It's a tough job, but ...

I've been writing a number of magazine articles lately.  It's been interesting and varied.  They have been for a local magazine, so the topics all relate to my hometown.  But, even in a small town, there are plenty of topics to explore.

I must say, though, that my latest assignment, for the June issue, is a real chore.  (Wink! Wink!)  My editor asked for ideas that related to summer, and my first thought was the local ice cream store.  I interviewed the owner the other morning at 10 am.  He offered me ice cream.  I declined because of the hour.

Back home later, my teenage son rolled his eyes at me when I related this, thinking me the fool.  He then responded, "Rookie mistake."  I did, however, bring home a complimentary pint of double chocolate chunk ice cream to share.  Might I take a moment here to say it was DELICIOUS and didn't last long.

The funny thing is I had to nearly bribe my six-year-old to even try the ice cream!  I suggested he just try a little taste, and what do you know, he decided he could have some after his lunch!  I suppose I should have left it at him not wanting any (more for the rest of us, you know).  I guess another "rookie mistake."  Oh, well, will I never learn?

Today, to cover the article in depth, I'll be going to the ice cream kitchen where they produce all this wonderful ice cream, as well as experiment with new flavors.  My kids have been invited to tag along.  The six-year-old is very willing this time.  The teenager is a little reluctant.  Rookie mistake!

You Can't Make This Stuff Up - Part 2

Okay, so there is more to the story of the Brazilian visa!  Just when I thought it couldn't get any more complicated . . .

On Monday, we drove to our county seat to certify all of the notary signatures on the myriad of documents needed for our son's visa.  This is basically a check to verify that the person who says that he or she is a notary really is and that his/her notary registration is current.  So, I presented my ten documents to be certified.  SNAG!!!!

Apparently, each notary must be registered in the county of their residence.  So, even though all of the notaries were performed in our county, only three of the ten were actually registered in our county!  Five were in a county to the south east, and two more in a third county south of us!  What can you do?  Well, just hop in the car and head to another county seat before they close for the day.

We visited the last county seat Tuesday morning.  Then I took all of the documents to our state capital in Columbus to have them authenticated.  As the woman returned to the desk with my papers in hand and called my name, I panicked.  Was she calling me to tell me of another problem?  No, thankfully, she was just handing me the completed authentications.  WHEW!!!!  After sending the entire stack of paperwork overnight to its intended location, I drove home - exhausted but relieved.

We did some quick figuring.  I, personally, have driven over 1,000 miles in the last five days specifically for my son's Brazilian visa.  Collectively, we have driven around 1,200 miles!  (That doesn't include the 330 miles my son took to go back to New York, because he was hitching a ride with someone who was intending to go there anyway.)

Once again, I am floored with how unbelievable real life can be.  It is, however, giving my fiction-writing brain some good exercise.

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

I've been trying to blog Monday, Wednesday and Friday, but life intervenes sometimes.  Friday it just didn't happen.  If I were to try to write in a book of fiction the things that have transpired the last few days, it would not seem plausible.  Some things really are stranger than fiction.

So, let me lay out the last few days for you.  My son is traveling to Brazil in July.  He will be there for two years under a religious minister visa.  On Thursday he got information about what paperwork he would need to turn in to get his visa.  Only the packet of information was delayed.  It should have gotten to us several weeks ago.  It turns out that all of this paperwork was due two days before we received any notice of it.

You would not believe all that is necessary for a Brazilian visa: curriculum vitaes (in duplicate), transcripts (in duplicate, visa application (in triplicate), police letter of good conduct, ordination certificates (in duplicate), and other various and sundry forms!  Most of these need to be signed in front of a notary public.  My son is at college in New York, while we are in Ohio - along with some of the people that need to sign documents.  Apparently everything has to be notarized in the same state.  (And after you notarize the forms, the county needs to certify them, and then the state needs to authenticate them!)  So, to accomplish all of this in the same state - I spent all of Friday driving!  My son was in Cape Cod doing service on an alternative Spring Break.  He left there Friday morning to return to New York and I left Ohio to meet him in New York.  Then we turned around and came back (11+ hours in the car) - all so he could take a couple of pictures and sign a few documents!

Fortunately, some of his friends were here in Ohio on Spring Break, so he could hitch a ride back on Sunday after a flurry of activity on Saturday.  I still can't believe all that happened in a couple of days!

So, there's my excuse for why I didn't blog on Friday.  I also can't believe my fiction has to compete with this kind of non-fiction!  The way things are going my fiction is going to be more believable than my real life!

What Line?

I'm walking a fine line lately.  One of the books I'm working on has a crime as a subplot.  Now, I'm not a criminal, never have been, and never hope to be.  But I still have to write this authentically.  So, I'm exploring   not only the criminal mind, but I'm researching criminal methods.

It's somewhat interesting to talk to someone about a possible crime and how you might go about committing it.  In this case the someone was my son.  The crime relates to his field and so I needed to pick his brain for the holes that a criminal might exploit.  Now, since it's a novel I can exaggerate those holes and ignore the safeguards that in reality are in place - but I still need authenticity.   I'm exploring all of this while keeping in mind that I don't want to jeopardize my son's livelihood by having him give me proprietary information.

This whole thing is a very enlightening experience.  It's like being an actress really.  The fun roles involve being angry or vindictive or devious, especially if, as a person, you are none of those things.  I am enjoying this research, but it feels a little strange at the same time.  It makes me wonder just where that line is.

Writing Daze

I have days where I am uncertain of my writer's voice, concerned about my ability to pull off what I am attempting.  I am full of self doubt and feelings of inadequacy.  (I'm sure you've never experienced this.)  But I have come to the conclusion that days like this are good.

Why would I say that?  They are not good in the sense that I enjoy them.  But as long as they are not so damaging as to stop me completely, they are good for me.  They make me take a step back and examine what I am doing and how I am doing it.  They send me to my writing books and writer's magazines.  They lead me to ponder and reevaluate the way I am writing and what I am writing.  And I am better for these days.  My writing is better.

And even though I prefer the days when I receive positive feedback about my writing, the down days make those other days possible.  The trick is never quitting, never giving up and sliding back down the mountain.  The solution is found in still climbing, maybe by way of a different path or a different foothold, but climbing all the same, climbing onward . . . and onward . . . and onward . . .

From the Family Room . . .

Of late I have been writing articles for a local magazine, and it's been a lot of fun.  Starting in June I will also have my own column in that magazine - even more fun.  The focus of my column will be family, since that is not only important to me, but also of great interest to my surrounding community.

So, today I was playing around with titles for my column (I'm open to suggestions, btw) and thought of "From the Family Room" which has an ironic twist to it.  I actually write these days in my family room.  If you've been reading my blog for awhile you will remember the many times I've referenced the library as my writing spot, and it was for a time.  But since we moved recently I have discovered my family room fills that role very well.  I still have a window beside me through which I can survey the world around me, and from which pours light on a regular basis.  I have a reasonably comfortable chair, and a fireplace for the really cold days.  All in all, it works well for me.

Come summertime, when the kids are around, I may have to go back to the library for enough peace to actually write, but I hope not.  I like having them around; I prefer it.  They are my muses (even if also my distractions).

So, even though a good location for writing has seemed important to me in the past, maybe it isn't as important as I thought.  Beyond the basics - a plug close by for when my laptop runs low, a chair, and some light - there really isn't much I require for being able to write.  My biggest strength when writing comes from inside not my outside surroundings.

Literally, my writing comes from the family room of my heart.  The furniture in that room is built from trees of love, both new growth and old.  And while there are broken pieces and ones that show the signs of wear, most are comfortable, most are just right.   Writing, for me, is intensely personal, and I don't think I would want it any other way.  Actually, I don't think I could write any other way.  And so... I sign off from the family room.

A View Not My Own

Have you ever tried to have a logical argument with a six-year-old?  If you haven't, let me give you a little heads up: it doesn't work, you will lose every time.

Here is a for instance:
Six-year-old: "It's not fair that my brother gets to stay up later than I do."
Mom: "Your brother is fifteen.  He's up doing homework."
Six-year-old: "It's not fair that my brother gets to stay up later than I do."
Mom: "He is fifteen.  When you're fifteen, you'll get to stay up late doing homework, too."
Six-year-old: "It's not fair that my brother gets to stay up later than I do."
Mom: "No, it's not fair. Now, go to bed."

It's sort of like reading a novel and not liking the ending.  It's not like you can reason with the author and have him or her change the ending.  All you can do is rage at the nonsense and stupidity of an author who couldn't read your mind and make things turn out the way you envisioned.

I just finished reading a novel last night.  It twisted in ways that I would not have twisted.  It ended in ways that I would not have picked, but also that I did not even foresee.  Is that so bad?   Sometimes, I'm sure I would say, "Yes, in fact it was terrible!"  But what a good thing that we are not all the same, that I can choose my stories endings just like someone else can choose theirs.  And maybe, just maybe, I might be able to see things in a different light.  "You're right, it's not fair," while I still add, "but you still need to go to bed."

Footprints in the Snow

Looking out my window this morning I could see the white covered ground, fresh and crisp from last night's snow fall.  As my six-year-old and I ventured outside to the car I could see footprints on the driveway, my husband and son leaving traces from their early morning travels.  My youngest son's prints were small by comparison, I noticed, as we both added our imprints.

When I returned from the school drop off, I took some remaining garbage to the curb and noticed where my husband had hauled the can to the driveway apron earlier - neat little lines with rectangular tread marks being left in the can's wake.

Only later in the morning did I look out the back window to the white blanketed grass.  It is alive with prints.  I had noticed the squirrels this morning, playfully running up trees and fences, and they have left their mark, but there is more.  Right next to the house I see other prints that must be rabbit prints or a very large squirrel.  And other tracks crisscross the yard, some close together, others feet apart (pardon the pun).

The world is teeming with life and stories.  Do we take time to notice?  It will go on happening whether we see it or not, but oh, what we miss when we don't stop for a moment to watch, to observe, to notice.  Our kids are the same way.  How much do we miss when we don't take a moment . . .