Be Careful What You Wish For

So, with a month from the end of this year, I have been thinking about my 2012 Goals. Take a look at them here.   Here's where we stand...

1. Book Deal: not yet (but read on)
2. New car: very likely (read on, I told you...)
3. Skyfall: OH. YES. (wiping drool off chin)
4. Exercise: not every day, but most days, and I've lost weight this year.
5. Spine: Stronger, maybe mild scoliosis (figuratively, new readers)
6. Dates: we've been pretty good, actually, in the latter half of this year.  Nights out are happening!
7. No apologies:  kinda like the spine--that is a work in progress.  Apologizing is part of me, but I am starting to accept who I am, and forcing others to when I am right.
8. Writing: well, that one has been a weird one.  I was writing every day for 2+ hours in the spring.  Got shot to shit during the summer (move, summer class, grandmother's funeral).  Fall started okay, but the Boy is in afternoon kindergarten, which is making it more challenging to actually get my writing time in.  Plus, the current home's desk set up is less than inviting.  I may start doing more on the laptop (shudder).

So, that is where I am.  Pretty good.  Now... about that book deal.  I finished Book 1: "The General's Heir", and passed it along to peer readers.  Got some great feedback... and decided that I had to rewrite the whole thing.  I needed to focus on my heroine.  So, rewrote the book into first person.  She's telling her story.  I expanded scenes, trimmed others, and finally told the story of what happened in Tejhaus before and after the rebellion, and how she came to decide to go to Stone Country.  The book is so much stronger.

I finished the rewrites at the end of August, and then started editing.  I finished the week of Thanksgiving, and promptly emailed David Hazard for a recommendation for a professional editor: I am funny with hyphens and ellipses...as my regular readers (ha!) know.  We set up a meeting to discuss finally working together (since I have money coming from my grandmother).

And then Wednesday struck.  I had a car accident.  My lovely little Honda Civic has been a loyal member of my family, but she's on life support, and her age ain't making it look good.  A 1997 coupe with 170K miles... if they don't declare it totaled, it will be a miracle.  I love that car.  It was the first car I picked out and bought.  She was overpriced, and used.  But I paid her off slowly (with the Husband paying as well after we got married), and she's been faithful and dependable.

So, yesterday, instead of focusing on the fact that my body had had a shock, and I needed to just read, I spent most of the day beating myself up for the accident.  Sure, I wanted a new car, but not til the money was there.  She was supposed to outlast the Saturn.  I went from quiet mourning to anger and back.

And then, late last night, I remembered my 2012 Goals.  I really had met some of them.  Maybe...just maybe, the stars are aligned, and I will meet the first goal.  On Monday, I plunge into revising my query letter and creating my spreadsheet for literary agents to hit.  When the editing is done, I am unstoppable.

I will it to be so.

The Past Rears its Ugly Head and Ruins a Lovely Walk

It is a beautiful autumn day.  I finish my coffee, and tell the Boy that it is time to take the dog for a walk.  I pull on my sneakers, he slips on his "slip-ons" as he calls them.  I wind a scarf around my neck, and he wiggles into his hoodie.  Leash, dog, and off we go.

The Boy holds the leash today, and he is kicking leaves.  Today is Picture Day at school, and he tried to put on his suit this morning.  I convinced him that just the white shirt and vest will work if he adds pants without holes in the knee.  He's a handsome boy, and I suggest to him that zipping his hoodie will keep him warmer than clutching it shut.  We walk along.

He holds my hand, and never stops talking.  He points out spider webs, fallen nuts, and pretty clouds.  The dog follows as best she can, all the while sniffing and stopping to deposit her own calling card.  I admonish the Boy that watching her poop is kinda gross, and he turns aside.  He comments on the houses in the neighborhood, and asks me if I remember the huge slug we saw last week, and wonders if it might still be there.  I laugh, delighted, and suggest that, since several days have passed, rain has fallen, and birds would have noticed him by now, I bet the slug is long gone.

I am right, and we continue on.  He loves looking down into a ravine to which a homeowner has added a little landscaping bridge.  He calls my attention to flowers, and I think about what an interesting boy he is, and how much I enjoy his company now.  I really cannot believe he is already six.  And, as I often do, I think about what I remember at his age.

Disaster strikes.  At Christmas, when I was six, my mother sent my brother and I off for our visitation with my dad.  He dropped us off at school at the end of the break, and no one came to pick us up that evening.  My mother had run away.  January 4, 1982.  At my son's age, I only had three months more with my mother.

I look at my son, who is still holding my hand and attempting to get the dog to stop digging in a mulch pile, and I cannot imagine life without him.  And I wonder how she could have left me just when I was getting to be interesting.

Confession.  I hate babies.  They are boring.  They are annoying.  All they do is cry and eat and shit, sometimes all at once.  I loved my son when he was a baby, but in a grim way perhaps.  It was my duty, my responsibility, and I approached the task of motherhood vowing to do it well.  I didn't relax into being a mother for months, and it  was years before I felt confidence in that role.

Years have passed, and I have this fun little guy, who thinks zombies are hilarious, loves books and Legos, and correctly uses three syllable words.  He makes interesting leaps of logic in his reasoning, which while sometimes less-than-accurate, are entertaining.  He is sweet, loves holding my hand, and expects an intelligent answer when he asks about clouds or leaves or mechanical engineering.

I wrap my arm around him as we walk.  He is still trying to control the dog, who is hot on the trail of some remarkable scent.  I have a feeling that the next few months will be a countdown of sorts for me, that I will be cramming in all sorts of experiences into the Boy's life, as I continue to over-compensate for the mother who didn't want me.  I will fight off tears as I mourn what I didn't get to do with her, but will damn well make sure he gets to do with me.  And when that magic deadline passes, I will know that I can maybe let myself just love the Boy for being mine, and stop projecting on to him the little girl who waited and waited for her mother to show up and take her home.

Writing and Boob Jobs

Husband has been on the laptop, surfing, I guess.  I haven't been paying attention.  He notices me busily typing on my birthday present, a Kindle with keyboard.

Husband:  You like your birthday present?
Me:  I love it!
Husband:  So, you browsing Amazon or something?  Don't spend too much, ha ha!
Me:  No, I am working on my book.
Husband:  (finally looking up from the laptop, where he's been looking at  motorcycle pictures on Faceborg .  Don't know why--he'll be able to get a motorcycle the day after he buries me.) Wait.  You uploaded your book onto the Kindle?
Me:  Yeah!  I love reading it there!  It is so cool--
Husband:  You are just reading it?
Me:  Well, not really.  I am editing it.
Husband:  You are still editing it?
Me:  This is more about sentence structure, and verb agreement--
Husband:  Verb agreement?
Me:  Well, two revisions ago, I played around with writing it in present tense, so I missed stuff--
Husband:  In the last round of edits.
Me:  No!  In the last revision!
Husband:  What is the difference between editing and revising?
Me:  Hmmmm.  (thinking hard about how to answer this) Revising is making changes to the body of the literature.  Editing is making corrections.
Husband:  Okaayyy.
Me:  Oh!  See, revising is like getting a boob job, and editing is more like just wearing a better bra.
Husband:  ...I'm sorry, what?
Me:  Okay, bad example.  Revising my book involves me changing characters, or expanding scenes, or fleshing out backgrounds.
Husband:  Uh-huh.
Me:  And editing is fixing sentence structure.  Or something.
Husband:  So...
Me:  I started a revision back in January that didn't work out-- the whole present tense thing.  But I canned that and just went with making the story told from Elena's point of view, in first person.
Husband:  And...
Me:  I finished that in August, and now I am doing the last round of edits, so I can send it out again.  I am hoping by November?
Husband:  Okay.
Me:  So, yeah.  I am editing.
Husband:  ...Do you want a boob job?

Thank you for the Kindle.