What I DIDN'T do was shove my unfinished novel under the door one single-spaced page at a time.

What I did do was find the address of Janet Reid's office and wave hello.

Hi!

  JANETREID gave me one of my top 3 awesome rejections, which made me respect her even more, I'm not even kidding.

So I didn't technically stalk any literary agents, but I did seek out the workplace of one and No I do not think that's crazy.  

A whole bunch of stuff that has nothing to do with anything. Or might.

It's like this: Horses Rock Stars Awards Shows Pug Novel-writing and Stuff.  Where do I start? Well, the water in the barn is frozen again.  I HATE when that happens but at least the trough is full.  Let's cheer up by looking at some barnyard winter pictures:

We're not working these days - which I think the horses might actually miss! - but they're getting lots of hay and pats and smooches.  

A reader sent me an email a few days back (Hi Lynn!) asking about good footing for an outdoor riding area.  The short answer is... I'm not sure.  I've been thinking about this for a couple years.  Next week I'll write a post about what I've come up with so far.  

Who watched the SAG AWARDS last weekend?  

No?

Heck that's okay.  I DID!  

I watch the awards, so you don't have to.  

It's just what I do, no need to thank.

DISAPPOINTING ROCK NEWS Part 1

Robert Plant was in Toronto 2 weeks ago.  And I was not.  Oh Robert.  When, when, will our paths meet again?  I can't friggin' believe I didn't catch this.  

Dang it.  

I won't give up hope!  As long as he keeps doing His Thing, which we can clearly see, He's Still Got IT, there is still a chance I'll get to see him!  And like, remember it this time.  

DISAPPOINTING ROCK NEWS Part 2

The White Stripes have called it quits. 

They're going to end on a good note rather than crank out a few crappy boring albums worth of dreck, then give up out of frustration. Good decision guys.  But nevertheless.

WAAAAAHHHHH!

SO glad we took the kids to see the a few years back.  That was worth it.  Two freaks on a stage making a lot of noise- that is just what a couple of pre-teens get into.  

I will miss their special brand of weirdness!  

At least Jack has other things going on, and always will.  

But yet again, waaaahhhhhh!

Ok, what else happened this week?  I bought pants.  They fit.  It snowed and now my Pug has to jump through the snow drifts, which is hilarious and darn near indescribable.  Trust me, it's funny.

I got rid of some more junk.  Why the hell did I think I'd need those glass jars after I moved?  Seriously, there's not a worldwide glass shortage happening.  Buh-bye junk.  

And the cat is taming up a little but she's still psycho. I adore her.  

Also I'm rewriting.  AGAIN.  But it's okay, and I'm actually... enjoying it!!!  From now on I shall introduce myself like this:

"Hello.  I'm Heidi, I'm a horsewoman and a re-writer."

On that happy note, I've worn my computer down to 11% battery and my butt's numb from sitting so long.  Git outta here and go do something!  Git!

Things change, and things stay the same: a nice visit to the old neighbourhood

There's never enough time to visit.  I'm bad at keeping in touch.  I'm not good at planning things.

There, now that's out of the way, and I can write about the good stuff!

The occasion was the official release of the Aurora Writers Group's third anthology, cleverly titled, "Aurora Storyalis III"  The first anthology made me join the group; the second had four entries of mine.  This time around, I took part long distance, which did complicate things, but was worth it.  I love being part of that big, diverse group.  Seeing everybody again was wonderful!  I even got up and read a poem despite my scratchy throat.

I tried not to spread my germs around, I really did, but that's difficult for a hugger like me.

Jethro likes when I have a cold.  It always hits me in the throat, and he likes my husky voice.  I figure he likes it when I'm raspy and quiet and lethargic, for a change.  He says it's nice, cuz my defences are down.  Ha.  Ha.

I ran around the room with a pen trying to get signatures from all my fellow writers.  It really was like the last day of high school with yearbooks.  Great, now I'll start having high school nightmares again.

I made all kinds of promises to stay in touch and be more regular about it and if any of you are reading, including my Tiny Writers: I  MEAN IT!!!

Hey, if you are a solitary writer?  Get yourself into a group.  Even if the group is only one other person, do it.  You'll not only have somebody to help you with an objective eye for your work, but you won't feel so alone in your craziness. It's nice to have somebody else understand your imaginary friends.

Later on we ended up back on the old block.  I was put on a couch and given a nice hot bowl of soup to soothe my sore throat.  Awwww!  We moved up one house and it turns out I was totally right about the people who bought our house. They are the right family. She had us in for over an hour, gave us the tour, fed us, gave us hugs and sent us away with tomatoes!!!  She thanked us for selling them that sweet house.  I thanked her for enjoying that house.  Then we all laughed and told her about the giant pit the gang of kids dug in the back yard, and the plastic skeletons we buried when we filled in the pit.  Yeah, welcome to the neighbourhood!!!

The place sure looks great.  It's a lot cleaner, now that it's theirs...

One thing that stayed the same is the presence of two boys who used to spend a lot of time in that house and that backyard, known here as Not So Little M and Cute Stuff.  Turns out, they still end up there quite often!  They've adopted the new teenage boys.  All the boys, including Bucky on a borrowed bike, went on a long ride up the ravine hill and back.

Apparently it's not normal for a seller to choose the house's next inhabitants.

Well, I'm also the girl who names pickup trucks and computers, and is part of three writers groups.

A few old neighbours weren't home when I knocked on the door, but that just means we have to go back again. We rounded out the evening up the street with pizza, laughs, music and sloppy Bernese Mountain Dog kisses.  Just like old times, only instead of a quick stagger down the street, it was an hour and a half drive home.

Home...

The Hick Chic Guide to Holding a Yard Sale

My first piece of advice would be, "Don't."  Like, you really just want to get rid of your stuff, right?  It's a long day in the sun for not much money.  But then I'm lazy and non-materialistic so maybe don't take my word for it.

Important:  Don't hold a yard sale in the country.  Few people driving by at 100kph will stop to see if you are selling anything they want.

Instead, have it at your sister's house!!  Sweetie lives on a nice crescent in town where about three other yard sales are going on.  Plus it's the big annual Mennonite Relief Sale and you're guaranteed at least five old order families stopping by with their wagons full of the spoils of their day.  (Honestly these folks scoop the bargains.)

If your sister happens to have a little feline visitor making regular stops in her garden, even better.

Doesn't matter who the cute little thing belongs to... she doesn't make disgusting piles in the flowerbeds or use Sweetie's deck as a scratching post so it's all okay!

Also useful: make the younguns run the sale.  Officially that is.  See, I stuck around to make sure all went well, but they were in charge of the cash.  They did all the greeting and smiling.  I sat in the shade and read a good book.  And petted somebody else's cat.  The upside is that the kids can use this cash for school trips and other things they need. Downside - not nearly enough.  

Annyong and Bucky were great though.  They didn't fight with each other and were very polite to anybody who wandered up, picked up a few things and shook them, then left.

(I can't believe we ended up with like, four boxes of books.  WHO DOESN'T WANT TO BUY BOOKS FOR NEXT TO NOTHING????  Geez, I took two books and two bibles home with me, and I was aiming to get rid of stuff! Books, people!)

Have enough supplies on hand for comfort.  Obviously you need tape and scissors and a marker and maybe some bags to send stuff home with people as well as water and snacks.  You also need sunscreen.  And hats.  And maybe bandannas to soak up the forehead sweat.  How about a deck of cards for those long stretches of boredom?  Not for me.  I don't get cards.  (It wasn't a Mennonite thing...)  

Speaking of which, I went down to the Sale to get some apple fritters.  Mmmmmm.  Also speaking of which, the old order families crack me up.  They have these homebuilt buggies with rubber tires, probably with pickup truck axles at each end of the buggy... they're loooong like cargo vans.  The team of horses are never all brushed up and groomed but incredibly fit.  The horses stop, a few people get off the buggy and come up to check out the goods.  The men wear straw hats, the women wear print dresses and amazing colourful bonnets.  My grandma made me one like that when I was a kid.  I was very un-Christian and coveted a bonnet like that.  I'd wear it.  I'm not kidding.  

When the last person is back on the buggy, the horses start walking.  They KNOW.  They know when everybody's accounted for.

By the end of the day, those buggies are FULL.  I mean, it's like the Beverley Hillbillies.  Not kidding.  Tables, blackboards, playpens, strollers, a box fan (clearly somebody's packin' some electricity at home) and the kitchen sink.  Seriously, one guy had a whole kitchen countertop including the double sink strapped to the side of the buggy.  The kids leaned their elbows on it.  

Also the seats are van seats.  AWESOME.  I would totally go parts chasin' in one of those buggies.  Lucky.  

But I am not a profesh yard sale haunter.  I'm even worse at holding one.  Anyways.  

So other than the above mentions suggestions, make the objects for sale look nice on the tables, make sure it's clean and blah blah blah.  

After twelve noon, everything's half price.  Auction the stuff if you have to, do two for one, whatever, just try to move the stuff.  

It's like this folks:  if we packrats don't want this stuff anymore, chances are nobody else does either.

Unless it's free.  We moved a few things out of the free box.

The kids each made about $20.  

As much as I would have liked to, I did not take the cute calico, with her half black tabby half orange tabby face, home with me.  

THIS WEEK IN HICK LIFE

I added "amateur cat vet" to my list of things I don't get paid to do

Moe is doing great!  He's always happy to see us when we check on him and he's trying to stand.  He's shaky and not putting any weight on the injured leg but it's a start.  The wound is closing but still uuuugly.  I am amazed at his tolerance and resilience.  This cat has the happiest attitude ever... and a heck of a will to live!

My kid turned 16

Still absorbing this... gimme another week ok?

Most of the farmers did the first cut of hay

Dude, it's MAY.  Way early.  But who cares man, this means it smells like hay everywhere and I looove that!

It was really hot this week. I sweated a lot.  Went through three changes of clothes in a day.

How unpleasant.  Here, have a nice picture of Johnny Depp to clear your mind.  He looks cooool.  Ignore the gun under his arm.  Maybe he's just happy to see us.

My horses got their tetanus shots this week.

And then the next day I got mine.  When I say I feel their pain, I mean it.  But they don't have to steer with their necks so I get to win the pity party.

Only went to the dump once this week.

And I came home with a nasty trucker tan on my left arm. This was before the tetanus shot, back when I could freely hang my arm out the window while zooming down the road with the ol' 60mph air-conditioning going, if you know what I mean.

American Idol is done, and so is Grumpy Uncle Simon, but Paula Abdul was back! to say all kinds of sweet things.

Awww.  She looked like a pink cupcake as her magical unicorn dust swirled through the air.  Actually I didn't see any of it, because...

I dragged my bestest friend to an author reading.

She is such a good sport, because she didn't know this author at all.  It was a great excuse for us to both get out in the evening, plus we both have a couple of anxiety issues, and we can face our fears together!!!  Also she didn't laugh at me for being completely starstruck to meet Guy Gavriel Kay.  

Afterwards we sat outside with her man and daughter and five bouncy little dogs.  OMG Biddie is like Sharon Osbourne with the little dogs!  I just thought of that now!  

It's nice to be living closer to her.  We still don't get to see each other much but it's better than before.  

There's this show called LOST which I decided after the first two episodes not to commit to because I didn't have enough time.

In January the kids and I gave in.  We figured it didn't matter if we didn't know what was going on because those who watched consistently didn't know either, it seemed.  We taped the finale so we could watch it together.  We're only halfway through.  See?

I found the nicest, most level place to put that pool we promised we'd get when we moved out to the country.

It's away from the road, not to close to trees that will fill the pool with leaves, and flat enough ground to avoid doing any grading.  Problems: can't shell out the $ for that inflatable pool right now (see above with the horses and cats and vets); not sure if we can run electrical for pool pump down there in the yard; not sure if solar powered pumps are available or if we can afford it; and we have this little technicality...

THIS is currently taking up pool space.  Anybody want a nice 80s vintage plow truck?  It's a 4x4!!!

Dreams can come true!

Go congratulate my writer friend, fellow Four Corners Critique Group member,

HEIDI WILLIS

...because her book, SOME KIND OF NORMAL, will be out and ready for you to read it this winter!!!

See? It can happen, in real life.

For as long as I can remember...

I would have been in Grade 4.  It was a nice day, and my Daddy was working on a car while I babbled away about whatever story I was writing in my head.  It was about a horse.  What else would I be writing about?

My teacher had asked me if I could write about something other than ponies.  He seemed to think I could branch out a little.  What he didn't realize is that I had challenged myself to write a pony or a horse into every single English class assignment.  I was really doing great with my goal.  I told him I planned to write about horses.  All the time.  It's what I do.  I don't remember if he had an answer for that.

On the last day of summer, I'd been out in the pasture field with my two little pony mares.  I patted their necks and ran my fingers through their thick black manes.  I explained to them that I had to go to school, and wouldn't be able to spend the whole day with them.  But I could still come out and see them after school.  It wouldn't be so bad.  

Writing about them all day eased the pain of parting, just a little bit.  It made me feel like I was still with them, while I sat there in the white classroom.

So I told my Daddy every little detail of this epic story I was planning on writing.  The horse in it was probably wild, since I'd been reading lots of wild  horse epics at that time.  He listened patiently, although now I wouldn't be surprised if he'd only heard half of what I said.  Eventually my babbling slowed (maybe I had to hand him a tool or something) and I asked, "Daddy, do you think anybody would read a book written by a nine year old?"

I don't think he even looked up when he answered.  "Maybe by a thirty nine year old." 

Looking back now, as a thirty eight year old, I'm kind of thinking his answer was everything at once: crushing, motivating, realistic, and disappointing.  At the time, I was silently defiant.  I made up my mind that somebody, somewhere, don't care when, is going to read my book!!!  And I am not going to wait until and thirty nine!!!

But on the way here, like a lot of girls, I got sidetracked.  I fell into that sucking hole of self esteem that so many teenage girls fall into.  I didn't believe in myself.  I still wanted to write... I secretly wrote my poems and kept journals, invented stories, but only held onto that goal as something far away.  Other people achieved the title of "writer," not me.  Not sad lil me.

It never left.

After the schooling and wedding and birth, the kid with the braids in her hair and pony dirt on her hands was still there.  She never grew up.  When the baby slept, I started typing a long story about a pregnant woman and her toddler and her husband and a whole field full of other people's horses.  Years later, after another baby, an unrecognized mental breakdown, a move to a house of our own, more stories bubbled up.  I finished a few of them.  

So I'm 38 now, and next year it'll be thirty years that I got my first dose of writer's reality, from a man who likely doesn't even remember that conversation.  He's outside right now, teaching my son how to demolish a wall or hitch up a trailer or something.  He also told me a couple of summers ago that I don't need to write trash, that anything full of cussing isn't worth writing because "people who talk like that are illiterate, they don't read!"  

I might have a long way to go yet before an actual book exists with my name on it.  I hope not too much longer.  I hope it's the one I'm sending out into the world now.  I think it's pretty good...

...even though it has no horses in it.

Although it does have some dogs.  And Axl Rose, sort of.

I doubt my folks will like it, but that's okay.  They don't have to.  Someday I'll write something they'll read, that they can be proud of.

Besides, I'm still that scrawny 9 year old with the hair in two braids and the pony-dirty hands.  That epic horse story is in there somewhere.

Have a little look at my books

Last week, one of my 4 Corners writing partners gave us a look at one of her bookcases. She really started something; the next day, another 4 Corners friend let us into a corner of her library. It's my turn now!

(If you click you can enlarge the pictures. Of course then you can see how blurry they all are.  One of these days I'll actually learn how to use the camera.  Geez.)

Apparently I'm not supposed to dust anything or rearrange anything - just take the picture as it is. Ha. Okay. Hope you like looking at dust! I did cheat a little bit, but it was mostly because I realized I left a few books out.

This is my To Be Read Shelf, the way I found it.  Geez, what a mess.  The only way to clean that up is to READ!  mwa ha ha ha...

I tidied it up just a little, and added the books I had left out.  It's like they're breeding or something. Little baby paperbacks, taking their first words out there in the big world.  Or something.

It's actually getting a little crazy in this house.  I'm showing off eight shelves from our massive oak bookcase in our upstairs living room.  But that's not all.  I've got another set of shelves downstairs, behind my desk, at the back of the family room.  Jethro's got a few in his office. There's another in our bedroom, not to mention the stacks of books on each bedside table.  On top of that, each kid has a bookshelf in their bedrooms!  

We might just use books as furniture soon.  

And you?  Have you got shelves groaning under the weight of all those beloved books?  Do you lovingly dust them or get preoccupied and just stuff them wherever, or do you go in phases like me?  Would you show your books off on the intermittent net for anybody to see?  (If you do, leave me a comment so I can go check them out.)  Do you ever get embarrassed by what's on your shelves, maybe thinking it's too lowbrow or too highbrow?  Lotsa words, not enough pictures?  I couldn't show you my picture books shelf because there's a stack of report cards and school stuff blocking the view.  And yup, it's dusty...  Gotta go take a stick full of feathers to them now.  I'd love to hear about your bookshelves when I get back!  

I still like having a story read to me.

Last night I took a little drive up to the Sprawlville Public Library for an author reading.  I made a promise to myself about two years ago that whenever there's an author reading nearby, within driving distance, I'd make a point of showing up with my ears turned on.  I'd bring some cash just in case books are being sold.  

It's not just for the pure entertainment value, or for the education I might get out of it.  It's this whole big karmic cosmic golden rule kind of payback optimism.  That person speaking into the microphone (or just talking loud enough to hear in a small room) is doing something that I want to do.  That's a published author.  I want to be that.  I'll go to these events, and in turn I hope that people will show up to my events in the future.

I'm going to buy a book if I can for the same reason.

Despite all kinds of phobias (I can't answer the phone or make a call easily) and anxieties (don't get me started) I am okay with being the person behind the mic facing a crowd.  Sure I get the butterflies; anybody would.  But I can do it.  I think a lifetime of having a turn doing a scripture reading or sharing a personal story at church has a lot to do with it.  Living with a recording studio helps.  I just don't have microphone fear.

On top of that, I read out loud, every night, for 14 years.  I can do it.

I've done it.  Last November I read a short story at my writers group book launch.  

So, I sat at the back row of the library community room, straining my neck to see Jane Urquhart  as she deadpanned a few humourous anecdotes, joked about her stories, and threatened that she'd already picked out the first person in the room to ask her a question.

I haven't read any of her books yet, but I've read many interviews in the book section of the newspaper.  She's a multiple award winning author.  She's become ubiquitous in this country. 

Her voice was as warm and rich as I imagined it would be.  She's an excellent reader.  I could let my eyes go out of focus and imagine the little girl living in the big house, sneaking through the shadows to get a look at the mysterious teenage orphan girl hired to clean the kitchen.  The images formed in my brain and became very real to me.  

Time to put one of her novels on my To Be Read shelf.

Question: Do you read books?

Obviously you read; you're here.  Or maybe you're just looking at the pictures.  Do you still read paper things with pages?  What are you reading?  Spend money on books?  I need to know.

Jethro, Bubba, and the Big Dusty Dude fix up the Studio; I paint and dream of horses and books and other fascinating topics...

It's been a week since I wiggled into my extremely glamorous coveralls and picked up a paintbrush, and I'm still working on the control room.  I wonder who's in control here.  

You might be asking what a "control room" is.  Basically it's the brains of the recording studio.  It's where the engineer and producer work while the musicians are on the other side of the glass. 

Until last week, ours was bright cheery yellow with black accents (lamps, furniture, desk.)  I do love yellow for interiors.  This room was so... bright.  Cheery.  Apparently it was the kind of bright and cheery that really grates on the nerves after a typical 14 hour stretch of recording or mixing.

Here it is last week, ready for a new coat.

The view from the producer's desk in the middle of the room, to the console, and beyond that the window out to the studio floor.

The view from the doorway.  That square window looks into the original Iso-booth, which was recently enlarged to hold a piano or drum kit.

So, as much as I liked the orangey-yellow-trimmed dandelion intensity, I've been taking it down a few notches.  You'll see the results next week.  There's soooo much cutting-in to do, around all the acoustic panels and windows.  Plus, none of the walls in a recording studio are at right angles, so it's not just four walls to paint.  It's like, nine, or maybe 17 walls.  I'm not really sure anymore.  Really.

Here, Big Dusty Dude, Jethro and Bubba are framing in the new Iso-booth.  This area used to be a nice corner for the big plants in their massive clay pots.  They're not looking so healthy right now.  Bubba's concerned and understandably so: the guys play music for them every day, but the plants are not thriving???  The plastic ones look great, although covered with a layer of sawdust, so what's wrong with the real ones?

Hey, it's like an Old Order Mennonite barn raising, only indoors and with only one Mennonite!  Who isn't Old Order.  Can't have everything.  

This area (from the perspective of former plant corner) used to be a dining area.  Just off to the right is the little kitchen.  The table is stuffed into the lounge now but I think we can make it work.  It'll just be more cozy.  It was a question of priority, really.  There's more music making than eating going on, so the table had to make way for the iso-booth.

Some of you might be wondering what the heck an ISO-BOOTH is.  Luckily for you, I am not a recording engineer and will be explaining it in simple, uncomplicated terms.  I'll try not to drool on myself, duh.  

ISO is short for Isolation.  The booth is actually a room within a room, and doesn't touch the outer structure.  The floor is sitting on blocks of rubber, and there's an air gap between the outer and inner walls.  This way, only the sound being made inside the booth is being recorded, instead of, y'know, the toilet flushing, although that could be interesting. Or maybe not.

This is the previously mentioned booth, which was already in place when Jethro moved in.  

The double doors make it easier to get really big instruments in and out!  Look at the nice taping and mudding.  Big Dusty did that.  He's perfesh.

 Just look at Jethro and Bubba go.  Since this picture was taken, all the many layers of particle board and drywall were screwed into place and we have a second booth.

what do you think - should Bubba keep the tape measure as a handy accessory?  It's kinda cool!

Here you go, this is a view of the former dining room.  All of this is closed in now.  I took the photo while standing in the control room window looking into what's now Iso-booth B, and the sawhorses are the new booth C.  Above C there will be a nifty little loft.  I fully plan to stock the loft with more plants, which will get lovely music played to them over and over for 37 hours every day!  It's gotta work, right?

Are ya sick of this yet?  I admit, I'm dealing with the construction chaos much better than I thought I would.  Either the pills are working or I've recovered from the traumatizing and necessary work done on our own house four years ago.  

Ah yes... we'll be paying for this for a loooong time.  And it'll be worth every dollar.

Oh look, there's Big Dusty Dude in his tool belt!  He is so many different kinds of adorable, which is a significant feat for a guy who can stand on a scaffold and hold a sheet of drywall up with one hand, while reaching for another tool with his other hand, pirouetting  on one foot and running the screw gun with his teeth.  We are all amazed at Big Dusty's skill level!  Plus he knows dirty jokes and can swear in Hungarian.  And cackles when putting up drywall.  It's really quite humbling.  

I'm afraid Jethro and Bubba are going to have some heavy duty Big Dusty Dude separation anxiety at the end of this project.  I don't know how we'd get this done without him!

You know what, I'm tired just looking at the pictures. (I'll save the meditations on painting a perfectly straight edge and how it relates to horses for next week.)  

Friday has to be my last day for painting the control room.  I'll miss it.  It's warm in there and dust free.  However, when it's done it's time for the new furniture. As much as I hate shopping/ spending money, I'm looking forward to it.  We're ditching the black faux-nauga-suede-skin and going with brown mostly-leather.

What do you think of this?
Y'know, we're really going for a relaxed vibe, but I'm afraid I'll have to ask this fella to take the cigar outside.  We've had enough airborne pollutants to last us awhile, thanks.

If you've stuck around this long, you might be wondering about that BOOK LAUNCH hint that I dropped a few days ago.  (Although I'm not sure what day it is anymore.) 

My big writers group, the one I go to once a week, has spent the last year compiling an anthology.  I submitted a short story and a couple of poems.  Hot off the press, our little book will be publicly presented on Saturday afternoon at the local library.  And yes, I'm going to read out loud.

Should be interesting!  I'm nervous about it, but wouldn't anybody?  Hey, I have conquered the highway.  I have endured the dust, survived the skilsaw whine, made short work of a can of paint.  I can read a damn book in public.  I'll think about breathing out slowly and evenly, like I have a loaded up paintbrush in my hand, like I have a set of leather reins in my hand, and I will read!

Then on Monday I'll head back down to the studio, since Jethro and Big Dusty and Bubba have gone and built a whole bunch new walls for me to paint!

Query -athon-fest-arama!

This month, coincidentally my blogiversary month, I took up a challenge with my Four Corners writing group.  GET 100 QUERIES SENT BY THE END OF OCTOBER.  I figured I could do it, since I already had a few sent.  

I'm up to 89, and this afternoon I plan to send out the snail mails.  Since September they've all been email.  I've been kinda broke, folks, and email queries are a pure joy to send compared to the trek uphill both ways on a dirt road to the post office.  I'll get to my goal, easily.

There've been a few discoveries along the way.  This isn't the first book I've queried to publishers or agents, but I'm still learning things, still having those forehead slapping moments.  

Like, check before you hit the send button, to make sure you haven't already sent it.

Make sure you haven't already sent one to an agent at the same agency.

Spell the name correctly.

I've been querying this particular piece of work since last August.  In a year, I'd only sent 15 query letters.  I was being way too cautious and way too picky.  I'm developing the opinion that sometimes it's good to stretch the limits a little bit, especially with a book like mine that doesn't fit neatly into a genre.  It's a little too nasty for the teen audience, but does that mean it'll satisfy adult readers?  I personally do think so.  But it's hard to convince an agent of that with a short letter and five pages.

So now you're wondering, out of those 89 letters, what kind of results I've good.

Well, not stellar.  Not particularly encouraging.  So far only four have asked to see more, and three of those have turned it down.  The one who has it is in Toronto.  If I wasn't so chicken of driving in the city, especially in my rumbly truck, I'd be tempted to just go there, find the office, and blink my eyelashes and ask innocently if she's read it yet.  I hear they don't like to be hassled though.  So that gets me off the hook.  

Out of 89, there are 34 rejections.  There are 6 more who have not responded within their usual time frame, which I'm counting as an assumed rejection.  Although who knows, they could write back a year from now - by which time I hope to be looking at cover art! - and tell me they'd like to see it.  I've heard this happens...

So one person has 100 pages.  

I have no idea what will happen next, but I do know that I have a God- and- Grandpa- given GIFT of stubbornness.  

I also know that I wrote a pretty damn good book.  It's disturbing and challenging, sometimes funny, suspenseful, offensive, heartwarming, sad.  Yep, it's all that.  I know it, cuz I wrote it.

I've got 11 more to reach my goal, a list of about 20 agents I like, a pile of envelopes and determination.  I'm crushing down the pain every time I get another rejection, because I have to.  And if none of these hundred agents bite, I'll find more of them, I'll find somebody who is brave enough to take it on, I'll find a way.  

Because this is QUERY- THON-FEST- STUBBORN- ARAMA!!

confused friday ramblings (NEW! Bonus addition of Pirate Speak)

1- i'm sick.  The cold got me.

2) today I'm going to inventory the barn.  More fun than it sounds. I'll wear my overalls and stuff kleenexes and cough drops in all the pockets

$) My husband's a good guy.

#- the pug took a dump on the living room floor some time during the night.  That little #$#%!!!  I am not happy with him.  I put him out in the yard to go bark at stuff.  After I swatted his butt.  Geez, he is THREE YEARS OLD he should know better it's not like I didn't let him out for one more nature call last night before bed I mean come on already geez.

5- Meet the Creature at the high school last night.  My kid is doing so much better this year and I am so relieved. She skipped down the hall, flashing her brilliant smile and looking confident that this is her place.  Wonderful.  Meanwhile I'm wondering why, in the new million dollar music room, they forked out $100 each for the plastic chairs (like, I'm in debt for half a recording studio and we ain't got to $100 chairs for the professional musicians to sit in okay?) and yet the school needs the parents to rent the musical instruments for the kids to play.  Public school?  I pay taxes?  Hello?  Hundred dollar chairs or hundred dollar instruments?  Hmmm?  Otherwise, whatevs.  Her art teacher is tall and skinny with square glasses and scruffy little goatee.  Plus a Suth Efrican eccent.  He shook my hand and darn near squeezed my knuckles together.  In a nice way.  I  like him, I hope I didn't give him my cold germs.

7) After some emotional crises over the painful process of querying agents for my novel, I'm back in.  One a day.  That's my goal.  Except on weekends, cuz I need a break.  I just had to start believing in myself all over again, and believing that this book is worth it.  I'm so blessed to have a group of writers to share this whole thing with.  (Four Corners rules!)

*) also yesterday I had my Tiny Writers over for tea.  How did I get so lucky to surround myself with such great writers????

&- AND I chaired the meeting on Monday evening for my Big writers group.  I've never chaired anything but my backside, haw haw haw.  I rocked.  I got everybody in the group, nine people, to read their writing exercise out loud.  Three years ago I had a chest pain at every meeting and it took about six months before I could read anything out loud.  

8) You know how some writers think of an actor when they write a character?  I haven't done that.  ALTHOUGH at some point, when describing one guy's father, I had a flash of inspiration.  Ol Man MacFarlane was born in Scotland, has long hair with some grey at the temples, and a long beard.  He's in his early 40s which makes him technically not an old man at all but he's got an 18 year old son who refers to him as the Ol Man.  Suddenly I was thinking of...

He's got the perfect crow's feet around his eyes now.  He could rough it all up and be a truck drivin cigrett smokin hick with the ragged leftovers of a scottish accent, a mangy old dog, and a rotten teenage son.  Totally.

&- I have not ever written a character based on my favourite actor.

Maybe he'll sneak in sometime.  

I gotta go take a nap.  

Blast it, I woke up from me nap, and here it is TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY and I almost forgot t' talk like a seafarin' landlubber.  Tis on account o' me throat be sore.
Now I be shippin' out fer the low pastures instead o' the high seas.  Arrr.  Cough, cough, hack.  sniffle.  I'll not be staying home like a lily livered bilge rat!  sniffle hack hack hork.  

Ye scurvy germbag.

What a week at Grandma's farm will do for ya...

Yeah, I know, it does seem a little pretentious to call 5 acres with two horses a farm, but it will always be that to me.  I remember the barn being full of pigs.  We're all kind of glad it's just horses now, and barn swallows.  

My mom and sister both took holidays last week, which meant they took the kids and I for a few tours of the local area.  We shopped at the "Friff Store" and at the best bookstore in the world... it took us an hour to go through that tiny shop.  I love it.  We went to see WALL-E.  Went for not one but two tours of a gorgeous little piece of land.  Went grocery shopping with Mom and didn't freak out.  Went out for lunch.  

We celebrated my cousin's wedding.  I didn't dance at all because I was so busy catching up with my cousins and aunts and uncles.

We rode our horses every day.  I'll write more about that later!

The kids divided their time between the tree and the 4 wheeler.  In the house they got away with watching way more TV than at home.  Ironically, out in the country there are more channels than we get in town.  That's only because our TV is in the basement and I'm too cheap to get cable!  My son is now heavily into watching The News.  

Also, he learned how to drive this week.  Just a few days before  his 12th birthday, meaning that he's in line with the majority of the family.  And darnit, the kid's pretty good!  He drove that van up the back lane and then reversed down the hill over and over.  

We visited some friends who are dairy farmers and small breeders (pun intended) of mini horses.  They have six of them, a stallion, three mares, and two foals. Holy cute!  Plus their dog recently had a litter of TWELVE puppies!  Being Golden Retrievers, they are almost the size of my Pug.  That was funny!  

On top of that, I managed to borrow my Mom's car to drive to the next biggest city and visit my bestest.  All of her kids were home too.  Imagine three small dogs ripping around the house... actually, two small dogs and one fretful tiny dog who wasn't sure if she should be joining them or giving them heck.  Then we ended up with baby bunnies in our hands.  Mercy.

By Thursday, it occurred to me... that I was feeling... really,  really good.  Quite great, actually.  I went through the list.  Chest pain?  Not really.   Breathing?  Easily.  Appetite?  Not great, but functioning.  Weight?  Not losing any more.  Teeth grinding?  Don't think so.  Irritating repetitive thoughts?  Strangely, blissfully, absent!!!!  

Oh relief.  What caused this turn?  The pills started working?  Horse time?  Mom's cooking?  The hills and trees and fields outside the windows?  Dad's freshly painted John Deere 430?  That long philosophical talk with my sister?  

Does it matter WHY I feel better?  Don't analyze: enjoy!  

I will share this:  My sister is brilliant.  I don't write about her much because she is a very private person and doesn't like the idea of being read about.  But I have to share this. 

 She's gotten through an extremely difficult year by learning all over again how to pray.  She doesn't close  her eyes at night and make up a task list for God to fulfill.  

I told her that my prayers lately have been a mess of help-me-help-me-I'm-desperate-help-me.  

She starts off by listing what she's thankful for.  

Well if you start that, even if your life is a total wreck and you think you've got nothing to be thankful for, you can start at the very most basic thing... YOU ARE STILL BREATHING.  

Doesn't this match up with my whole new thing about the Tiny Steps?

So I tried it.  The bedroom window was open, with the crickets cricketing and the big trucks swishing down the highway outside.  I had a choice.  Feel disgruntled by the lumpy old mattress or focus on being there, in the country, in my childhood home.  It turns out that my thankfulness list was pretty darn long. 

Sweetie came up with that all on her own.  She is a genius.  

I went to sleep with visions of farmhouses and barns and hay fields and barn cats and saddle racks in my head.  I can't say I slept well, but judging by my shift of mood, it's okay.  Yep.  It's okay, and I'll take it.

I also got a few more paragraphs done in my next epic novel.  I squeezed that in between dishes and laundry.  Look at me go, eh?  I can't do everything but I can do some things!

Stay tuned... I'll be back here and there without warning.  I'm just full of surprises...

"Unfortunately, after careful consideration, we have concluded that we are not the right agency for your work and must decline to represent it."

Okay. I get it. Not everybody who reads my book is going to love it. Some will just like it, some will be confused by it, and some (hopefully) will HATE it.

I get it that agents don't have to tell my WHY they have concluded that theirs is not the right agency to represent my work. I'd really very much like to know why. But I don't get to find out. If they explained it to every rejected writer, they'd never get anything else done. I get that.

I understand that all of us unpublished writers face piles of rejections. I know it's not just me. Part of the learning process. I totally get it.

Even though I really respect that agency, it is not the only agency out there.  I get that.  

What I'm not getting right now, not understanding, not fully grasping at this point, right now, is...

What am I going to do tomorrow?

I mean, obviously, get up, eat, take a pill, feel queasy, read for an hour, then get up and get in the truck... drive to the Little Valley, saddle up big Bo. I'll ride the Level 4 pattern, repeating parts of it until they improve.  I'll clean up the barn, scrub some bridles and blankets, pull some weeds in the sand ring. Then I'll go home and harass the kids to help pull weeds in the back garden.

Life goes on. Do something I love to do.

But what I really mean is... what now?

I'm not going to give up on this book, or on writing in general. Like, okay, that agency's a no-go. I'll just have to try some others.

The way I see it, I got a few options.

-Play tetris

-take another necessary look at the query letter, clarify a few things, cut a few more things, and make it all match up at the end.

-cry

-write a "jacket flap" for my book. Pretend it's a real book now and this is what it'll say on the inside flaps of the book jacket. They can't put it on the back because that's where they'll put the big photo of me in my denim and John Deere T shirt and magnificent hair and sneaky teeth leaning on a page wire fence. Write the blurb like readers will be looking at it for the first time in a bookstore. Make them want to read it.

-Read my own book. As if I'd never seen it before.

-play tetris  (I'm shockingly good at it)

-walk the dog

-force myself to work on writing new current novel project.

-cry (although I do think these meds have dried up my tears and I don't know if this is good or bad.)

-experiment: can I still write while under the influence of Ativan?

-stare at the wall, back of couch, floor, for unknown lengths of time.

-go through a neurotic breakdown, the whole mess, the not good enough, the doubt the blah blah blah.

-convince myself that it's not so bad, this is normal, some people had good things to say about your book, c'mon you know you can do this.

-rest hand in forehead, sigh deeply, look for strength to keep going, mock myself for being such a friggen drama queen

-get mad at me for calling me a drama queen.

-go out to the front garden and wander around, filling my eyes with plants, yanking out the occasional weed, not thinking about books, agents, riding instructors, editors, riding exams, or money. Think about how great my garden looks this year. It looks great. Look how great it looks.

-go through every bit of info I can find and put together a new agent list.

-go back to bed.

-pat dog and cat at the same time.

-read Rider Manual

-flutz my way through the Level 4 pattern on the big horse and maybe accidentally get better at it.

I haven't made a big deal out of it, but I've been having a hard time with everything this week. I grind my teeth when I sleep and wake with a clenched jaw. I'm having alternating bursts of compulsion to work, clean, pick, organize, followed by cement block heavy tiredness. I don't know what it's all about, but I am sad, sad, sad. I was driving around with my kids in my truck - now that right there should cause a zap of happy -- but I was saaaaaad. Just unreasonably, irrationally, inexplicably sad. Right down the the middle. I would have cried but I was too empty.

It doesn't make sense to be sad like that for no reason, especially when taking the pills that are supposed to solve that. I think I'll be taking a little trip to see the nice doctor again soon.

And what does that have to do with writing? EVERYTHING. Mostly, that I may be feeling this week like day old roadkill, but I am stubborn. If there's one thing that's gotten me through this, or anything, it's tenacity. I falter at times but I am so stubborn I'll keep at it. I'm so stubborn that even when I feel like I'm going to puke, I get on that horse and I ride. Slowly sometimes, but I'm on. I'm so stubborn that I have an empty space on my shelf where MY book is going to go. I'm so stubborn that I won't run away from home, or off myself, or lock myself in the bathroom and rock back and forth humming. Okay, well that last one, yeah okay I've done that but I'm stubborn enough to come out again after an hour or so.

Sometimes I think being stubborn has kept me alive.

So what am I going to do tomorrow? 

Ugh.  I am going to be stubborn.

That's what I'm doing today and tomorrow and the day after that.  

More of the same.  Slowly if necessary.  

I really don't feel like it, and I'm so tired, but that doesn't matter.  I have to keep going.  

And here are more pictures of Johnny Depp just because... well, because sometimes I need to be reminded to simply keep my chin up and keep doing what I gotta do.

SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN...

GRIPPING YOUR PILLOW TIGHT!

It's midnight.  I'm tired, tired, tired, and have been since 6 am, when I woke up the first time today.  I was just as tired at 7:15 and again at 10, after my one-hour morning nap.  I think I could sleep all day.  Except of course when it's time to sleep.  I mean, that's prime anxiety time, am I right?  Night's when the nightmares come around, and man, I have been running a thriving nightmare ranch this week.  

Beside me, in a perfectly unwrinkled envelope, sits 53 pages worth of my own freakin' brilliance.  My name is in one corner and a very official stamp is in the other.  In the middle, the address for Very Impressive Literary Agency, Toronto Ontario.  

I can't stick the envelope shut until I look it over one more time.  It needs one more frantic examination. 



You can just never, ever, be too careful when it comes to editing.  You can give your work to others for a proofread, but in the end you really have to do it yourself.

(Although it is extremely helpful to have friends who believe in you!)

(Even if you often suspect that they might not be sparing your delicate feelings sometimes, when you ask them for their opinion.)

Possibly, the source of my unrelenting dreams are tied to this book.  I have not been able to let it go.  I sent it out, it got rejected, I fixed a few things, and now I don't know what else to fix.  Y'know because it's PERFECT.  Right?  Ha ha.  

And the whole time, my brain turns it over and over, fretting and chewing, until it all bursts out in the dark: a building made of broken cement blocks and dry weeds, inappropriate groping, hiding stolen goods under a long red skirt, running for my life across a parking lot from jackal headed pursuers, rivers of paint, barns full of broken glass, purple skies, boxes full of letters blocking the way to the next room, looking down on my own self and covering me with a sheet to protect me while the house falls down around me.  

I have got to get this book out of my hands. 

I just have to look it over one more time.

Look carefully.



Exit light.  Enter night.  

... most fun song ever written about nightmares... sing along...