A Labor Of Love

Fifty seven and a half hours.  That's how long my own little labor of love lasted before my son came into this world almost 24 years ago.  It really didn't matter if I wanted to quicken the journey.  He was arriving in his own sweet time and I could either live in the moment or fight it every step of the way.  As much as I might have wanted to be in control, I wasn't and I simply needed to trust that what I began nine months earlier would turn out right in the end.

Writing is sometimes like that.  I begin with an idea and I spend countless hours nurturing it.  Feeding it with my imagination until I begin to see it's growth.  Sometimes days, sometimes months later my labor of love bears fruit and I have a completed story. 

I'm currently working on a labor of love which might take me into the holidays and beyond.  Lunadar: Homeward Bound started out as a spark when I came across a mesmerizing picture on the internet.  I jotted down a few sentences to describe what I was seeing.  Then it turned into a daydream which turned into a few paragraphs and now it has blossomed into a young adult novel I am trying to finish. 



But there are times when the labor pains are strong and I have to take a moment to breathe. I have to exercise patience.  The potential birth of this novel drives me forward and I seek to control my world. Sometimes I just have to remember that I'm not the one in charge...my characters are coming to life on their own and they are the ones who whisper in my ear.  All I just need to do is write their story down.

Scheduling time on the computer however is sometimes a problem...





I Must Be Fair

When my cat, Tommy (or Tom-tom for short), found out about my tribute to the wonderful Cupcake, he immediately looked at me like I had lost my mind.   As if to say, "surely you realize cats are much smarter than dogs!"  And then I thought about all the wisdom he has shown me over this past year as I become a stronger writer and I knew I must be fair and share some of Tommy's tips to staying on the write track...

Everyone wants to be unique, but sometimes you need to hang out with the other bunnies out there.  That doesn't mean that you don't have your own writer's voice.  It just means that you have to find your niche in a world made up of many others like you...writers with the ambition to become published just like you.  Play well with others and create friendships among the writing community as those friendships will lift you up when your spirit is bruised...but never give up your individuality...it's what makes YOU so special!

Sometimes you find yourself in a tight spot and you're not sure how you managed to get there.   You can either caterwaul until someone takes pity on you, or you can put your big girl panties on and figure out a solution to your problems yourself.  I find that when I solve my own problems, it feeds my inner warrior and I'm that much stronger to meet the challenges of the day.

But when things are really bad, a hot bath or shower always seem to do the trick.  My astrological sign is Cancer and the ocean calls to me constantly.  Being nestled between two mountain ranges presents a problem, so I get my water treatment whenever and wherever I can.  Tommy on the other hand is NOT a water lover and does not agree...

Sometimes you just have to take a little time out for yourself.  Recharge your batteries.  Rekindle what you loved about writing in the first place.  Step away from the computer and give yourself a chance to come back later renewed and refreshed so that you may look at your works in progress with new eyes and a new spirit.

Tommy and I might not agree on the bath idea, but we both agree on one thing...some things are just WRONG...

The Legacy of a Twenty-Pound Fur Ball

There is not much you can do when a twenty-pound fur ball decides it is time for you to get up.

I work long hours during the week at a very demanding job.  When my grown up son moved out of the house recently, I decided the rules regarding my weekend needed to change.  My life used to be driven by the demands of raising a child, but now I realized I was free to stay up as long as I wanted on Saturday, and could simply sleep in on Sunday.  Boy was I wrong.

Just this past weekend, I did what so many busy people do these days.  I spent most of Saturday running around like the Mad Hatter, dashing here and there, and trying to complete all the things on my “to do” list that I couldn’t cram into my already busy week.  By the time Saturday night came along, I was ready to just relax and catch up on some “me” time.  Six hours later, I’m deep into a romance novel and realize it’s now two a.m. Sunday morning; maybe I should be thinking about getting some rest.  No problem, my time is my own and I can just sleep in until noon because I’m a free agent.  Again, boy was I wrong.

All I can remember of my dream is that it involves a tall, dark, handsome man and a hot tub when a short, stumpy fur ball decides Mommy needs to wake up now.  If at first a gentle paw tap to the shoulder doesn’t work, then maybe claws to the head will do the trick.  I sleepily swat the offending paw out of the way and try to recapture the dream.  Next comes the fur ball pushing its way under my covers to crouch next to me, capturing one of my hands between it’s paws and proceeds to chew on a knuckle.  Startled, I push the fur ball away and roll onto my back, hopping back into that dreamy hot tub before the water gets cold.  By now, Tommy has lost all patience with me, and decides to crawl his twenty-pound body onto my chest and breathe his foul feline breath into my face until I am now fully awake.  Satisfied that I have no chance of going back to sleep, the fur ball slowly climbs off me and drops to the floor in search of a cozy chair to sleep in.

If I weren’t so tired from a lack of sleep I would laugh.  Twenty years of devoting my waking hours to raising my son showed me where I stand in the pecking order around my house.  His needs came first and I gladly took second place as most mothers always do.  Once my son left, however, I never considered that the first place throne would not pass to me.  Tommy knows his place in my household hierarchy…and apparently, I now know mine.