I don’t know why I feel compelled to tell you this story, dear Reader.  Perhaps in the essence of fairness.  After all, you will recall my response to my husband’s pool story (see Oh How I Giggled).

So Sassy and The Bandit and I took My Honey to the mall today to get his father’s day present and do some errands.  We decided to grab some lunch in the food court and afterwards we hit the bathrooms there to destickify The Bandit.  The kids and I went into one of the family bathrooms, and My Honey sank down into one of the big leather club chairs there to wait.  If you haven’t been in a family bathroom before, there is a changing area for babies, a regular size toilet and, the big draw, a small toilet and sink for kids.  While we were in there, I insisted that everyone go potty.  Lot of good it did me since the minute we were the farthest from a bathroom we could get, Sassy had to go again. 

So Sassy is using the wee toilet and I am using the big one.  That’s when The Bandit decided to open the door.  No matter how often or how loudly I screamed “NO!”.  So this is what the entire Food Court saw: The Bandit giggling with glee and me screaming and crab walking across the floor all while trying desperately to stop the flow.

And what was My Honey doing?  He was laughing hysterically.

Probably serves me right.

You know how every once in a while you stumble across something that makes your life complete?  For example, the perfect bottle of red wine or the cutest little polka dot dress.  Sometimes “the perfect” item is bigger or more important in the long run than others, but really it’s one of those in-the-moment occurrences that makes you want to do the Snoopy dance of joy.  Well today, dear Reader, I can hardly contain myself.  I’ve already told you of my predilection for research (and a possible side career on game shows), and the Sisters and I have already shared some of those great links with you on the side bar over to the right. 

Go ahead, cruise around a little over there, I’ll wait. 

Today I discovered GoogleBookSearch.  I say discovered like those mariners of old that “discovered” new lands even though there were scads of people already living there .  I’m sure the natives were just thrilled to be found, what with all the languishing around with no diseases, or fire arms or slave owners and all. 

But anyway, this link is GENIUS.  There are so many fields to narrow down your search.  Think of something outlandish and hit the button.  I’ll bet it’s there. I found 2,500 entries for Mud Pies, 689 for Untangling Hair, and 120 references for Crawdad Recipes.  Many of the listings have pages to preview and if you find just the right thing, of course there is a handy dandy link to Amazon right there.  I was able to get much of what I was looking for right from the preview-able pages.

So there you are.  Hope I’ve helped.  If, however, you’re sitting in your chair reading this and laughing because you’ve known of GoogleBookSearch for ages, then shame on you for not sharing.  Or, thank you for not contributing to my deliquency.  I’m not sure which.

So this morning Sassy (age 6) and The Bandit (age 4) are eating granola bars.  Sassy’s has chocolate chips in it and The Bandit asks if he can have a bite.  Usually, they are very good at sharing.  Sassy is all solicitous and sweet when she says, “Do you want a chocolate chip?  Do you?”  Of course, he does so she gives him one, even going so far as to put it sweetly in his mouth for him.  Then she says, again sweet as pie, “Was it good?  Did you like it?”  He nods that it was indeed very yummy.  She puts her face right up to his, I thought she was going to kiss him and I was thinking, Wow, isn’t she a nice little girl.  Then she whispers, “I got it off the floor.”

Seriously.

I have a dream.  Really, I’m not that politically inclined.  It’s more of a fantasy.  Here, now.  Just because I’m a romance writer, you don’t need to go there either.  This dreamy fantasy of mine involves a beautiful tropical island, me, two shady trees and a comfy hammock suspended between them.  Here is the key part, also washed up on the island is a huge trunk of books.  All kinds of books: classics, history, poetry, literature.  All books I haven’t read but have been meaning to but never have the time to dedicate to such serious literature.  Like Don Quixote and stuff like that.  So I lay in my hammock, swaying gently in the tropical breeze, under the shade of the trees (remember my sunburn issue) and read and read and read.  No work to go to, no revisions to complete, no whining kids, no telephone.  And when the books are all finished, lo but another trunk washes up on the beach and a whole new batch of books. 

And if Johnny Depp should happen along with a nice peanut butter and jelly sandwich that would be OK, too.  Maybe I’d let him rub my feet, so long as he didn’t talk because I’m trying to read.  Ya know?

The short story is done.  Hallelujah.  It took me exactly 2 weeks to write it: 14,000 words – 71 pages.  I typed the last word at 3:08 am Sunday morning and today I really just don’t want to touch the computer.  I don’t want to check email or read an ebook, and I certainly don’t want to work on revisions for Seeing Love Clearly. 

My brain has been sucked dry, I tell you. 

I took a four hour nap on the couch today.  Apparently I was so zonked out I slept through all the noise and commotion that can be made by Sassy and The Bandit and a 1 year old coonhound – and as I told you yesterday, that can be significant. 

I’ve sent the pages to the Sisters so they can tear it apart.  We will rebuild it.  We have the technology. Better than it was before. Better, stronger, faster.  Like the Six Million Dollar Man.

So for tonight, I give myself the night off.  True Blood is on tonight and my love affair with Eric Northman the Viking can resume.

As I said in my earlier post today, I have a lot of writing to do and I’m in the zone.  I have it all up on my head and I can barely have a conversation with my husband because I’m so busy mulling it all over.  I want to get it out.  I need to get it out before it gets lost…over run by the names of all the Disney Princess, the lyrics to Gilligan’s Island, the Latin names of dinosaurs and other such nonsense.  Here’s the rub….THERE IS NO WHERE TO GO!  I’m yelling because there is no way you’ll be able to hear me over the Hannah Montana music and Hot Wheels race tracks zooming by and the million and eight questions fired at me about every conceivable topic under the sun.  Obviously, I can’t concentrate.  I’ve gone to my room and shut the door just for the door bell to ring and for Poppa to come over to chat. 

Now I’m sitting on my bed, surrounded by kids and their toys, and the cat, and the idiot dog, all demanding attention.  Deep sigh.

I am posting today just to prove I’m not intimidated by Isabella’s last post.  Alright, maybe a little.  Alright, a lot.  I could never lie to you, Reader.  That post completely intimidated me.  My little “slices of life” are never THAT interesting.  Seriously, I’m switching physical therapists.

I’ve been considering letting the boy, we call him The Bandit, start naming my characters.  He has a real penchant for it.  He renamed all the horses at the County Fair.  If you ask me there are entirely too many horses named Scout and not enough Flashes and Floyds. 

The other reason that I haven’t been as forthcoming with posts is a really good one.  I have been writing at a record pace for the past week.  The most was eleven pages in one day and the least was four and a half.  My pirate story is coming along like gang busters, and I fully expect it to be complete by the end of the weekend.  It’s practically written itself which is a nice change from the normal routine of agonizing over one plot point or another.  So those of you who have been poking at me for more posts, you’re the same ones wrangling me for more pages.  For God’s sake, I’m typing as fast as I can.  You could always come over and babysit.  Yeah, you’re quiet now aren’t you.  Talk about chicken.

I spoke with a really great writer I know who was struggling with her “author” identity.  We talked through her struggle and ultimately decided that her work is what it is, but that it is not ONLY that.  There are a myriad of reasons why success is elusive.  But the reasons it shouldn’t be are internal prejudices, fear of success, and struggling to churn out what others expect of you.  Tolstoy said it eloquently in A Confession: “Force is force, matter is matter, will is will, the infinite is the infinite, nothing is nothing.”  Basically, it is what it is but there is always more.

I gotta get back to work.  Pirate ships are coming into port and maidens are teetering on the brink.  Someone has to be there to push her over.

Today was such a frustrating day.  I got so much work done on my pirate story yesterday, 9 pages and that is significant considering that I couldn’t start writing until the short people had gone to bed – and were really asleep, not faking – and that was after 9 o’clock.  So from 9:00 until 12:45 I knocked out 9 pages.  As it turns out, pirates are more fun than even I’d originally thought, and that’s saying something since I was pretty sure pirates were a lot of fun.  OK – that last sentence didn’t come out right.  Let me be perfectly clear – were talking 18th century, swashbuckling romantic buccaneers, not 19 year old Somali pirates of the 21 century.  That second group DOES NOT sound fun. 

Anyway, I had to go to bed before I got all the good stuff out of my head and on to paper,  and in the morning I had to go to work.  I still haven’t gotten back to the pirate and our damsel, but all day long I had trouble concentrating on my work because I was so involved with the stuff going on in my head.  Do the rest of you have this trouble?  All day long I yearned for my lap top and a coffee shop.  I must tell you, my office job doesn’t hold my attention nearly as well as pirate battles and love affairs.

One of the things I enjoy the most about writing is the research.  I know that I’ve mentioned this before in previous posts.  I really love the research.  I have a ton of reference books in my own private library, but the Internet is a real boon too.  I know that much of what you find on the net is not official but, still, the wealth of knowledge to be found is immense.  Currently, my setting of choice is historical so I am discovering all kinds of fascinating fact of days gone by.  My latest project is a pirate tale.  As I write this I have learned all about ships – something to this point I knew very little about.  I’ve learned all about Nassau and Jamaica, New Providence and Port Royal.  I’m getting refreshers on geography as well as ancient maritime law. 

If this whole author gig doesn’t work out I’m ready for Jeopardy.

So today was …..interesting.  I went to work today, but only because they make me go if I want to keep getting those paychecks.  A very long time friend of Isabella’s and mine work together – we’ll call her LTF (long time friend) and the two of us were going to meet Isabella for lunch.  I was waiting for the elevator, I work on 4, LTF works on 2.  The elevator opens and there was a herd of workmen in the elevator.  I offered to take the next one, but they all scooted back and assured me I’d fit.  I asked one of them to push the 2^nd floor button.  Being the smart alec that I am, I then felt compelled to explain that I had climbed the stairs like 19 times already that day and wasn’t going to do it one more time.  So that guy and I were laughing when, from behind me, I heard, “Hi, Amy.”  I turned around and ACK! It was my ex.  Really I’m not sure if ACK! sufficiently describes the feeling, does it?  The first thing you think is, “Oh, My GOD!” quickly followed up by “How do I look?”  I said, “Hi!” much more brightly than I felt and gave a perfunctory hug and crapped my pants.   LTF had told me when I came to work in this building that she has seen him here more than once because of the elevators.  You see, my ex is in the elevator union.  You never think it will happen to you.

You have all been there, I’m sure.  If you haven’t had this joy then you are either entirely too young or joined a nunnery after the first break-up.  And really, no matter how happy and in love you are now, this always throws you for a loop.  I called my mom from the car and told her who I’d just ridden the elevator with.  Her response was classic.  “It’s too bad you didn’t look good.”  Seriously?!  I didn’t tell her what I looked like.  Wasn’t it nice of my mom to just assume I looked dreadful?  Of course she protested that that wasn’t what she meant…..anyway.  We return from my freak-out at lunch and, about an hour later I have to go to the 2^nd floor again.  I decide to take the stairs, but I put on lip gloss for insurance.  You know, Reader, I really didn’t want to take the stairs back up.  It’s like 40 steps (read that while whiiiiiiiining).  So I decided to be brave.  Surely the workmen have all gone by now.  I hit the button and right on cue the doors slide open and there is a veritable sea of green work shirts. 

I’m telling you, Readers, I’m going have to start wearing cocktail dresses to work.