersome and keeps talking the salesperson down until she walks out with a cross necklace. Or the one with the girl Jesus is trying to follow around and hold in his arms, and she keeps yelling at him to leave her alone, which he won't, so she finally holds him in place by tacking his hands up in a crucified position? Yeah... ugh. No.

The philosophy at the first church that I attended was that the dramas were to open up a can of worms, and then it was the preacher's job to fix everything. Basically, we used drama or comedy or whatever storytelling mode was appropriate to ask a question in a very real, very raw way. Some people even hated that, but it's okay. Music doesn't touch everyone, but it touches a lot of people. I think that drama is the same way. It breaks down walls.

I had an incredible writing mentor in Las Vegas, and he helped me hone my craft so much. I would send him a script (he's a performer and would often be off on cruises or performing in Los Angeles) and wait in nervous excitement for him to write me back... Always encouraging, always gracious (but not to the point of exaggerating the merits of what I'd done), but also always quick to get to the business of, "You missed a huge opportunity for a joke here," etc. He helped me learn how to rabidly attack my writing, getting rid of excess without mourning my precious "babies." His guidance taught me how to relish constructive feedback without having any negative feelings or insecurities about it.

So I wrote. I wrote a lot. I tried to worm my way into whatever arts programs that churches had when I'd go, and if there wasn't one in place, I was always game to give it a go.

That all ended a the beginning of 2011. When the cracks in my marriage were revealed and the whole thing crumbled, I was relieved of my responsibilities so that I could focus on reconciliation of my relationship. What actually happened came as quite a shock to me...

I know, or I acquiesce to this in theory, that my identity is found in Christ alone. It is God's creation and love that gives me worth, and no one can take that away from me. Not the opinion of others, not my own poor choices, and certainly not what I do or don't do. But what I realized had happened, once this was removed as an outlet for me, is that at some point, I'd mentally shifted from being a child of the King to being that child of the King who writes stuff. When the "writing stuff" outlet was taken away, I found myself not understanding where I fit into things, and I did not "feel" as close of a relationship to God. I think that I was mistaking the momentum of output in an area I adored for an intimacy with God.

To be certain, I know that any ability I might possess to write comes from God. Like I mentioned in the last post, the story came to me, not from me, and I was overjoyed by the process. I was mostly grateful for the opportunity to write *for* something again. I'll write, anyway. I'll blog. I'll observe. I'll make you all sick of my words. It's already happening, right? But to have a goal, a reason, and to be able to share with other people... It's what I love.

And maybe I'm doing it for the love of writing from now on. Maybe God doesn't want me to confuse so personal a passion and service with a closeness to Him. All I know is that I was shaken to my foundations when I was pulled off of the short film we'd begun to work on, and it took me a long time to figure out where I fit in with God again. I had been so certain that using whatever talents I had in church was how God had planned to "redeem" my otherwise fairly useless liberal arts education, and maybe it was... for a time. I think maybe now, there is fulfillment to be found in writing wherever the opportunity arises, and in believing in earnest that all is sacred.

I'm okay with that.

Writing again! What I learned (again) about discipline...

In what Dr. Horrible would categorize as a "crazy random happenstance," (which it actually wasn't at all; my husband was a very important conduit) I had the opportunity to write a script potentially for use in a live show in the style of an old-fashioned radio drama. After working on it for a week, I finally submitted it and found out a couple of days ago that it's going to be used. I was also asked whether I could do at least one more: There are to be four shows in all, and my first submission was a Thanksgiving-themed sketch.

During the writing process, I learned (or relearned) a couple of important things.

The thing that I relearned was something about perseverance. I haven't written a script in about two and a half years. This was to be a 10-20 minute-long episode, so it felt luxuriously long compared to the 7-minute shorts to which I had been accustomed. Thing is, I was used to having a brainstorm session with at least two other people first. When I walked into writing with a framework, it was usually easy for me to fill in the gaps with dialogue or jokes or whatever was appropriate.

Building an idea from the ground up was more difficult. I mean, I can get an idea and write. That's largely what hobby writing *is*. It's another thing entirely to say, "You have a deadline. Now think of something clever. Go!"

Uh.

Crickets.

I came up with two basic scenarios: One for Christmas (at a bus stop) and one for Thanksgiving (in the hall of an old house, family members waiting for the bathroom). I ended up going for the Thanksgiving script first, even though I set up files for both, because I figured that I could introduce several characters and maybe by the time I'd done that, I'd have some momentum and could complete an actual story arc.

I was wrong.

Although I had nothing about which to write, I made myself sit down and do something whenever I had the chance. I managed about four pages this way, then ran out of steam. I had in the back of my mind that somehow the door was going to end up locked with no one inside, and they'd have to problem-solve how to get it open. There is some room for comedy there, but the whole thing was so domestic and familiar, I felt like I needed something a little out of the ordinary to happen to shake it up.

One of the elements I'd included, thanks to a suggestion from my mother-in-law, was two cousins sitting on the roof throwing Halloween candy at trick-or-treaters. I ended up having to switch that out with another tradition in order to make my eventual story work, but I think that idea of a past connection in childhood finally sparked the idea that came to me in the shower last Sunday morning.

I'd gone to bed, planning to mull it over while I dozed off, but had crashed instead. The idea came after a good night's sleep, and I laughed at it. It was so not at all where I'd planned the story to go. It had become a fantasy, which wasn't my intent in the least. But it was going to work, and almost on the heels of the idea came the ending that made the whole thing even better.

I smiled all through church and itched to get home and write.

Even then, though, when I got home, it took James setting a timer to force me to sit down and just go. Once I started, the thing wrote itself. It bulged at 16 pages, when I'd only wanted it to be 15, but I kept it as short as I could and still have it tell the story that had come to me out of somewhere to which I don't have conscious access.

So the lesson here, which I've known and of which I need to be reminded constantly, is that, in order to be a writer, you have to write. If I'd waited for my story to come to me before I'd been willing to sit down at all, I don't know that I would have had this idea. But because I forced myself to just pound out some words, I had a beginning into which the middle and end happened to fit perfectly. I had a cast in place, and they already knew their parts.

What I ended up with was still a domestic comedy, with a little impossible thing thrown in that makes it pop. I was happy with it, and would have been even if they'd elected not to use it. The act of writing again... It's what I'm supposed to do. It's just confirmation.

The other thing that I learned will be in a second post, after I've read a little and napped a little. So stay tuned!