The Love/Hate Relationship with Summer

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Photo by Jeffry S.S.: https://www.pexels.com/photo/children-playing-joyfully-under-a-waterfall-33825275/

Summer vacation is just around the corner and while I’m looking forward to slower mornings and less structure, there’s a part of me that is starting to panic.  With year round schooling we have had several mini breaks throughout the year so it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? Well, no – but it is anyway.

Summer break is longer and for some reason there are higher expectations to fill it with a variety of fun and educational activities.  All of those activities take planning and guidance and endless driving around the city.

It’s not that I mind, I like the activities as much as my kids, and sometimes more.  What’s making me sweat is that unless I make a conscious daily effort, the chances of me making some real progress on my book during summer break, are slim.

I don’t like extra effort when I can avoid it.  It’s a personality flaw that one day I’ll get under control.  I always look for the easiest way to get from start to finish.  If the laundry needs folding, I’ll often wait until the kids are at school so I can listen to my favorite podcasts undisturbed while I work.  I could just as easily do it while they are scrambling around me, but why?

It’s the same with writing, although the need for focus is greater, where I wait until the kids are at school and the youngest is sleeping before I even bother to start. If it weren’t for my deadlines I would do the same for blogging.  I write this as my middle child is arguing with me about the fact that she has to get dressed before she can go outside.  Distracting? Heck yeah.  I might be strange and a bit lazy but I do have standards.

All this means is that it’s time to do some serious plotting and planning on the best and hopefully most economical way for everyone, myself included, to have a phenomenal summer.

 

 

 

 

The Man in the Cupboard, pt. 17

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In the previous episode we learned that a vile curse had caused all the other he tinkers to turn violent against their own kind, forcing the she tinkers to kill them in order to protect themselves.  Mike, having shown no sign of being affected by the curse, has been invited to dine with the Queen of the Keep.

To read the previous episode, click here!

To start at the beginning, click here!

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The tunnel-like passageway bent and twisted its way through the roots of the great willow tree as Mike followed Izsel. As they turned a corner the tunnel opened into a spacious room.  Blue, white, and green tinted light streamed in through two lines of bottle glass windows that ran along both sides of the room. Four long tables laden with platters of food stretched across the room, each seating at least thirty she tinkers who were all laughing and talking, filling the room with sound.

A ample bosomed tinker with a thick brown braid shrieked in surprise when she saw him, causing the whole room to turn and fall silent.  Every eye in the room watched as he stepped forward, some with fear, some with anger, and a few with eager curiosity.  At the end of the room was a shorter table set on a raised platform.  In the center sat the queen wearing a deep green dress and a simple crown that she hadn’t been wearing when they first met outside the tree. Three women sat at the table alongside her, including Nessa who had come to his room earlier, leaving two empty chairs.  Mike’s stomach sank when he realized that they were for himself and Izsel.

Mike crossed the room to take his seat and a wave of whispers followed behind him.

Queen Caliee rapped a small gavel, bringing the room back to silence. “Ladies, as you have all noticed we have a guest here tonight.  This is Mike Finnegan a fellow tinker. Mistress Nessa has determined that he is safe from the curse and therefore free to go about his business while here at Willow keep.” A volcano of excited voices erupted at the news, filling the room. A tinker wearing orange with hair that reminded Mike of copper pennies openly stared at him with a wistful smile.  It had obviously been too long since any of them had seen a man. Then again, it had been a very long time since he had seen a women of his kind either.

The queen turned her attention to Mike. “I suppose some introductions are in order, you’ve already met Mistress Izsel, commander of our soldiers, and Mistress Nessa, head of our order of healers.  Also, here is Mistress Maybelle, our head engineer, and there at the end of the table Mistress Annette, our head historian.” They each nodded in turn as they were introduced.  “I never did ask you what your business was in coming here, forgive me.  Precautions had to be taken first, you must understand.”

“No apology necessary, I’ll admit I was a bit angry about being stuck in that room. But now I know why I can see the wisdom in it.” He spooned a pile of roasted beets on his plate, inhaling the heavenly aroma. “Besides with food like this no tinker can stay mad for long.”

“So, why are you here?”

Mike felt strangely self-conscious blurting out that he was looking for a woman, especially now he was surrounded by so many. He knew he would have to answer her question, it would be rude not to. He took a bite from his plate and chewed it with care to buy himself more time. “Delicious. I could die happy right now.” Judging by the queen’s gaze, and the impatient looks from the other four ladies at the table he decided he better just answer the question. “Oh, yes, why I’m here. You see, I’ve been a house tinker for several decades on my own and lately I’ve thought how nice it would be to have someone else there with me.”

“Are you trying to say you’ve come looking for a woman to court?”

“Well…” He scooped up another bite, and immediately thought better of it. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m trying to say. You see when I left my comfy home I didn’t know how much everything had changed here in the park,  I had hoped to find a few she tinkers in the gardens tending the flowers with their cozy tinker homes like it used to be.  I never imagined finding all the she tinkers hiding away inside a fortress. You can’t imagine what I had to go through to find you.”

Izsel took a sip from her cup and cleared her throat. “When you have enemies like we do, being well hidden is the best first defense.  I’m surprised you found us at all. This park is a dangerous place.”

Maybelle, a sensible looking tinker with thin pencil tucked behind her ear, leaned forward. “Now that you’ve found us, how to you intend on going about deciding which woman you will court?”

“I’m not sure.  I’d hate to hurt any feelings. I suppose I’ll have to spend time getting to know everyone.”

The historian at the end of the table set down her fork and adjusted her glasses. “Since there is only one of you and many of us it might be wise to come up with some sort of plan to make it fair for everyone, perhaps a series of tasks that the ladies who are interested in being courted can complete and Mike can judge.”

The queen gave a nearly imperceptible sigh and Mike thought he caught her rolling her eyes. “Do you mean to turn this into a contest? Don’t be absurd.”

“Do you remember the story of Cassandra and her twelve suitors, and how her actions ended up dividing a whole kingdom against itself?  If that could cause years of feuding and war, who’s to say what might happen here?” She tapped her fork against the plate as she spoke, emphasizing key words.

“I agree that whatever we do must be fair, although I don’t think we risk the division of Willow Keep over one man. What do you think Mike?” the queen asked.

“I’m just a humble house tinker looking for the right lady, she doesn’t have to be the best at anything, just the best fit for me. Everyone should have a chance who wants to. I’d hate to hurt feelings.”

“That settles it, starting tomorrow morning we will organize a series of meetings where you’ll have the chance to meet the ladies of the keep.  Should you find a few you’d like to get to know better we will arrange more personal visits.”

Mike glanced over to Maybelle who was busy sketching something between bites, and wondered if she had been the brain behind the intricate locking systems that he had seen. He hoped he would find a chance to talk to her about it and maybe even be allowed to see her workshop and tools.  “Will everyone be coming to these meetings?”

“Only those who are interested in being courted, naturally.” the queen answered.

“Of course.” Mike replied and secretly hoped that she would be there.

To be continued…

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Thank you for reading!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Perfectionism Strikes Again!

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You’d think that I would have learned by now that Monday morning isn’t the best time to brainstorm ideas for a new post.  I’ve started three separate posts over the course of the morning, all of which will take more time than my self imposed deadline.  One needs a picture that I will have to go out and get, one needs a lot more fleshing out before it even begins to make sense, and one’s a rant that will probably never see the light of day but felt great writing and getting out of my system.

Which leaves us here with a post about why I’m not writing a better post. It’s like the Inception of blog posts.

Perfectionism is helpful is many ways, it pushes us to strive towards something better and greater than we have already done and teaches us more than we would if we choose to stay at our current level.

However, perfectionism can be very harmful as well.  I know of many authors who have a terrific book they’ve written but continue to edit and rewrite it because they are seeking a level of perfection that doesn’t exist.  I might be one of them… There comes a point when you have to admit to yourself when something is good enough to be released into the world.

Perfectionism also stalls creativity and action.  If we continually fear to do something because we know we can’t do it perfectly, then we will never start, or if we do start we will move forward at a crawl fearing that we might misstep along the way.  When this happens we stop enjoying working on the project because of the continual feeling that we might be doing something wrong.

Good news – pencils have erasers, there is a backspace button, almost everything cleans up with a little soap, and ouchies (both emotional and physical) will get better.

In the words of Yoda, “Do or do not, there is no try.”

Or Flylady, “Progress, not perfection.”

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What do you stall about doing because you fear you won’t do it right?

 

Daily Prompt – Worldly Encounters

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Today’s Daily Post Prompt asks bloggers about what book, movie, or song they would recommend to a friendly visiting extraterrestrial that explains what humans are all about. While I hesitate to speak on behalf of humanity, heaven knows what might happen should I choose incorrectly, I’ll have a go.

My recommendation: Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings

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While this seems an odd choice, allow me to explain myself.  To understand human nature, we must explore humanity in all it’s fullness.  In the Lord of the Rings we have characters that iconify different types of people.  There’s the reluctant and noble Aragorn, the arrogant Boromir, the megalomaniac Saruman, the humble and naïve Frodo, the manipulating Wormtongue, and the wise Wizard Gandalf to name a few.

Their quest is one that humanity has fought since time began, the epic battle of good verses evil.  Frodo and his fellowship are charged with destroying the One Ring, a tool of great power that is linked to the dark lord Sauron.  In their efforts to do so they encounter resistance that takes many forms.  Armies march against them, their own turn upon them, friends die, and they fall into states of hopelessness, fear, and reluctance.  Against the odds they continue time after time to sacrifice and sweat and bleed toward their goal.

The writing contains passages that encapsulate vistas of both breathtaking beauty, and astounding ugliness.  If anyone has managed to expound on the majesty of an impressive view, it’s Tolkien.  He also manages to capture our love/hate relationship with technology and industrialization.

People might argue that a fantasy novel can’t be used to explain humanity, but they haven’t considered that it is human nature to dream and imagine impossible realities.  Leaving out this fact would be to forget the most vital part of what it means to be human, which is to exercise our creative powers to make both the new and the wonderful.

 

A Thanks To My Mom

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Wow, where do I start?  After reading so many heartfelt Mother’s Day messages, so many caring gestures, where can my little two cents fit in? I guess here is a good as any place.

Mom,

After having kids of my own I’m coming to realize more everyday what a sacrifice it is to be a parent, and even more so to be a good one.  Even as I sit here with my girl on my lap it’s hard to understand what all those years of being there for me, caring for me, feeding me, dealing with my drama, and the thousand and one other things; really meant.

Honestly, I don’t know how you did it, especially if growing up I was anything like my kids are now. I don’t remember a single day where you weren’t dressed with your hair and makeup done before we headed off to school.  You always looked great, even when you felt crummy. One day I might get the hang of looking fabulous no matter what, like you. The lessons you’ve taught me over the years are in my head somewhere waiting for a chance to get out and be used and one day when I can manage to get my feet under me they will be.

As the years pass I value more and more the grace and poise I learned from you. It’s a rare thing to know that when needed I can rise to any occasion, no matter how fancy. That, and a tailored jacket always looks fabulous with the right jewelry.

I’ve also learned the importance of family dinners from you.  Even with all of your various projects and committees, and us, you managed to get a home cooked meal on the table every night and the whole family together to eat it. Although I haven’t quite gotten the hang of planning and cooking dinners like yours yet, I aspire to figure it out.

I could go on and on, and I want to, but Baby D and duty calls.

Mom, I love you and I always will.IMG_1129

 

 

The Man in the Cupboard, pt. 16

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After a long wait, here is the next installment of Mike Finnegan’s story.  In the last episode Mike finally meets his first she tinker, but instead of being welcomed he finds himself locked in a room inside the last stronghold of the she tinkers, Willow Keep.

To read the previous episode, click here!

To start at the beginning, click here!

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Mike slammed his palm against the smooth grain of the wooden door in anger.  It didn’t seem fair.  Here he had come all this way, had braved so many obstacles, only to be locked into a room by his own people.  He set down his cane on the bed and laid back on the feather woven bedspread.  The sweet crisp smell of autumn roses filled the room from a pitcher of warm perfumed water sitting in a washbowl.

Being surrounded by the comforts of a proper tinker home took the edge off of his forced captivity. It reminded him of being back home with his mother. The only thing that would make the memory compete would be a plate of warm almond shortbread and a mug of peppermint tea in a front of a crackling fire.

He didn’t know how long they intended him to stay in there, and he didn’t want to waste a single second.  There was still a chance to make an excellent first impression.  Using the thick moss hand towel he scrubbed away the dirt from his hands and face and did his best to tidy up his clothes.  Izsel was right, the room had everything he needed.  He combed his hair and shined his shoes and when he was finished he thought he cut a rather dashing figure.

Now, should they come back he would be ready to receive them.  However, he had no intention of waiting.  He was a tinker and it was in his nature to solve problems.  Being locked in the room was a problem he intended to fix.  He returned to the door and inspected the lock and was impressed to find the same complex workmanship like the system that raised and lowered the great tree root at the entrance to the keep.

A lock like that might take hours to work without a proper key, and in a way it made Mike glad.  Nothing made him happier than having a tough puzzle to solve.  Time ticked away as he examined the workings of the door as best he could. If this were true tinker work there would be a way to open it from his side, he only had to find the secret.

Hours passed, although how many, Mike didn’t know.  The light from the tiny window that had grown brighter for a time now started to fade.  He now wished he had saved one of those biscuits that he gave to the crazy blue jay as his stomach started to rumble and pinch.

A noise from the hallway caught his attention and he peaked through the keyhole to see Izsel and another she tinker standing there talking in low voices.  Judging by the way they glanced at the door it had to be about him.  He tucked his tools back into his jacket and brushed the dust from his knees from kneeling on the floor, before returning to sit at the end of the bed. It was a pity for them to come now, he felt with another few minutes he might have figured out the lock.

The door opened and Izsel marched in.  She had removed her armor and in it’s place wore a sturdy green cotton tunic with a sword belted at her waist. “You can come in, Nessa, he’s not going to bite you.”

The other woman who had hung back in the doorway took a few cautious steps inside toward Mike. She wore a simple blue dress, which was a pleasant contrast to the stern hard lines of Iszel.  Before Mike could make a proper introduction Izsel turned to Nessa. “Has it been long enough for us to know?”

“Know what, what are you talking about?” Mike stood.

The gentle woman approached Mike and looked into his eyes before answering. “We have to know if the curse has affected you.  With no he tinkers around we weren’t sure if the curse had run its course or if it was still here.” She raised her hand toward his brow, he caught it before she could touch him. Izsel reached for her sword.

“You mean to say you were willing to risk my life?  I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“You wouldn’t have been in danger, we would. The curse turned the he tinkers violent, they attacked us, killed hundreds.  We had to protect ourselves.”

A rage filled Mike that burned at his heart. “So you killed them? Wasn’t there any other way?”

Izsel faced Mike, her face spoke of an unimaginable sorrow. “There’s no need to shout. We tried everything we could. They were incensed, crazy even, in their desire for blood. In the end we had no choice.”

“Who would cast such a curse?”

Nessa leaned against the smooth wood of the wall. “This is a conversation for another time, now that I’ve verified that you are safe you are to dine with the Queen.  No doubt you are hungry.”

Mike’s stomach chose that exact moment to rumble, making Nessa smile.

Izsel rolled her eyes. “Men! You’re all alike.”

To be continued…

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To read the next episode, click here!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Attack of the Baby Shirt

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In our household we are grateful for every night of undisturbed sleep we can get. They don’t come often and when they do we’re not sure we’ve had one until the morning when we realize that none of the kids visited our bedroom, or called out from their beds. My two oldest no longer call out, unless they’ve thrown up. Instead, they walk to our bedside and stand there and stare at us until their breathing wakes us.  It’s unsettling to say the least, especially when your daughter kinda looks like this:

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Instead, we had the harrowing experience of being attacked by the baby shirt.

The baby shirt phenomenon is when a baby or toddler magnetically attaches himself to a parent’s chest, wrapping his little arms and legs tightly around any part of their body, and no amount of coaxing can get him off.

Last night Baby D (ok, I admit he’s really a toddler) had a full-blown nightmare.  He woke up and hurried to come find us, calling all the way.  I caught him and he instantly adhered himself to my chest. After a good love and hug I tried to put him back in bed which was like trying to lower a cat into a sink full of soapy water. He arched and strained away, springing off the mattress as soon as he touched it.  After several tries it was clear that it wasn’t going to work, so I gathered up his pillow and blanket and headed for his favorite sleeping spot, the family room couch.

I set up the couch with his stuff, but the sight of his pillow and blanket set him into a panic and he ran full tilt into our bedroom, which made me wonder if his nightmare had something to do with his bed eating him. Being snuggled in our bed wasn’t enough, he still felt insecure enough that he plastered himself to daddy’s chest.

Even the sanest of parents can only take so long of having a heavy, twitching, restless toddler parked on their chest before deciding to try putting the kid back to bed. Sure, for the first ten minutes it’s adorable, but then the parent realizes that he has a whole day ahead of him and only 30 minutes of sleep to fuel it with.

The second time we tried putting Baby D back in bed it was like trying to put a magnet backwards on the fridge, except he didn’t have the decency to flip over and stay put. We tried the couch again, without the evil pillow and blanket, and he wrestled to find the remote.  It’s amazing, the kid is still in diapers but has the TV figured out.  Then, he had to have a sippy of milk and was super angry that I don’t allow milk sippies at night.  After a few more rounds of “please lay down and go back to sleep” which escalated to “Mommy is getting really angry” he decided that it would be better for his health to settle down and sleep on the couch after all.

Yay.

The hour-long ordeal left me wound up and restless and it took me nearly another hour to settle myself down and get back to sleep as well.  It didn’t last, the events of the night triggered my own nightmare about a sleepover at a distant relatives house which then evolved into a dystopian police state that separated me from my children without any explanation leaving me to fear the worst of what might happen to them.  The ending scene has us separated by a thick pane of glass and they were screaming and scared and I could do nothing.  I hate dreams that leave me helpless because when I wake from them I can’t rest until I figure out what I should have done.

Between Baby D’s and then my nightmare, I’m walking in a fog today.  I’m still upset about the dream, a part of my brain keeps insisting it was real can’t let it go.  In a way, part of it was.  Today the kids go back to school after being off track for several weeks and I have to let them go.  Most of me is super happy about it, but there is a small part that hates sending them away.

 

Hey, Look! Baby Elephants!

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I hate to apologize two weeks in a row for postponing the next episode of Mike Finnegan. The kids have been off track, again, and the change in routine has made planning or working on anything pretty gosh darn difficult.

Instead I shall appease you with a cute baby elephant!

Mr. Adorable greets a birdie

Mr. Adorable greets a birdie

 

When the past finds you

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This past week a friend of mine posted on Facebook one of those horrible school dance pictures where two young people are posed together and pretend to be thrilled to be together. This picture was no exception. It was my senior year and a junior friend asked me to go to the dance with him.  While we were good friends and had been in the school orchestra together for the past three years, we were definitely not in love with each other.

So, when it came time for the obligatory picture and he was asked to drape his arms around me, he did and I let him, for traditions sake. While the resulting picture isn’t bad there’s no denying the lack of chemistry going on between us. 10298919_10152418402308781_6745686781271152060_n

It didn’t help that my date got food poisoning earlier that evening and spent most of his time being miserable, so in addition to being awkwardly posed, he has the added greenish hue of a bad reaction to cheap pizza.

That was sixteen long years ago. It’s been years since I’ve even thought about that night. Seeing this picture brought back all the awkwardness of high school, the uncertainty, and the desire to do things the “right way.” It’s amazing how insecure I was as a teenager.

On Facebook people commented on how little I had changed over the years.  And on the outside it’s true, minus the few extra wrinkles, the few extra pounds, and shorter hair, I haven’t changed much at all.  On the inside it’s a different story.  I’m a completely different person now than I was then, and the change is for the better. All those trivial insecurities are gone and replaced with problems that actually matter. While don’t like my current trials, I wouldn’t go back to being my teenage me for anything.

My Distractions are Bigger Than Yours

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For all those who are anxiously waiting for another episode of Mike Finnegan, I apologize. He will be making his next appearance next Friday when I have had time to write another episode.  For now, I only have time and energy for a brief update.

I’ve had my novel on my mind constantly these last few weeks and it’s been driving me crazy that I haven’t had any significant undisturbed time to really dig in and build up my characters.  It’s not that I can’t work with the little ones around, I can.  It’s just that the quality suffers.  I read through a few passages that I’d written while being besieged with requests and even physically pulled away from the keyboard every few minutes and found that although the writing is okay, the characterization really suffers.  When I can’t focus, I can’t get inside my character’s heads and live the scene through their eyes.  And for me, one of the most vital requirements of a great book is that the reader feel fully immersed in the characters.

For first drafts this isn’t as big of problem, but now I’m deep into near final drafts where I’m trying to hone and refine all the different aspects of the story, the inability to find that laser focus and actually work on it is driving me crazy. I’ve played with the idea of starting a small contest called “My Distractions are Bigger than Yours” and feature pictures and videos of all the crazy things that happen when people are trying to work.

This would be the first submission –

Creepy Baby HandYes, that’s a hand reaching through my desk and touching my screen. At least she can’t reach the monitor power button from there, the hand itself is distracting enough, having the screen turn off and on would be the last straw.  Sometimes I keep goodies like jelly beans that I can offer the hand, sometimes the hand brings me gifts like small toys.

On rare occasions I get dual hands, there is a second hole in my desk on the other side meant for cables and baby D will come and play along.  Sometimes the hands want to play catch with each other and get angry when it doesn’t work.

Where there are little hands there are also little bodies trying to sit on my feet.  The way this is going I’m not going to finish the book until my youngest starts going to school!

What are your worst distractions?