My Identity Crisis

Boy, have the last two years been a rollercoaster of fun. In two days, I'll hit the two-year anniversary of my sudden divorce. Four days after that, I'll hit the two-month-iversary of my almost-as-sudden new marriage. [Edit: Dang, but do I suck at dates. I was married on December 19, 2014. My 2-month-iversary isn't until February 19. I just passed my 1-month-iversary on January 19th, so what I MEANT to say is "four days ago, I celebrated my 1-month-iversary...." I need more sleep. If you all will just do the dates for me from now on, that'd be great.]

A week ago today, I said goodbye to my decade-long career as a full-time Public Defender, moved to Salt Lake City, Utah, and have embarked on a new career as a full-time sorter-of-junk-in-moving-boxes, organizer-of-junk-in-closets, and motherer-of-children-who-scatter-junk... or is that just how it seems? Part time (while the kids are in school, and trusting that the boxes will wait) I'll be a freelance writer, with some law stuff training to take care of on the horizon. *Makes note to send in bar dues, just in case*

I'm also planning to really get serious about that Become Bestselling Novelist bucket-list item I've been fiddling with for years. Because I need more red carpets in my life. (Doesn't everybody?)

At the same time that I'm trying on all these fancy new hats, I'm changing my legal name (well, theoretically--the project keeps getting buried in other minutia) to Kirkham. I'm trying to figure out how to alter my scribble of a signature to make the A in Ambrose look more like a K (mostly by writing a K over the top of the A that magically appears .2 seconds after I put pen to paper, despite my best intentions to pause after Robin). (The rest of the letters are utterly illegible anyway.) I'm getting used to introducing myself as Robin Kirkham. To answering to Mrs. Kirkham and Sister Kirham. Even my kids are getting used to my new name.

But...

Here, and elsewhere in the world where I'm a writer first and the rest of it hardly at all, I'm still Robin Ambrose. I've always loved my maiden name, and one of the silver linings of two years ago was the realization that I hadn't yet published a book under my ex-husband's name. When I go to writer's conferences with Robin Ambrose on my name tag, people think I made the name up, it's so perfect. So as much as I love and trust my new husband, Nate, I'm embracing this chance to splinter myself into separate personalities and make myself so confused that I have no idea WHO I am or WHAT IN THE WORLD I'm supposed to be doing, now. Because, fun!

6 months ago, I was a single working mother, a full-time lawyer, and a (let's face it) hobbyist writer. Starting this week, I'm a Stay-at-Home married mother, freelancer, and a serious-but-unpublished writer. The "What do you do" question just got more complicated.

Anyone else ever change just about everything about the Definition of You in one fell swoop?

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!

Late to the "And You Are...?" blog hop

I didn't even see Emily King's and Tammy Theriault's blog hop until today, but I wanted to play anyway, so here I am. :)


1. How many speeding tickets have you gotten?

Um... none? I was pulled over for speeding once and given a warning because I was new to the area. Now ask me how many accidents I've caused. Uh, actually, never mind. Don't ask.

2. Can you pitch a tent?

Yes. But why, when I have a husband to do it for me? :)

3. What was your worst vacation ever?

First family reunion with the new in-laws. We left the pretty lake and drove 3 hours one way to take a 15-minute tour of a house carved into a rock. The tour guide wasn't even all that good.

4. What was the last thing you bought over $100?
Smart phone. Oh, how I love it! *Wonders if it was really over $100* *Decides that yes, yes it was*

5. We're handing you the keys to what?

Sadly, I don't care much. I want it fuel-efficient, with comfy seats, power windows-and-stuff, sunroof, and approved by hubby.

6. What was the last meal you cooked that made even you sick?

Well, I made brownies when I was about 12 that had waaay too much salt in them. Other than that, I eat just about anything, so it's hard to make something that makes me sick. :) I did get food poisoning at a restaurant, once, though....

7. Fill in the blank: Oh my gosh! Becky, look at her butt! It is so big. She looks like ____?
I used to before I decided to start using my gym membership!

8. What was your first car?
The one my husband had when we got married. :)

9. Your best friend falls and gets hurt. Do you ask if he/she's okay or laugh first?

Smile first, then concern face (quick, before she can see), then laugh later. Together.

10. What's the worst song ever?

All I Wanna Do is Make Love to You by Heart. I mean, seriously? You're in love with someone else and you think there's anything right about sleeping with a random stranger? Poor poor tortured soul. (Well, obviously not tortured enough.) Worse? I went back to look up the artist and read through the lyrics again. And now I know she slept with him because the man she loved couldn't give her a baby. So now she's completely betrayed two men. *shudders*

So did you play? Wanna join late so I'm not the last one on the list?

GUTGAA Meet and Greet

Its the first day of the Gearing Up To Get An Agent Blogfest!

Today, we're all answering get-to-know-you questions and adding bios.

Where do you write?
I write at the computer in our tiny living room. The couch is at my right elbow and the TV is over my right shoulder, so my neck kinks to the right whenever my kids are watching Phineas and Ferb.

Quick. Go to your writing space, sit down and look to your left. What is the first thing you see?
The kitchen table is close enough to hold my snacks. When it's dinner time, a quick push of my legs and a 45 degree rotation puts me in front of my food. (Hubby cooks.) :)

Favorite time to write?
Not sure if it's my "favorite" time, but I usually write at night. (Day job.) On weekends, I write in spurts through the day, between occasional chores.

Drink of choice while writing?
Water. Tastes great, less filling, zero calories. Sometimes I'll add lemon.

When writing , do you listen to music or do you need complete silence?
All noise is background, so silence is my choice when I can get it. If the family is watching a show I'm inclined to enjoy, I'll put on Pandora and headphones. I like Film Scores Radio most of the time. :)

What was your inspiration for your latest manuscript and where did you find it?
My WIP (not the book I'm pitching in the blogfest) was inspired by this (which you'll have to watch on YouTube):


Plus this: Writing Excuses 7.25: Writing Capers

What's your most valuable writing tip?
You can't fix a blank page.

Below is the bio in my query, but since it's going to be in the query for the blogfest, I'm blanking it out so you have to select it to read it. If you're a judge, there's nothing else to see, here.

I’m a host of David Farland’s Authors’ Advisory, where I grill bestselling authors for free writing advice. By day, I’m a criminal defense lawyer, where I learn about the drug trade directly from traffickers and addicts. I’ve published a paper on the juvenile death penalty, but I have not yet published a work of fiction. The death penalty paper was easier.

Anyway, enough about me. Go sign up and tell me about you! Then find out about the rest of the GUTGAA bloghoppers:

200 Posts--and I Feel Like a Slacker

In honor of my 200th blog post, I've written a poem-type thing using only 200 words. It's about why I feel like a slacker (mostly because I am). Enjoy!

One day job: full-time fun, free-time price

Too many books to read: sixty-seven this year... so far

Three children growing fast: how can I not read to them?

Forever companion: he lets me read, he lets me write. He deserves attention

Five people in a fixer-upper I should occasionally clean.

I have written, edited, polished, and queried one book

I have finally outlined my next book

I have an idea sitting, gathering sparks

I have a short story percolating, waiting its turn

I have to query more, write more, edit more, dream MORE.

I’m a slacker group leader of an awesome writing group

I’m a procrastinating host of a podcast that's been silent too long

I’m a blogger of writing topics who neglects her own writing

I’m a wanna-be who wants it to be NOW

I’m afraid I’m a poser.

There aren’t enough hours in the day or days in the year or years in my life

There isn’t a single excuse for the way I’ve been waiting for my dreams

There can’t be a vice more powerful than sloth

There doesn’t seem to be rest for the weary

There won’t ever be a pinnacle I’m happy to rest on.

What dreams do you neglect?

M is for Mark (the baby)

I love all my siblings, and could never pick a favorite. Really. I couldn't. And wouldn't. And you shouldn't, either.

But if I had to, Mark would be in the running. Definitely in the top five.

Yeah, I think this pic speaks for itself.

Though my parents succeeded in turning five out of the six of us into readers, only Mark seems to be as obsessed with books as I am. Like me, he'll always have a book nearby and he devours them. He mostly reads epic fantasy and sci fi, two (of the many) genres I adore.

Mostly, though, I love Mark because one day, when I was visiting over the holidays, he got all excited telling me about the guy who was picked to finish Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series. Yanno, this guy named Brandon Sanderson. Who? I asked. He was quite appropriately shocked and I left with the first two MISTBORN books in my hot little hands. (Mark, if you're reading this, I totally returned those to you. Like, ages ago. I'm not up here, years later, ignoring who they belong to while I loan them out to all my friends. Nu-uh.)

Since then, I can depend upon Mark to text me whenever there is any awesome Brandon news. He's content to talk books with me far into the night.

Also? Best. Uncle. Ever.

He did most of his growing up after I left home, but from the day I got to help with his home-delivery (which was awesome) to the day he got taller than all of us, my "littlest" brother Mark has been a constant source of delight.

Which can only increase when he proposes to his girlfriend already. *waves to Kelly* *is glad she's so far away* *is now worried that she'll see them in three weeks* *still doesn't delete the paragraph*

Any of your siblings share your obsessions?

L is for Lynette (aka My Clone)

If my husband is my opposite (see April 11), my mother is my clone. Or, well, I'm her clone? Something like that. Today is Friday the 13th, but I don't need to switch bodies with my mom to feel like I've walked in her shoes.

Observe:

Mom was an Air Force brat, so her parents traveled all over and instilled in her a sense of global consciousness. My father is English, and my mother was an Air Force brat. Voila global consciousness.

Her parents raised her with a love of the theatre. When she directed Fiddler on the Roof for our church group years ago, I played Tevya's youngest daughter. Turns out limelight is genetic and addictive.

Mom majored in Theatre Arts at BYU, with an emphasis in directing and a minor in English. Me, too.

When she met my dad, she left her entire family to follow him to the land of his origin (though they returned a couple years later). When I married my husband, I left my entire family to follow him to the land of his origin. Fortunately, we're close enough to visit a couple times a year.

Mom worked outside the home most of the years I was growing up. My children also have a working mother and stay-at-home father.

She eventually settled down as a legal secretary and later became a paralegal. I worked at her law firm in high school and college . . . and went to law school.

Mom reads fiction and can be relied upon to have a book at hand at all times. I read fiction and feel lost if I don't have a book nearby. Neither of us read much nonfiction outside of work.

I have my mother's hips, her struggle with weight, and my face flushes just like hers when I exercise. Speaking of her face, all that blood means that we get fewer wrinkles than the rest of you. Which is a Very Cool Thing. Mostly because I'm also her spitting image, which means I'll look just like this in a few decades:

I know. You're jealous.

Okay, side stories: When I had her wedding picture copied once, the copy shop girl completely flipped at how much we look alike. That same year, we went to Hawaii together (dad was busy, dang it) and two boys my age (23) checked us out. One of them pointed to the one next to him, then to each of us and proclaimed "Hey! Brother, brother, sister, sister!" Mom was not amused when I returned with "Mother, daughter!"

There are, of course, some differences. I'll never have Mom's neat handwriting, I struggle to be as self-sacrificing as she can be, and I'm a tad more outgoing than she ever was. You'd think, though, that we would have butted heads as I grew, and would have constantly been at daggers-drawn since we're so similar. We weren't. (Not as much as you'd think, I mean.) I give full credit for that to her generous, wise, and loving nature. (It certainly wasn't because I was an obedient, malleable child.) She gave me room to grow and the tools to become whatever I wanted.

Is it any wonder I chose to follow her?

So are you your mother's daughter? Father's son? Do you fight it or just accept the inevitable?

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?

I is for In-Laws (and why mine are cooler than yours)

When my husband told his mother that he was getting married (to me), her first words were "No, you're not!" Or something like that. She was Not. A. Fan. Of the idea of her firstborn getting hitched, that is. She's always liked me. Really. She has!

Here's an old picture of the happy family:

Clockwise from the back left: Yvette, Jerry,
Jerry "Dee", Michelle, Debbie, Carl

I couldn't be happier with my in laws, which is a pretty weird thing to say. The only thing we fight about is what to call my husband. (He's a Junior, so they call him by his middle name, which he does NOT prefer. His little sister actually corrected me once right after we got engaged: "His name is Dee!" I'm all, well, I love him, he wants to be called Jerry, so that's what I'm a-gonna do.)

Meet my mother-in-law, Yvette, whose name I mention mainly because I think it's awesome that it's so close my own mother's name, Lynette (come back on Friday--the 13th--for more on my mom). In case that's not enough Twilight Zone for you, her next child to get married has a mother-in-law named Annette. Yvette married her Jerry while they were still in high school, which she graduated with two kids in tow.Yvette never meddles, but she steals my children for a week every summer. She's a master gardener / canner / foodstorage-er, so when the world economy collapses, I'll be at her house, which is always immaculate, dang her.  She is now a volunteer EMT, and can hunt, camp, lumberjack, and drive a truck up muddy back roads as well as any man. I'd want to be her when I grow up, but I haven't a prayer.

Jerry (Sr.), like my own Jerry, is Yin to his wife's Yang. He is calm to her frantic energy and helps to ground her--and the rest of the family. He's a great patriarch, always there when you need him (unless his job--which he's held since they got married--is on shut-down), and instilled in his children the benefits of hard work. He taught my own Jerry how to be the wonderful husband and father he is today, for which I cannot thank him enough.

Carl, my-Jerry's "little" brother was close enough behind him to be guaranteed a spot as his lifelong buddy, companion, and nemesis. Their personalities are much too similar to ensure perfect harmony, but they can get along swimmingly so long as they're hunting, fishing, or working. They're a force to be reckoned with when they play on the same basketball team, but if they're on opposite teams... someone's gonna bleed. Carl, his wife Paula, and their two adorable adopted children are our only relatives to live in our same town (unless you count in-law-in-laws), and it is wonderful having them so close. (Paula could stand to be a little less perfect, actually. It's hard to hold my head up next to someone who can claim credentials as a nurse, model, and photographer, and who can take some old doors and turn them into amazing bookshelves. Seriously.)

Debbie, the oldest girl, is a lot like her mother in that she goes out and gets done what needs to be done. She's got a nursing degree, four wonderful boys, and a house big enough to open up for the whole family when we want to get together. (What, me? Jealous?) Her husband Jeremy is steady, supportive, and was in college the same time I was in law school, so we would do homework together over holidays. Ah, bonding.

Michelle, the baby, has a gorgeous voice and is the first of all of us to break the no-female-grandchildren policy (that's a big deal, believe me). She now has three beautiful little girls, a handsome son, and a husband (Nathan) who adores her. I'm constantly impressed with her ability to handle whatever life throws at her with a cheerful smile and stubborn determination.

So how do you feel about your in-laws? Look forward to spending time with them? Try to get out of it as much as possible? Are you jealous that mine are so cool?

H is for Heather (the "perfect" sister)

I was almost two when Heather was born, so I have absolutely no memories that pre-date her. That's a wonderful thing, because she's been a steady force for good in my life.

She's the "angel" middle child. The peacemaker 3rd-of-6 who always manages to be liked by everyone. (The mother's curse even worked to get her four angel-children of her very own.)

She's also the sister with the blond hair that my mother thought was a lot like spun gold. When she decided to get it permed like her big sisters, my dad spend the afternoon brushing it so it wouldn't take.

In high school, I caught her singing along to the radio while reading a book. I've never been able to figure out how she does that.

Several years ago, she served as a very young Relief Society President of her ward. For those of you who don't know what that is, she was in charge of the women's service organization of her congregation, including all the welfare efforts, funerals, instruction, visiting teaching program, etc, etc, etc. This is a job normally handled by someone much older. (I was going to say wiser, but Heather is very wise already.)

Like my big sister Denise (see April 1st), Heather married at nineteen. Where Denise missed my high school graduation for her honeymoon, I missed Heather's wedding because I was on a church mission. I did get to meet her husband before I left, though, and heartily approved. In fact, I ended up marrying a man very much like hers.

She now lives in the same city as Denise and serves as president of Denise's choir. We all look alike, but Heather is so short (and blond), the choir members who elected her didn't even know that they were sisters (different married names). Some of my favorite memories (then and now) is when we all get together (with my mom and sister Vanessa) to sing. I sooo wish I lived closer and could see them more.

Also like Denise, Heather is working hard to show the rest of us up in the fitness department. As a working mother of four, you'd think she wouldn't have time to spend hours in the gym, but she does and she looks amazing.

So do you have a sibling who's annoyingly perfect, but too nice to hate?

G is for Graham (aka Dad)

My father is English (see "E is for England" on April 5th). He has the accent to prove it and is constantly mispronouncing words like tomAHtoe and GAR-age. (He's been in America longer than I have, so I'm sure he's doing now just to be backwards.)

Dad recently took a trip to England to visit with his family upon the event of his father's funeral. (We all would have loved to go, obviously, but it's dang expensive to travel that far!) He's a photographer, so of course he came home with bunches of pictures. This one, obviously, was taken by someone else:

My dad. Isn't he handsome?

When he posted it on Facebook, dad said this about the picture:

Me on top of a fell (large hill) in Lancashire that Philip [his brother] and I climbed together. It was cold, misty and remote... just what I was looking for!

Notice the stylish hat, compass, and grey sweater / green slack combo. This is where I get my instinct for comfort and practicality over fashion. (Though I would never consider slacks to be good hiking gear.)

Growing up, Dad was always wanting to take us on nature walks, scenic drives, and "let's try to get ourselves lost" adventures. Now that he has oodles and gobs of grandchildren, whenever we get together he disappears with the lot of them like a daddy duck with a herd of ducklings. They seldom get lost, but they do come back pink-cheeked and usually saturated in dirt, snow, or water. I did not inherit dad's wanderlust, but I married a man who also loves nature (so my boys get plenty of fresh air despite mommy's homebodyness).

My dad is a huge reader and critical thinker. So many of the twists and turns my brain can take (and which must often be edited out of my writing) are easily traceable to him. Unlike me, however, he reads exclusively non-fiction. If When I publish my own work of fiction, he'll probably read it to be nice, but I don't really expect him to enjoy it. I DO expect him to sit me down and ask me to explain myself, why I included each element, and what I think about my theme, etc.

There is no letting down the mental guard around my father, folks. :) Thinking is required and enforced.

What parts of your dad do you carry around?

E is for England

I'm half English. I'm so half-English, half of my extended family still lives there.

My parents met when my father came across the pond and they both worked at Zion's National Park for a summer. When my dad's green card expired, he went back, and my mom followed him to England a few months later, where they married and started their lives together.

My older sister was born in England, but the last time I was there, I was roughly the size of a lima bean. My poor parents had to eat lima beans so much, they called them slima-beans and sang a song about them to the tune of Edelweiss. Eventually they tired of singing and moved back to America.

The internet has brought us all closer to our English relatives, but they're still VERY far away, so we seldom see them.

Stonehenge
My dad took this pic when he went
over for his dad's funeral last month

I think every American feels a bit like England is the "Mother-Country," but for me that feeling is very much more pronounced. It's harder to feel triumphant about how the colonists won the Revolutionary War. I very much want to get over there someday to see the cloudy skies and lush pastures.

Perhaps I can take a book tour there someday. :)

Where are your people from? Which country besides your homeland do you most identify with?

D is for Day-Job

Day-jobs aren't cool in the writing world, are they? Writers aren't supposed to like their day-jobs, since, obviously, no one who had any viable alternatives would actually want to write for a "living." Day-jobs are the things that get in the way of having uninterrupted writing time. The things we give up when we become bestsellers and look back on with revulsion and the relief born of escape.

Well, my day-job isn't like that.

I've loved reading since I was a tiny little thing and first discovered the wonderful lives I could live between the covers of books. I was that kid who checked out a pile of books from the library every single week. Who stayed up reading well past bed-time. Who never went anywhere without a book, just in case things got dull.

I'm still like that, come to think of it.

But that's not all I am.

At the age of 4, I told my mother to "Stop treating me like I'm 2." In second grade, I about broke down and cried when my teacher, on the first day of school, set us the task of copying sentences off the board. I've always been drawn to characters (like the girl in The Westing Game) who become lawyers or who argue effectively. I've never wanted things to be too easy. I've never wanted to be treated like I'm dumb (even when I am).

I embraced drama growing up and, my senior year, I was the Speech and Drama Sterling Scholar at my high school. Freshman year of college I gave a talk over Christmas in my home church congregation and took about three times longer than my allotment. A lawyer who heard it suggested I should be one. I scoffed. Why would I want to be a lawyer? (At that point, four more years of school was about all I could think about.)

By the time I got married, though, I'd changed my mind. I was going to law school. I took the LSAT. I applied. I was accepted. I started with one baby and graduated with two.

While I was there, I learned to love the law. Reading the cases. Writing about applications. Arguing in class, in mock courtrooms, and in competitions. Trial prep and all that jazz. I published a case note on the juvenile death penalty and learned that I could write really long things--and enjoy it. Fun. Fun. Fun.

I now have a law job. I write fiction at night. I read whenever I can. I'm blessed with a terrific boss and colleagues who also love to read. I still love to argue. Love to say things like "I'm off to court" and "I'm with a client" and "objection" and "your honor." Take guilty pleasure in the foolish way people assume I'm not-dumb if I let slip that I'm a lawyer.

So why do I want to write? To publish? To start a second career? Because I've loved books longer. I love books better. And because, unless lightning strikes and I win the bestseller lottery, I'll never have to choose between the two.

But also because, if I ever do make enough writing to quit my day-job, I'm hoping I'll get to spend more time helping raise my kids. Because I love my family best of all.

So do you have a day-job? Do you hate it? Love it? Plan to leave it as soon as possible?

I Got Tagged!

Donna Weaver tagged me on Saturday and this one is rather interesting: I have to get to write my own questions!

First, here's the rules (with a slight alteration by Donna):

The Tag rules: 1. You must post the rules! 2. Answer the questions and then create eleven new questions to ask the people you’ve tagged. 3. Tag eleven seven (because it's a magical number) people and link to them. 4. Let them know you’ve tagged them.

#1... check.

Now, here's Donna's questions, with my answers:

1. If Abe Lincoln and George Washington got into a fight who’d win--and why?

Hm. This is a toughie. George Washington kicked England's butt on American soil when England was better equipped, better, trained... and very far from home. Abe Lincoln got his own country to stop fighting with itself. Plus, he was a lawyer (apropos of nothing but still cool) and had a lot of experience with failure. Abe's scrappier. He can take George.

2. What was your favorite book in 2011?

Duh. EVERNEATH. It's technically a 2012 book, but I read it in 2011.

3. If you had a magical snail that could grant wishes, what would you ask for?

I've always wanted to be able to fly....

4. What would your last meal be if you were on death row?

I can barely decide what to have for dinner tonight. I'd probably go with lobster, though, just because I haven't ever had it and I know it's expensive. Not that I'd be able to eat.

5. Who is your favorite, Bill or Ted? Why?

George. (I've never seen a movie with "Excellent" in the title, but George is always cooler.)

6. What will your weapon of choice be for the coming zombie apocalypse? Why?

A scythe and a hooded cloak. The zombies will think I'm Death and will run away because they'll know instinctively that they can't escape twice. And if they're too stupid, I'll have a big knife on the end of a long stick.

7. Who is your favorite literary stalker?

Edward. It might be creepy, but I thought it was sweet that he went to her room every night. Intentions matter, yo?

8. If people were thrown in jail for bad habits, what would you be thrown in jail for?

I plead the 5th.

9. What is the most distant place you've visited or lived?

Washington, D.C. Unless you count locales when I was the size of a bean. Then it's England.

10. If a spaceship were to land outside your house right now, would you get in it? If yes, where would you ask it to take you--and it could be anywhere you wanted to go.

Yes: Kolob. But just for a visit.

11. Who is your favorite author?
Unfair question. I love too many, and my favorite changes based on who has the most recent book out. See my left sidebar.

Okay, so now for my own questions:

1. How many books did you read last year? What was your favorite genre?
2. Which popular genre have you tried and tried but can never really get into?
3. Which literary character is most like your ideal spouse? Which is most like your actual spouse /  significant other? Why?
4. Besides writing and reading, what is your favorite pastime?
5. If you could play God and change one thing about the world, what would it be? Limitation: you can't mess with free agency.
6. Which writer's conferences have you attended? If you had unlimited time and money, which conferences would you attend?
7. You're on a talk show, talking about your newest bestseller. The host announces a surprise guest: the author you've always been inspired by, but have never met. Who comes out on stage? What is your reaction?
8. If you could design the cover for your WIP, what would it look like?
9. Which literary villain scared you the most?
10. Pantser or outliner?
11. Which one of your characters would most benefit the world, if made real? Which one should stay fictional--for all our sakes?

Now for the hard part: choosing who to tag. Might as well pick on... my writing group! (Obviously, Donna and Barbara Jean can ignore this tag.) Best part of that idea? They're already listed over in the sidebar---->

Also, I can contact them all in the same place! :)

Yes, I'm lazy.

Kreative Blogger Award

I'm still bummed that I didn't get to go to Brodi Ashton's launch party, so I'm soothing my feel-bads by accepting a blogger award!

This one is from Jenny Kaczorowski (which, for the record, is REALLY hard to spell without looking), an awesome friend who has helped me tons with my query lately.

Isn't it pretty?

So here's what I have to do:

1. Post 10 things you may not know about me 
2. Pass it along to six other bloggers.

Ready for another random list of useless Robin trivia?

1. In elementary school, I was the skinniest kid in the class. Then puberty came calling and I never clued in that I couldn't eat whatever I wanted anymore. Worse, I fell for that "I'm eating for two" thing during my first pregnancy. WHY didn't anyone tell me that was a myth? Yeah, like a human the size of a bean needs his own large serving of lasagna.
2. In middle school, I won a school writing contest with a short story about a little girl who was abused by her mother. My mother was not amused.
3. I'm my mother's clone. Which is awesome, because when I was 23, she was mistaken for my sister.
4. I've been acting and singing since I was very young and was in a children's singing group called the Rainbow Connection. I still can't stand that song, but several of my elementary school pictures featured me in my RC costume. Heaven knows why. 
5. I cut bangs into my hair for that group and spent the next five years trying to grow them out.
6. In middle school, my choir teacher was Mr. Broomhead.  When I went to high school, the high school hired Mr. Broomhead as choir teacher, where he continued to teach me through senior year Madrigals. (YONC!) When I graduated, Mr. Broomhead went on to teach at BYU. Sadly, I never took his choral class, since I was keeping my evenings free in case I landed a part in one of the major plays. I took private voice lessons instead.
7. I never landed a part in any of the major plays, though I did get to act in some student projects.
8. I settled on a directing emphasis and the fabulous Shelly Brown starred in my Mask Club play for my intermediate directing class.
9. I haven't even ATTENDED a play in years and I miss it sooo much! Too bad being in plays is such a time suck.
10. I sing in my church choir, but my favorite singing group is with my mother and sisters. We all have the same voice (ok, well, my sister's is better), so blending is no problem.

And I'm giving this award to...

• Krista Van Dolzer for her awesome contests
• Ru for her fearlessly hilarious posts
• Deana Barnhart, blogfester extraordinaire
• Shelly Brown (who blogs with her husband), because I'd feel guilty if I mentioned her and didn't give her the award, and not because she's hilarious or anything
• Brenda Drake, another of my favorite contest sites
• Donna Weaver, who packs good advice onto her blog and lets me stay at her house for LTUE

Boy, that's hard to choose. If I didn't pick you, don't fret. Blogger awards are the chain-mail of the blogosphere, so you're sure to get it eventually. :)

So who got to go to Brodi's book launch last night? Was it awesome?

Happy Turkey Day!

Happy Turkey Day, everyone!

A short list of the things I'm thankful for:

1. My husband, who lets me write, read, ignore the chilins, and leave him for writer's conferences. I couldn't accomplish half of what I do without him.
2. My three sons, who take it as a given that my book will be sold someday, catapulting us to vast riches.
3. My extended family, biological, in-law, and adopted, who don't gripe (much) when I'm antisocial at family functions, with my nose in a book or my fingers on a keyboard--but who make me feel welcome when I can tear myself away to play games with them.
4. My wonderful blog followers, twitter friends, online writer's groupies, and other scores of people, most of whom I've never met in real life, who have encouraged my writing, critiqued my book, corrected my mistakes, motivated my NaNo, and generally been downright awesome. You guys are the best!
5. My real-life friends (few of whom read my blog... that I know of), who keep me grounded, remind me that there is life outside the computer, and who ask about how my book is coming.
6. Authors, libraries, book stores, publishers, agents, and everyone else involved in feeding my addiction to stories. My life would be so much poorer without you.
7. My day-job, which proves every day that real-life conflict is stranger and more compelling than anything found in a book. And which occasionally proves that happy endings are still possible.

I hope everyone's Thanksgiving is going well, and that you are surrounded by family, friends, and great food. And good books. :)

September 11th

I wasn't near lower Manhattan that day, like Meg Cabot was. I didn't lose anyone I knew. Like everyone else around the world, however, I was still effected. This is my quite ordinary story.

When Flights 11, 77, and 93 took off, around 8:14 AM EDT, I was probably sleeping, safe in the mountain time zone. My husband headed off to work at about that time, and my 5-month old son may or may not have woken me up early. I can't remember.

I probably woke up sometime around 8:46 AM EDT, when Flight 11 hit Tower 1. I was a first year law student and had a class to get to that morning. At 8:59 AM EDT, while passengers on Flight 175 made final calls to loved ones on their way to their 9:03 appointment with Tower 2, I was probably feeding and cooing at my son. What with dressing myself and getting the baby ready for the sitter, I didn't have time for the morning news.

At around 9:37 AM EDT, when Flight 77 crashed into the Pentagon, I would have left my apartment and crossed the quad of the married student housing to drop my son off at the babysitter's apartment. My husband had totaled my car just a few days prior, so I had to walk to school, about ten minutes away.

My babysitter had been watching the news, and told me what had happened. Though I certainly didn't doubt her, it still wasn't real. I didn't know anyone who might have been in danger. The immediate impact on my life was abstract enough that I spent the walk to school being grateful that my worst problem was the lack of a vehicle--and wondering what they'd call the tragedy. "September 11th" was the obvious choice.

Class was scheduled to start at about 8:00 am MDT, as Tower 2 was collapsing. I remember standing in the hallway with other law students, watching one of the monitors in the corner of the ceiling, as professors rushed around. I don't remember being aware of the towers falling in real-time, so perhaps class started later, or it took me a while to wander  through the building to see the monitor. About that same time, Flight 93 crashed in Pennsylvania, though we didn't know about that for a while.

Eventually, the professors told us that they'd decided to cancel class. Mainly in the interests of national solidarity, since it seemed unconscionable to go on with our normal lives, pretending everything was fine, just because no one had destroyed one of OUR buildings.

Tower 1 fell at 10:28 AM EST, so by the time I picked up my baby and got home, most of the tragedy was over. I spent the day holding my son, staring at the television, and counting my blessings.

A few years later, I learned that a surgeon I knew had been in New York for a conference that day. As might be expected, they went to area hospitals to help out with what they expected to be a huge influx of wounded. He says that there were no wounded to help. They waited and waited, but no one came needing their skills.

In the patriotic furor that followed that day, my husband and I put a fast-food restaurant window cling in the back window of our new-to-us vehicle. Above the image of the American flag, it says "God Bless America" and underneath it says "September 11, 2001". It's still there today--we've never found an appropriate time to remove it.

All three of my sons have grown up knowing about 9/11. We haven't shielded them from it. Today, while exploring the 9/11 interactive timeline available through the National 9/11 Memorial, I had to remind my 8-year-old that what happened that day is not good fodder for jokes. They understand most of what happened, but not why or what it means for them. They have no nightmares.

Over the last few weeks, my husband and I have been watching the series "Rising: Rebuilding Ground Zero" on the Discovery Channel. I highly recommend it--and not just because it turns out it was directed by Steven Spielberg. The series doesn't focus on the tragedy, but on the hopeful future. On the way America is rising from the ashes of tragedy to come back bigger and better than we were before.

The saying goes that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I heard a woman with terminal brain cancer joke once that even things that DO kill you can make you stronger. I pray that the deaths--of people, of ideals, and of some measure of hope--of September 11, 2001, can indeed continue to strengthen us as a nation. We need to get beyond sorrow, hate, and revenge and focus instead on the future, on the triumph of the human spirit. On using our hard-earned strength for good. That's what the heroes of that day did. We can do no less.

Tag: 10 Random Facts About Me

In the Platform Builders Campaign, I'm in Group 30: Urban Fantasy(1), where we're having fun with our first group challenge: twitter-tagging each other on our blogs. I was tagged by Megan Nafke (@Megan Nafke).

I don't know many of my group members well yet, but I'm tagging the following four fabulous females:

Lori M. Lee (@LoriMLee)--I've been seeing Lori around the web for months now, since we always seem to join the same contests. Her entries are always amazing, dang it.

Shannon Lawrence (aka The Warrior Muse) (@thewarriormuse)--I just love her moniker... and her blog ain't bad, either.

Miss Cole-Burke: (@MissColeBurke)--she's English (I'm half English), and she likes YA-UF for all the same reasons I do. :)

Amanda Leigh Cowley (@millymoomandy)--she writes adult UF (which is also good), has an ebook available, and posts a new Magic Eye picture every Friday! My eyes are having trouble focusing right now....

Okay, so now here's the 10 Random Facts about Me. I've done lots of About Me lists, so I'm getting my three sons to help me with this one:

So, boys, what are some random things about me?

1. D: You like books


2. C: You read books a lot


3. B: You're writing a book right now


4. D: You have three boys


5. C: You like House


6. B: You want a girl 


7. D: (channeling daddy) Which is not happening


8. C: (also channeling daddy) We won't have any more children


9. B: (vying for favorite) You love us!


10. C: (claiming the last spot) You go to work.

Also, in high school, I had the coolest Magic Eye poster on the back of my bedroom door: it was a knight with a sword protecting a damsel in distress from a flying dragon. Castle included. So. Awesome.

What posters did you have on your teenage walls?

Added: Oh, and my dragon obsession is explained by my birth year: The Year of the Dragon.

What's yours?

Feelin' Popular

Like many of those who retreat to our writer's caves and churn out YA novels about the nerdy kids who overcome schoolyard bullying, I was not so popular as a school girl. I had a core of very nice and loyal friends and a handful of BFF's along the way, but I was never going to win anything decided by popular vote. (I was in the drama club presidency because the elected president invented a new office and appointed me to it).

So imagine my shock when I was asked to give my third personal interview in three months!

He inherited this face from me.

Chantele Sedgwick asked me first and posted in July, Sara Eden asked me second but posted in June, and now the blog-fest-tastic Deana Barnhart has asked me to be a part of her First Fridays series. I mean, wow. How'd I get to be this cool? (Maybe you shouldn't answer that.)

Go read my interview on Deana's blog (which you should be following if you're not already) and find out how long it took me to finish my first book, where I want to be in 5 years, and what I started doing this week.

Poetry Summer Week 5: De Stove Pipe Hole

Made my husband listen to me pass of Success is Counted Sweetest. Only missed two words. Fixed em. Moving on. :)

Last night at my husband’s family reunion, we had a talent show. My son and two of his cousins (a time or two removed) sang the song at the end of Monsters, Inc and I’ve Been Watching You by Rodney Atkins. My in-laws roped me and my sister-in-law into singing a primary song (Where is Heaven), which we sang about 5 minutes after scanning the words, struggling to remember the tune, and singing a verse or two quietly to ourselves. One of Jerry’s adult cousins did a “skit” which consisted of a game of 20 questions preceded by the hint “two sisters both died in unique ways. Name the movie.” After a few unhelpful questions, a 10-year-old cousin chimed in with “The Wizard of Oz!” And thus ended the talent show.

So what does this have to do with poetry?

Me, Grandpa LeRoy's portrait,
my son, whose middle name is LeRoy,
and my mother, who passed
the theatre bug to me

Talent shows at my own family reunions (not that we really ever have them anymore, dang it) ALWAYS included my mother’s father in a rendition of De Stove Pipe Hole. My grandpa met my grandma when he directed a play she was in, and grandpa had a life-long love of the theatre that culminated in several years of annual community theatre performances of Scrooge in A Christmas Carol. Which I mention only to emphasize how dang entertaining his Da Stove Pipe Hole was. There were no indulgent smiles. No courtesy laughter or perfunctory applause. Grandpa was a hit, every time. At his funeral a few years ago, one of my cousins ably recited it in his honor, proving that I wasn’t the only grandchild to memorize it.

I, of course, memorized it years before he passed. He’d leant me a copy of the book it was in (this is pre-internet) and, though I ultimately lost the book, I memorized the poem first. My first (sophomore) year of high school, I used it to audition for the fall play. The piece was a lot longer than your average audition piece, but the drama teacher let me do the whole thing so she could see if it was long enough to enter into the upcoming drama competition. I’d never heard of such a thing, but I was happy to enter, and did very, very well. An obsession was born. Or, well, kept alive anyway.

So last night after Jerry’s family talent show, I was feeling a bit guilty. (Or was it limelight-deprived?) I considered offering to recite one of the poems I’d memorized for this challenge, but the most entertaining one, The Bells, really isn’t always a crowd pleaser. I could see people’s eyes glazing over. I could hear the perfunctory applause. I didn’t want it. So I started thinking about Da Stove Pipe Hole. I decided to see how much of it I could remember, in case I wanted to offer to perform around the campfire. I ran into some memory snags. I jumped on the super-slow internet (yay internet!) to refresh my memory and discovered there was more I hadn’t even remembered was IN there!

So that’s what I’m [re-]memorizing this week. I want Da Stove Pipe Hole firmly in my memory. I want to be able to whip it out for whatever talent show might happen along my way. I want to be able to entertain at the drop of a hat. I wonder if it would be appropriate for future book-signings. Yanno, in case I actually get published someday and no one wants to hear me talk about my book. :)

With that long introduction, here’s the long poem, which, if done properly, includes the explanation that a stove pipe is a long wide pipe that extends from the top of a wood-burning stove and carries the smoke out of the house. These pipes would often have to be cleaned, and would be removed for the purpose. This would leave a hole through several levels of the house:

De Stove Pipe Hole

by William Henry Drummond

Dat's very cole an' stormy night on Village St. Mathieu,

W'en ev'ry wan he's go couché, an' dog was quiet, too--

Young Dominique is start heem out see Emmeline Gourdon,

Was leevin' on her fader's place, Maxime de Forgeron.

Poor Dominique he's lak dat girl, an' love her mos' de tam,

An' she was mak' de promise--sure--some day she be his famme,

But she have worse ole fader dat's never on de worl',

Was swear onless he's riche lak diable, no feller's get hees girl.

He's mak' it plaintee fuss about hees daughter Emmeline,

Dat's mebbe nice girl, too, but den, Mon Dieu, she's not de queen!

An' w'en de young man's come aroun' for spark it on de door,

An' hear de ole man swear 'Bapteme!' he's never come no more.

Young Dominique he's sam' de res',--was scare for ole Maxime,

He don't lak risk hese'f too moche for chances seein' heem,

Dat's only stormy night he come, so dark you cannot see,

An dat's de reason w'y also, he's climb de gallerie.

De girl she's waitin' dere for heem--don't care about de rain,

So glad for see young Dominique he's comin' back again,

Dey bote forget de ole Maxime, an' mak de embrasser

An affer dey was finish dat, poor Dominique is say--

'Good-bye, dear Emmeline, good-bye; I'm goin' very soon,

For you I got no better chance, dan feller on de moon--

It's all de fault your fader, too, dat I be go away,

He's got no use for me at all--I see dat ev'ry day.

'He's never meet me on de road but he is say 'Sapré!'

An' if he ketch me on de house I'm scare he's killin' me,

So I mus' lef' ole St. Mathieu, for work on 'noder place,

An' till I mak de beeg for-tune, you never see ma face.'

Den Emmeline say 'Dominique, ma love you'll alway be

An' if you kiss me two, t'ree tam I'll not tole noboddy--

But prenez garde ma fader, please, I know he's gettin ole--

All sam' he offen walk de house upon de stockin' sole.

'Good-bye, good-bye, cher Dominique! I know you will be true,

I don't want no riche feller me, ma heart she go wit' you.'

Dat's very quick he's kiss her den, before de fader come,

But don't get too moche pleasurement--so 'fraid de ole Bonhomme.

Wall! jus' about dey're half way t'roo wit all dat love beez-nesse

Emmeline say, 'Dominique, w'at for you're scare lak all de res?

Don't see mese'f moche danger now de ole man come aroun','

W'en minute affer dat, dere's noise, lak' house she's fallin' down.

Den Emmeline she holler 'Fire! will no wan come for me?'

An Dominique is jomp so high, near bus' de gallerie,--

'Help! help! right off,' somebody shout, 'I'm killin' on ma place,

It's all de fault ma daughter, too, dat girl she's ma disgrace.'

He's kip it up long tam lak dat, but not hard tellin' now,

W'at's all de noise upon de house--who's kick heem up de row?

It seem Bonhomme was sneak aroun' upon de stockin' sole,

An' firs' t'ing den de ole man walk right t'roo de stove pipe hole.

W'en Dominique is see heem dere, wit' wan leg hang below,

An' 'noder leg straight out above, he's glad for ketch heem so--

De ole man can't do not'ing, den, but swear and ax for w'y

Noboddy tak' heem out dat hole before he's comin' die.

Den Dominique he spik lak dis, 'Mon cher M'sieur Gourdon

I'm not riche city feller, me, I'm only habitant,

But I was love more I can tole your daughter Emmeline,

An' if I marry on dat girl, Bagosh! she's lak de Queen.

'I want you mak de promise now, before it's come too late,

An' I mus' tole you dis also, dere's not moche tam for wait.

Your foot she's hangin' down so low, I'm 'fraid she ketch de cole,

Wall! if you give me Emmeline, I pull you out de hole.'

Dat mak' de ole man swear more hard he never swear before,

An' wit' de foot he's got above, he's kick it on de floor,

'Non, non,' he say 'Sapré tonnerre! she never marry you,

An' if you don't look out you get de jail on St. Mathieu.'

'Correc',' young Dominique is say, 'mebbe de jail's tight place,

But you got wan small corner, too, I see it on de face,

So if you don't lak geev de girl on wan poor habitant,

Dat's be mese'f, I say, Bonsoir, mon cher M'sieur Gourdon.'

'Come back, come back,' Maxime is shout--I promise you de girl,

I never see no wan lak you--no never on de worl'!

It's not de nice trick you was play on man dat's gettin' ole,

But do jus' w'at you lak, so long you pull me out de hole.'

'Hooraw! Hooraw!' Den Dominique is pull heem out tout suite

An' Emmeline she's helpin' too for place heem on de feet,

An' affer dat de ole man's tak' de young peep down de stair,

W'ere he is go couchè right off, an' dey go on parloir.

Nex' Sunday morning dey was call by M'sieur le Curé

Get marry soon, an' ole Maxime geev Emmeline away;

Den affer dat dey settle down lak habitant is do,

An' have de mos' fine familee on Village St. Mathieu.

Pretty cool, huh?

I'd like to challenge all the #PoetryChallenge participants to memorize at least one poem that would serve them well in a talent show. Something with an exciting story, humor, and that requires a bit of flair. Yes, I'd be happy to coach your delivery when you're ready. (If we're ever in the same city.) So who's with me? 

Anyone else have good family reunion talent show memories?