I Am Loyal

Continuing with the Thirty Days of Truth writing exercise Day Two is all about 'What You Love About Yourself'.  Truthfully, I'm having a real hard time with this one.  I can think of a million things I don't like about myself right now.  I'm not in the most positive mood this week.  I feel like one of the many dry leaves that litters my sidewalk and that's about it. 

I love my feet.  I have always thought despite their size ten status they are quite pretty.  They are long and bony and they remind me of Marilyn Monroe's feet. 

However, I think the point of this exercise is to find something beyond the physical.  I think I can bake pretty well but I'm not actually sure that people like the things I make. They eat them, so I guess so?  I keep a really clean house people tell me.  But that isn't something I particularly love about myself.  I used to be organized.  I prided myself on that but now not so much and it has become a source of irritation that I forget so much on a daily basis. 

I know!

I love that I am loyal.  I have never cheated on a person.  I'm not loyal like a dog's loyal but I will keep and maintain my friendships for long periods of time.  I cherish these people who I consider my friends even if we have limited contact and I pride myself on keeping the relationships alive.  I will reach out no matter how much time has gone by and let someone know I am thinking of them and that I care about them. I frequently have to stop myself from showering my friends with gifts and assorted nonessential items because I would be breaking my bank.  I just want people to know they are important to me and I value them.  I am loyal to my friends and family.  If you don't have them, what do you have? 

Fear Leaving the Body

I've been feeling too sick and tired lately to do anything but my paid work.  Having food chucked at me, wiping snot off noses other than my own and being woken up more than once a night is just wearing me down.  I think you all come here for my honesty but not for the humdrum of our daily lives.  I've decided to try the '30 Days of Truth' to get my writing flowing again. 

Day One- Something You Hate About Yourself. 

Geez.

Really?

That sounds like an awfully negative way to start.  OK, here goes.

I hate how I let a fear of failure get in my way.  I've gotten better as I have gotten older and seen that this fear will get me nowhere but as a kid it was always there like a shadow lurking just behind me, whispering in my ear that it was just easier and sigh, safer to stand back and let other people be daring and play sports, be loud, get into stuff and be bold.  I was not content and built up a lot of anger, bitterness and resentment towards myself and others because of this trait but the fear was too much.  It is a dark side of me that I loathe. 

For some reason when I turned thirty and I had TD that shadowy figure of fear lessened.  I've heard that the part of the brain that controls motivation in women gets bigger after having children.  That is especially true for me.  Suddenly, I didn't care about failure so much as I wanted to do what I wanted to do and who cared about the failing part. If I tried and things didn't work out, at least I could say I tried and it now made sense.  I wanted to be a fearless role model for my daughter more than my fear of failing. 

I still let fear get in my way at times, it allows me to procrastinate on small things that make no sense. I tell myself I'm shy or too tired when often it is fear sucking up my strength.  It angers me that I allow myself to be this way but more often than not I kick its ass to the curb these days.  It's always scary when I confront those fears no matter how big or small (like placing an order for food delivery. Yeah, I know that is weird but I still get all anxious about doing it.), but I tell myself that the nerves I'm feeling is just the fear leaving my body.  That's all.  I'll be better for it all later.

And you know what? It's always been true. 

Day One is complete. Can I run a victory lap around my house now? 

Finding My Way, Again.

I admit that lately I have felt uninspired.  I have ignored my blog, been busy with life, work and incubating the Fifth Element the last few months.  It hasn't left a lot of room for contemplation, new ideas or much of anything but the bare necessities.  I have felt removed from the blogosphere too.  I have tried to attend events only to have to cancel from exhaustion. 

Last Sunday changed all that. I managed to get myself dressed and have the energy to attend the Silicon Valley Moms Group/ DC Metro Moms event that two of my friends put together.  After a brunch that I missed (The Comedian got sick, that's life) there was a ssymposium of companies and professional bloggers that allowed me to not just eat some damn fine cheese but to sit in a room full of women I admire, who inspire me and I am friends with IRL (in real life for you non-Internets).  We talked with companies who were equally interested in our ideas, social media and professional women bloggers.  Feelings of motivation, new ideas and excitement brewed within me as I listened to everyone share their ideas. 

Later at an event with these same bloggers and companies I was able to sample their wares and be among friends, make new ones and work in a way that I have missed so much in the last few months. This event made me realize why I got into blogging in the first place.  My love of writing, being part of a community, being among other writers and women who love to share information with others like I do and providing a service to others via reviews isn't something that just happened. It's all what I made happen when I decided to change my life with the support of my husband and in turn change our lives for the better.  It's led us on a journey we never could have imagined. Given us opportunities we never dreamed of and proved to be more than outlet for me, but an actual career that I adore. 

I just want to thank SVMoms, Sarah and Devra for putting this event together.  It was fabulous. It opened new doors for me that day, once again, in ways I never expected no matter how many times it happens.  It makes me realize how fortunate I am and blessed.  It made me feel refreshed and alight with new ideas and why I made the decision to start a new path for myself and in turn my family all those years ago and why it is still the best decision today.  This blogger was feeling a little lost but my amazing community brought me back and I can't thank them enough.

Some of those fabulous women include-

Baby Brewing

Uppercase Woman

Tech Savvy Mama

TeachMama

PunditMom

Stimey

WhyMommy

Jodifur

and so many more, I'm sorry if I missed you. 

Got Blog Block? Me too.

I'm suffering blog block right now.  I'm not about to write about four year-old party excess or how I'm still so stinkin' tired everyday.  Somehow I still prevail and write elsewhere though and not about what I typically write on here.  OK, just a little bit but go ahead, venture out and read me somewhere else.  It is fine, I swear.

Read about my ability to make ears at Honest Baby. I'm a pro.

Find out how I learned to say 'Yes' at DC Metro Moms.  It's still a work in progress.

And as always you can find me writing about green items and more at TheFind.  They pay me and actually have loads of cool stuff there daily.  It's quite the awesome website.  I hang out there a lot. 

Powering Down

I have become what I loathe. Last night I found myself in the middle of girls night with a strong case of Twitter-itch. Not to be confused with jock-itch. I could blame it on my lack of dinner and a bit of wine but really it has more to do with my affliction known as Twitter addiction.

I like me some social media and networking, I do.

Symptoms include:

-Wanting, scratch that, "needing" to check Twitter about every 2.5 seconds. If I can't. It's a big FAIL.

-Believing with all my black heart that UberTwitter is quite possibly the prettiest symbol to don my Blackberry screen. I can extol the virtues of UberTwitter to total strangers. A 'squee' is usually involved.

-The need to be 'in the know' is always at the forefront of my mind. However, all I end up knowing is what is happening on Twitter, that Jon&Kate (a show I don't even watch) are feuding again courtesy of Mamapop and a bunch of other nonsense that no one cares about except about four other bloggers. It's pretty futile and I'm quite sure it makes me a dork.

I could go on but my attention span and writing capabilities are almost nil due to Twitters 140 character limit. Facebook now just makes me cranky. Network Blog um, thingies exhaust me. I'm a member of like ninety bazillion now.

So here is the thing. Starting Monday I will be powering down and logging off from all this stuff and focusing on the quiet. Silence. I will revisit what actually goes on in my brain and the world around me. I think that the idea of hearing my dishwasher hum and the birds outside beats the sounds of Speidi. I'll only use Twitter to send out my posts and other work-related writings. There will be no blog networking sites. No Facebooking. No DVR on while an audio book plays on the CD player and trying to read work emails while sitting in the school car line. I'll read. I'll listen. In 'powering down' I think I'll not only clear my mind but also find I can use it more effectively. Maybe I will actually want to write again.

Either that or I'll crack from the lack of "news" and run crying and gasping for my Tweets declaring my love for you all in 140 characters or less. I'll wager that Facebook will still make me cranky though.

If you want to join me in this week-long challenge. Well, go right ahead. #silence.

My Book. Enough Said #2

The latest piece of my book. Thanks for reading!

In my mind though something different was going on, something dark was unfurling as I began to think back to my times with Rob. Hit me? No. Rob had never hit me. Sure, there was that time that he twisted my arm a bit. Sometimes he would force me to do things but that was not hitting. Besides, I am so small and he was so big. He did not know his own strength. He always said he was sorry afterwards too. “You are so weak and small! You need to be toughened up! I’m doing this for your own good.” He would say. It is true. I am small and weak. I want to be tough. That was not hitting though. That was not what Jess was asking, was it? Was it?

I finished relaying this story to Marilyn, the words just matter of factly tumbling out as if I was reading some passage from a book aloud. Then I just stopped. I had no idea what to say next so I simply looked at her. The silence in the room was palpable. It felt as if a giant pendulum was swinging through the air cutting into it. I watched Marilyn uncross her legs, straighten her skirt and she look at me for a minute before she spoke. “Well, I was wondering when we were going to come to this.” She said. “We’ve only been dancing around it for the last year and a half in these sessions.” She said it easily and in a measured tone. There was no hint of sarcasm or anything else. She only looked at me, gauging my reaction.

“What?” I asked. I suddenly felt as if I could not breathe. My chest was tightened and the room narrowed just a bit. I dug my nails into the couch and looked into my lap. “What do you mean? You know why I come here. My problem is that I am having trouble with being away from home and my friends. I am concerned about them and I like this outlet to talk about it. That is not my problem. I think that I am just having a hard time with the break up from Rob still. I don’t…” I stopped talking. I felt my face change then from one of denial to sadness. I knew. In just this instance, it was clear. Finally. All those years with Rob. All those times he was “toughening me up”, those were not typical easy-going, normal moments teen-age girls have with their high school boyfriends. It was more than that though. Marilyn was right. This was why I came to these sessions. It was not that I was homesick. It was that for the last five years of my life I had held a secret so deep inside myself that I had been blind to it. I never saw it for anything more than what Rob told me it was.

I began to cry. Sobs racked my body. My shoulders shuddered and I grasped at the tissues Marilyn offered to me. I began to scream. Normally quite shy and reserved I no longer cared that someone was watching me howl like a wounded animal. I did not care who heard me because at last I was being heard.

My Book. Enough Said.

I made a promise this summer that I would finish at least one chapter of my book so that I could send it off to a publisher this fall. The only way I seem to be able to get any of it done is if I hold myself accountable here. So here come the weekly doses of what I'm working on and bear with me each week as I post a bit of it.

Here goes nothing....

My knees are pulled in so tight to my chest it feels as if I might bruise my ribs. My arms grip my legs and my hands clutch at my ankles as if I am holding on for dear life. The skin on my knuckles is pulled tight and white. I rock on the dorm room floor of my friend Jessica’s room unable to stifle the sobs that sometimes become wails only to then crash into screams. If I were to look into a mirror now I would see my face is a mottled mess and my hair is wild and sticky from my tears. It sticks in hardened clumps to my face and puffs out in snarls in other places. My fingers have twisted and pulled the blond strands into this disarray without my knowledge. After the first hour, no one pays me any mind. They want me to ride it out and let it go. My friends have become uneasy with this much emotion. I have never been one to shy away from how I feel but I can tell that my friends simply do not know what to do with this type of grief or with its sheer cascading magnitude.

When I had left the suite that I shared with seven other girls two hours earlier I had the same optimistic dread that I normally felt as I headed off to my weekly therapy session. I did the five-minute walk to the university’s in-house therapist, ignoring the dining hall crowd just below her office and did not think anything besides what I always thought at 3 p.m. on Friday, “Yes! The weekend is here at last!” When my therapist asked me about my recent Spring Break trip that I had just returned from I said the normal things you tell anyone about a 3-day beach weekend with your college girlfriends. “Oh! It was a blast! We had so much fun!” Except there was that one thing. That thing that Jessica had said to me that last night on the balcony kept replaying in my mind. I decided to bounce it off Marilyn, the therapist.

It was the last night of the trip and Jessica and I were sitting on the hotel balcony looking out at the ocean, the sun was dipping low and the breeze was warm and slight. We were splitting a bottle of Strawberry Boones and drinking it out of the plastic hotel cups. Typical. Our feet were still sandy from a day spent on the beach and we rested them on the rail of the balcony as we discussed the past few days. Jessica had been in a fight with her boyfriend non-stop via phone the whole trip, which then got her into a fight with Sara who was also sharing a room with us on the trip. I stopped Jess mid-sentence and whistfully said, “Wait. Just look. It is so beautiful out there. I miss the ocean so much when we are at school. I wish I was near it all the time. I should call Rob.”

“What?! Why?!”, Jess had asked coughing on her drink, sitting straight up in her chair and slamming her sandy, tanned feet down on the balcony floor. “I don’t get you Vicky. You and Rob broke up a year ago. You broke up with him. Why do you always feel the need to call him? He was such a jerk to you. “

“I know.” I said. “I don’t know. Maybe I am obsessed with him. I haven’t dated anyone else since.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Vicky? Let me ask you something and you have to promise you won’t get mad.” Jessica asked quietly.

“Sure. What is it?” I asked. I looked at Jess and wondered why she had suddenly gotten so quiet and serious.

“Did he ever…hit you? Did Rob hit you?” Jess asked. I couldn’t look at my friend. Instead I looked at my own sand encrusted feet and earnestly began to use the toes on my right foot to scrape the sand off my left foot. It was quiet. I didn’t say a word. Eventually, I looked up at Jess, meeting her eyes and I felt pin pricks of hot pain in the corners of my eyes as I did. Quickly I looked back to the ocean. As my eyes brimmed with tears that I didn’t understand I smiled and said in a soft and small voice, “Of course not. Why would you ever think something like that?”

To be continued next week.....

Just Book It

"When are you going to write a book? Quite honestly, I think you should. You have such a beautiful gift."

I've been told I should write a book for a while. Even Role Mommy said so! I have to say that I am indeed working on it. It's just incredibly hard when you only have blips of time to do that work plus everything else. For me to write a book or even get enough of my act together to send something off to publishers would take s o much concentrated time and effort on my part.

I promised H I would do it by the end of the summer but then my weekly sitter up and quit on me. So the whole working on the book thing isn't going as well as I would have hoped.

Here's the thing though- would you even buy a book I would write or am I just wasting my time?

Meeting Jen Lancaster

Last Friday I took a trip two years in the making. I boarded a metro train bound for the city and met up with a friend. After a delightful dinner of tapas and sangria and a quick stop for cupcakes we made our way to the Jen Lancaster, Pretty in Plaid, book signing.

Awww... look at the cute crazy stalker fangirrrl.

I know you are already like, "Uh, what is the big deal? She's just some author. What are you some crazy stalker fan or something?" Well, I could be. I did after all wear lime green pants, a pink polo and pearls. And the above mentioned cupcakes. Divine, by the way. So while I could be construed as crazy stalker fangirl (hmm.. despite the lime green pants and pearls I'm really more of a fangirrrl, anyways...) it is more that Lancaster's first book came to me at just the right moment. Let's go back three years, shall we?

There I was all post-partumy and on my first outing after having TD. I was standing in Borders humor section figuring, "Why the F not. I could use some as long as it's not the Jeff Foxworthy variety." And there it was, Bitter is the New Black, Lancaster's first book and I thought, "I'm bitter..." I picked it up and began to read while pushing a colicky TD. I couldn't stop laughing and relating. When I was done with the book I wanted more. I quickly discovered her blog, Jennsylvania. While I had a live journal back in 2003 and a pregnancy/family-only blog, I never thought of blogging on the scale that Lancaster was doing. I had never read any one's blog either. Suddenly, I had a fever. A fever that could only be quenched with more... blogging.

And there you have it. I created The Mummy Chronicles, quit my day job and now I'm a writer, reviewer, consultant extraordinaire! I really believe that I have Lancaster to thank for that in some way. She inspired me to do something I didn't think I could and kept me laughing throughout. Meeting her for the first time (despite two years of trying and missing book signings) was a real highlight for me. Even if I couldn't get up the nerve to do more than shove cupcakes at her, grin stupidly and squat beside her with the brilliant line of, "Wow. I feel really tiny squatting down here." I iz wicked brilliant writer, no?

I'm hosting a few giveaways at MPR this week- check them out here! There's a silver pendant and more!

It's a Surreal Life Sometimes

It's been one month since H got laid off. One month of some of the strangest times we've had. From worrying about our health insurance to wondering if we'll make our mortgage payment. Oh, and then we went on vacation. And Graco came calling asking me to do a little car seat campaign for them. Then BlogHer. Just when I thought our life would return to its somewhat banal suburban existence BBC America came calling.

Yeah, you heard me.
BBC America.
In my house.
Today.
What I thought was spam at first glance turned out to be an interview request. There I sat in my pajamas with my hair all askew and my morning coffee by my side just stunned, mouth probably hanging open staring at the request. My DC Metro Moms post, "Day One- I Feel Like a Statistic" had been previously picked up for syndication and now this was a result of it.

With Obama overseas this week the BBC is doing a piece about how for many Americans the real issue is the less than stellar economy. America has changed a lot since the last election and we need to find out what is really going through the minds of a typical American family. A typical American family who until recently may have lived a rather blissful life but now themselves unemployed.

Enter us. I have to say this right here and now to all you bloggers/writers out there. Just when you think you are writing for nothing and no one cares about what you think or say something like this can happen and suddenly you feel not only heard but that what you are writing is actually reaching readers. I'm stunned and excited and a bit stupefied.

Now that the BBC crew has come and gone and our house no longer has camera and lighting equipment in it we can go about the everyday humdrum of fighting the laundry monster, writing reviews about products that scare T.D. and trying to find jobs. Ah, the excitement never ends. Still, I think our life might be a bit surreal.

So is that like uh, a real job?

It is always when I'm about to go to an event with a lot of our friends that I begin to feel the 'I' word. Insecure. I didn't always feel that way. Nope. It only started when I quit my 9-5 job and decided to make a go of this whole writing thing that I felt these pangs of insecurity.

We go to an event and the topic of work comes up. No one asks me about my job anymore. I'm left out of the conversation unless I shoehorn my way in. When I would begin to talk about a particular project I could see the judgment. The "HA! Yeah right! You don't really work anymore, you just stay home." It has been said to me more than once. It has gotten to the point that now I don't even talk about work. Even if I'm really excited about something or something big is coming up I just find something else to talk about. Hell, I'm even traveling twice in one week for work and to me that is scary and exciting as hell but I won't be mentioning it this weekend. Why?

I don't really feel like a working Mom. This is especially the case when I talk about deadlines and people laugh in my face. When I mention how backed up I am and can't fit in another review and people look confused and then scoff. Yes, scoff at me because what I do must not actually be work. I just play with free stuff all day, write about it which probably only takes me five minutes. Never mind trying to write about other things as well. That's not work. I might as well just be surfing the MamaPop site all day.

I can't tell you how angry this makes me. Sometimes violently so. On some days I'm rearing for a fight because freelance work can be a lot like fighting. You are constantly looking for work and pushing for the chance to make a name for yourself and carve your little niche in the writing world. It is exhausting. Like any other working mom I juggle my time and work late. I sometimes need additional help with T.D. and I do get paid for a lot of the work I do. I make my own schedule and work from home so why in this telecommuting day and age is that seen as different and not real work? When I read Risa Green's article on Mommytrack'd this week it was just when those insecure feelings began rearing their ugly little heads. I could hear the scoffing, the snorts, and "yeah rights". Simply because I no longer work in a traditional office setting or because I no longer have benefits through my work I demean myself into thinking that I'm not a working mother despite that very much being the contrary. Maybe it's the lowering of my income that has done it as well but whatever it is I can't let myself spiral down into these thoughts and self-doubts anymore. I can't let the scoffers, naysayers and non-believers make a non-believer out of me.

I am a writer. This is my career. I chose this path which is more than just a j-o-b. I chose to listen to my heart and my gut and follow my dream to be a writer. Just because I'm not working in a newsroom or getting paid as much as I would like to be doesn't mean it is not work and I'm not working it. In order for others to take me seriously I need to start doing that with myself when I present myself to others. When people try to push me aside I can't let them. If it means I have to keep fighting in one way or another then I have to accept that and keep on fighting the good fight.

Saturday Morning Wake Up Call

I had a dream last night. One of those dreams where I know I need to listen. Two old men sat at a picnic table by a lake. They were the gruff no nonsense types with the unmistakable air that only retired cops possess. There was nothing film noir about them or the situation. I got the feeling I needed to heed what they were saying though. Girlie needed to listen up as what they were telling me was incredibly important. One more thing. They were dead.

They told me that I knew what I had to do. I had to get closure. I needed to do that in two ways. One I needed to find out what happened. I know cryptic right? But I knew exactly what they were talking about. The second thing being that I had to write about it. I had to take the two books I had already started that are in a similar vein and combine them with the third that has yet to be written. This they told me was my story to tell. They chuckled and exchanged a familiar glance making me think they knew each other in life. The tougher looking one said, "Aren't you writers supposed to write about what you know anyway?" I quietly said, "Yes that sounds about right". I smiled up at them and asked if I could leave now. I was excused but I had to remember this. I had to remember what they told me when I woke up. There is a story in me and no matter what I think when I wake up I had to remember it and write it.

It's true. It's been there all this time and I've tried so hard to write it and at the same time to stamp it out. Write what you know right? Well, what if I write it and it hurts people I love to read these things? What if I write it and despite it being fictionalized it still rings true and causes problems? What if a lot of things. What if it's too scary and hard? Heh. That is about the gist of it.

I'm sure other writers have come across this problem. The story is there and all at once at the most inopportune times the words come tumbling out. The words are there in writers block and get tangled in your brain. They form a web holding you captive for far too long. You live inside your head a lot in those times which can be an alternately fascinating yet frightening place. You can taste and feel the words. Visualize them spilling forth and hitting the page. You know it's there. All you have to do is commit. Write it. You can only go on so many runs before you hit a wall and know it's time to sit and write that story that you are supposed to tell.

Reduce the Crazy- Project Life Change

So there I was reading all about Project Life Change from some great bloggers and I thought, well what a swell idea but I've already done that. Remember? I quit my job back in January to stay home with T.D. and pursue my writing. A life long dream. What could be better than that?

Except for one thing.

It's called balance. Coupled with my inability to say no to a writing gig or almost anything else and I am swamped! Swamped with writing for free half the time too. Sure I get loads of free products and that's great! My friends think I'm the luckiest person for all that stuff that arrives daily at my front door. Except that they don't have to review it. I get bogged down in the boxes and using things and keeping such a tight schedule. I have stopped enjoying it. I want to do different things but I'm always ripping open some new item to review and it was starting to make me and our whole house a bit crazy.

"No T.D.! Don't play with that toy! Watch this DVD instead!"
"Don't you want to wear this new shirt? Come on! It's fun!
"Now let's find out what the streets are saying about that shirt! MUSH!"

Yeeeaaah. You get the drift.

So I made a pact with myself and with H. No more new stuff this year. What is on the books, which quite frankly has me to the end of the year, is it. Nothing else. All new stuff goes into next years review which will be down to two a week instead of three plus. It's just too much. So I'm learning to say no or actually, yes, but not until next year on some things. It's a relief. A big one.

It also frees up my time for things like, oh... actually communicating with my daughter and taking walks or going on play dates and not just busying her while I write up another piece. I can free my mind too and let the creative writer take over and there are things that are definitely brewing. Hearing about this Project Life Change initiative was just in time and what I needed. What my family needed. I needed to step back once again and reduce the busy/crazy and focus on what is truly important and the number one reason I'm home. My daughter.


Feel free to read more about the project here and look for me as a contributor there as well! I'm so excited about this website I can't even tell you! It's everything I love in one great space!


Oh yeah! While you are at it head on over to the review site over on the right hand sidebar. New stuff is up this week and Friday we are having a giveaway! One lucky reader will win the new Jen Lancaster book Bright Lights, Big Ass and some other fun items so stay tuned!

Desk Jockey

Recently there have been talks brewing in these here parts of me going back to work. It's all a bit fuzzy and I think I was drinking something called a Tropical Typhoon when the subject came up. I can't be sure as it was a Typhoon.

I know. Going back to work you say? What about all those awful hours you put in under sometimes heinous circumstances? What about the commute? What about the asshat?! Don't you remember the asshat?! I hear you people. I hear you loud and clear. I'm not so far removed from it all yet. Truthfully the desire to go back to being a desk jockey is not at all strong. In fact, I am content to never see another set of gray cubicle walls or smell the stench of burned Maxwell House ever again if possible. It was just last week I told a friend, the only way I'm ever going back to work outside of the house is as a writer. Plain and simple. Nothing else.

Mainly, the question is, what about T.D.? What about all the other possible Dash Two Future Dictators I could spawn? I'm sure the asshat thinks spawn is the proper word for me too. Didn't I make the decision to work from home and try this writing thing out so I could be with T.D. more and help pull our family from the crash and burn wreckage it had become? Yes, I did. So why go back? Why Groundhog day myself?

I was made an interesting offer last week and I feel really conflicted. It's an offer that effectively has me writing my own ticket and working from home. A real salary. A job so far from what I ever thought I would be doing but that could quite possibly be a giant step into something I could really enjoy. Truth is, I've never worked with a group of people that actually think I have talent. That appreciate my efforts and hear my ideas. I've only ever worked with ass clowns and pervs. Sad, but true. It was that realization that had me downing the Typhoon. It was then that I realized that in all my working life I have never been taken for my abilities. Sure I've been promoted and been told, "Good job!" here and there but for the most part my working career has been rife with sexual innuendos, harassment's of various natures, and a lack of a good role model.

There was one exception to this string of malcontent jobs, and oddly in the same realm of work I would be doing if I took this new offer. Whether it was the fact that it was an office full of women I don't know, but our male boss was extremely sensitive and PC. For once I enjoyed PC. For once I went to work without wondering if my breasts or ass would be discussed right in front of me. For once I knew no one was going to ask about my sex life with my husband or if there was a lack thereof that they could "remedy". It was nice. It was more than nice, I felt competent and valued. Then the economy tanked and I lost my job. Such is life.

I discussed this all with H as I was just realizing it at that moment, as I stared down the giant strawberry from the Typhoon. Do I want to go back to work in an actual position and not freelance? I wouldn't be writing so much and we would have to get childcare. More discussion has to come from this on all sides in order for me to make an informed decision. However, that offer? It made me really appreciate what I've created and realize that I needed to step back and figure out what works for me and what doesn't in a work environment. It's a bit liberating I have to say. I'll be discussing it more here shortly.

Overheards

Scene: My house. Me on the phone with my Mother.

Mom: You know that email you sent with the link on that piece you wrote?

Me: Yes....

Mom: Well, it just brought me to the main site. There were tons of them. I didn't know which one was yours, none of them had a name to them.

Me: Oh. I thought I sent a link to my latest article. Just that one. Not to the main site. Hm....I could have sworn...well it was the book review, 'Bright Lights, Big Ass'.

Mom: That one? Oh! I read that one! Well, that one was quite well written! I didn't know you wrote that one!

Me: Thanks! (Mentally banging head down on table or other hard surface.)

A Few Things

I consider myself a new writer. Just trying to make it in the world today. Yes, sometimes it takes a lot.... Really, though I'm not. I've been doing the whole writing thing for quite some time. I just never had it technically published or was paid for it outright. I did a lot of technical manuals in my day. Data sheets, course catalogs and generally dry stuff. Before that, I wrote some pretty serious papers on the life of your average gilded age princess, the civil war and how it affected women, and the every day life of the 19th Century person. I wrote some pretty kick ass stuff as I was told in not those exact words. I have talent. A passion and gift for writing.

Ok fine. So here I am actually trying to make a living from it and I'm pissed. I get really angry when I see ads on job boards for things like this-

"need 30 (yes, 30) 500 word articles with extensive research done (no topic given) in 8-10 hours. No errors, must be perfect for print. (hmm... so what if it's not on the topic that isn't even assigned?) English MUST be native language. (ooh bonus points for me! I talk me some good Unglish!) Will pay $1 per article."

WTF!!!!! First I'm asked to write on whatever. I'm going to go with how a banana ripens quickly. That seems fair. I'll write 500 compelling words on that and do 29 more pieces exactly like that. I'll just stick with fruit. Why the hell not! I must do all these with extensive research going into them in 8-10 hours. Whew!

Writing sweat shop anyone?! Because that is exactly what these ads are. 8-10 hours of work for thirty puny ones. I can't even buy an outfit at Old Navy for that. That won't fill the tank of my car! It enrages me that there is a system out there that reduces the craft of writing to that type of shit. Why not just say, "write for me for free dumbass". I'm not even going to go into the ads on Craigslist that ask for full feature articles for magazines with no compensation. They always advertise that they are great for new writers.

This "new" writer thing can really suck when it's put to you this way. It more than sucks. It pisses me off to no end. It is an act of futility that sucks the life out of my writing mojo. Now I'm going to go about my business of querying magazines and newspapers, you know places that actually pay, because they know that not just anyone can be a writer. Especially with a screaming banshee of a toddler racing around the room at ninety miles an hour hurling hard plastic objects at you. Thirty my ass, I should get combat pay.


Check out this post here for a laugh and some added venom. I agree.

Rock the VOTE!

In addition to the already fun and cool photo contest I have going there is a new one.

This one involves voting. VOTING FOR ME! It's Blog for a Year, a year where I would be paid to professionally blog. What could be more fun? For me that is. Anyway, don't you want to exercise your right to vote? So click here and vote. You can vote everyday too. Please do it. Do it for T.D. who likes to gnaw on plastic but I can't feed her that!

Vote daily. Tell your friends to vote. Tell your mailman, your personal trainer, tell your friends and family-VOTE FOR VICKY!

For the Birds? Before the Birds!

I woke up at 4:30 a.m. today. Great googly moogly why?!? The birds weren't even up yet. Darkness stole every corner of the house. Except the basement. I left the light on.

The basement, my Fortress of Solitude, also known as the office. I would love to think of it as the Bat Cave, but it's not. The tiny corner I have created just puts my back to the clutter of retired baby gear, tools, the laundry monster's cave, and some old, unused appliances. Sometimes I think someone might be living back there, then I realize I'm just paranoid.

I'm up today because I'm hungry. I'm hungry for work. I am looking for, no, I NEED a good writing job. Something that pays more than ten bucks for 800 words. Who are those people anyway? I've been working for free too much lately. I took on a lot of free assignments because I thought I had a somewhat regular gig going. A paid one. I'm realizing now that doesn't seem to be the case. What is going on with that situation even I don't know. It's frustrating and has taken up a lot of time. Time I thought I would be compensated for. I am sick of thinking of about it.

So here I sit, up before even the birds, trolling for work, working on some small projects, really needing to find one that actually pays. I knew going into this business it would be hard to break into, but I was confident enough to know that I do have a smidgen at least of talent. Lately though I've been doubting myself. I've been sucked dry. The writing for free, the guinea pigging myself out, and the endless queries are leaving me parched. I feel like a dried up leaf. A dried up leaf someone used to scrape dog crap (from my neighbors yard) off their shoe with. I am now trying to crawl out of that barren pit and find the funny again.

Maybe if I watch T.D. like a hawk today I'll notice her doing her own sketch comedy routine. She mentioned vaudeville making a comeback the other day. Maybe the dog will do something amusing rather than bark at the asshat who lives behind me. The man has a right to run his dogs. He does NOT have the right to smirk at my dog and me and laugh as I yell at her to "Shut the F (frickle?) up!" Maybe something will be on TV besides craptastic 'Sunset Tan' and other shitty reality shows. I yearn for decent television. My DVD player is tired of playing 'Arrested Development' and 'Undeclared'.

So if you know of anyone needing a writer....

Seriously.

That Floundering Feeling

I had a meeting the other day about a writing job which I'm excited about as it's not a venue I've done a lot with and it will require a bit of detective work on my behalf. I knew going into the meeting that I would have to bring T.D. along and that was fine as this woman also works out of her home and her kids would be there too. Fine. Fine.

When I arrived I got T.D. settled in the playroom just off the office. She toddled around the room checking out the new toys. It soon became clear however, that the office was far more fascinating to her and so were the contents of my purse. She showed this fascination by dumping it all over the floor and then systematically removing what I couldn't grab as I tried to pay attention, take notes, and make intelligent conversation. Oy. My stress level rose a bit there. The meeting continued on as I doled out graham crackers and juice. I took notes and stole my sunglasses back. I tucked my cell phone away as well as pens. T.D. found a highlighter in the office and took off with it. A paper weight was brought to me with reverence. Sigh. It was exhausting and distracting while I tried to be OK with it all. I just don't do well with this type of thing.

When we had finally covered what we needed to I gathered up my stuff to go and it was just all over the place. My shit was all apart as we like to say in our house. Literally all apart. I love gathering crap up off a strangers floor. I took my notes, my supplies, my kid, my purse and the items given to me during the meeting. It was an armful. I thanked her and we headed out the front door. Then that damned wind that has been keeping me up at night, blowing crap all over our yards, and generally making life incredibly bothersome happened. In one giant gust it ripped all the notes from my hands. The stack of papers she had just given me? Sailing across four houses in her neighborhood in under five seconds. There was simply no way for me to grab them with everything else I had in my arms. I set some things down but as I awkwardly crawled around with T.D. picking up loose papers I knew it was a lost cause. They were not even in sight anymore. I HATE WIND. I don't care about how it helps pollination... I LOATHE WIND. Fine. Fine. Fine! I will just put my stuff in the car and ask for another folder of papers. But wait...

"Where are my keys?", I ask T.D. Mainly because she's there and I'm squawking aloud but also because I know she's the culprit behind the lost keys. I dump out my mess of a purse and look. Nothing. I'm locked out. I trudge back to the house and ring the bell. Embarrassed and feeling like the biggest, unprofessional loser I explain the wind and now the keys. We head back into the house. The keys are found in the playroom quickly and a new folder is presented to me. I felt like a moron though. A tired dishrag, rung out to dry, found on the road dishrag. An incompetent, unprofessional dishrag. Days later I still cringe when I think of it.

Happy Monday!

It's a cold, blustery day and it feels more like January than mid-April. The weather is seeping into my soul making it a gooey, slightly sticky, clumped with allergen inducing dust bunny darkened mess. I lurched downstairs to head to the office, ignoring the howling winds outside my door. My coffee in hand I decided to check out my site meter. I do this weekly just to get stats, see who's reading and who's not, etc. I found a link I didn't know about.
Mothers Day Central and there I was listed as one of the Top 100 Mom Blogs! Seriously!?! ME?!

I mean I like me. Most days. I just had no idea other people liked me like that. It was the push I needed to see and hear. Sometimes I wonder if anyone is really reading this, if I am actually good at this blogging/writing thing, and whether or not I should even keep going. So I just want to say a HUGE THANK YOU to my readers and supporters. I love that you all always know when to tell me I'm doing something good and it's just when I need to hear it.

It also makes me beg the question- who on earth nominated me? Step forward! I wish to thank you publicly. A question that is always on my mind is also who are my readers? I would love to know you better. Drop me a line, check in and say hi, tell me what you like about the site and/or why you read it. I would love some feedback.

Again THANK YOU and it's great to see all my favorite blogs that you can find in my sidebar links also are on the list.

Cheers!