I check Amazon sales about every other day. If I'm bored, it's more often than that. If I'm busy, I can go for a couple days, and then it will dawn on me that I haven't checked recently. This morning I logged on and went to my monthly report page. Last day of the month, another book launching tomorrow . . . it's a good day to at least get an update.
There on the screen in front of me was a red line that shot up on the graph. If you've only sold one book in the month, shooting up on the graph can mean you've sold ten. However, I did a free promotion of FALL when FLY released (on February 14), and that resulted in about 550 downloads. Therefore, for a red line to shoot up on my current report, it would have to be over 300-ish. On the Amazon report, by the way, the red line indicates SOLD books, the blue line indicates Kindle Unlimited books read and the green line indicates free books.
I have no idea why this is happening. On average I sell between one and five books a day. I'm a self-published author, with little marketing taking place currently. It's the books with publishers behind them that sell . . . it's just a fact of life.
So for my little books to be showing these numbers it must mean Amazon is promoting me, or my books today. I have no way of knowing, or no way of knowing if there is a way to know. All I can do right now is marvel. And pace. And hit the refresh button on the screen every thirty seconds or so. The next big update will come in eight minutes. That's when I'll see where my books are sitting in the "sold books" ranks. FLY was sitting at 2,503 as of 11:00am.
My head is pounding . . . change in atmospheric pressure is the assumed culprit, and overall I just don't feel great today. But this feeling overcomes all others.
People are buying books I wrote. Let me repeat that . . . people are buying books I wrote. I wrote books that people are buying. Wow. I mean . . . wow.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Intuition
The snow started falling heavily late yesterday afternoon . . . so much so that Doug and I figured both basketball practice for Beck and swim practice for Frank would be cancelled. I called the Y and they told me it was the coach's call. If we didn't hear from the coach, practice was on. I looked out the window again, skeptical. Around the same time we got an email from the swim coach confirming the cancellation.
I asked Doug to be careful right before he and Beckett walked out the door. In fact, I think I said it three or four times in the course of twenty minutes, trying to talk him out of going. He assured me my car was safe, they'd be fine.
A few minutes after they left, my phone rang. Caller ID confirmed it was Doug calling. "We're fine," he said, "but someone just ran into us."
The roads were icy, someone slid into Doug and Beck. And as he said, they're fine. The car isn't. Presently it isn't drivable.
This morning I've spent almost two hours talking with our insurance company, filing an accident report with the Colorado State Patrol since they were on "cold reporting," last night when it happened, and remain so this morning. The whole cold reporting thing makes me nervous. It becomes a question of he said/he said in this case, since both drivers were male.
Doug was stopped at the stop sign at the corner of Lake Woodmoor Drive and Woodmoor Drive, waiting to make a left on the latter. There was one car in front of him, and several cars behind him. None of them stopped to offer themselves as witnesses. The guy who hit him was making a right turn onto Lake Woodmoor from Woodmoor . . . and slid into him. When they were exchanging information he told Doug he was sorry. He also told him his wife was going to kill him.
When Doug got home, he started giving me all the information he collected. It was tough given they were doing this in the middle of a blizzard. Instead of getting the auto insurance, the other driver mistakenly gave him their health insurance card. Doug was using his phone to take photos of all of it, some of which turned out, some did not.
When I called our insurance company last night, they asked for Doug's driver's license number. That's when he discovered it wasn't back in his wallet. Chances are likely he dropped it and it is buried in snow. He went back to look this morning, but didn't find it.
We called the other driver last night to tell him two things. One, we didn't have his correct insurance info, and two, to ask him to look in his car for Doug's license. We didn't talk to him either time they returned our call. I talked to his wife. Or should I say "estranged" wife, who told me they were separated, that her husband didn't live here, but instead was visiting from Florida (although the husband did give us his place of employment, which is in Colorado Springs, and his cell is obviously his work cell, a 719 number, and he mentions the place of business). She also told me he wasn't supposed to be driving her car, and that since it was icy, there'd be no way to prove whose fault it was. Through the course of her over-sharing, I responded with a polite "thank you for calling me with your insurance info, and goodbye." She'd continue to talk. Finally I said, "I wasn't driving and I'm not comfortable discussing this with you, thank you again for giving me your insurance information, and goodbye." And I hung up.
She called back again to tell me her husband didn't find Doug's license, and continued trying to convince me that we shouldn't file a claim because our insurance rates would go up. Uh, okay. Well, my car isn't drivable lady. I didn't say that, but politely repeated what I said before and hung up. I told Doug that if she called again, he could talk to her. She didn't.
Today begins the painful process of having the car inspected, arranging for a rental car, etc. I have no intention of leaving the house today unless it is absolutely imperative I do so. Therefore the rental car can wait until the road conditions improve.
As it turns out, their insurance agent is our insurance agent, for everything but auto. I hope that helps the process, but don't hold out too much hope it will make a big difference.
Doug made mention of my insistence they not go out last night. He beat himself up over and over for the mistakes he made in getting the right info, losing his license, and on and on. Finally I walked over and took his right hand in mine. I brought them both up to his heart. "Feel that?" I asked. "What?" he answered. "Your heart beat." He nodded that he did. "You're here, Beckett is here, and both your hearts are beating. That's all I care about, and all I want to talk about." Miraculously, he relented, and stopped his self-beratement.
I asked Doug to be careful right before he and Beckett walked out the door. In fact, I think I said it three or four times in the course of twenty minutes, trying to talk him out of going. He assured me my car was safe, they'd be fine.
A few minutes after they left, my phone rang. Caller ID confirmed it was Doug calling. "We're fine," he said, "but someone just ran into us."
The roads were icy, someone slid into Doug and Beck. And as he said, they're fine. The car isn't. Presently it isn't drivable.
This morning I've spent almost two hours talking with our insurance company, filing an accident report with the Colorado State Patrol since they were on "cold reporting," last night when it happened, and remain so this morning. The whole cold reporting thing makes me nervous. It becomes a question of he said/he said in this case, since both drivers were male.
Doug was stopped at the stop sign at the corner of Lake Woodmoor Drive and Woodmoor Drive, waiting to make a left on the latter. There was one car in front of him, and several cars behind him. None of them stopped to offer themselves as witnesses. The guy who hit him was making a right turn onto Lake Woodmoor from Woodmoor . . . and slid into him. When they were exchanging information he told Doug he was sorry. He also told him his wife was going to kill him.
When Doug got home, he started giving me all the information he collected. It was tough given they were doing this in the middle of a blizzard. Instead of getting the auto insurance, the other driver mistakenly gave him their health insurance card. Doug was using his phone to take photos of all of it, some of which turned out, some did not.
When I called our insurance company last night, they asked for Doug's driver's license number. That's when he discovered it wasn't back in his wallet. Chances are likely he dropped it and it is buried in snow. He went back to look this morning, but didn't find it.
We called the other driver last night to tell him two things. One, we didn't have his correct insurance info, and two, to ask him to look in his car for Doug's license. We didn't talk to him either time they returned our call. I talked to his wife. Or should I say "estranged" wife, who told me they were separated, that her husband didn't live here, but instead was visiting from Florida (although the husband did give us his place of employment, which is in Colorado Springs, and his cell is obviously his work cell, a 719 number, and he mentions the place of business). She also told me he wasn't supposed to be driving her car, and that since it was icy, there'd be no way to prove whose fault it was. Through the course of her over-sharing, I responded with a polite "thank you for calling me with your insurance info, and goodbye." She'd continue to talk. Finally I said, "I wasn't driving and I'm not comfortable discussing this with you, thank you again for giving me your insurance information, and goodbye." And I hung up.
She called back again to tell me her husband didn't find Doug's license, and continued trying to convince me that we shouldn't file a claim because our insurance rates would go up. Uh, okay. Well, my car isn't drivable lady. I didn't say that, but politely repeated what I said before and hung up. I told Doug that if she called again, he could talk to her. She didn't.
Today begins the painful process of having the car inspected, arranging for a rental car, etc. I have no intention of leaving the house today unless it is absolutely imperative I do so. Therefore the rental car can wait until the road conditions improve.
As it turns out, their insurance agent is our insurance agent, for everything but auto. I hope that helps the process, but don't hold out too much hope it will make a big difference.
Doug made mention of my insistence they not go out last night. He beat himself up over and over for the mistakes he made in getting the right info, losing his license, and on and on. Finally I walked over and took his right hand in mine. I brought them both up to his heart. "Feel that?" I asked. "What?" he answered. "Your heart beat." He nodded that he did. "You're here, Beckett is here, and both your hearts are beating. That's all I care about, and all I want to talk about." Miraculously, he relented, and stopped his self-beratement.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Accomplishment
For the longest time I've had a project hanging over my head. I knew I needed to update all six books to reflect the availability of the recent books. Also, my author page was inconsistent in each of the books.
Yesterday and this morning, I've been working on it. Now . . . and I'm a little afraid to put this in writing . . . all of the books should be consistent in terms of the About the Author page, as well as more available from author Heather A. Buchman.
It doesn't sound like a big deal, but it's tedious, and time-consuming to upload all the new files. The other thing is that all the file formats are now consistent. I've gone back and forth on the format for uploading the ebooks and I believe I've found the one I'm most happy with. There are still weird things that happen, but fewer of them.
I've also uploaded the paperback files for both AND THEN YOU FLY and LINGER BOOK TWO, which comes out March 1.
I will never finalize two books within two weeks of each other. In fact, I need to slow the whole process down. And yeah, that's likely to happen, she said sarcastically. Sometimes stripes can't change. Slowing down is not something I do naturally.
So . . . as I leave for my Valentine's weekend a week late, I do so knowing I've crossed a big project off my list of things to do. When I return all the book proofs will be here waiting for me to approve, and shortly after that, will be available to purchase as paperbacks. Whew.
Yesterday and this morning, I've been working on it. Now . . . and I'm a little afraid to put this in writing . . . all of the books should be consistent in terms of the About the Author page, as well as more available from author Heather A. Buchman.
It doesn't sound like a big deal, but it's tedious, and time-consuming to upload all the new files. The other thing is that all the file formats are now consistent. I've gone back and forth on the format for uploading the ebooks and I believe I've found the one I'm most happy with. There are still weird things that happen, but fewer of them.
I've also uploaded the paperback files for both AND THEN YOU FLY and LINGER BOOK TWO, which comes out March 1.
I will never finalize two books within two weeks of each other. In fact, I need to slow the whole process down. And yeah, that's likely to happen, she said sarcastically. Sometimes stripes can't change. Slowing down is not something I do naturally.
So . . . as I leave for my Valentine's weekend a week late, I do so knowing I've crossed a big project off my list of things to do. When I return all the book proofs will be here waiting for me to approve, and shortly after that, will be available to purchase as paperbacks. Whew.
Friday, February 20, 2015
East Aurora Advertiser Article
I was contacted a couple weeks ago by someone who found me online, and discovered I wrote books set in my home town of East Aurora, New York. We arranged a time for a phone interview, and the resulting article is what came of it.
It is very exciting . . . another thing I want to remember as I make the journey from writer to author.
It wasn't easy to achieve . . . but I think I FINALLY have a link to the EA Advertiser article on my website. Click below to take a look.
http://heatherabuchman.com/aboutme.html
It is very exciting . . . another thing I want to remember as I make the journey from writer to author.
It wasn't easy to achieve . . . but I think I FINALLY have a link to the EA Advertiser article on my website. Click below to take a look.
http://heatherabuchman.com/aboutme.html
Thursday, February 19, 2015
How to Save a Life
As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours, grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Break with the ones you've followed.
You lower yours, grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Break with the ones you've followed.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Linger - Book Two
The final version of Linger-Book Two, is uploading today for release on March 1. I have so many mixed feelings about the release of this book.
First, is panic. I've written six books in such a short amount of time that I now feel overwhelmed by them. Once this book is out, I need to take a breather, focus on marketing both book series, and spend some time on the business of being an author, rather than writing. It's hard. It's also why I have an agent. She can at least attempt to keep me on track, and ticking things off the to-do list before I start writing another book.
Second, and this is a feeling I have whenever I look at or read part of one of my books. I love this book. I really love it. I love the characters, and the story, and what I see in my head when I read a single scene in this book. It fills me with an indescribable warmth, and then I think to myself . . . what I'd really like to do (right this very minute), is stop what I'm supposed to be doing, and read it.
Third, is longing. I long to get back into this story, and write the ending. The three books in this series make up a trilogy, with a mystery, that doesn't solve until the end of book three. I really don't like authors that do this, but that isn't why I want to write the third book. It's because (once again), I love these characters SO much. The main male character in book three is based on a friend who is very dear to me, someone I've known since I was in middle school. I can't wait to spend time with this character, and the others in the book, and mainly, get to hang out in East Aurora again.
Fourth is . . . guilt. Because whenever I'm not writing, or not working on marketing, or updating the website . . . that is what I feel. I'm feeling it right now, because instead of finalizing the book, or doing any of the other things I should be doing, I'm writing on this blog. I often wish there was an off-button for guilt. And that should be the subject of another blog post . . . finding the off-button.
As I've now succeeded in making what felt good, feel terrible, I suppose I should go back to the work I'm supposed to be doing. And then, of course, I'll be plagued by the guilt over not updating the blog often enough (she said with a wink).
First, is panic. I've written six books in such a short amount of time that I now feel overwhelmed by them. Once this book is out, I need to take a breather, focus on marketing both book series, and spend some time on the business of being an author, rather than writing. It's hard. It's also why I have an agent. She can at least attempt to keep me on track, and ticking things off the to-do list before I start writing another book.
Second, and this is a feeling I have whenever I look at or read part of one of my books. I love this book. I really love it. I love the characters, and the story, and what I see in my head when I read a single scene in this book. It fills me with an indescribable warmth, and then I think to myself . . . what I'd really like to do (right this very minute), is stop what I'm supposed to be doing, and read it.
Third, is longing. I long to get back into this story, and write the ending. The three books in this series make up a trilogy, with a mystery, that doesn't solve until the end of book three. I really don't like authors that do this, but that isn't why I want to write the third book. It's because (once again), I love these characters SO much. The main male character in book three is based on a friend who is very dear to me, someone I've known since I was in middle school. I can't wait to spend time with this character, and the others in the book, and mainly, get to hang out in East Aurora again.
Fourth is . . . guilt. Because whenever I'm not writing, or not working on marketing, or updating the website . . . that is what I feel. I'm feeling it right now, because instead of finalizing the book, or doing any of the other things I should be doing, I'm writing on this blog. I often wish there was an off-button for guilt. And that should be the subject of another blog post . . . finding the off-button.
As I've now succeeded in making what felt good, feel terrible, I suppose I should go back to the work I'm supposed to be doing. And then, of course, I'll be plagued by the guilt over not updating the blog often enough (she said with a wink).
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Swimming and Scottsdale
We're in Scottsdale for a swim meet. Frank has to drop A LOT of time in order to qualify for state's this year, mainly because he jumped age groups. When he was fourteen, he had a much easier go of it. Fifteen is near impossible. He has to drop a full six seconds in 100 FREE to qualify in that event. Even in 100 FLY, his best stroke and best event, he has to drop seven. Tough. Really tough.
As far as pools go, the one the meet is being held at is amazing. It's only six months old, and has enough lanes that the girls swim in the east end and the boys swim in the west. The scoreboard, where events, heats and times are posted, looks nicer than what you'd see at a brand new high school football field.
We love being in Scottsdale. This is the first time I've been here, other than to just drive through it. We had a room reserved in Phoenix, but decided we wanted this to be more of mini-vacation than two days of swim meet. We moved to the Saguaro in Scottsdale the first day, and couldn't be happier we did. All kinds of cool things happened because we did. Not the least of which was getting to go see Mat Kearney for free on Friday night.
I started this blog yesterday morning. Since, Frank took one second off his 100 free; eleven seconds of his 200 back, and almost three seconds off his 100 fly. Today he swims a 200 fly, a 50 free and a 500 free. This is the first time he's swimming the 200 fly and the 500. It's all about getting a decent time, but then with swimming, that's what it's always about.
We've had a good time; it would be unusual not to. Frank and I are in sync, for the most part. We laughed a lot yesterday, fell asleep by the pool in the afternoon, ate incredible sushi for dinner, and crashed early. Even so, 6:30 came too early today. The alarm went off at six, a half an hour later, I woke with a start, told Frank what time it was, and we both proceeded to roll out of bed. We managed to get to the pool by seven, although neither of us are really awake yet. Frank will probably be jolted so when he jumps in the pool for warm-ups in fifteen minutes. Me? I'm actively looking for lounge chairs, that they forget to setup on the deck of the pool.
We're going home tonight, where there is a winter weather advisory starting this afternoon and going through tomorrow. As long as we can get to our car at DIA, and home, I'll be okay with whatever the weather brings. It will be difficult to leave eighty-degree temps and a luxurious pool, however.
Frank and I talked a lot about swimming last night. It isn't his whole life, as it is for many on his swim team. He thinks sometimes that other parents judge him for it not being so. I asked him what it would take for him to get to the next level of swimming. His answer was something akin to "give up the rest of my life." Not going to happen. He won't get any prompting from me. I think his life has an appropriate level of balance just the way it is.
We'll see what the day brings, and how he does. It doesn't matter, as long as he feels good about his times.
As far as pools go, the one the meet is being held at is amazing. It's only six months old, and has enough lanes that the girls swim in the east end and the boys swim in the west. The scoreboard, where events, heats and times are posted, looks nicer than what you'd see at a brand new high school football field.
We love being in Scottsdale. This is the first time I've been here, other than to just drive through it. We had a room reserved in Phoenix, but decided we wanted this to be more of mini-vacation than two days of swim meet. We moved to the Saguaro in Scottsdale the first day, and couldn't be happier we did. All kinds of cool things happened because we did. Not the least of which was getting to go see Mat Kearney for free on Friday night.
I started this blog yesterday morning. Since, Frank took one second off his 100 free; eleven seconds of his 200 back, and almost three seconds off his 100 fly. Today he swims a 200 fly, a 50 free and a 500 free. This is the first time he's swimming the 200 fly and the 500. It's all about getting a decent time, but then with swimming, that's what it's always about.
We've had a good time; it would be unusual not to. Frank and I are in sync, for the most part. We laughed a lot yesterday, fell asleep by the pool in the afternoon, ate incredible sushi for dinner, and crashed early. Even so, 6:30 came too early today. The alarm went off at six, a half an hour later, I woke with a start, told Frank what time it was, and we both proceeded to roll out of bed. We managed to get to the pool by seven, although neither of us are really awake yet. Frank will probably be jolted so when he jumps in the pool for warm-ups in fifteen minutes. Me? I'm actively looking for lounge chairs, that they forget to setup on the deck of the pool.
We're going home tonight, where there is a winter weather advisory starting this afternoon and going through tomorrow. As long as we can get to our car at DIA, and home, I'll be okay with whatever the weather brings. It will be difficult to leave eighty-degree temps and a luxurious pool, however.
Frank and I talked a lot about swimming last night. It isn't his whole life, as it is for many on his swim team. He thinks sometimes that other parents judge him for it not being so. I asked him what it would take for him to get to the next level of swimming. His answer was something akin to "give up the rest of my life." Not going to happen. He won't get any prompting from me. I think his life has an appropriate level of balance just the way it is.
We'll see what the day brings, and how he does. It doesn't matter, as long as he feels good about his times.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Comfort
I had a day yesterday. It was non-stop busy starting too early than I want to think about. Back-to-back-to-back meetings, with a class thrown in the middle, and an event to close out the day. I don't think I stopped moving for a minute.
Needless to say, I was beyond exhausted by 7:30 when the event finally ended. And when I'm exhausted, I am more emotional than I am normally, and normally . . . I'm very emotional.
Last night two of the nicest people I've ever met were at the event, Chaplain Randy Kitchens and his wife, Sherri. They are both from the south, Georgia specifically. The chaplain is also a colonel, and works out of the USAFA headquarters rather than in CW. Which means I rarely see him. Someone asked him who I was last night, and he answered, "this is one of my favorite people on earth," in his strong southern accent. He put his arm around me in that way only a chaplain can. His wife was standing behind us, came up on the other side of me, put her arm around me also and said, "and one of mine too."
In my fragile state of exhaustion, their kindness nearly brought me to tears. I smiled, and thanked them. For the next couple hours they would smile at me as I walked by, checking to make sure all was okay with the guests at the event.
As everyone was making their way to the front to say goodbye to the commandant and his wife, the hosts of the event, Randy and Sherri found me in the kitchen. "Honey," Sherri began, "is everything okay with you?" My first reaction was tears, huge tears filled my eyes. "Yes," I assured her. "Oh honey," she sighed and pulled me into her arms. Randy was right behind her. "If you need to talk, you know you can always call me, right?" she said.
I backed away, brushed away my tears and apologized. "Whatever for?" she asked. I explained that I hoped I hadn't seemed upset throughout the event, after all it is my job to put on a happy face and make sure the guests enjoy their visit.
"No," she answered, "your face is smiling tonight, but your eyes are not."
Oh great, more tears. "I'm exhausted," I explained. It was a tension-filled day, and that's what happens to me. She pulled me back into another hug, and told me she'd prayer for me. Randy reiterated that he'd pray for me too, and with that, I felt immediate comfort.
While everything else was going on yesterday, word came over that the academy is essentially dismantling my program in terms of what it looks like now. My contract ends in July, and I had no intention of rebidding, or applying if the position turned into a GS/civilian position. Instead, they are putting the trainings and events on the squadron commanders, with oversight from an advisory officer. I'm not sure of the specifics of all of it, and I may have some of the information wrong, but essentially that is what is going to happen. On the surface, I say I don't care, but I've been some part of this program almost since it's re-inception. It is a good program, and a necessary one. I hope those making these decisions believe in it enough to give it the attention it deserves, although I am doubtful.
Today dawned a calm and beautiful morning. I have work to catch up on, particularly for the launch of AND THEN YOU FLY on Saturday. I have to pack for Phoenix, and run some errands for the trip. I don't have any time-sensitive deadlines, except that certain things need to be done today, and I got a good night's sleep last night.
There is still an underlying feeling that all is not right in my world. I don't like change, and in the next few months, on a professional level, life will change. I face it with trepidation-filled optimism, and hope it will all work out. I see the door closing, but am looking for another to open. It may not be the one I expect necessarily, but I know there will be one. It's the patience part of the equation that I, along with most people, find hard to manage.
Needless to say, I was beyond exhausted by 7:30 when the event finally ended. And when I'm exhausted, I am more emotional than I am normally, and normally . . . I'm very emotional.
Last night two of the nicest people I've ever met were at the event, Chaplain Randy Kitchens and his wife, Sherri. They are both from the south, Georgia specifically. The chaplain is also a colonel, and works out of the USAFA headquarters rather than in CW. Which means I rarely see him. Someone asked him who I was last night, and he answered, "this is one of my favorite people on earth," in his strong southern accent. He put his arm around me in that way only a chaplain can. His wife was standing behind us, came up on the other side of me, put her arm around me also and said, "and one of mine too."
In my fragile state of exhaustion, their kindness nearly brought me to tears. I smiled, and thanked them. For the next couple hours they would smile at me as I walked by, checking to make sure all was okay with the guests at the event.
As everyone was making their way to the front to say goodbye to the commandant and his wife, the hosts of the event, Randy and Sherri found me in the kitchen. "Honey," Sherri began, "is everything okay with you?" My first reaction was tears, huge tears filled my eyes. "Yes," I assured her. "Oh honey," she sighed and pulled me into her arms. Randy was right behind her. "If you need to talk, you know you can always call me, right?" she said.
I backed away, brushed away my tears and apologized. "Whatever for?" she asked. I explained that I hoped I hadn't seemed upset throughout the event, after all it is my job to put on a happy face and make sure the guests enjoy their visit.
"No," she answered, "your face is smiling tonight, but your eyes are not."
Oh great, more tears. "I'm exhausted," I explained. It was a tension-filled day, and that's what happens to me. She pulled me back into another hug, and told me she'd prayer for me. Randy reiterated that he'd pray for me too, and with that, I felt immediate comfort.
While everything else was going on yesterday, word came over that the academy is essentially dismantling my program in terms of what it looks like now. My contract ends in July, and I had no intention of rebidding, or applying if the position turned into a GS/civilian position. Instead, they are putting the trainings and events on the squadron commanders, with oversight from an advisory officer. I'm not sure of the specifics of all of it, and I may have some of the information wrong, but essentially that is what is going to happen. On the surface, I say I don't care, but I've been some part of this program almost since it's re-inception. It is a good program, and a necessary one. I hope those making these decisions believe in it enough to give it the attention it deserves, although I am doubtful.
Today dawned a calm and beautiful morning. I have work to catch up on, particularly for the launch of AND THEN YOU FLY on Saturday. I have to pack for Phoenix, and run some errands for the trip. I don't have any time-sensitive deadlines, except that certain things need to be done today, and I got a good night's sleep last night.
There is still an underlying feeling that all is not right in my world. I don't like change, and in the next few months, on a professional level, life will change. I face it with trepidation-filled optimism, and hope it will all work out. I see the door closing, but am looking for another to open. It may not be the one I expect necessarily, but I know there will be one. It's the patience part of the equation that I, along with most people, find hard to manage.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Mulling
The last thing I have time for today is writing a blog post. My list of urgent things to be done is a mile long . . . but sometimes, the only way to clear my head enough to focus on my to-do list, is to write . . . so here I am.
I have a lot of things to mull over right now. Life decision kind of stuff. Not huge, but in a way . . . life-altering. There is a potential job that has recently come open that I have had interest in for quite some time. The good part is it would be working with an organization I love and have a vested interest in. It would also be more "regular" hours than I currently work . . . a huge plus since the toll my being gone as much as I am takes on our family is a great one.
The downside is it is full-time, not something I'm sure I want to commit to . . . it depends on flexibility in the end. Less money, but if there's anyone who knows money doesn't mean happiness, it's me.
This leads to greater questions, about what I want the rest of my life to look like, where and how I want to live, how I want to focus my time and energy. Writing full-time would certainly be my goal. Which, of course, leads to the ultimate question . . . if I devoted all my time to writing, would I accomplish the goals I set for myself more quickly? It is obviously a rhetorical question . . . but certainly in the ponder category.
And what of the rest of life? Frank will graduate from high school in a little over two years. NOT something I'm ready to think about. We talk about what he'd like to do, where he'd like to go to college with some frequency. I believe he should go away to college, as much as it will leave a gaping hole in my life when he does. It isn't about me, however, it's about him going off and leading a successful, independent life . . . whatever that means to him. My job is to raise him to go forth and be that person.
My saving grace is that Beckett is in fifth grade. I have several years before real empty-nesterness kicks in.
And what else? I had a conversation with a friend last week about the stages of development in adult life. The subject was mortality leading to mid-life crisis. Once we cognitively accept our mortality, and that our days are finite . . . not that we don't always know this on a fundamental level, this is about accepting it. Anyway, that is when the so-called mid-life crisis rears its disconcerting head.
I became a mom later in life. I married later in life for that matter. The fact that I have a soon-to-be eleven-year-old, definitely keeps me feeling younger than my numerical age. When I was at Red Rocks this summer I went to the concession stand to get a beer. The woman working behind the counter, about my age, asked for my id. She apologized as I dug it out of my wallet, telling me that she had to card anyone who looked under forty. I thanked her, with an eye-roll and a smirk, and handed over my driver's license. She looked at it, and then looked again. She looked up at me, smiled, and said, "holy crap, well done, damn." I thank genetics. The women in my family have good skin. Even though we abuse it by spending too much time in the sun.
The point is, I don't feel as though I'm middle-aged, although I suppose there is no way around the fact that I am. More genetics . . . unless the evil C ravages our bodies, the women in my family tend to live forever too. My great-grandmother lived to 97. Her mother and grandmother lived as long or longer. My grandmother lived to her mid-seventies before cancer took her away from me. And my mother died at 62, but she had a three-pack-a-day-all-her-life smoking habit that contributed to her leaving us way, way too soon.
There are times I feel Frank's age, particularly when we are at a concert. I was talking about a concert I went to with another friend. "Did you stand off to the side with the rest of the moms?" he asked. Uh . . . what? Have you met me? Of course I didn't.
So here I am . . . mulling. What do I want the rest of my life to look like? Fun: definitely. Peaceful: that's way up there too. Full of passion for the things I do and the people I spend my time with: could very well be number one.
Last night Frank was moving furniture downstairs . . . not really, but he was making a lot of noise. Ballou was upstairs guarding me from whatever monsters he conjured attacking me in the night . . . probably giant squirrels. Hearing the noise below us, he started to growl. I told Frank (via text, and yes I do that), that Ballou was growling. He answered, "tell him to fight me." Which I think is a "thing," considering the LTs and cadets say it all the time. "Want me to go fight her?" the LT said to me last night when I said someone was annoying me. Anyway, when Frank wrote that, I laughed. I texted back to tell him he makes me laugh. His response? "I love you mom."
Hand-on-heart happy. I love this kid with everything in me; I love Beckett equal measure. That thing you think when you're pregnant with your second child, about wondering if you have enough love to love the second (or third or fourth) as much as you love the first . . . every mother knows the answer. A mother's heart has an infinite amount of love that only grows stronger with each child she gives birth to, or adopts.
So I suppose no matter how much I mull, life . . . and fate . . . will lead me where it wants to. I can control some of it, some of the time, and none of it all of the time. Doesn't ever stop me from mulling though.
I have a lot of things to mull over right now. Life decision kind of stuff. Not huge, but in a way . . . life-altering. There is a potential job that has recently come open that I have had interest in for quite some time. The good part is it would be working with an organization I love and have a vested interest in. It would also be more "regular" hours than I currently work . . . a huge plus since the toll my being gone as much as I am takes on our family is a great one.
The downside is it is full-time, not something I'm sure I want to commit to . . . it depends on flexibility in the end. Less money, but if there's anyone who knows money doesn't mean happiness, it's me.
This leads to greater questions, about what I want the rest of my life to look like, where and how I want to live, how I want to focus my time and energy. Writing full-time would certainly be my goal. Which, of course, leads to the ultimate question . . . if I devoted all my time to writing, would I accomplish the goals I set for myself more quickly? It is obviously a rhetorical question . . . but certainly in the ponder category.
And what of the rest of life? Frank will graduate from high school in a little over two years. NOT something I'm ready to think about. We talk about what he'd like to do, where he'd like to go to college with some frequency. I believe he should go away to college, as much as it will leave a gaping hole in my life when he does. It isn't about me, however, it's about him going off and leading a successful, independent life . . . whatever that means to him. My job is to raise him to go forth and be that person.
My saving grace is that Beckett is in fifth grade. I have several years before real empty-nesterness kicks in.
And what else? I had a conversation with a friend last week about the stages of development in adult life. The subject was mortality leading to mid-life crisis. Once we cognitively accept our mortality, and that our days are finite . . . not that we don't always know this on a fundamental level, this is about accepting it. Anyway, that is when the so-called mid-life crisis rears its disconcerting head.
I became a mom later in life. I married later in life for that matter. The fact that I have a soon-to-be eleven-year-old, definitely keeps me feeling younger than my numerical age. When I was at Red Rocks this summer I went to the concession stand to get a beer. The woman working behind the counter, about my age, asked for my id. She apologized as I dug it out of my wallet, telling me that she had to card anyone who looked under forty. I thanked her, with an eye-roll and a smirk, and handed over my driver's license. She looked at it, and then looked again. She looked up at me, smiled, and said, "holy crap, well done, damn." I thank genetics. The women in my family have good skin. Even though we abuse it by spending too much time in the sun.
The point is, I don't feel as though I'm middle-aged, although I suppose there is no way around the fact that I am. More genetics . . . unless the evil C ravages our bodies, the women in my family tend to live forever too. My great-grandmother lived to 97. Her mother and grandmother lived as long or longer. My grandmother lived to her mid-seventies before cancer took her away from me. And my mother died at 62, but she had a three-pack-a-day-all-her-life smoking habit that contributed to her leaving us way, way too soon.
There are times I feel Frank's age, particularly when we are at a concert. I was talking about a concert I went to with another friend. "Did you stand off to the side with the rest of the moms?" he asked. Uh . . . what? Have you met me? Of course I didn't.
So here I am . . . mulling. What do I want the rest of my life to look like? Fun: definitely. Peaceful: that's way up there too. Full of passion for the things I do and the people I spend my time with: could very well be number one.
Last night Frank was moving furniture downstairs . . . not really, but he was making a lot of noise. Ballou was upstairs guarding me from whatever monsters he conjured attacking me in the night . . . probably giant squirrels. Hearing the noise below us, he started to growl. I told Frank (via text, and yes I do that), that Ballou was growling. He answered, "tell him to fight me." Which I think is a "thing," considering the LTs and cadets say it all the time. "Want me to go fight her?" the LT said to me last night when I said someone was annoying me. Anyway, when Frank wrote that, I laughed. I texted back to tell him he makes me laugh. His response? "I love you mom."
Hand-on-heart happy. I love this kid with everything in me; I love Beckett equal measure. That thing you think when you're pregnant with your second child, about wondering if you have enough love to love the second (or third or fourth) as much as you love the first . . . every mother knows the answer. A mother's heart has an infinite amount of love that only grows stronger with each child she gives birth to, or adopts.
So I suppose no matter how much I mull, life . . . and fate . . . will lead me where it wants to. I can control some of it, some of the time, and none of it all of the time. Doesn't ever stop me from mulling though.
Sunday, February 08, 2015
Hi "T" Zone
I live in a testosterone-laden house as it is, but this weekend was especially so. In addition to Doug, Frank, and Beckett, Jaziel was at our house for the last few days. Oh, and Ballou—yes, the dog is male as well.
I’ve managed okay being the only estrogen-producer in the house for several years, but it requires I spend time with female friends on a regular basis. Or adopting female cadets as sponsor daughters. This weekend though, the imbalance was particularly evident.
I was working Saturday night, and since the other two televisions in the house were otherwise occupied . . . Doug came in to watch tv. I’m not a tv watcher, and I’m usually able to tune it out when it’s on.
“Do you mind if I watch my shows?” he asked politely.
“Of course I don’t mind,” I answered.
“They’re guy shows,” he warned.
“Really, it isn’t a problem,” I assured him. Famous last words.
Banshee was my first treat. And while I can usually tune it out, as I said, in this case it was impossible. A full hour of non-stop automatic weapons, curse words, blood, guts, and screaming later, my anxiety level was through the ceiling.
“Doesn’t it stress you out?” I asked.
“What?”
“Uh . . . watching stuff like this?”
Head nod and confusion. Finally he answers, “these shows are written for men.”
Oh. Okay. I still don’t get it, but I decide to drop it.
As Doug scrolled through the list of saved programs on the PVR, I heard the sound of gun shots coming from the family room. If whoever was out there was watching the same thing Doug was, I was going to suggest they enjoy their guy shows together.
Nope. I found Beck and Jaziel playing a PS3 game . . . no idea which one, but there was a lot of killing involved. What happened to the soccer game they’d been playing earlier?
The timer went off on the oven, alerting me that my lemon-dijon chicken was ready. I stood in the kitchen, which overlooks the family room; I made rice, threw a salad together, and when Ballou barked at a squirrel walking through the backyard, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“What’s wrong?” Doug asked, as he peeled me off the ceiling.
“I need to declare a ceasefire until we finish dinner.”
“Okay guys, we need a moratorium on killing for the next hour.”
When Beck and Jaziel turned and looked at him questioningly, he pointed in my direction. That and a glass of wine helped a little.
After dinner, the boys returned to their mayhem, and Doug suggested we watch a comedy. Sounded okay, although I had no intention of actually watching. A few minutes and several f-bombs later, he sheepishly asked if I wanted him to turn it off. I gave a non-committal response, but didn’t complain when I saw him delete whatever it was.
Next: a pirate show. I don’t remember the name of it, but it was produced by a cable network, so there was no shortage of killing (via sword rather than gun, as Doug so kindly pointed out to me). There was lots of sex (and I mean lots), and an abundance of curse words—I was considering earplugs at this point.
“This isn’t so good either,” I heard him mumble.
Truthfully, I was so close to falling asleep, it really didn’t matter what he watched. I think when I finally dozed off he was watching an old episode of Saturday Night Live.
When I came out to the family room this morning, Beck was loading up the killing games.
“Nope,” I said, confiscating the remote. “If it’s going to be on, we're watching CBS Sunday Morning.” I didn’t miss the groan, although I pretended I did.
Estrogen trumps testosterone on Sunday mornings. At least ten to one.
I’ve managed okay being the only estrogen-producer in the house for several years, but it requires I spend time with female friends on a regular basis. Or adopting female cadets as sponsor daughters. This weekend though, the imbalance was particularly evident.
I was working Saturday night, and since the other two televisions in the house were otherwise occupied . . . Doug came in to watch tv. I’m not a tv watcher, and I’m usually able to tune it out when it’s on.
“Do you mind if I watch my shows?” he asked politely.
“Of course I don’t mind,” I answered.
“They’re guy shows,” he warned.
“Really, it isn’t a problem,” I assured him. Famous last words.
Banshee was my first treat. And while I can usually tune it out, as I said, in this case it was impossible. A full hour of non-stop automatic weapons, curse words, blood, guts, and screaming later, my anxiety level was through the ceiling.
“Doesn’t it stress you out?” I asked.
“What?”
“Uh . . . watching stuff like this?”
Head nod and confusion. Finally he answers, “these shows are written for men.”
Oh. Okay. I still don’t get it, but I decide to drop it.
As Doug scrolled through the list of saved programs on the PVR, I heard the sound of gun shots coming from the family room. If whoever was out there was watching the same thing Doug was, I was going to suggest they enjoy their guy shows together.
Nope. I found Beck and Jaziel playing a PS3 game . . . no idea which one, but there was a lot of killing involved. What happened to the soccer game they’d been playing earlier?
The timer went off on the oven, alerting me that my lemon-dijon chicken was ready. I stood in the kitchen, which overlooks the family room; I made rice, threw a salad together, and when Ballou barked at a squirrel walking through the backyard, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“What’s wrong?” Doug asked, as he peeled me off the ceiling.
“I need to declare a ceasefire until we finish dinner.”
“Okay guys, we need a moratorium on killing for the next hour.”
When Beck and Jaziel turned and looked at him questioningly, he pointed in my direction. That and a glass of wine helped a little.
After dinner, the boys returned to their mayhem, and Doug suggested we watch a comedy. Sounded okay, although I had no intention of actually watching. A few minutes and several f-bombs later, he sheepishly asked if I wanted him to turn it off. I gave a non-committal response, but didn’t complain when I saw him delete whatever it was.
Next: a pirate show. I don’t remember the name of it, but it was produced by a cable network, so there was no shortage of killing (via sword rather than gun, as Doug so kindly pointed out to me). There was lots of sex (and I mean lots), and an abundance of curse words—I was considering earplugs at this point.
“This isn’t so good either,” I heard him mumble.
Truthfully, I was so close to falling asleep, it really didn’t matter what he watched. I think when I finally dozed off he was watching an old episode of Saturday Night Live.
When I came out to the family room this morning, Beck was loading up the killing games.
“Nope,” I said, confiscating the remote. “If it’s going to be on, we're watching CBS Sunday Morning.” I didn’t miss the groan, although I pretended I did.
Estrogen trumps testosterone on Sunday mornings. At least ten to one.
Monday, February 02, 2015
And Then You Fly . . . And Keep Writing
There is a lot happening in my world of being a writer, so much that I'm having a difficult time keeping up with it.
- Today I am uploading the final version of AND THEN YOU FLY, for release on February 14. At the same time, I’ll run another free promotion on FALL in order to continue to build readership.
- This weekend, my agent sent review copy emails to two stores in East Aurora, telling them about the upcoming article on LINGER, and the release of BOOK TWO.
- Bullets one and two have all sorts of other behind-the-scenes work that must be done. I have two blurbs to write and press releases. Harder, I must synopsize two books. Boiling a three-hundred-page book down to one-page is one of the most difficult tasks I face as a writer. I am not alone in believing this to be difficult. Like sex scenes, it is a task I wish I could delegate to someone else. The problem is, I end up rewriting it so thoroughly that I insult the person who wrote the first iteration. Which doesn’t make either of us feel very good.
- I have two different books to write, one each for two publishers, that I will write under a pen name, which means I need to choose a pen name. Okay, well, two pen names.
- I have a fifth book to write in the Crested Butte Cowboy series, and the third and final book to write in the East Aurora series. That isn’t to say there won't be more in the EA series, it’s just that this particular story is designed to be a trilogy.
My main point in this blog post is, I am a writer. Primarily, it is what I do. Although every writer I know personally says you cannot make a living as a writer; you must have a day job. They’re probably right.
My agent and I have lengthy chicken-egg conversations. If I had more time to write, would I already be where I want to be? Or, is what I’m doing now funding my passion, and thus, am I able to achieve more? Who knows? Although in August, I will likely find out.
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