The Soundtrack of My Name Change

Sorry for the blog silence. Real life around here has been... intense. Rather than explain, why don't you just enjoy the songs that have been running through my head?

This was my theme song for the week after New Year's. I learned it in college voice lessons to teach me how to belt. I've always thought it was beautiful, but never before was it at all applicable:


I fought this next one for a long time, but, well. Truth is truth, even when it's hard:


This is my favorite fight song--many of the lyrics are wishful thinking (at least at present), but quite a few of the story details are... accurate.


Of course, there are days (getting fewer and fewer) when this song applies best (well, with a gender reversal):


These next two are songs I've shared with my three sons. I can't express how grateful I am for how wonderful my children are. They are such a support to me right now.




And, of course, this all leads to the sad conclusion: I'm going through the Big D (and don't mean Dallas.) (That song only applies in title, but it's kind of catchy.)

I'm not quite sure what I'm doing with this blog yet--it has the wrong name on it. I'm reverting to my maiden name: Robin Ambrose--which I've been assured is an awesome writer name. Also, yes, I'm very VERY grateful that I haven't published yet. Thanks for asking. :)

Please stay posted. Real life is still taking all my spare time, but I'm taking steps to set up a new blog with the right name and will do whatever I need to do to make sure you all find your way over to the new one.

Please also know that I'm going to be fine. I've been overflowing with love over the last few weeks--I have so many friends both in real life and online who have gone out of their way to prop me up, let me rant, and give me concrete advice on how to come out on the other side of this in one piece. You guys all rock!

Desperate for Balance

As I crossed the NaNo finish line, my husband clued me on on something: he was feeling neglected. Not just a little neglected, but crisis-neglected. I was . . . a bit shocked.

If you've followed my blog at all or if you care to check out the My Hubby tag, you know two things: 1) my husband is about the most supportive man in the world, and 2) we have next to no interests in common. He will never enjoy spending time with me while I'm writing or reading: he doesn't write, he doesn't read, and he doesn't understand why I like it. I will rarely enjoy spending time with him doing the things he loves: I don't ski, fish, hunt, or understand why he likes it.

For over 12.5 years of marriage, we've made it work anyway.

But it--whatever it was--isn't working anymore.

Last month, I thought everything was right with my marriage. Now I know there need to be changes or things will get very, very wrong.

So I need advice, wise readers. I know a lot of you are married and are very happy. Do you have advice for a writer who wants it all? Is it possible to have a day job, happy husband, content children, relaxing reading and STILL have time to write? How do you do it?

If your spouse isn't a writer, what do you do to make sure you spend time with them? How do you involve them in your writing life (if at all)? If you have two hours of free time after the kids are in bed, you haven't written anything all day, and the spouse is watching a show you don't like . . . what do you do?

I've had exactly one idea to fix this: we're going to learn how to play the guitar together. Hubby has expressed interest and I've always thought it would be fun. Might not have been a priority in my life, but if we both enjoy it . . . well, it has a leg up on every other non-bedroom activity in the world. This, naturally, will take even more time away from writing, but it should provide some forced togetherness with the love of my life, and that ain't bad.

I've pondered whether I can give up writing entirely. Hubby assures me he'll never ask it of me--he just wants some balance. I'm not entirely sure I can give it up without being miserable. I can go long stretches without it, but I need a creative outlet, and I love words. (Lovely, lovely words.) I'm relatively certain I can kill that part of me, but . . . then part of me will be dead. And the years I've spent on my writing will have been wasted. And I don't want that. I still want to be a published writer. Preferably one who can afford to buy her husband a ranch.

So help? Ideas? Advice? Wisdom from on high? Thoughts on where to buy a couple of cheap beginner guitars?

2013 Note: Thanks everyone, for your awesome advice. Though it turns out the problem was too big for advice, I really appreciate the help.

Y is for mY Anniversary

During which I will ignore you in favor of cavorting with my husband. Yes, that kind of cavorting.

If you're just pining away without my normal brain vomit, feel free to revisit my April 11 ode to my hubby or even my anniversary post from last year.

Now go away.

J is for Jerry (my Yin)

2013 NOTE: This post is about my recently-exed-husband. It's still all true, but ever-so-slightly sad, now. This post explains a little about what happened. Turns out that the opposites-attracting thing is harder to maintain than I ever suspected.

Ever hear about opposites attracting? Ever doubt that it was true? Doubt no more. My husband, Jerry, and I have very little in common. Maybe that's why we keep behaving like newlyweds after almost 12 years of marriage (come back on April 28th).

I have a law degree and a full-time job. He has a high school education and takes care of the boys with odd jobs on the side. I'd like to take care of the boys and write on the side. He'd like to get a full-time job.

He thinks my hometown, near Salt Lake City, is MUCH too big. I think his no-stoplight hometown in Eastern Idaho is MUCH too small.

I enjoy reading, and can do it day-in, day-out, dawn-to-dusk, without stopping, so long as there is a stack of willing books nearby. Jerry... is not a reader. He will never read any of my books. If one of my books is one day made into a movie, I might be able to get him to wear a suit to the premier, where he will most likely take a two hour nap. (Unless I can shoehorn in some explosions....) Yessir, we will be keeping him far away from the press.

I am overweight and generally sedentary, with occasional bouts of guess-I-should-use-my-gym-membership fervor. There is not a single active activity that I can't quite happily do without. Jerry is NOT overweight and actually prefers to be active. There is hardly a single active activity that he doesn't enjoy--but he especially loves those activities which come with loud bangs and blood-covered hands. He and the boys are constantly trying to get mommy to join them on their outdoor adventures. They bribe me with books and lawn chairs.

Jerry has been working since the age of nine, when he started moving pipe for a local farmer and taught himself how to drive a farm truck. He went on to drive tractor-trailers for a few years and now gets carsick if someone else drives for too long. I've been working since the age of sixteen and, not counting my half-interest in our marital vehicles, have never owned my own car. I've never changed a tire all by myself--forget about the oil. I rarely pump gas (unless I'm away at a conference and Jerry isn't around to do it for me). I never get carsick. While Jerry drives, I read or write.

Jerry used to be a bona-fide cowboy. Rode bulls and bucking broncos, wrestled steers, and roped calves. He was kicked in the head three separate times by bulls and usually rode again the next night. He's prone to headaches, but rarely lets it stop him. I get a headache when I ride too many roller coasters and rarely want to ride any more until it goes away.

I (barely) passed the AP Calculus test in high school and never took another math class. Ever. I doubt I've ever balanced my checkbook. Jerry never took AP Math, but he can do calculations in his head that I need a calculator for. Wanna guess who's in charge of finances around here? (I make it, he spends it.)

Jerry has been doing my laundry--including my unmentionables--since we were engaged. He does the grocery shopping--all of the grocery shopping. He keeps the dishes washed and has dinner on the table when I get home. He vacuums. He maintains the cars, improves the home, and kills the spiders. He does NOT clean the bathroom. I clean the bathroom and the kitchen. Every few months, with a lot of griping, I deep-clean something. I do no car maintenance or yard work.

We don't watch the same TV shows (except House--and what will we watch together when the last few episodes are gone?), think each other's movies are insipid/boring/horrifying/silly, and have realized that we should NEVER talk to each other about the death penalty. Not. A good. Idea.

So why do I love him? The rocks in his head exactly fill the holes in mine. Where I am weak, he is strong. Where I slack, he shines. He supports me even though he'll never understand me. He thinks I'm beautiful even when I've been sick for a week, and makes me feel light even though I outweigh him.

He is the Yin to my Yang.

He loves me. He loves my children.

What's not to love?

Who can resist a strong man with a baby?

So are you attracted to your opposite or do you prefer someone who likes the same things you do?

What I Don't Do

Every once in a while, I get to listing all the things I do and someone asks how I can possibly manage all of that. Which sounds insufferably full-of-myself when I say it, like I just did. Still, allow me to pull out my own trumpet for a moment. There's a point, I promise.

• I'm a full-time lawyer who started law school with a 4-month-old and graduated with a 3-year-old and a 9-month-old. I now have three sons under the age of 11.
• In the last three years, I've written and edited one whole book and half of the rough draft of another. I successfully completed NaNoWriMo in 2011. When I buckle down, I can write about 1000 words a day without too much trouble.
• I'm a host of David Farland's Authors' Advisory and, starting last year, I've been privileged to help out at LTUE. This will be my third year at LDStorymakers. I'm the group leader of my online writer's group.
• Last year, I read 109 books. That's a daily average of over 95 pages. (In 2009, I read 173 books, with a daily average of over 157 pages.)
• Before my church congregation underwent a recent and severe reorganization (if you're familiar with the LDS church, you'll understand when I say that they took 4 wards and made 5), I did 3 jobs: I visited 3-4 ladies every month, I prepared a sunday school lesson every other week, and I chaired the Cub Scout committee (which involved three meetings a month and miscellaneous emailing / list making / etc in between)

Pretty impressive, huh? *polishes nails on shirt* Feeling inadequate? Seriously, don't. Let's discuss what I don't do (a lot of this I feel very guilty about, so be kind):

• Exercise. I have a gym membership and go only sporadically. It's a goal to spend some of my reading time each week reading on the elliptical at the gym, but for now, I'm just getting fatter and more unhealthy.
• Sleep. If I don't sleep for around 8 hours a night, I get sick (as my husband points out to me every night). I get sick a lot. I'm constantly having to forego holding cute new babies because I have the sniffles or a sore throat or a head cold. Sleep really should be a bigger part of my life, but it's so BORING! Not that being sick is all that exciting....
• Grocery shopping. My husband does that. I seriously haven't been grocery shopping (except as the occasional tag-a-long) for... um... well, I've been married 11.5 years....
• Laundry. Just tonight I had to fold a basket full of whites and got all huffy about it. I occasionally have to wash my own work clothes and miscellaneous delicates. The laundry I do is the sort where you spend five minutes tracking it down and putting it in, 30 seconds transferring it to the dryer, and another 5 minutes hanging it up afterward. I occasionally fold stuff my husband has washed and, about 6 times a year, feel all virtuous about running a load of something or other for the family. Go me.
• Ironing. All my clothes are wash-and-wear. I made hubby buy me an iron for Christmas a few years ago, but never have found a regular use for it.
• Dishes. I do these more often than laundry, but, again, hubby takes care of most of this.
• Cooking dinner. Hubby again. I might cook dinner 2-3 times per week. I usually make a special breakfast on Saturday morning.
• Cleaning the house. Except for the 2-3 hours a week I spend on the bathroom and the kitchen (hubby has an aversion to cleaning that involves chemicals and scrubbing), I don't clean much at all. Might vacuum 6 times a year. 
• Any of the "man chores." You'd think that since I have a stay-at-home husband, I'd be expected to take on some of the traditional man-chores, but no. He does all the car maintenance (I only get my own gas when I'm on writing conference trips), yard work, snow removal, home repair, etc.
• Homework. I mentioned I have three sons? They are generally finished with homework when I get home from work. (Haha.) I get to help my youngest with his reading homework a few times a week, and answer the very occasional question for the other two, but I don't have to take care of the day-to-day grind of making them sit still.
• Reading to the boys. I feel VERY guilty about this, but most nights I just don't get it done. They always ask, but more often than not, I put them off. And we're in the last few chapters of the book we're reading, too! Bad mommy.
• Television. I used to be a TV addict. I had 5-8 shows I just HAD to watch every week. Now I have none. Partly, I learned when I got the DVR that if I can put off a show until I have over a month saved up, maybe I wasn't all that attached to it. Partly, this is excruciating choice. There are some awesome shows out there that I'd love to watch all the time, so I don't let myself watch a single episode. I don't have the time. I miss out on a lot of inside jokes and social bonding opportunities, but there it is. I just don't have the time.
• Movies. I might watch a movie while I fold laundry, but that's only about once a month. I rarely go to the theater. I sometimes will get a movie for date night with the hubby. Most of the movies that have come out in the last ten years I just didn't see. I have no idea that some of the movies even exist. This is very sad for a Theatre Arts major, but there it is.
• Theatre, arts, etc. I don't go see plays, I don't get involved in community theatre, and I don't visit art exhibits. I would love to join the community choral at the local college, but can't.
• Girls' Nights Out. Or nights out in general. I might leave the house for a fun nighttime activity once a month. If you count church activities. I don't go dancing, I don't hang out at the local coffee shop, I don't do any of the things the girls in the books I read are always doing.

I'm going to stop there because, well, if I don't get to bed soon, I'm going to get sick... er. That sore throat ain't just gonna go away on it's own. Still, you can see that the list of things I don't do is much longer than the list of things I do. Not so impressive now, is it?

Bottom line? I get done all I do because I have an amazing, supportive spouse who picks up all my slack and because I prioritize the things I REALLY want to do.

So what do you give up so you can do all the things YOU do?

Why I Love My Husband

You know those silly childhood "premonitions" about what your future spouse will be like? What kind of career, what kind of family, what kind of car? That sort of thing?

I didn't set a whole lot of goals for my future husband. Didn't care where he was from or where we'd live. Didn't care what sort of car he'd drive, or what his career might be. I have, at certain times, actually vowed never to marry a cowboy. I certainly never dreamed of marrying a hunter, who would hang deer antlers on my wall. I would have preferred to be closer to my family.

One premonition has stuck with me, though. I can't remember now if it was a dream or just a very vivid wish, but I remember the vision. I was standing in an auditorium (all my dreams revolved around the theatre in those days) and someone was standing behind me, with his arms around me. I couldn't see his face, and I didn't know his name, but there were two things I knew without question.

One, he loved me. Utterly. Unconditionally.

Two, he supported me. In all my dreams, in all my worries, in all my crazy delusions.

And he does.

And he does.

Happy Birthday, Jerry, my love. Someday I hope I can deserve you.

How Do You Like Your Crit?

With apologies to the vegetarians who may or may not read my blog, we're gonna talk about steak today.

My husband is an expert on the proper preparation of steak. So much so that he's rather insulted if you ask for steak sauce. Why would you need to cover up the flavor? He has strong opinions on how steak should be prepared, from the moment it stops walking around to the moment it hits your plate. He'll tell you about it whenever you want to ask. (Or whenever you just happen to mention the word steak, trying to make polite conversation.) I don't even think about cooking the meat in our house.
 
My husband's perfect steak, of course, is RARE. Most experts agree: steak is meant to be red in the middle, nice and tender. Barely warm. Still mooing. Rare steak is not tough to eat and you can often cut it with a dinner knife. It leaks red juice all over your plate. Yummm.

I'm more a fan of happy-MEDIUM. Pink on the inside, still fully cooked, little messy blood. It doesn't melt in your mouth, but it doesn't take an hour to chew, either. Plus, I think steak knives are cool. Why wouldn't I want to use one?

There is a small minority of steak eaters who foolishly insist on the WELL-DONE steak. Burned. Black. Fully dead. Brown all the way through. Chefs in restaurants (so I hear) set aside the worst cuts for these folks, since they'll never notice once the meat has come off the heat. Steak knives are required, and you might have to rest your jaw halfway through.

Honestly, I care not one little bit which one you prefer. Take your steak however you like. Let's talk about critiques.

There are those who like their critiques as soft as a rare steak. Easy to chew. Minimal cooking time. Tons of "wow, this was great!" and very little "dude, I did NOT get this part at ALL." Like the rare steak lovers, if their crit is slightly overdone, they're apt to throw a fit, challenge the competency of the chef, and regale anyone nearby with an account of the proper way to prepare a well-written story. Like theirs. If only everyone could appreciate their genius. Every once in a while, one of these types publishes a book and soon wages a public war against any who dare call it less-than-perfect. This war is entertaining to all, but less than helpful to the writer's career.

I do NOT like these types of crits. I refuse to give them, and if that makes me a bad critiquer-- well, it doesn't make me a bad critiquer. Just an insensitive one. I can deal.

Then there are those who recognize that, if they want to actually improve their writing and their stories, they will need to face the flaws head-on. Only, they're insecure and they know it. Criticism hurts, no matter how well-intended or how well they prepare themselves to hear it. Like the medium steak lover, they want the tough balanced by an equal measure of tender. If it is too tough, they won't be able to swallow it at all. If they don't hear "loved this part" almost as often as "eek, this doesn't really work, does it?" they might despair, throw the whole novel in the trunk, and take up cross-stitching. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

These crits I can handle. I actually strive to give this type in every crit I give. Even if I have to go back and add in the good comments later. :) I would never want someone to come away from one of my critiques thinking they or their story has zero chance of success. Any writer can improve. Any story can rise from the muck of mediocrity to become extraordinary (if only by stripping it down to its barest bones, finding the one good thing about it, and rebuilding from there). Happy-medium is good.

But it's not my favorite crit.

My favorite crit to receive is like the well-done steak. Burned. Black. Dead. No weak plot point left unpoked, no flat character left unchallenged, and no useless scene left unskewered. Mockery should abound. My ideal beta reader will mock the heck outa my book, whenever they can. They will leave comments in the margins to the effect of "Again? Really? When will you stop doing this? This is driving me crazy!!!" They will protest loudly and often when I let my characters wander into a scene without knowing what they want--and communicating it somehow to the reader. They will circle my -ly verbs and, just to be sure I'm aware of it, will  recite the rule that says we should use them sparingly. They will unapologetically point out when my tense shifts, when they can't tell whose head they're in, or when my tricky turn of phrase turns them off. They will mercilessly apply heat, they will ignore all sounds of suffering, and they won't let up until it's impossible to tell just how bad the cut of meat I handed them really was. They will praise on occasion, when driven to do so, and will offer the token positive points when writing their crit, but they will focus on the flaws.

Why? Because, someday, I want to be published. If I succeed, my little darling will be slid onto a plate, decorated with some garnish, and served to people who don't know me. Who don't care about me. Whose addresses I do not know. These people will not care if I think that this little cut of my soul is perfect in all aspects. They will not care if my entire sense of self-worth is tied to whether they like it. They only care about what THEY like, and what their hard-earned dollars have purchased. And they will say, loudly and frequently, exactly which parts they hated about it. They will mock my limp voice, my flat characters, my uninteresting vocabulary choices, and my yawn-inducing scenes. UNLESS I've already identified such things and fixed them. UNLESS I have friends wonderful enough to mock me before the general public has a go. Unless my crits are well-done.

Now, I'm not saying that brutal beta-crits will completely save me. Some people won't like my book no matter how perfect it really, really is. I'm just trying to limit the number of post-publication "ouch! he's right!" moments. I want them all up front. I can take it. I have my jaw all warmed up and my steak knife ready.

What about you?

Where were YOU 11 years ago?

2013 Note: I can't let the advice in this post stand without a disclaimer: I'm now divorced. We didn't make it to 13 years. Please take all advice herein with a large grain of salt. Obviously, I don't really know what I'm talking about. Thought I did, though. Feel free to cherry pick what might work for you. Also, these rules probably work best if they're followed by both spouses. Just saying.

Okay, so Will and Kate are married. Can we talk about something else? This girl had the right idea:

Forever infamous Grace Van Cutsem. She was "over it" before "over it" was cool.

No, I'm not knocking everyone's favorite couple. I'm half Brit, myself (my dad has the accent to prove it), so I'm genetically inclined to be impressed by the royal family. Plus, I can't help myself: Will and Kate are COOL. Wasn't her dress gorgeous? What a sweet couple of kisses, huh? :)

But enough about them. Let's talk about me. The day before the Wedding of the Century, I celebrated my 11th Wedding Anniversary. (Yes, I got married in the year 2000 so that I would never need math to figure out how long I'd been married. Don't you wish you'd been that smart?)

Anyway, this was me and my hubby way back then:

We did this so much, his uncle gave us some lip balm at the luncheon.
Absolutely no little girls made faces in our pictures.

Isn't he handsome? His hair has never been long enough to part, since.

In honor of my anniversary, I thought I'd share with everyone the secrets of a long and happy 11-year (and counting) marriage. If your name is Will or Kate, feel free to emulate our example in your own marriage. The rest of you, just keep muddling along on your own. Nothing else to see here....

1. Our Rule #1 has always been "No Sleeping on the Couch." While the spirit of this law (don't go to sleep angry) has been kept, there have been many nights when I've had to wander out of the bedroom to rouse my sleeping husband at 3:00 am, so he can join me in bed. More, "sleeping apart" has happened a lot more than we'd like, with hunting season and various professional conferences taking their toll on our nights together. Still, this is a very good guideline to have. You should never be just roommates with the one you love.
2. No veto power. Jerry has lots of friends who call him lucky because I "let" him do so many things. He's on ski patrol, he goes hunting and fishing, he goes out shooting guns and playing lumberjack. Remarkable freedom for an old married man, yes? For my part, I got to drag an Idaho boy out of Idaho for FOUR LONG YEARS so I could finish my education in the BIG CITY of Provo, Utah (poor thing barely survived) and I still regularly ignore him to read, to write, to blog, and to travel to conferences where I sometimes forget to call home (oops). Why do we let each other do these things? Because we have no choice. (Oh, yeah, and because it makes the other one happy, blah, blah, blah.) I don't get to dictate to Jerry what he's allowed to do. He doesn't get to dictate to me what I'm allowed to do. We take care of our family duties as a team, but we accommodate each other when outside interests take us away. We aren't jealous of each other's time.
3. Be the Grown-Up. The first two won't work unless you act older than two. Have a little confidence in the one you married. Don't get your feel-bads all in a twist over the little things that go wrong. Take your love for granted--by which I mean accept it as a constant, and not to stop nurturing it--and don't keep checking to make sure it's still there. Paranoia is not attractive. Do the things that make your spouse happy without keeping score (except on the super-secret scoreboard you've hidden under the bed and will never EVER bring up in conversation).
4. Forgive, forgive, forgive, and APOLOGIZE FIRST. After every fight, remember this rule: the winner of the fight is the one who apologizes first. The one who can calm down the fastest. The one who can figure out what the heck the other one was saying and realize that he/she had a good point. (A wrong point, perhaps, but certainly understandable.) Once you pull your head out, it's a race to see who can ferret out all the things you personally said that might possibly have been exaggerations, euphemisms, or outright excrement. Once you've figured that out, apologize for your part in the mess. Realize that it would never have become a mess if you'd been just a bit more #3. Then forgive your spouse (and yourself) for not being more #3. Winner gets make-up... um... you know.
5. Nothing separates you. Kids don't sleep in your bed. They don't sit between you at church (yes, it's possible to keep them quiet if you have long enough arms). Mom and dad's places at the table are right next to each other, and damn the location of the head and foot. Watching a family movie? Mom and dad sit together. Don't underestimate the value of physical proximity to help your bodies and minds remember who your other half is. Support each other in everything--especially against children, in-laws, and random catty neighbors. Even if you agree with whoever is saying bad things about your spouse, you FIGHT FOR THEM. You defend them against all comers. The only one allowed to put your spouse down is you. In the privacy of your own home. Right before you do #4. If you're ever tempted to complain about your spouse, don't. Not to your mom or to your best friend. As supportive as they can be, those third partiers could hold a grudge against your spouse for the awful, awful things s/he did long after you've done #3 and #4, gotten back to #1, and remembered that you're in love. And that you have very good reasons to be so.

I'm sure there's a lot more, but my big bully of a husband is forcing me to bed (this blog will post automatically at 8 am, but my kids will wake up automatically at 7 am. In seven hours.) before he goes out on a walk to try to get his hip to settle for the night. Hopefully, he'll find his way to bed eventually....

Anyone want to help add to the list?

On Emergency Rooms, Revisions, and Balance

In the last two months, my nearest-and-dearest have visited various emergency rooms (or the equivalent) 10 times:

1. My 9-year-old son lacerated and compression-fractured his toe, requiring stitches and a walking boot.
2. My 3-year old nephew broke his arm, requiring a cast.
3. The same nephew broke the same arm again, this time in the growth plate, requiring surgery.
4. The same nephew's brother fell during Nephew 1's doctor's appointment and broke his face, possibly requiring surgery on his nose.
5. My husband's father's mother had heart issues and spent the night in the hospital, prompting family-wide panic.
6. Same grandma back in hospital a few days later after putting too much energy into putting her affairs in order and not enough into resting.
7. My mother-in-law tore her knee up skiing--ligaments traumatized.
8. Nephew 1&2's mother tore her knee up, tearing ligaments.
9. My sister had an ectopic pregnancy, requiring surgery.
10. Same sister now has pneumonia, requiring an overnight hospital stay.

Apparently, bad things don't just come in threes.

Meanwhile, my own life seems charmed--I personally keep dodging disaster. (Yeah, got me some nice wood to knock on right here....) I did a 180 on the freeway in Salt Lake on my way home, ended up stopped in the fast lane, pointing the wrong way, and drove away moments later, completely unscathed. All the cars behind me managed to miss me--even the truck with the snow plow on the front. I got to moderate at LTUE, talk to more authors for Authors' Advisory, and I spend all my free time quite seflishly pounding away at my book, reading the books of those I'll interview soon, and getting to know the other wonderful writers of the World Wide Web.

And I feel guilty. My 9-year-old had to hang out with the DVD player at the ski lodge last weekend because mommy was at a conference while everyone else was skiing. When my MIL busted her knee on that trip, another driver would have been awfully handy. My husband and sons visited his grandma the same weekend... without me. When we got news of my sister, Jerry asked if we needed to head down to be with her. I looked up from the computer and assured him all would be well, no reason to fuss. I sent her a few texts and spoke to her husband on the phone. I've let my husband handle the health updates on his own family. I'm a total slacker, family-wise.

You'd think, with all I'm ignoring to revise this monster, that I'd be farther along. Instead, I didn't revise at all last week (traveling will do that, I hear) and I've spent all this week working on ONE CHAPTER! It's a mildly important chapter, sure, but really? One? I finally laid it to rest last night and I'm moving on tonight, but if next month goes at all like this month has, revision-wise, I still won't have my second draft done by the end of March.

Which is really depressing.

So anyone have advice? How long does your family tolerate your absence while you hide in your writer's cave? How do you balance the duties of a wife, mother, sister, daughter, and granddaughter while still making forward progress on your writing career? Those of you who, like me, have a day-job as well--how do you balance the precious time you have left after you get home? How often does your bathroom get cleaned? (If you don't answer that, I won't either, deal?)

While writing the last paragraph above, my sons brought me their Shrek doll, which, untill recently, was stuffed with tiny white plastic beads. They want him fixed. I think I might take an hour to watch some TV, fix the doll before he completely bleeds out... and maybe even fold some laundry.

Then I'll feel guilty about not writing, instead. *sigh*

Writer Scouts: Be Prepared

I've recently become the Cub Committee Chair for my local Cub Scout Pack. I get to help the den leaders the pack master, and the assistant pack master (aka My Husband) with... whatever they need help with. (Sill trying to figure out what my job is, frankly, but I know it involves designing spreadsheets, so I'm happy.) I also have to design  a pinewood derby car. Ideas, anyone?

As everyone knows, the Boy Scout motto is "Be Prepared." (Turns out the Cub Scout motto is "Do Your Best." Who knew that?)

So I'm making a list of things a writer needs to have nearby all the time to be prepared. And to do their best.

• Something to write on / with. For tech-lovers like me, that means a laptop, though a regular peice of paper and a pen should work fine. I just can't compose on paper: I need the clickity click of the keyboard to inspire me. Thursday night, when my nine-year-old son, BoyD, tried a highly scientific experiment to find out what would happen when a foot wearing a sock collided at high speeds with a foot wearing a shoe, necessitating a trip to the ER for stitches, I took the time to grab my laptop on the way out the door. Just in case we were there forever and I was going to have time to write. It stayed in the car, since we were only there a few hours... but my husband still mocked me. What? Just because he has two fractured toes doesn't mean he needs undivided attention.
• A book. Sadly, this works a bit counter to the purpose of bringing along your writing materials, but what writer can survive without a book? If you only have five minutes of "down-time" you can read a page or two. It would take that long just to turn on the laptop. Thursday night, my husband and son ganged up on me and actually made me keep my book in my purse. Even during the long and boring period while we were waiting for the doctor to come and do the stitching. Even despite my repeated assurances that, as soon as I pulled the book out, the doctor would appear. (Books are magic like that.) It was torture, but I survived it. Harder to survive was that night when my husband forced me to bed at 11 pm by hiding said book before he went to the store. When BoyD woke up hurting at midnight and needed some mommy attention, I had no book to keep me occupied while I held his hand. Instead, BoyD helped me play a computer game. (Yes, the computer was already on--you try writing at midnight!) (No, I'm not addicted to reading. I can stop anytime. I just choose not to.)
• Imagination. This is for those times when neither of the above are available. You can't write, you can't read. You are forced to just sit there and look bored like a "normal" person. Doing nothing, for the sake of... solidarity? Good parenting? (I refuse to believe my children are benefited by mommy looking bored, but whatever.) Anyway, during these periods, you can foil them all by using your imagination. Figure out what is supposed to happen next in your WIP. Play "what if" by rearranging elements to see what would happen. Run through the plot looking for obvious holes. Or, hey, think up ideas for your next WIP. The sky isn't even a limit, here. (Now if only there were a good way to record all your great ideas as you come up with them....)

BoyD is doing okay, by the way. He has a walking boot and won't be skiing for a while, but we have some lovely gross pictures (which I won't share here--you're welcome) of his toe in various stages of lacerated disrepair. After the fractures were discovered on Friday (after we finally grew a couple spines and figured out how to insist on x-rays--by visiting our favorite medical professional), he was prescribed some lovely drugs to stop infection and pain.

And I have another going-to-the-hospital memory to add to my arsenal for when something similar happens to one of my characters.

What about you? What things do you find essential to have on hand to support your writerly instincts? Chocolate? (Chocolate makes your book jacket picture look fat. So I hear.) MP3 player with your favorite tunes? (How can you write with that noise?) A quiet room all to yourself? (What? You haven't learned to tune your kids out? Need some tips?)

Top 2010... 10

2010 was actually a bit of a banner year for me. (What does that mean, anyway? Banner year? Anyway, it was pretty cool.) It's hard to prioritize all the awesome things that have made this year one of the best ever, but here's the list anyway, in no particular order.

1. Finished writing my first full novel. Yes, I can write over 102,000 words on the same story—and most of those words were written this year. It’s still really bad and needs major surgery to make it really live, but it sure is cool to see all the bones, blood, and guts lying there, waiting to be stitched together.
2. Went to my first writer’s conference (LDS Story Makers) in April, where I met a ton of really cool authors, including Dan Wells, James Dashner, and Aprilynne Pike. Jessica Day George was also there, and, though I’d met her before, it was still awesome to see her.
3. Reunited with Susan Kennedy Jensen, my college roommate. Susan, who now runs a mean book blog, flew to Utah from Arizona to attend LDSSM with me. It was cool to hang out with her there, since every aspiring author wants to talk to the book blogger in the room!
4. Met The Six. I’d been following Brodi Ashton’s blog religiously for a while and was thrilled when Brodi and four of her writer’s group agreed to meet Susan and me for dinner the evening before the LDSSM conference started. A funnier group of girls you’ll never meet. Then, in December, I also got to interview them for the Farland Authors’ Advisory.  I’m feeling a bit like the little sister that follows her older, cooler sisters around, but none of them have told me to get lost yet….
5. Lost the LDSSM First Chapter contest—which would normally be a low point, except Brodi so completely deserved to win and I loved, loved, loved the comments from my judges. Especially the judge that scored me the lowest: he/she said that I was a “very, very, good” writer, encouraged me to keep writing, and said my story was as good as Aprilynne Pike’s Wings.  How can I feel bad about that? Wings is an NYT Bestseller! I’ll take criticism like that any day.
6. Finally got a writer’s group. When David Farland announced on the Daily Kick that he was starting an online writer’s forum, I was thrilled! I immediately asked his brother, Jim Wolverton if I could help, wrote the Critique Guide, got to be Jim’s own group leader, and have been basking in the perfection that is the Pied Pipers ever since. They actually encouraged me to write crazy elaborate rules! I promise, many of them will be bestsellers soon, and everyone will be reading their books. Meanwhile, they’re willing to help me figure out and hone all the writing skills I’ve forgotten since I left college. I have no idea how anyone writes without a group. If you are not in a group yet, do yourself a favor and check out David Farland’s Writer’s Groups.
7. Got to host Farland’s Authors’ Advisory. When Jim announced they were getting bestselling authors to give us free writing advice in conference calls, I resisted raising my hand for, oh, a week? Then I oh-so-casually mentioned that I’d be happy to help out and Jim was nice enough to let me. My co-host, Mike Shaffer, is a talented hoot and a half and our minds work just opposite enough to make sure things should never be boring. I’m still a bit starry-eyed that I get to interview such great authors, even if it’s just by phone. So much fun!
8. I’ve read 138 books. Not counting the 5 full-length novels I critiqued or the books I started and didn’t quite finish. (Like the last half of my re-read of Breaking Dawn.) I’ve revisited old favorite authors, like Stephenie Meyer, Patricia Briggs, Robyn Carr, and Brandon Sanderson, and found new favorites like Gail Carriger, Dan Wells, and Janette Rallison. (I have too many favorites to list them all, truly.) If you ever need a book recommendation, I’m your girl.
9. I started a blog. This is more of a time commitment than a cause for celebration, but it becomes more wonderful when you consider that the design comes courtesy of my friend Devoney Wolf, who sent out a very timely email asking if anyone needed a web page designed, since she had to do a school project for her web design class. Um, yeah! I love her design. Isn’t it great? Then, of course, my awesome sister-in-law, Paula Weeks, took some pictures that make me look amazing. (If I do say so myself--and you would, too, if you could compare them to my normal appearance.)
10. My family is well. My brother John got married to a wonderful girl this summer, my sister Vanessa survived the wildfires in Utah with her house intact, and all my nieces and nephews are growing up—albeit too quickly—to be wonderful young men and women. My own children are growing and are such awesome kids. My husband continues to support me despite having no idea why I like books, and loves me even though he has to regularly turn my light out at night and take my book (or computer, as the case may be) away so I can get some sleep. He’ll never read what I write, but I couldn’t write anything if he didn’t make it possible. This year was our ten year anniversary and we still behave like newlyweds. My husband is always on my top ten list.

Oh, and I also lost 20 pounds! It can be done! Now I'll look so much better on my eventual book tours.... :) (See the last blog post about delusions....)

How was 2010 for you? Think 2011 can top it?