Well, heeeey

I can’t help but notice that there is a bit of traction over here lately. I suppose if I was the SEO markety sort this would send me into a tizzy of posts trying to capitalize on the activity and boost my visability using all kinds of buzzwords.

But I’m not that type. I don’t even know most of the buzzwords the kids are using these days, heck, I’m feeling pretty proud of myself for getting “traction” and “boost” into that first paragraph.

This site has always been a journal, and will continue to be. I don’t give a flip about how far my voice goes, it’s going to you and that’s all that matters.

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Dear Diary,

It’s been, literally, a year since my last confess…post. Here is where I am in life:

I have two kids in college. One started this semester and is studying History Education because he wants to be a history teacher and coach. True story: History teachers have to coach, it’s part of the job (according to the head of his department during our tour of the campus.) He’s a freshman going through all the elation and challenges thereof. Also, his is not my story to tell, so I won’t.

The other college age kid is taking a gap semester between her sophomore and junior years. She wanted to travel a bit, work more and save money for college. She has a part-time job in her (as of right now) field and wasn’t ready to leave it yet. I was on board and very supportive of this (for selfish reasons.) She had been commuting to school for two years but is transferring to sleep-away college in January. I’m freaky crazy proud of her for getting into her first choice school that’s three full hours away and…damn, don’t tell her but I’m going to miss her so hard. I’m misting-up writing this, that hard…but the Mama in me knows that this is the best best BEST thing for her and I can’t be selfish anymore. Well, not as far as she goes and hers is also not my story to tell anyway.

That’s okay, I still have another kid to baby.

That kid is in 7th grade, smart and charming and he broke my heart this fall when he tried football and loved it.

He. Loves. Football.

And it looks like he’s good at it? Something something starting quarterback?

I realize that this is a thinking position but, in my head, a thinking position in a game that can knock the thinking out of a guy is sort of futile. I don’t want what I saw football did to his brother to happen to him…but I got overruled. Three Vollenboys for football; Mom against (daughter abstained.)

And me?

Heavy sigh.

I’m at one of those places in life where if I look back I can see I’ve come far and like what I’ve done, but when I look forward I only see multiple roads full of things that I haven’t done and that makes me feel like a failure with an urgency to succeed except….

…I don’t know which road I’m supposed to take so I tread water and mix metaphors.

It’s not a very comfortable place to be.

And don’t even get me started on politics. Please. Don’t.

Okay–here it is: I am a liberal who was terrified of what would happen when exactly what happened happened. My husband is a supporter of what happened. I try to shut up about it around home unless I know the conversation isn’t going to spiral into a fight that sounds a lot like a publicly posted social media thread about the news of the day.

This is also not a very comfortable place to be.

Wow, writing things out did not make me feel better, Diary. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

S.

PS: I’ll be back. I believe in the journaling process.

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What Have I Done?

“I’m not doing Nanowrimo this year,” I told my writing group and every writing friend that I have. “I’m going to spend the energy and time on rewriting a story that I love and believe in. But I’ll cheer you on!”

So I opened my Nanowrimo profile and made this cover (because I like making covers even if they look cheesy and are destined for that crappy covers website): Silent Cheering cover

I figured that by re-firing up my profile I could keep up with my Nanobuddies, and when I added new words to the manuscript, I would log them. No way would I hit 50K this month, but I didn’t have anything to prove to myself there. I’ve done it for the last four years in increasingly quick time, with increasingly improved crap going down on the page. But that wordcount graph bar being empty makes me sad.

I wasn’t playing, I was just an active observer quietly cheering from the mist.

But then I saw a notecard sitting on the top of a pile of notecards that I have with story ideas on them. This card has the shortest idea of them all, and it’s not the most recent- but for some reason it’s the one on the top.

It wouldn’t hurt to just start a story, right? I mean, I had no intentions of finishing and reaching 50K- but you know, just to have a little fun. No pressure. The main focus is on the manuscript that I love and am rewriting.

Which I have done. I am kicking ass on rewriting it. I’m kicking ass and having a blast and remembering why I loved it in the first place. I love rewriting. The slicing and the dicing and the neatening and the adding and more word slayings…it’s so energizing!

But…heh heh…I also have got 3K words down on the new one.

Which I’m sort of loving even though I didn’t have more than this on the note card a week ago:

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Original notecard, with new one behind it

And I made a cover because I like making cheesy covers.

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Nanoname: EssephVee

30 days, 50K words and a rewrite.

And life away from the keyboard.

uh, yeah…I can do that.

I guess I’m playing.

(Also if I don’t post much on here, that’s where I’ll be.)

EDITED IN DECEMBER- Like a lot of things this past year, I failed to finish. For the very first time in 4 years.. What I ┬álearned: to stick with my first instinct. Plus side: I have an outline, characters and a cute, chick-lit story partially written. Now to finish the sweet, women’s lit that I’m STILL rewriting then I can get back to that one.
Susan

Conflicting Zones

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I know what being in the zone feels like. I know the high that comes from doing things I love, of pouring myself into them and pushing my reserves until they are drained. I know what it feels like to fall into bed aching from a day of fierce gardening, or with my brain a sponge twisted dry from taking a vague thought and giving it access out my fingers.

I know that feeling and I want it now.

This minute.

But it’s not here.

I can’t garden today because I have inside work; I can write but my eye keeps glancing out the window.

At the greening grass.

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Hello, Robin.

At the decay of the blooms that brightened my earth last year and now stand like dried flags trying to get my attention. “Tend me!” “Care for me!”

Some days I get to pick my high, but some days my high is picked for me. And today’s has been chosen.

sukie eli