What Your Pizza Reveals
Your appetite is pretty average. You don't go overboard - but you don't deprive yourself either.
You consider pizza to be bread... very good bread. You fit in best in the Midwest part of the US.
You like food that's traditional and well crafted. You aren't impressed with "gourmet" foods.
You are generous, outgoing, and considerate with your choices.
You are carefree and friendly. You should consider traveling to Hawaii.
The stereotype that best fits you is emo. You think you're special... and you kind of are.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
My book is AWESOME!!! (Okay, you can laugh now. I am.)
It's not a bragging thing. I think we should all love our books. After all, they are our babies, and doesn't every parent think their baby is cuter than all the others? (Now I'm really laughing. I can't help it! It must be the high from being back on track. That's Track not Crack! I know what you were thinking--)
So, I just wanted to share the news and invite ya'll to do the happy dance with me. Woo-hoo!
Monday, September 24, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Tristi Pinkston gave me The Wonder Woman Award over on her blog, and it's my first blog award! Pretty nifty to be put in the same league as Linda Carter, though I'm not about to run around in a bathing suit and boots saving the day. I'll settle for juggling my little family and serving where I can.
Friday, September 21, 2007
- The Artist's Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creatvitity, by Julia Cameron. This book taught me how to let go of the garbage and fears that were holding me down and express myself with writing again. It was one of those books that changed my life.
- The Book of Mormon - This book of scripture opened my heart to the power of God and his infinite love and atonement for us.
- There is a book whose title I cannot remember that was published in the early eighties, I believe (and if anybody knows what it is, PLEASE tell me in the comments!). It was written by a twelve-year-old boy about his adventures in school. There was one follow-up book that I know of. When I read that book at thirteen was the first time I realized I could actually be a writer. If he could do it, why couldn't I?
- A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L'engle (who passed away last week) was one of the first fantasy books I read. I opened whole new worlds for me and directed my passion for reading and writing in this direction.
- Are You My Mother? by Dr. Seuss was the book that made me want to read. I had four short years with my Daddy before he passed away, and every evening when he came home from work he would sit me on his lap and read to me until bedtime. He swore he'd have me reading before I started kindergarten and if he'd lived longer, he would have. I was so close. So this book, more than any other has influenced my love of reading because of the sweet memories it brings back of my father and his passion for the written word.
So, that's my list. Thanks for tagging me, Candace. It's been an interesting journey answering these questions. I am going to tag my writers group. Shanna at Shanna's Life, Stories, and General Ramblings, Wendy at Interregnum, Paulette at 700 Blank Pages, and Michelle at My Life in a Laptop.
Quote of the Day: "The writer who is a real writer is a rebel who never stops." - William Saroyan
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
It has been total inspiration - for me. I have never been so sure I was doing the right thing in my life. I've always wanted to work with teens. I connect with them on a different level than I do adults. I fit there, though whether it's because I'm a big kid, or I just understand what it's like, I don't know. We reserved a room at the library and started spreading the word, then came up with a game plan on what to teach.
Tonight was our first class. Of the 14 girls who originally showed interest, 11 came. It was amazing. They were excited and wanted to be there and they know SO MUCH! I am in awe of these young women, none of them over 15, who have written books and stories, who know what plot and characterization are. They got it. I could see their eyes light up when a concept finally came clear in how to construct a story.
I'm flying so high tonight, I don't know how I'll ever sleep, and the gratitude I feel is overwhelming - humbling. I am so proud of these kids, and so very grateful that I can have a small part in giving them something I always longed for and never had at their age - the knowledge of how to put a great story together.
Today I can honestly say: "I love my life!"
Quote of the Day: "I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody." -- Bill Cosby
Monday, September 17, 2007
Quote of the Day: "Success is a finished book, a stack of pages each of which is filled with words. If you reach that point, you have won a victory over yourself no less impressive than sailing single-handed around the world." - Tom Clancy
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
The first line of the following poem popped into my head, so I grabbed notebook and pen and jotted my thoughts down as I drove. I wouldn't recommend doing that, by the way, it's definitely not safe, but I had to grab the inspiration when it struck.
The poem is as of yet untitled, so if anyone has any ideas, feel free to leave them in the comments trail.
The mountain's on fire again.
Smoke smears the valley
like brimstone remnants from Satan's pit.
Three times now it's caught aflame,
thrice in a single season,
as if Hades' rose from the depths of earth
to settle on her slope.
It's eerie how the orange glow
only shows itself in the darkness,
and during daylight hours the purple stain
of smoke dirties pristine skies.
The acrid stench of ash and char
poisons air perfumed
with summer flowers and alfalfa fields,
until a single breath feels dirty.
The glorious sunset turns an angry red,
filtered through the smokey clouds -
My sunset gone awry
as the mountain burns.
Quote of the Day: "Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go." - E. L. Doctorow
Friday, September 14, 2007
I discovered something about myself today- I will do anything I can to get out of editing. I went up a different canyon today hoping that the new sights would inspire me and get me back on the page. Well, it inspired me all right - so much so that I sat in my chair for two and a half hours and did almost nothing. I looked at the beautiful leaves; I wrote my morning pages; I watched a doe and her two fawns for about ten minutes; I watched some cows and batted at a lot of flies. I read my scriptures, prayed, and looked at the leaves some more. Then I left because it's almost time to pick up the kids.
I am beginning to agree with Edna Ferber where editing is concerned. She said "The ideal view for daily writing, hour on hour, is the blank brick wall of a cold-storage warehouse. Failing this, a stretch of sky will do, cloudless if possible."
Honestly, the most productive place I can go when editing is the library. If I'm home, I check e-mail and my blog every ten minutes or less. If I'm at a cafe or restaurant, I watch the people, and you already know what I do when I'm up the canyon. It's a great place to be when I need creative ideas, for the WRITING part of a story, but it really sucks when I need to do something I have no desire to do.
I guess it's back to the library for me, and even better if somebody can drop me off there so I don't have a car to leave. I get REALLY productive that way because I know the sooner I finish, the sooner I can call for a ride and go home.
My kids are spending the night at my in-laws tonight, and my husband works night shift, so I'll be home all alone. I could get some editing done then (since that's usually my mosts productive time), but I have to work in the morning and can't afford to stay up all night. I guess I could go to bed really early and wake up early, but knowing me I'd just take the time to catch up on my sleep. *sigh*
Anyone know of a good, cheap writer's retreat? Oh, wait, that puts me back in nature again. Never mind.
Like I said, back to the library.
Quote of the Day: "The faster I write the better my output. If I'm going slow I'm in trouble. It means I'm pushing the words instead of being pulled by them." ~ Raymond Chandler
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
I find it interesting that my e-mail adddress states that I "luv2writepoems", and yet I haven't written but a few in the past two years. It really got me thinking as to why that was, and the conclusion I came to is this: poetry makes me dig deep and doing so has just been too darn painful. I won't go into a chronicle of all the heartache the last two years has offered, but I will say it has been the two hardest years of my life.
Over the years, my self analization has brought me to the understanding that emotionally, I'm a stuffer, which has resulted in many an explosion of nervous-breakdown proportions. So, to battle this tendency to stuff, I had to do the opposite: express myself - and how better to do that than in a beautiful, poetic form? Poetry turns pain into art. I chronicled the lives of my boys from the day I found out we were going to be able to adopt, to their terrors in the neighborhood, and I discoved that it helped me find humor and joy in their progress. So why now, when I need it so terribly, have I found it hard to express myself in a form I love so much?
The answer is that writing got in the way. I know that sounds a little funny, but I think I made a mistake when I joined a poetry group. All of a sudden I found myself comparing my poetry to theirs, which is nothing like what they write, and it just didn't measure up.
I stopped writing.
Instead of allowing myself to be plain old me, I fell into the pit of comparison and couldn't find a way out. I rationalized that it was okay, that maybe poetry wasn't my thing after all, that novels were my TRUE calling, but I forgot one thing: I never wrote poetry for anybody else. I wrote it for me. By no longer expressing myself poetically, I let myself down.
Well, once I realized this, and being the stubborn, contrary person that I am, I decided I was going to write a poem, even if I had to pry it from my screaming heart one word at a time. And you know what? It worked. Sure, it's not the best poem I've written, but I felt like it at least captured the essence of the place I was, and that's what I wanted - but most importantly, it finally freed my heart to express itself again.
So, I'll share my poem here. Not for praise, or glory, but because I need to share the fact that my soul is awakening and learning to speak once more. I need to share it so that I know the world hears the voice crying from inside of me. I need to share because I love the music of the words.
Mustard moss on twisted bark.
A maze of spindly branches and leafy fans.
Sharp rocks jut from the hillside
and a fallen tree with still green leaves, broken.
Bare wood points skyward - accusing fingers
not sure who to blame for the pain.
Blinding sun plays peek-a-boo,
one minute harsh and painful,
the next offering welcome warmth.
Crickets sing in the middle of the day.
A crisp, autumn breeze cuts
through a narrow ravine while a jet
An occasional whooperwhil sounds.
A chipmunk explores left-behind food.
Flies and bees come to see the bright cans
and shampooed smells-like-a-flower girl.
Tick-tick-tick the locust start their song,
while the ash-powder dirt stirs in the breeze.
The usual green leaves are painted now-
half up the mountain's side
freckles of orangy-red change the view,
and here the girl sits to write,
here the woman comes to find peace.
So, the moral of my story is this: Be true to yourself. Write what is in you, and don't you dare judge it. Express it. Let it be what it is. Learn. Grow. But most of all, allow yourself to speak. Be who you are and love it with everything you've got, because it's precious -more precious than you know.
Quote of the Day: "You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club." - Jack London
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
|Your Power Bird is a Dove|
Monday, September 10, 2007
Okay, so, I took several bits of advice from the wonderful people who responded to my last post and gave myself a break today. I had my husband drop me off up the canyon 10 minutes from our house, with the intention of writing, and I did write - just not what I expected to.
I got a bunch of edits done at the concert on Saturday (10 chapters worth) and then realized there were a few things I still needed to add for some later things to make sense. Anyway, I had planned to do that today, but when I got up there, it was so beautiful and quiet that I found myself writing what I call "Ramblings" instead. Basically, I ramble on the page, whatever pops into my mind.
Today was a healing ramble. I started writing about my story but found myself turning inward and just went with it. I wrote ten pages, long hand, and just purged out all the garbage that's been festering inside. All the stress of the last twelve years came pouring out onto paper and I couldn't stop. It felt wonderful! Kind of a one-on-one therapy session with my inner self. Very good stuff.
Anyway, it was so wonderful I feel really good tonight, even with kids homework struggles and my other normal, everyday challenges. They're not bugging me like they usually do. I don't feel overwhelmed or frustrated. I feel . . . peaceful. Free. Lighter. It's amazing.
So, thank you so much, my dear friends, for your kind words of encouragement and advice. It went a long way in helping me today. I finally felt what I've known all along: I've got to fill my own well before I have anything to dip from. You guys helped me find my well.
Quote of the Day: "Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia." ~E.L. Doctorow
Friday, September 7, 2007
I'm not sure what it is, but it seems that every time I take my writing seriously and schedule time to get it done, the world conspires against me to do everything it can to prevent it. Am I alone in this?
Every day for the past week and a half I've been desperately trying to work on line edits. Last week was a bust between my son getting suspended from school for fighting (he's in 3rd grade, for heaven's sake!), friend and family meltdowns, my own near-nervous breakdown, a death in the family, and numerous other things.
This week I got called to the principal's office AGAIN for the same son taking a knife to school, had my mother's birthday, a musical presentation in my son's class, and ANOTHER meltdown (mine this time). I know life has to come first, but when is there ever time to write? I work at 4:30 in the morning, so it's not like I can stay up half the night like I used to, and yet that seems to be the only time I can find.
I had expected to get my whole book done by tomorrow evening and I'm only on chapter 3. Now, instead of spending the day working on it like I'd planned, I've got a soccer game for my other son and an all day concert at Thanksgiving Point. I finally decided to just take my laptop and earplugs with me to mute the sound a bit and I'll see what I can get done at the concert, I'm that desperate. Any advice from all you experts out there? It's not like these are things I can say no to. Where can I find some time? Am I expecting too much of myself here?
Okay, done whining now, though any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.
Quote of the Day: "Keep writing. Keep doing it and doing it. Even in the moments when it's so hurtful to think about writing." Heather Armstrong, Keynote Speech, SXSW 2006
Thursday, September 6, 2007
So, if I can get this to work right, here are their pictures to compare. The first is my daddy, the second, the man we think is my brother:
Here's hoping we get a positive response!