Dithering

I'm not sure about anyone else, but I've been struggling to accomplish anything let alone everything on my "to do" list. The house is only partially decorated for Christmas, I haven't quite finished the Christmas shopping, I'm behind on my appeals at work, and don't even mention the edit revisions for my current Work In Progress sitting on my desk at home.

Of course my husband's noticed. He hugged me hard yesterday morning and whispered, "I'll do whatever I can to help...as soon as I figure out what the right thing to do is." That's my hubby: delivering sincerity with a good dose of humor. Exactly what I needed. A smile accompanying the realization only I could figure out what was causing my funk.

And I did late yesterday afternoon.

My grandson spent the day with us. Now, he's two and a half. He's never still. Unless, of course, he's sleeping or sitting in front of the t.v. by himself...and even that doesn't happen often. But when he brought me the movie Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer to watch, I didn't think much of it. After I put it on and sat down on the couch to watch it with him, imagine my surprise when he climbed in my lap and got comfortable.

I had tons of things on my list to get done, but none of that mattered. The sweet smell of my grandson's washed hair, the pleasant weight of his little body resting against mine, the quiet time he and I shared, those things are what mattered. We sat together, snuggled under a blanket, and watched the entire movie.

When the movie ended, I felt rejuvenated.

I'd been looking at the big picture and become overwhelmed by the number of "things" that completed the whole image. Having a list of "things" to do was definitely a helpful way to keep organized. Handling each task one item at a time made perfect sense.

It was the way I'd been viewing each of those tasks. Like work. If they weren't completed to perfection, I wasn't doing my job. If I wasn't doing job, how could I ...or anyone else... enjoy Christmas. How silly of me to forget the most important aspect of the holidays: giving and sharing out of love.

No one in my family will care if I don't have out every Christmas decoration we own. My youngest daughters are now teenagers and old enough to help wrap gifts without spilling who got what before the presents are even opened. Work can be managed, and my writing, well, today's blog helped. Putting my behind in the chair and typing the keys allows everything in my head to crystallize into coherent thoughts.

Christmas only comes once a year, but when life's in balance it should resemble everything we do all year round...just be brighter!

Christmas Shopping

First of the month. You know the routine: money comes in, pay the bills, money goes out.

Yep, it's pretty much like clockwork.

December is different. Hubby and I are fortunate enough to work for employers that allow us each to cash out a week's vacation pay. We hold two weeks in reserve with the plan of using that money for Christmas. Some years it covered extra bills. Other years extra bills and Christmas.

This year, it's all Christmas.

After I paid all the bills and balanced the account, hubby and I looked at each other in shock. We've never had THAT much money to just spend if we wanted to. A list was made of the gifts left to purchase, and still we had a large amount leftover.

What an amazing and wonderful predicament to be in. "I have an idea," we both said at the same time. "Let's adopt a family for Christmas." We spoke simultaneously again. I love that we think so much alike. Years of hard work, much patience, and unconditional love create the real deal, folks.

We are blessed to have so much, both in health and wealth. How could we not share what we have with another family in desperate need? First thing tomorrow morning, we're doing some extra shopping. I can't wait to get everything on this family's list...and when it's delivered anonymously, the note will say, "From my family to yours. Santa."

Holy Snow!!!

Wow, I've been neglecting my blog...will try harder to blog more often.

In my defense, things have been crazy around my place. Between my day job, working on edits for the sequel to Moonlight Bleu, and the insane weather the Pacific Northwest is having, spare time is at a minimum. And that includes the two hours of sleep I'm losing just to dig my car out and get to work on time.

Speaking of weather...holy freakin' snow, Batman.

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the snow. Eating the first batch of cold, fresh powder in homemade snow cones is a yummy tradition. Playing in tons of the stuff is awesome. Even driving in the snow is no big deal. Did I mention I've got a gas guzzling behemoth of a 4-wheel drive?

It's the ice that comes after the snow that, no pun intended, blows.

Oh, as another aside, let me take this moment to apologize to everyone in the Pacific Northwest. You'll understand why in a moment.

Monday Moonlight Bleu received two fantastic reviews (Paranormal Romance Guild and What Book Is That?). I felt pretty darned good. So good, I told the rest of the week to "Bring it on!" The rest of the week answered "Brought it!" in the form of more rain/sleet/snow mix yesterday. Never challenge the universe. Bad things happen.

So, back to the weather. I stop at the store to pick up some salt to throw on my front steps which, after freezing rain, are slick enough for ice skating. Apparently everybody else in town had the same idea, just sooner than I did.

I finally found two bags at Home Depot. Whoo Hoo. Triumphant. Or so I thought. When I dumped the salt onto my steps, white cheese-puff sized pellets skittered everywhere. Huh. I'd just pretty much guaranteed broken bones for someone...most probably myself.

Then I noticed the shovel leaning against the house. Inspiration struck. You guessed it. I spent the next half hour beating those salt pellets into smashed pulp on my front steps. Several neighbors ran outside at the first few whacks. To be fair, they did sound like gunshots as they echoed down the block. I got the normal she's-at-it-again nods.

That's okay. My front steps were clear this morning. I got to watch my neighbor fall on his behind instead!

First Gift Blog Hop

The "First Gift" topic required some serious thought.

You'd think the "first" gift would be the most unforgettable, right?

My husband's first gift was. And after sifting through countless memories created by 23 years of marriage (this month, in fact!), four daughters, one grandson, and every life experience in between, I realized why I'd missed the quiet beauty and perfection behind his gesture.

Like a lot of couples, we married young...right out of high school practically. With college on the horizon and a baby on the way (oh, yeah, I'd gotten pregnant right off the bat!), Hamburger Helper was too expensive for our budget. Add to that, the Christmas holiday was fast approaching.

Hubby's boss had given every employee a Christmas tree (his brother owned a Christmas tree farm), and the smell of fresh pine filled our small apartment. I made popcorn garlands for decoration because, well, that's all we could afford.

A week before Christmas, I came home to find our Christmas tree decked out in beautiful Hallmark ornaments. I squealed in delight, and my husband smiled shyly. "I did extra work on a remodeling job, and they gave me this box filled with ornaments. I'm sorry none of the dates are right."

He was right. Not one ornament had a relevant date. Didn't matter. They were perfect. The thoughtfulness behind his gesture humbled me. The love they represented filled my soul.

We started a tradition that first Christmas together, one we've followed every year since: hanging those mismatched ornaments on the Christmas tree next to others we've collected over the years. They all have special meaning, but some of them-a select few-I cherish with all my heart.

Exercise

So, I try to do some kind of arm/upper body exercise every other day. Have to keep up strength and flexibility for my day job (official court reporter) and nighttime hours spent at the keyboard (writing while I live in my head).

This morning I tied my resistance band around a doorknob and started working through my list of exercises. Now, this isn't new behavior on my part. Everybody that works in my building has seen me using my band. People are used to avoiding me as they trek through the hallway between offices.

Imagine my surprise when someone on the other side of the door tried to come into the hallway. Momentum pulled me forward, nearly yanking me off my feet. I scored a ten on The Three Stooges' sling shot move. The door opener (new guy) realized what was happening and kept the door from smacking me. Good thing, too. I came within an inch of receiving a broken nose thanks to an almost door-meet-face introduction.

Objective for Friday morning's exercises: find a less used doorway!

Rewrites

Ugh...is there a more daunting word than rewrite for authors?

Book two in the Tueri Psychics series is done...but not really. First round of edits for this book is really a rewrite. I had hoped this wouldn't be the case. So much for hope.

Time to put my poster board together, create a new inciting incident, and carry the threads of changed material through the story. Believe me when I say there are enough changes that I'm taking this working project one chapter at a time. Otherwise, I might crumble under the weight of the full picture.

I can do this.

Got my candle, my keyboard, and a truckload of chocolate.

Ready. Set. Go......

Inspiration

Wow, it's been a while since I posted. Things have been a little crazy the last three weeks. Unexpected surgery that required some recovery time. Everything's fine. Nuf said.

I did, however, have plenty of time to read...and think...and plot.

During my forced recuperation, I discovered Rachel Caine's Weather Warden series (first six books anyway-ordering the rest!). I LOVE these characters and plotlines. There's nothing like a fantabulously, well-written story to inspire the hell out of me.When I get sucked into a world and devour page after page, I know I'm reading the work of a master story teller. When a character makes me smile, laugh out loud, or cry, I realize how much of themselves an author has poured into their book. Each emotion, action, and reaction the characters experience are an unguarded peek into the author's psyche. That extention of self, for me, is humbling.

I remind myself of these very things every time I sit before my keyboard and breathe life into my characters. I want to evoke those kinds of responses from the people who read my work. Giving someone a reason to smile lightens the heart. Making someone laugh is a wonderous gift. Sharing another's tears brings each of us, as individual beings, closer to being whole.

And though I'm compelled to write, I will always strive to improve my skills. The characters that speak to me deserve no less. The people that read those characters' stories deserve more.