The coolest thing about blogging is you never know who's reading it. This site keeps stats on readership, and to me the coolest thing is that in the last week, for instance, I've had readers in Canada, Denmark and Germany.
I do know people in Germany, so I just assume those page views are my sister and friends. I don't know anybody in Canada or Denmark. Whenever I see stats from other countries, I always want to say, "Hey! Who are you? What is your life like?" But then I'm fascinated by other cultures. My fourth biggest readership of all time -- after the United States, Germany, and Canada -- seems to be Hungary. I don't know a soul in Hungary (I don't think.) How cool is this?
But the coolest thing, really, is that I'm getting to know my cousin Lindsey because of my blog.
Understand, my family is big. (And I'm only telling you about my mom's side of it. My dad's side is big, too. I always joke that between the two, I'm related to half of Augusta.) My grandfather was one of five brothers, who were very close. They raised their families to be close. They got together all the time and hung out, and had family get-togethers for almost every holiday. They instilled in all of us the importance and love of family. But when their kids started having kids and grandkids, their houses wouldn't hold us all anymore. Some things had to go. By the time I came along, (for as long as I can remember, anyway) we were gathering in the summer and at Christmas, which we still do. Unless I run into them around town, usually the only other time I see many of these these family members is at funerals.
I say all of that to say, Lindsey is one of my younger cousins. She is the daughter of one of my mom's first cousins, so we're cousins that basically see each other only twice a year. She's 22, just graduated college and is just beginning her life. I'm at a point in life where my kids are almost grown and if I squint, I think I can see retirement. I don't recall us spending much time talking.
But she has taken an interest in my blog. She talks to me through it. She blogs too (hers is called Prayer and Chocolate, if you want to check it out) We're learning about each other and our families in a way I don't think we ever would have otherwise. I think it's beyond cool!
She hung out with me and the kids at karaoke Saturday night. I couldn't get her to sing, but I think she had a good time. :)
The family reunion is in two weeks. I imagine she and I will have a lot to talk about this year.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
We met our mini-me's!
Cathy and I had a bit of a surreal experience tonight.
Nah, not really, but go with me on this.
We were out walking our usual route when we passed a blonde and a brunette, probably about 13 years old. They said hi, we said hi, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Cathy said, "Look! That's us!"
I mean...we're blonde and brunette. But this is deeper. Both our minds immediately flashed back 25 years. (Holy crap...has it been that long??)
(And this is the value of lifelong friends.)
Did I mention I live right around the corner from where I grew up? Literally. We moved into my mom's house when I was 7. Four years ago I moved into a house in the same neighborhood. Cathy now lives five minutes up the road. So we walk together just about every night on the very same streets we walked on as kids.
I met Cathy on the school bus when I was in eighth grade. I think we were about 12 or 13. She lived across the highway from me. We couldn't drive, so we walked everywhere. When I say we walked, I mean we spent hours combing every street in a about a three mile radius. Maybe it was five miles. But we spent whole afternoons walking and talking. Sometimes singing. (There wasn't a dry eye on the street after our rendition of Lisa Lisa's All Cried Out. Or at least the woman walking her dog liked it...so she said.)
There really wasn't anything else to do. I mean, there was Nintendo, but we weren't rich enough to own one and we didn't care anyway. Headbangers Ball didn't come on until 11 p.m., but I only watched it when I spent the night with her. We were too old to ride bikes, too young to drive, and boys and music were our main interests. Oh, and hairspray. I never mastered the pouf, but she made me look awesome whenever we went to T.P. Cruisers, a teen nightclub.
Now we walk for exercise...and girl talk.
Don't tell my daughter this, but half of our reason for walking was scouting for cute boys. The other half was talking about our friends. I don't remember if we ever actually met boys on our walks, but we sure had fun looking. Back then, we collected car honks like dropped pennies. Now we get offended, especially if the car clearly has no air and noisy exhaust. Although if we're honest, we do have to admit that there is a slight elevation in ego whenever we hear one.
Once we sat on a curb and watched a house for at least a half an hour because we heard somebody playing drums. Drums meant cute boys, right? We got tired of waiting, so we never found out.
We saw our mini-me's coming out of the gas station carrying a bag, and fought the urge to run back and ask them if they remembered the sweet gherkins, pepperoni and cheese puffs. I'm pretty sure Shell doesn't carry sparking grape juice, so they really should have gone to Food Lion. I mean, to get the full experience, you have to pass the faux wine bottle back and forth and pretend it's the stuff you're not old enough to drink. It's all about fooling the drivers on the highway!
*Sigh* Good times, good times. I can't find but one picture of me and Cathy together back in the day. I'll have to ask her if she has any. But here is the one I do have, dated Sept. 3, 1988. It was her birthday, and we were heading to T.P. Cruisers.
The good Lord willing, in 25 years we'll be talking about today as the "good ol' days" while we eat sweet gherkins and cheese puffs. Dang, I want some now!
Nah, not really, but go with me on this.
We were out walking our usual route when we passed a blonde and a brunette, probably about 13 years old. They said hi, we said hi, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Cathy said, "Look! That's us!"
I mean...we're blonde and brunette. But this is deeper. Both our minds immediately flashed back 25 years. (Holy crap...has it been that long??)
(And this is the value of lifelong friends.)
Did I mention I live right around the corner from where I grew up? Literally. We moved into my mom's house when I was 7. Four years ago I moved into a house in the same neighborhood. Cathy now lives five minutes up the road. So we walk together just about every night on the very same streets we walked on as kids.
I met Cathy on the school bus when I was in eighth grade. I think we were about 12 or 13. She lived across the highway from me. We couldn't drive, so we walked everywhere. When I say we walked, I mean we spent hours combing every street in a about a three mile radius. Maybe it was five miles. But we spent whole afternoons walking and talking. Sometimes singing. (There wasn't a dry eye on the street after our rendition of Lisa Lisa's All Cried Out. Or at least the woman walking her dog liked it...so she said.)
There really wasn't anything else to do. I mean, there was Nintendo, but we weren't rich enough to own one and we didn't care anyway. Headbangers Ball didn't come on until 11 p.m., but I only watched it when I spent the night with her. We were too old to ride bikes, too young to drive, and boys and music were our main interests. Oh, and hairspray. I never mastered the pouf, but she made me look awesome whenever we went to T.P. Cruisers, a teen nightclub.
Now we walk for exercise...and girl talk.
Don't tell my daughter this, but half of our reason for walking was scouting for cute boys. The other half was talking about our friends. I don't remember if we ever actually met boys on our walks, but we sure had fun looking. Back then, we collected car honks like dropped pennies. Now we get offended, especially if the car clearly has no air and noisy exhaust. Although if we're honest, we do have to admit that there is a slight elevation in ego whenever we hear one.
Once we sat on a curb and watched a house for at least a half an hour because we heard somebody playing drums. Drums meant cute boys, right? We got tired of waiting, so we never found out.
We saw our mini-me's coming out of the gas station carrying a bag, and fought the urge to run back and ask them if they remembered the sweet gherkins, pepperoni and cheese puffs. I'm pretty sure Shell doesn't carry sparking grape juice, so they really should have gone to Food Lion. I mean, to get the full experience, you have to pass the faux wine bottle back and forth and pretend it's the stuff you're not old enough to drink. It's all about fooling the drivers on the highway!
*Sigh* Good times, good times. I can't find but one picture of me and Cathy together back in the day. I'll have to ask her if she has any. But here is the one I do have, dated Sept. 3, 1988. It was her birthday, and we were heading to T.P. Cruisers.
Cathy's the blonde in the back, second from left. I'm standing next to her, wearing acid washed jeans and that 80s white belt.
This is the same night. I think she took the picture. Cathy dressed me. I don't think my hair has ever been that big! I'm in the middle. OH...and if you look real closely at my right leg, you can see I rolled my jeans halfway up my calf. "Cuz I was cool like that!
And here we are now (or, in January), with Cathy's BFF Jennifer.
The good Lord willing, in 25 years we'll be talking about today as the "good ol' days" while we eat sweet gherkins and cheese puffs. Dang, I want some now!
Women can be chivalrous, too
Okay...let me ask you something I've been wondering for a while. Is it weird that I open car doors for men?
It's not like I steal their keys and run to the car before they do. But if a man opens my car door for me, I reach over return the favor.
Perhaps I misunderstood my daddy. I always thought he taught me to do this. Perhaps he only told me to unlock the door. That was half a lifetime ago. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast! But if you consider that there are automatic locks on everything now, then it makes sense to me to return that courteousness in some way.
Frankly, I still love it when a man opens my car door. I'd like to encourage him to keep doing it!
It messes men up, let me tell you. That part's kind of fun. I can't see them pause, because I'm usually buckling my seat belt, but sometimes it takes them a really long time to get around that car. Maybe they're just checking the tires...
Sometimes, they almost giggle every time they slide into the driver's seat. One couldn't help but tell me every single time it happened that nobody's ever done that for him before. Some just say, "Thank you." They all seem to appreciate it, though. I've never gotten an unfavorable reaction.
But still...is that weird? Maybe if nothing else, it makes me unforgettable! ;-)
(If you enjoy my blog, please share it. You also follow me on Twitter, @asinglepov. Thanks!)
It's not like I steal their keys and run to the car before they do. But if a man opens my car door for me, I reach over return the favor.
Perhaps I misunderstood my daddy. I always thought he taught me to do this. Perhaps he only told me to unlock the door. That was half a lifetime ago. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast! But if you consider that there are automatic locks on everything now, then it makes sense to me to return that courteousness in some way.
Frankly, I still love it when a man opens my car door. I'd like to encourage him to keep doing it!
It messes men up, let me tell you. That part's kind of fun. I can't see them pause, because I'm usually buckling my seat belt, but sometimes it takes them a really long time to get around that car. Maybe they're just checking the tires...
Sometimes, they almost giggle every time they slide into the driver's seat. One couldn't help but tell me every single time it happened that nobody's ever done that for him before. Some just say, "Thank you." They all seem to appreciate it, though. I've never gotten an unfavorable reaction.
But still...is that weird? Maybe if nothing else, it makes me unforgettable! ;-)
(If you enjoy my blog, please share it. You also follow me on Twitter, @asinglepov. Thanks!)
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Turning 37
Now that the big day is over, I must say. The people in my life really came through to make it special.
It's funny. Every year I think it's up to me to make it special. I guess I think if I don't, no one will.
But let me tell you, it was amazing. About 100 people wished me Happy Birthday on Facebook. That's insane! And awesome! I have Facebook set up to text me when somebody contacts me, or when my kids update their statuses. Basically...my phone went off with well wishes all day long. How awesome is that?
I did wear my red dress. It just makes me happy to wear it anyway because it's a bright, fun color. It's really hard to be in a bad mood in that dress. And now that it's in a wrinkled heap in my laundry hamper, I'm thinking I should have taken a picture. I'll try to remember next time!
My sister called me this morning. On my birthday this time. Last week, she was so excited about moving home later this summer she was trying to rush time. She called on Thursday and said, "Happy Birthday a day late!"
I said, "Um, you're a week early!" The movers are coming in July. She was in a big hurry to say "They'll be here next month!"
We had a nice chat. Next year she can help me eat cheesecake. Or maybe not. I think I shouldn't make my own cake next year.
The kids went to church, so early in the day I was looking at spending a quiet evening alone, which won't do on my birthday, so I called Cathy to come help me eat this cheesecake I made. And then my mom and brother called and wanted to take me to dinner. Well...as I said, I adore the Olive Garden. It's my special occasion restaurant. So we went there.
My brother ordered me a chocolate martini, because it's officially my new favorite drink. But I could have fed one of the kids for the price. I told him I was fine with water. He ordered it anyway for dessert and got himself one, too. He declared it heavenly. (It just didn't come out as politely in Joey-speak.)
When I got home, I found that my mom and Catie baked me a cake while I was at work. AND my mom sent over ice cream. I wasn't expecting that at all, but it was pretty awesome!
In all, it was a great day!!
It's funny. Every year I think it's up to me to make it special. I guess I think if I don't, no one will.
But let me tell you, it was amazing. About 100 people wished me Happy Birthday on Facebook. That's insane! And awesome! I have Facebook set up to text me when somebody contacts me, or when my kids update their statuses. Basically...my phone went off with well wishes all day long. How awesome is that?
I did wear my red dress. It just makes me happy to wear it anyway because it's a bright, fun color. It's really hard to be in a bad mood in that dress. And now that it's in a wrinkled heap in my laundry hamper, I'm thinking I should have taken a picture. I'll try to remember next time!
My sister called me this morning. On my birthday this time. Last week, she was so excited about moving home later this summer she was trying to rush time. She called on Thursday and said, "Happy Birthday a day late!"
I said, "Um, you're a week early!" The movers are coming in July. She was in a big hurry to say "They'll be here next month!"
We had a nice chat. Next year she can help me eat cheesecake. Or maybe not. I think I shouldn't make my own cake next year.
The kids went to church, so early in the day I was looking at spending a quiet evening alone, which won't do on my birthday, so I called Cathy to come help me eat this cheesecake I made. And then my mom and brother called and wanted to take me to dinner. Well...as I said, I adore the Olive Garden. It's my special occasion restaurant. So we went there.
My brother ordered me a chocolate martini, because it's officially my new favorite drink. But I could have fed one of the kids for the price. I told him I was fine with water. He ordered it anyway for dessert and got himself one, too. He declared it heavenly. (It just didn't come out as politely in Joey-speak.)
When I got home, I found that my mom and Catie baked me a cake while I was at work. AND my mom sent over ice cream. I wasn't expecting that at all, but it was pretty awesome!
In all, it was a great day!!
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Adventures in Birthdaydom
Today is my birthday. I usually do it up big. Or, as big as I can on a limited budget. It's the only time of the year I really try to do something nice for myself. This year I bought a Kindle, which I love, so I didn't really make any plans. I may go sing Saturday, and that's about it. I will be wearing my favorite red dress today, though!
Oh, and I baked a cheesecake. I love cheesecake.
I think I need to get a really nice journal strictly for writing down the things I do on my birthday. I can't remember them all!! (Insert old joke here! :P) But here are a few of the ones I do remember.
(If you were there for any of them, feel free to chime in and remind me of others!! LOL)
When I was 19, I spent the week leading up to the day shopping for a new outfit. I bought a really pretty white tank dress with silver beads on the front, new shoes, new hose, new jewerly, new nail polish. I got up early and started dressing out at 10 a.m., beginning with coloring my hair. Then I met my best friend for lunch at Applebee's. We had a really cute waiter who was kind enough not to sing happy birthday to me, but offered to buy me a drink if I would meet him at his second job later that evening at cafe downtown. I should have. But instead, I went out with my boyfriend to the Olive Garden for dinner, because that was the one thing I wanted all week. (I am always, always up for Olive Garden on my birthday! Or a Tuesday, for that matter! :) )
When I was...older (I don't remember the age), I took off for Louisville for a few hours. Naughty me didn't tell anybody where I was going. We finally had a car...if only for a few days...that the wheels wouldn't fall off of if I drove it 60 miles. I had a couple of bucks for gas, Christopher was in school, so me and Catie (who was 3 or 4) went joyriding! That may not sound like much to you, but at a time where I felt I had a 50/50 shot of getting in trouble for being late coming back from the store, it was quite liberating!
The last few years, my birthday seems to have gotten lost in bigger events. Four years ago this month my ex-husband vanished. I was graduating college and preparing for a cruise...the biggest vacation I'd ever had until last last year. I couldn't tell you what I did for my birthday.
Three years ago, I bought a new dress, got a few friends together (and my sister) and went to Logan's for dinner.
Two years ago, I was in Charlotte for my brother's wedding. That was a fantastic weekend.
Last year wasn't fun at all. I'd just gone through a breakup the week before. But my best friend took me out to karaoke, baked me a cake and did her level best to make it a good one despite how rotten I felt.
So this year...I may not do much. Then again...who knows what wild hair will find me. The day is still young!
Oh, and I baked a cheesecake. I love cheesecake.
I think I need to get a really nice journal strictly for writing down the things I do on my birthday. I can't remember them all!! (Insert old joke here! :P) But here are a few of the ones I do remember.
(If you were there for any of them, feel free to chime in and remind me of others!! LOL)
When I was 19, I spent the week leading up to the day shopping for a new outfit. I bought a really pretty white tank dress with silver beads on the front, new shoes, new hose, new jewerly, new nail polish. I got up early and started dressing out at 10 a.m., beginning with coloring my hair. Then I met my best friend for lunch at Applebee's. We had a really cute waiter who was kind enough not to sing happy birthday to me, but offered to buy me a drink if I would meet him at his second job later that evening at cafe downtown. I should have. But instead, I went out with my boyfriend to the Olive Garden for dinner, because that was the one thing I wanted all week. (I am always, always up for Olive Garden on my birthday! Or a Tuesday, for that matter! :) )
When I was...older (I don't remember the age), I took off for Louisville for a few hours. Naughty me didn't tell anybody where I was going. We finally had a car...if only for a few days...that the wheels wouldn't fall off of if I drove it 60 miles. I had a couple of bucks for gas, Christopher was in school, so me and Catie (who was 3 or 4) went joyriding! That may not sound like much to you, but at a time where I felt I had a 50/50 shot of getting in trouble for being late coming back from the store, it was quite liberating!
The last few years, my birthday seems to have gotten lost in bigger events. Four years ago this month my ex-husband vanished. I was graduating college and preparing for a cruise...the biggest vacation I'd ever had until last last year. I couldn't tell you what I did for my birthday.
Three years ago, I bought a new dress, got a few friends together (and my sister) and went to Logan's for dinner.
Two years ago, I was in Charlotte for my brother's wedding. That was a fantastic weekend.
Last year wasn't fun at all. I'd just gone through a breakup the week before. But my best friend took me out to karaoke, baked me a cake and did her level best to make it a good one despite how rotten I felt.
So this year...I may not do much. Then again...who knows what wild hair will find me. The day is still young!
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Boogeymen
Lindsay, Love, you will never be pushy! I just didn't realize it's been a week since my last post!! Please feel free to kick me into gear anytime!
I had the weirdest dream last night. I was out walking around the block by myself, like I do sometimes when Cathy can't walk with me, and this giant black guy was following me. Looked like a linebacker, but with beefy cheeks, crooked teeth and scary eyes. He kind of looked like a cartoon monster I've seen, but can't remember where. Perhaps Grape Ape, but scarier.
I thought I'd lost him by the time I got to a neighbor's house. I didn't see him anywhere. I ran inside, locked the doors, pulled the curtains and was telling my neighbor all about it when we heard three raps on the front door.
She opened it and...guess who? He filled the whole door frame. She shrank away and he came in after me. I started screaming, and...
All of a sudden he backed into a corner, shrank into a ball and was fending off...I have no idea what. I couldn't see anything. Everything looked perfectly normal to me. I stopped screaming and no longer felt fear. I just watched this hulk start screaming, "What is this? What is in this supernatural house?"
And then I woke up, and my alarm clock was flashing 2:2-something, right in front of my face. And I was hot. (Which explains it.) I got up and looked at my cell phone. 5:30 a.m. I walked through the house to make sure there were no big beefy monster-looking men in my house (like what was I going to do if there was??) Checked the locks on the doors, looked at the clocks...somehow the power had been off.
All was well and, me liking my beauty sleep as much as I do, I set two alarms, laid down and went back to sleep for the whopping 20 more minutes I was able to get.
Hey, tonight can I get a Johnny Depp look-a-like running after me intending good things? Please?
I had the weirdest dream last night. I was out walking around the block by myself, like I do sometimes when Cathy can't walk with me, and this giant black guy was following me. Looked like a linebacker, but with beefy cheeks, crooked teeth and scary eyes. He kind of looked like a cartoon monster I've seen, but can't remember where. Perhaps Grape Ape, but scarier.
I thought I'd lost him by the time I got to a neighbor's house. I didn't see him anywhere. I ran inside, locked the doors, pulled the curtains and was telling my neighbor all about it when we heard three raps on the front door.
She opened it and...guess who? He filled the whole door frame. She shrank away and he came in after me. I started screaming, and...
All of a sudden he backed into a corner, shrank into a ball and was fending off...I have no idea what. I couldn't see anything. Everything looked perfectly normal to me. I stopped screaming and no longer felt fear. I just watched this hulk start screaming, "What is this? What is in this supernatural house?"
And then I woke up, and my alarm clock was flashing 2:2-something, right in front of my face. And I was hot. (Which explains it.) I got up and looked at my cell phone. 5:30 a.m. I walked through the house to make sure there were no big beefy monster-looking men in my house (like what was I going to do if there was??) Checked the locks on the doors, looked at the clocks...somehow the power had been off.
All was well and, me liking my beauty sleep as much as I do, I set two alarms, laid down and went back to sleep for the whopping 20 more minutes I was able to get.
Hey, tonight can I get a Johnny Depp look-a-like running after me intending good things? Please?
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Writers write, right?
I've been thinking a lot about writing.
I'm lying. That's not really what I've been thinking about. But my mind has been aimlessly wandering in dark and unhappy places this week. So I'm going to write about writing. Because frankly, I miss you guys! And writing. And I don't want to write about dark, unhappy things.
I'm reading a book...two books, actually. One is called Write Good Or Die, and the other is Shoeless Joe, by W.P. Kinsella. Field of Dreams was based on it.
I'm in awe of Kinsella's writing. Never heard of him before or since this book, but his imagery is amazing. I think my new favorite sentence is "Moonlight butters the whole Iowa night." Isn't that just an amazing sentence? In six little words I can see a perfectly clear night, black as far as the eye can see, lit by a huge, bright moon...and all the stars! And hear the crickets? (I wonder if they have bullfrogs in Iowa?)
The next sentence is "Clover and corn smells are thick as syrup." Now see, that just made me crave some pancakes.
The writer in me loves a good piece of writing anyway. And I adore description. Too bad entire stories can't be written just by describing things. You've got to create characters and make them move and talk in believable ways. My characters' dialogues usually end with me going "Who the heck would actually say that," balling it up and tossing it in the trash. *sigh* I have some work ahead of me if I'm ever to write my Great American Novel.
The book on writing is really neat, too. A bunch of published, successful writers offer essays giving their advice to newbies like me. Basically, they say, my first novel will suck. I should just accept that fact and write it anyway. Harsh, no? And then I move on to reading about character development and stuff that's so far ahead of where I am and I think, "Ha ha...riiiiight. I should stick to newspapers and just tell what happened."
Nah. The message really is to approach it as a learning experience. Stephen King, they remind me, might have become incredibly successful with his first book, Carrie, but he had five non-published novels first. It's a process. And I know it's true. I bet if I unearthed some old Bell Ringers, I would see how much I've grown as a journalist since I started there in 2003.
The hardest part is getting started. Which I did. I actually did! I'm a whole page and a half into it. I started like a week ago. I have ideas and notes, and I've revised the heck out of what I've already written. Sounds really good, ya'll. But my character...she doesn't even have a name! Truly though, when I say the hardest part is getting started, I mean the hardest part is sitting your butt in a chair, opening the dang document and committing words to paper. Even if they suck. For real.
But now that I've spent (some of) my creative energies into a blog post, I believe I'll save the rest to put into my novel. Tomorrow. :)
I'm lying. That's not really what I've been thinking about. But my mind has been aimlessly wandering in dark and unhappy places this week. So I'm going to write about writing. Because frankly, I miss you guys! And writing. And I don't want to write about dark, unhappy things.
I'm reading a book...two books, actually. One is called Write Good Or Die, and the other is Shoeless Joe, by W.P. Kinsella. Field of Dreams was based on it.
I'm in awe of Kinsella's writing. Never heard of him before or since this book, but his imagery is amazing. I think my new favorite sentence is "Moonlight butters the whole Iowa night." Isn't that just an amazing sentence? In six little words I can see a perfectly clear night, black as far as the eye can see, lit by a huge, bright moon...and all the stars! And hear the crickets? (I wonder if they have bullfrogs in Iowa?)
The next sentence is "Clover and corn smells are thick as syrup." Now see, that just made me crave some pancakes.
The writer in me loves a good piece of writing anyway. And I adore description. Too bad entire stories can't be written just by describing things. You've got to create characters and make them move and talk in believable ways. My characters' dialogues usually end with me going "Who the heck would actually say that," balling it up and tossing it in the trash. *sigh* I have some work ahead of me if I'm ever to write my Great American Novel.
The book on writing is really neat, too. A bunch of published, successful writers offer essays giving their advice to newbies like me. Basically, they say, my first novel will suck. I should just accept that fact and write it anyway. Harsh, no? And then I move on to reading about character development and stuff that's so far ahead of where I am and I think, "Ha ha...riiiiight. I should stick to newspapers and just tell what happened."
Nah. The message really is to approach it as a learning experience. Stephen King, they remind me, might have become incredibly successful with his first book, Carrie, but he had five non-published novels first. It's a process. And I know it's true. I bet if I unearthed some old Bell Ringers, I would see how much I've grown as a journalist since I started there in 2003.
The hardest part is getting started. Which I did. I actually did! I'm a whole page and a half into it. I started like a week ago. I have ideas and notes, and I've revised the heck out of what I've already written. Sounds really good, ya'll. But my character...she doesn't even have a name! Truly though, when I say the hardest part is getting started, I mean the hardest part is sitting your butt in a chair, opening the dang document and committing words to paper. Even if they suck. For real.
But now that I've spent (some of) my creative energies into a blog post, I believe I'll save the rest to put into my novel. Tomorrow. :)
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