Back to the Low Country

As you all know, my daughter and son-in-law, parents to a beautiful 10 month old daughter (yay, my granddaughter!!!), live in the south. My SIL has terrible back issues and will soon be having surgery. My lovely daughter is a registered nurse, working 12 hour shifts. She will be picking up extra days while her husband is post-surgical. So who is going to care for her husband and child while she's at work?

 

That's where I come in! This Saturday, I'll be heading south for 6-8 weeks to take care of my granddaughter and son-in-law while my daughter is at work. Eeek, you may think. How many SIL's would want their MIL to live with them, even if it's temporary? Well, I'm one of the lucky ones. My SIL actually likes me! We have a lot in common. We both love to cook, both love my daughter and granddaughter, and enjoy in-depth conversations. I think we'll do all right. (Except for the fact that he wants my daughter to get a "bell" before I get there - just kidding - I hope!)

 

It's going to be a crazy time in my life. I will continue to work while I'm there, continue my writing career while I'm there, and, oh boy, they're going to be moving while I'm there!!! I'm sure each and every day will be jam packed, and I will fall into bed exhausted. But they are part of my family that I love and cherish. I would do anything for them. I learned a long time ago that there is "no price" for what we do for loved ones.

 

Please join me on Friday for a great meatloaf recipe. And stay tuned for posts and recipes from the Low Country!!

 

xoxo - Jenna

Shopping Leads to Returning

Today I am making a confession to you all. I am pathetic when it comes to making returns. Why you ask? I abhor the whole process (almost as much as I detest going to the grocery store, but that's a topic for another post. Hmmm...maybe next week). I'm usually shopping in a rush.

Or if I have time, I hate the whole dressing room thing. I know someone in security is watching me as I try on clothes. I can see it all now. I grab a pair of jeans off the hanger. The security people elbow each other and say, "Oh, jeez, she can't think for one minute that she's gonna fit in those!" A small wager occurs between the two employees. As I step into the legs, the security peeps lean closer to their monitors. I slide the denim up over my hips. I imagine breaths are being held by the security team, anxiously waiting to see what transpires. I manage to button and zip the pants. Ha! Take that you doubting Thomas's (that just sprang to mind - I have no idea what the hell it means). Like a model, I turn from one side to the next to take a look.

Unfortunately, it's not a pretty sight. I turn an ear towards the ceiling. I think I hear the two idiots guffawing. Someone slaps their knee in hilarity. Money is exchanged. Now I'm ticked. As I yank off the offending jeans, a hot flash comes on. Sweat pours off me in buckets and I glance again at the ceiling - this time to make sure the sprinklers haven't gone off.

After repeating the above process more times than my brain can handle, my new MO is to take things home to try on. There in the privacy of my bedroom, with only my cat (Griffey) to observe, I try things on. Some are yesses and they get hung in my closet. Some are maybes that get shoved somewhere. And some are definite nos and go back in the bag.

What's the problem, you ask? I'll go months and months and months without returning the merchandise. Oh, I shop at the store in between those times, I just leave the returns at home. I'm able to do this because the store has a generous return policy.

Just the other day, I spent an hour (at least) gathering up returns and matching the receipts. I hauled the big bag to the customer service desk and dragged everything out. When all was said and done, I'm embarrassed to say my credit amount was almost $300! I have pledged to be better at this. I'll keep you updated...

Stop by for Fork It Up Fridays when I share an amazing appetizer that people will go crazy over.

And maybe next Tuesday I'll talk about my love/hate relationship (okay, it's actually a hate/hate relationship) with grocery shopping.

xoxo

Shopping Leads To Returning

The other day, I was shopping at one of my favorite department stores. For the purpose of this blog, I'll call it K's. As you all probably know, I have an adorable granddaughter whom I love to shop for. (And if I see you out in public and pull out her baby pics, just smile and let me have my way.) My daughter tries to hold be back, but sometimes I lose control. Okay, smart aleks, I always lose control. I'm a grandma, what can I say?

Anyway, I'm at K's in the baby section and everything is looking adorable. How to choose? I steered clear of dresses because the sweet girl is crawling and I know crawling doesn't work well with dresses. So that narrowed things down a bit.

I picked out a few cute onesies that could be paired with shorts or worn alone. Some shorts and tops got added to the cart. I chose a 3-piece set of jammies just because there was a cupcake on the front and I knew she'd look so darn cute. I picked out a few more 3-piece sets that had a shirt, shorts and a onesie. I took a glance down at my cart and thought I was hovering on a thin line between too much and just the right amount. So I scurried out of the department before anything else called to me.

When I got home, I took everything out of the bag and one by one looked at what I'd purchased. I smiled when I looked at one of the 3-piece outfits, imagining how cute my granddaughter would look in pink and white polka dots. I picked up the last outfit. Huh. It looked familiar, probably because I'd spent so much time in the store. But wait. There in the pile of clothes a ruffly pink and white polka dot sleeve peered out, taunting me. I dug through the clothes and what did I find?

You guessed it. I'd bought the same outfit twice! I looked back and forth from one hand to the other like I was waiting for something to change. Nope. I'd have to head back to the store to return one of them. But not then. I'll do it later.

Stop back next Tuesday and I'll tell you about my return policy.

Also, please check out Fork It Up Fridays when I'm going to share a delicious summertime drink (yes, with alcohol).

P.S. In my previous Tuesday's post when I talked about the hose versus me, the hose has won. I went out last night to water my flowers. There about 3 feet into the hose was a bulge. On further examination, I saw a slice. Back to square one.

xoxo

The Hose Knows

I have a love-hate relationship with garden hoses. They're hand for obvious reasons, but boy do they have a mind of their own. Those suckers can twist and kink to the point it can make a grown woman cry. Or, in my case, invent new cuss words.

A few Saturdays ago, Mr. Rutland and I were on a quest for a new hose caddy. A week earlier, I had purchased a new hose, but when I went to replace it on the old caddy, I realized that needed to be replaced too.

So off we go to a local home improvement store that for this story I'll refer to as "L's." Now the Mr. and I aren't tightwads, but like most people we want to spend as little money as possible. A replacement hose caddy like the old one would set us back $79. No way, we agreed. So after a much longer than needed search at L's, we agreed on the the one on sale for $19. With excitement building as we head home (yeah, I know what you're thinking--it doesn't take much for these two), we skip to the backyard with our shiny new hose caddy. The Mr. hooks up the new hose and let's her rip. As soon as he turns on the water, the dripping begins. I add a few suggestions, which he executes, and the dripping turns into leaking. The leaking turns into an outright massive spraying. My wifely duty suggests I let him know that the hose is leaking. By the look he gives me, I know I've been a smart ass helpful.

After some inventive cussing from the Mr. (go, honey!!), he disconnects the hose, grabs the cardboard insert that had been attached, and drags the soaking, dripping thing to the car simply stating, "We're taking this *&^%$ back."

Once again, we arrive at "L's." No words are needed as to why we are there when he places the dripping caddy onto the return counter. We go back to the hose section for round two. Nothing interests us. I suggest we go to "HD", which is just across the street.

There we hit the jackpot. We found the perfect caddy at $39, guaranteed not to leak. We share a private laugh, each of us remembering the "no kink" hose we bought the previous year that kinked like the mother of all hoses. That piece of do-do hit the garbage can in record time.

We head back home, get the caddy installed and voila! No leaks. After we high-five each other it's time to roll on the hose. Things go smoothly for about, um, 2 seconds. That son-of-a-gun kinked and bucked and twisted to the point where we each worked at it in 5 minute intervals, which happened to be the time limit on our tempers. Finally, finally, we got it corralled.

I really wanted to use it to water my plants, but I was scared. I knew it wouldn't be as simple as turning on the water, pulling out the hose and spraying. But I channel my inner big girl. After a stare down with the hose for a few minutes, I'm ready. I sweet talk the hose as I unreel a few feet. I hum a happy tune as I turn on the water. And when I squeeze the spray nozzle, I've moved into prayer mode.

With tenderness, I squeeze the nozzle handle. Alleluia! Beautiful water shoots out! I aim it at my summer perennial bed. In seconds, the pressure slows to the point where I have a teeny, tiny stream of water coming out! I yell for the Mr. and he barrels out of the house. I hold up the hose with the little drip-drip of water. "It's got a kink," he says.

My hand quivers because it wants to point the hose in his direction, but I know he won't get soaked. I briefly wonder if any one's ever been choked by a garden hose.  "Fix it," I boldly suggest.

So for the next 20 minutes, we unwind the entire 150 feet of hose to smooth out the multiple kinks we find.

And now? Now I'm afraid to use the sucker...

If you have any garden hose tips, I'd love to hear them!

Please stop back on Friday for a new recipe. Hint: It will be a yummy summer dessert.

Flower Power

I don't know where all of you live, but here in Southeast Michigan, USA, May is the month for planting flowers. We're told to wait until after Mother's Day so the threat of frost is gone. But after the long cold winter where everything is brown, the itch to fill our flower beds and patio pots with beautiful blooms is at an all time high.

I've lived in this area most of my life. You'd think that after so many years of this May planting ritual that the excitement would die down. Not so. The day before Mother's Day, I can be found at any of the local nurseries. I love the first step inside the greenhouse when you get that first look at all the colors. Oh, the choices. I tend to lose my mind a bit (I know, there's not much there anymore!). Impatiens, begonias and geraniums in brilliant colors beckon me to buy them. Pick me! Pick me!

The nursery that I go to most often is about 15 minutes away from my house. It's a beautiful drive through the country that I always enjoy. When my children were little, the nursery had baby animals that the kids could touch. Great memories!

This year, I've decided to go with a theme for my patio. I've chosen plants that have pink, purple and white flowers. Maybe later in the summer, I'll share a photo.

How about you? Do you enjoy working in the garden?

Join me for Fork It Up Fridays where I'll share a favorite recipe.

Lake House

Today, I'm going to let the pictures tell a story. This is where I was last week with my family, deep in the mountains in South Carolina. The top picture was our view off the deck. The bottom picture is the house we rented.

What more can I say?

How about you? Do you have any summer vacation plans?

Vacation

I'm on vacation this week, transferring our son to South Carolina for the summer. We've rented an awesome house on a lake and will be joined by my daughter, son-in-law, granddaughter, sister and brother-in-law. Great times!! I'll see you in a week. xoxo - Jenna

Every Picture Tells A Story...

(Part 2 of 2)

What is it about hair? Every day, I have the same hair. I wash that same hair in the same water using the same products. Nothing is different. Not. One. Thing. On any given day, I can do a half-assed job on my hair and it looks great! Perfect! The day I want it to look good it looks like donkey do-do. As I'm struggling with my hair, the first drop of sweat trickles down my temple. With each tissue dab, I know I'm removing makeup. I look at the clock. I've got 2 minutes to get dressed.

The peach shirt is tossed aside and I grab the dark blue shirt. I add earrings and a matching necklace. Pull on black yoga pants and tennis shoes, because who gives a rip what the bottom part looks like (thank God since I've got dry, partially shaven legs). I briefly wonder if I'm in an accident will the fact that I've got on clean underwear override the fact that I've got partially shaven legs. Hmmm...something to research.

I look in the mirror. I hate what I see. The blue shirt isn't working for me. I want black. I've got the perfect shirt and earrings in mind. I attempt to remove the necklace because it won't match with the black shirt. I tug. I pull. Nothing. Tears rim my eyes. I tell myself to get a grip because I don't know if my illegal lashes are waterproof.

I'm now running 5 minutes late. Screw the necklace and the blue shirt. It is what it is. I stuff the preferred black shirt and earrings into a bag and take off, making it to the photographers with 1 minute to spare.

I walk into the photo studio and look around. Utter chaos. The whole place has an open concept. Cool except there are 400 kids (okay maybe 20) running around, jumping on furniture while parents ignored them. Then I remember it's spring break. After a mental cuss-down on my stupidity to combine pictures and spring break, I step up to the counter.

I'm a friendly sort of person and like to joke around. The girl behind the counter gave me a nice smile so I say, "I'd like the Jennifer Aniston package." Now I've never claimed to be a mind reader, but by the "your-the-biggest-idiot-I've-ever-met" look on the girl's face, I knew what she was thinking. Lady, there isn't enough money in the world or cosmetic surgery available that could make you even come close to looking like Jennifer Aniston.

When I noticed her sudden eye twitch kick up, I knew she was at the breaking point. And honestly if I knew that I was responsible for taking cutesy pics of all those wild animals, I mean children, in the waiting room, I'd be twitching too.

She takes me back to a studio where she proceeds to adjust my necklace, tilt my head and tell me to smile. Then she plies me with rehearsed verbiage of, "Oh, beautiful. Oh, you're so photogenic. Oh, these are perfect." All the while, I'm thinking gag me with a Barbie doll leg. No one ever has told me I'm photogenic.

When we're done, I go to the viewing area and look at a bunch of pics of myself and worked hard to narrow it down to three. After that, we head to the counter to pay. Ms. Eye Twitch says, "Okay, they'll be ready in an hour." Huh? I say, "When I called and made the appointment, I was told they'd be ready right away and that I could take them home with me." She says, "Yes, that's right. You do get them right away. In an hour." I wanted to argue that "right away" and "an hour" were two entirely different concepts, but I figured she'd had enough of me.

So after treating myself to lunch, I went back and picked them up and took them home. The picture on this website is one of the three. Who knows? Maybe next time you stop back they'll be a different pic!

Join me on Fork It Up Fridays where I'll share with you one of my favorite recipes!

Every Picture Tells A Story...

(Part 1 of 2)


As many of you know by now (and I'll repeat myself because I love saying it just in case you don't know), I recently sold my contemporary category romance to Entangled, who will be publishing it under their Indulgence Line. I had promised myself that once I sold, I would get a professional picture taken to replace the one I've been using.


So last Thursday, I had an 11:30 appointment. All morning, I kept glancing at the clock, recalculating how long it would take me to get ready. I planned on an hour and fifteen minutes so I wouldn't have to rush. But at the exact moment I was going to quit working and start getting ready, someone from work needed dictation from me as soon as possible. Rats! So I sailed through that and still had an hour to get ready. Before I even got out of my chair, I had another request for work. Hello, people. I'm trying to get ready here for something important! Certainly a patient going to surgery can't compete with me getting my picture taken, right? (just kidding) About this time, I'm getting a bit panicky. I've got 45 minutes to be picture-worthy. I know what you're thinking. Impossible.


I'd already chosen my outfit so the hard part was out of the way. I'm in the shower shaving my legs when I think, "I'm wearing pants. Nobody's going to see my legs. And time is an issue here." So even though I've got part of one leg shaved, I abandon that concept and move on. And keeping time in mind, I figured I only had time to moisturize my arms. I'd have to do my legs later.


Finally, I'm up to the makeup part. Everyone tells me peach is "my color" so even though I don't get it, I'm going to wear peach. But I look in my makeup bag to find I have peach blush but no peach lipstick. So my second choice is to wear a bright blue shirt. I haul out the pink blush and lipstick, and while I glance at the clock every 2 seconds, I get down to business.


By the time I pull out my Maybelline Illegal Length mascara, I'm feeling the time crunch. I figure I'll just have to make up the time on the road, kind of like the airplane pilots who say they'll make up the time in the air. But then I worry that if I get pulled over for speeding, I'll really be late.


But wait! If that happens, I'll bat my long lashes at the cop and he'll let me go. Uh-oh. Images of a whole different scenario pop into my head. The highway patrol guy, hands on hips, eyes squinted, looking me right in the eye. And notices my ILLEGAL length eyelashes. I'd be in the slammer in no time and never get to my appointment. Okay, I better stay within the speed limit cause who knows the price of a ticket for illegal length eyelashes.

Come back next Tuesday for the rest of Every Picture Tells A Story...

Don't Leave Home Without It

A few weekends ago, two of my writing buddies were having a discussion after one had critiqued the other's work. Their conversation involved how many knives a knife block could hold, with one person stating that she'd never seen one that could hold more than 6 knives. Sticking my nose in Getting involved in the conversation, I pointed out that my knife block holds 15 knives and wished it was bigger to hold the overflow knives I had in my drawer.

As the conversation continued about how many knives one person really needs, I took the debate up a notch by admitting that I take some of my knives on vacation. While one person nodded in agreement like that made all the sense in the world, the other person looked at me like I had inadvertently used one of my knives to impair my brain function. To my defense, I said that we usually rented condos with full kitchens. I enjoy cooking and it's a lot cheaper than eating out every night. And ever since a bad experience with a dull serrated knife, I had the bright idea to bring a few knives with me.

After all, I explained, it's not like I'm walking through the lobby of a Marriott with my butcher knife clutched in my hand. (I swear I've never thought about doing that. Maybe.)

So here's my confession - I take some of my knives on vacation with me. Okay and maybe one small cutting board. But that's all. Except for my perfect saute pain. Oh, and a few spices.

Now my curiosity is peaked. How about you? What are your must-haves when packing for vacation?

Stop by for Fork It Up Fridays to see what recipe I'm sharing next. I don't even know yet!

Wonderful Wednesday

Hi everybody! Welcome to a special Wonderful Wednesday edition of my blog. Why is this day so wonderful? Because of the fabulous news I have to share.

I have signed a contract with Entangled Publishing for publication of my contemporary category romance through their Indulgence line, and will be working with editor Kerri-Leigh Grady. I absolutely could not be more thrilled. I am so very thankful for this incredible opportunity.

I've learned a lot this week. Dedication, hard work and perseverance pay off. And dreams really do come true!

I'll keep you posted as things progress, but couldn't wait to share this exciting news.

xoxo - Jenna

Dedication

For the last year in the quest to get published (and stay published for some), members of my local chapter of Romance Writers of America started going to prison. Yep, you heard me. The slammer. The big house. Wait! Before you run away, let me explain.

Between the demands of jobs, families, and household duties, some of the members were barely able to grab a few minutes here and there out of their hectic weeks to write. And without writing, of course, there is no chance of getting published or staying published. Ideas were brainstormed on how to find more writing time. From that, prison was born.

In its early stages, prison meant going to a member's house for the day to write. Any and all were welcome, but only for those who were serious about working. Prison would begin in the morning and continue until dinner time, usually in one hour blocks - one hour of writing followed by one hour of brainstorming or problem solving and/or eating. (We all know brains need to be nourished to produce.) This took place once/month or so. But soon it wasn't enough.

Since then, prison has evolved into meeting at a local coffee house (which shall not be named, but begins with the letter "P"). The group meets Saturday at 8:00 a.m. (no sleeping in for these dedicated writers). After an hour of talking all things books and publishing, with a few pics of someone's granddaughter thrown in and a couple of discussions about movies, etc.), the group gets down to business. If the productivity is thriving, it's not uncommon for some to stay until 2:00 in the afternoon. And guess what? Several repeat the process the next day too!

I am amazed at the dedication that these writers have in the journey of getting published and staying published. These people share their personal journeys and the ups and downs of publishing with each other. They laugh together, hug each other, and support each other. They have formed a bond beyond measure.

And I am honored to be a part of this amazing group of writers. 

So even though I sound like a TV commercial, today, my friends, I salute you for your dedication, your love of the written word, and the awesomeness of your talent.


Don't forget Fork It Up Fridays where I share a favorite recipe. Stop by Friday for...
Ha! You'll have to stop back to see what's cookin'.

The Close Call

As all romance writers know, yesterday was a big day. For those of you who aren't romance writers, here's what Monday was all about. The national chapter of Romance Writers of America holds two contests each year, the RITA's for the published author and the Golden Heart for the unpublished author. This is as important to the romance writer as the Academy Awards is to an actor. As I am yet unpublished, I entered the Golden Heart. Yesterday, RWA announced the finalists with phone calls to each. The winners are then declared at the RWA annual meeting, this year being held in July in Anaheim, California. Word was out yesterday that the phone calls would be complete by 2:00p.m.

I went about my normal morning routine yesterday, trying not to hope that I'd receive a call telling me that I had finaled in the GH. But darn it all, as the morning wore on, that hope had escalated to the point I was on pins and needles.

By 9:00 a.m., the RWA website had already begun to list the finalists. The names came sporadically. I checked Contemporary Series Romance looking for my name. Not yet. No names listed. Okay, fine, no problem. I'll carry on.

(Reader beware after this point.) I was, um, uh, okay - I was sitting on the toilet, yoga pants at my ankles, when the phone rings. Oh. My. God. Here it is, I say to myself. Here's the call I've been waiting for. I jumped up (thankfully I'd already Charminized) and ran toward the phone while trying to tug my pants up. The phone rang again. Good Lord, I don't want this to go to the answering machine because maybe there was some kind of rule that if you don't answer they'll hang up and then you're screwed.

As I'm race walking with my pants down around my ankles, I snag my little toe on the foot of the dresser and I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. My toe is throbbing, but who cares? I'll gladly sacrifice my pinky. Heck, I've got two of them. For the love of all that is holy, I'll donate both pinky toes if I can just be a GH finalist.

On my knees with my bare butt hanging out and my pinky toe throbbing, I reach for the phone. I know what I'm going to hear. A wonderful female voice will say, "Hello, I'm calling to inform you that you've finaled in this year's Golden Heart contest." My mind jogs ahead and I start thinking OMG I've got to make airline and hotel reservations. What am I going to do with my hair. Eek! I'll need something formal to wear! But who gives a rat's butt because I'm going to be a GH Finalist!!!

I bring the receiver to my ear with a shaking hand and in my best fake, flowery, birds singing in spring voice, I say, "Hello?" There's a split second when I anticipate the first word out of this angel's mouth that I know has come straight from heaven.

But instead, what do I hear? My husband/boss says, "Hey. You know that letter you just emailed me? It's got a typo."

Huh? What? WHAT????

By 2:00 p.m. all the finalists had been named. I was not one of them. Sigh. Guess there's always next year...

I Am Not Alone

Today we're going to delve into the deep, dark world of...you guessed it...office supplies. You know what I'm talking about. You take that first step into your local office supply store and suddenly you're obsessed. You walk at a snail's pace to devour each and every aisle. Your head swirls like a spring tornado - colored paper, notebooks of every color and thickness, sticky notes (OMG they look like index cards!) and enough pens and pencils you wish you could write with your toes.

Before you start thinking, "this woman is a nut case," let me tell you about a conversation I had with my writing friends a while back.

We were sitting at a popular restaurant one Saturday morning having coffee and talking "shop." Not having enough caffeine yet, my mouth started working before my brain had a chance to catch up. I shared the adventures of my shopping trip the day before to a well known office supply chain where I had purchased colored markers, sticky labels, scratch pads, and enough index cards to build an exact replica of the Eiffel Tower. In neon.

The excitement was apparent in my tone. I described each aisle and what incredible treasures I had found. By the time I was done, I was sitting on the edge of my seat. As I took a break and gulped my Diet Pepsi (no yucky coffee for me, remember), I was anticipating that the women at my table would jump up and run screaming for the door. 

Instead, eight pairs of eyes looked at me with jealousy and awe as if I'd just been describing the most chocolaty chocolate dessert known to mankind. Huh, I thought, maybe I wasn't a whack job after all. Without any coaxing, we spent the next half hour regaling each other with our love of everything office.

I've gotta go. There's a package of sheet protectors I need to play with use for writing.

Come on. Bare your soul. I dare you.

Also, please join me for Fork It Up Fridays where I'll share a favorite recipe!

Why Read Romance?

On a recent trip to visit my daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter, I spent many hours in the car traveling south. While my husband drove and my son and his college buddy listened to music in the backseat, I spent my time reading a Susan Elizabeth Phillips novel (one of my favorite authors), checking out a few "how to" writing books, and judging a contest. My son's friend asked if I read a particular male romance writer. "No," I said. "Somebody always dies at the end."

"But he's really popular. His books have been made into movies."

"Don't care. For me, I want that happily ever after."

So my son's friend asked the big question. "Why do you want to read something where you already know the ending?"

I looked at him like he was a romance idiot. "I don't know the ending," I said in defense.

"Sure you do. You already know the whole story. Guy and chick hook up. Happily ever after," he stated. "What's the point in reading the story if you know what's going to happen?"

Well that got me to thinking (argh, he was right). But only to a point. Okay, maybe I knew there would be a HEA, but I certainly didn't know how they would get there. So I began to list all the things I loved about reading a well-written romance: how the h/h meet, falling head over heels in love, discovering that total adoration for each other, how they struggle to overcome obstacles, and finding happiness together. While I travel with them on their journey, I get to escape. Lose myself in the story and take a break from my responsibilities.

The response I got from my son's friend? "Huh," he said, with a nod of his head!

How about you? What part of reading a good romance do you enjoy?

Please stop by again on Friday where I'll share a yummy recipe.

Embarrasing Moments

The other day, I was involved in an online discussion about using exercise balls at your computer desk instead of a standard chair. It reminded me of an event with an exercise ball where I totally embarrassed myself. And since I'd like you all to get to know me a little bit more, I'll tell the tale.

I'm a medical transcriptionist and have the great fortune of working from home. We have a finished basement where I've taken up one large corner for my computer desk, printer, etc. One day, the information technology (IT) guy from work was at my house fixing some kind of computer problem. I always like to stick my nose in watch what the guy does, figuring I'm learning something (and maybe I can correct anything he screws up).

So he's working away at my computer and I want to sit by him. I glance over to where my exercise ball is and think, what the heck, I'll use that. I sit, soon realizing that I don't exactly have my balance. I do the arm flailing thing, but to no avail. The big ole' ball shoots out from underneath me and heads straight for the bowls of cat food and water. While the bowls clink and clank and tip over, I fall backwards into my husband's weight bench. Since he keeps his barbell loaded with weights, my fall causes the bench to slam back toward a bookcase with such force, books tumble off the shelves onto the floor. (Think Mousetrap Game.) As I lay there trying to comprehend what the heck happened, the IT guy slowly turns his head in my direction and in a monotone voice says, "You okay?" And the first words that pop out of my mouth? "Yep. This happens all the time." Sigh. What a dork!

Now that I've spilled one of my goofy stories, I'd love to hear one of yours. Please share!

Please stop by Jill Kemerer's blog at http://jillkemerer.blogspot.com/ on Wednesday, March 7th, where I answer Five Easy Questions. Jill and I met through our local RWA chapter, and support each other through the ups and downs of becoming published. Jill is a sweet person who loves to help others, and she is responsible for me getting this blog up and running. I consider her a good friend, and feel very blessed to have her in my life.

Living With A Writer

Writers are an interesting breed. Their minds are consumed with plots, characters and fictional towns. When I began creating stories, I gave my husband some tips about living with a writer: 

• Wear your emotional seatbelt. I'll have strange ups and downs, which will affect the mood of the rest of the family. In a matter of a few hours, I can go from out-of-the-world happy to tossing my "how to" books out the window and onto the front lawn.
• Any odd thing you say or do will be used in my next book.
• If we're in a restaurant, bowling alley or church, I will invent stories about everyone and everything. Key word is invent. If you share with family or friends, they'll think you're insane.
• When you're drawn into an amazing conversation between myself and another writer, don't be overly disappointed when you realize we're talking about a fictional person, place and thing.
• If you get tired of pizza and Chinese takeout three nights/week, you'll find yourself at the stove with a wooden spatula in your hand.
• When you wake up in the middle of the night and I'm scribbling on a tablet in the dark while humming or chuckling, I will not hurt you. Unless you interrupt me.
• After I've sent in a submission, I will check my email 14,000 times/day. Honestly, I'm not having an affair.
• Embrace my creativity, because writers make the world a better place.

Welcome! Today is the official launch of my blog. So glad you could stop by. Join me again later in the week for Fork It Up Fridays where I share a favorite recipe. I’d love to hear from you so please leave me a message.

Welcome to my new blog! Please stop by on Tuesday, February 28, 2012 for my first post. Can't wait!