Then I spoke with him on Saturday, and it seems that his rash has returned. He went to an emergency clinic, paid an assload of money for two shots to hopefully clear up the rash and went home to sleep.

He woke up and found bedbugs.

Apparently his rash is an allergy to the little fuckers. So, he bought covers for his awesome bed and is going to choke the little fuckers to death. Given all the traveling I’ve been doing, it was recommended to me that we get a plastic cover for our bed and seal it up so the possible bedbugs have no where to breed.

Have you seen what they look like? *Shudder*

I don’t want those little evil things in my house. But they are everywhere. In theaters. In swanky hotels, and apparently, in my brother’s bed. Ew. I am getting a cover for my bed… tomorrow.

My mother had a big honkin’ piece of ick removed from her face last week. Both my mother and my sister also have their noses pierced. Mom developed a mole right next to the piercing which apparently grew cancerous. She also had another “spot” on the bridge of her nose. What should have been an hour procedure turned into 8 hours with “reconstruction” as part of the process. Mom took a look at her face last night, for the first time since the surgery. She has 28 stitches in her nose. Mom wears sunscreen, and does most of what you are supposed to do to take care of your skin. These moley thingies are prone to this issue. I inherited this moley/freckle thing from Mom so I do worry about myself. Right now I just want her to heal properly. And I know she will. She is sad because they removed the part of her nose where the piercing was, but I am sure she will be happier to be cancer free.

So I read this article in Powell’s newsletter today and she mentions hearing music. The older I get the more often this happens to me, and for some reason it’s always with fans. It’s not just music I hear, it’s voices, mumbling singing voices. It’s kind of beautiful, but was a little disconcerting the first time I heard it (during one of my worst manic episodes, after a terrible incident with a former friend). Now, I hear it all the time when I’m tired. The more I read, the more I understand that no matter how much I want this to, it won’t go away. That is okay most of the time, but like last night, I had 2 hours of sleep. This isn’t sustainable. I may have to start sleeping with headphones so I can concentrate on getting my brain to bed. The other biggest issue is my lack of exercise. I wish I wasn’t so fucking lazy.

I. Need. To. Win. The. Lottery.

Now, I finally got the email I’ve been expecting but not really wanting. The agent from NY that I pitched to during res this summer rejected my novel. I knew she would, and every lovely, well-explained reason made painful sense to me. The things she liked also made sense. I busted my ass on two things in the book: setting and dialect. I don’t know why I obsessed over those two things, but I did, and it showed. The problem areas are the ones that I always have a problem with: character motivation and honestly, plot. How can one write a book with little to no plot? It takes a fucking miracle, and I did it.

Okay maybe I am being a little hard on myself. There IS a plot, but the reasons for the characters doing things does not make sense to the reader. It makes perfect sense in my little noggin, but my noggin is not translating to paper well.

Sigh.

What does this mean? Well my “rejection cherry” has been popped, and all of my lovely classmates and writerly friends celebrated the rejection with me. It also means I have a metric fuckton of editing to do on that novel. But guess who is finishing her MFA? Yeah, this kid. So, no time.

But I have a plan! So while I am working on my WIP I will also edit the first book, sort of a way to take my brains out of one work and put them into another. Honestly with the first book, I was burnt the fuck out, and it shows in the writing. I am a superhero, so I will write my WIP and edit Book 1, and somehow maintain sanity.

I think I need to go to the wine store. Wine is the only thing that will fuel this.

In other news, I spent a brilliant weekend in Seattle with the hubbie and our friends Erin and Jason, and our Portland friend Megan. That weekend: I went to a punk show, realized how fat I am, drank more whiskey than is human, used margaritas to cure my hangover, smoked until my throat hurt, fell more in love with Seattle, fell more in love with my friends, lusted over shoes and danced my ass off. Erin and I became really good friends last summer when she hired me, but she moved to Seattle to be with Jason (who I adore). I always have fun with them, and Jason brings out the social side of my hubbie.

Seattle… I know we are going to move there eventually. There’s an energy about that city that intoxicates me. It makes Portland seem charming and small and almost insignificant. That is not to say that I don’t love Portland, I do. This is a brilliant place where anything goes, and everyone (generally…unless you are a tea-partier) is accepted. But I miss being in a proper big city. The hubbie knows we will get there eventually, but for now, we are going to focus on succeeding where we are…

I am headed to San Fran to visit the birthdaughter on Labor Day weekend (remember that traveling I was telling you about?). I’m excited to go but bummed because, yet again, I am going alone. We don’t have the cash to bring the hubbie and then spring for a dog sitter. So, I am flying out there alone. They have not seen me in almost 8 years, I think. She’s 16 now. This should be “interesting.” Nice time to quit smoking, eh? (I’m going through a cycle of quitting smoking, fucking up, quitting again, rinse and repeat…so I’ll be quitting for a while, methinks).

So this week I have: 3 classes worth of work to finish, a submission due to my DeMentor, crits to work on and sanity to maintain.

Oh, and I quit drinking too…think that’s about to end.

We have tried to control nature for too long. Sometimes we need to let her loose. That is not to say that I think fires should be allowed to blanket the peaks of the Rockies, surrounding little pools of civilization like the one where my Mom has her little hotel. No but there needs to be a shock in the ass for those who seek the status quo. Your inaction has succeeded in nothing, only more of a plague. And in the end, the woods these people sought to protect will fall due to their fear of doing the wrong thing.

And this is kind of like the situation I find myself in. I didn’t go to Colorado last weekend to mourn the loss of the forest, or to struggle with memories of what it looked like 7 years ago when I first visited. Nope. I had a purpose, and that purpose was to present a new way to a close family member.  Their problems are not for public consumption, but as of September I will have someone else living in my house. I offered my place for several reasons – I know my city and I love it – I know how terrible fear is and how it can corrupt your soul and keep your feet planted deep in quicksand – I know how it feels to fall on your face and land on your feet – I know how it feels to leave everything you know behind.

Most of all, I know how it feels to hope.

I would never say that moving changes everything. It doesn’t. The problems you have in your current location will follow you like a shadow to your new place. The hope is that the different sun and air can cleanse you of those demons. With a new place, you are reborn. No one knows about your past, your follies, your fears. You can become someone new, better, more shiny, less neurotic.

Or you can be brutally honest, and just tell them how batshit crazy you are. That works for me. I think my crazy is part of my charm… or something (delusions, I love you).  What I hope in helping this amazingly wonderful person out is that they find the life they want and deserve. I am going to do a lot of research, so I can present the right opportunities when they do arrive. I want them to love this city as much as I do, but even if they don’t, I want them to know I love them, unabashedly, and I am actually looking forward to their move. We let life get in the way of things – of connections that should be maintained and love that should be nurtured. This is one I have neglected. I won’t do so again.

Right now they are the last tree surrounded by beautiful copper, and they will perish if no one stands up and drags their ass out of their inaction. So, that is what I did this weekend. I’m action girl, and I will drag them, perhaps kicking and screaming, into a new life.

At least they will be moving then.

Other things I learned in Colorado:

• Living at 9k feet is for big-horned sheep and crazy people. My mother is among those people.
• You can take the redneck out of Florida, but you can’t take the Florida out of the redneck – one of Mom’s employees decided to put gas in the chimenea…which was only 6′ from the house. I think she fired him today. Get it….fired? Hehehehhe… I kill me.
• I am still angry at a lot of people. I need to get over that. I just wish Mom and my stepfather would get divorced so we can move on. This is exhausting me, and I’m not even involved.
• I can totally stick my head out of a window, going 70, for two hours and still have fabulous hair. It’s the purple… it works every time.
• Hand signals + slow drivers = making friends on the highway. Needless to say I made a lot of friends on the road, and I wasn’t even driving.
• I turn into a raisin in Colorado. No. Humidity. I thought I was going to die.
• Thunderstorms are amazing, and I miss them.
• I should not run through the airport in Denver. I can’t run in Portland, much less at that altitude. I thought my head would explode.
• My brother and I would totally get into a bar fight with anyone that looks at my sister funny. She’s the pretty one. I’m the one with the temper and the low center of gravity.
• With the iPad, I will never travel with my laptop ever again. It was perfect for writing, watching movies, and killing time. My 15″ macbook often gets bumped when the sloth in front of me lays back his seat. iPad = tiny = no problem.
• I love and miss my siblings.

This was a little disjointed since I’m not trying to call out the loved one I’m helping. Sorry. Sometimes that’s the way the blog bounces.

Twice.

I forgot to number the pages, and I think I still had a bunch of highlighted words in the text. I overuse certain words: darkness, stumble, was, is, he, she. Okay those last two are just for funsies, but I do overuse words. I actually found “skedaddle” twice in the text. Who says that stuff? This is an interesting experiment for me this time. It’s a new novel, or WIP (work in progress) that takes place in Portland. The main character is based of me (ahhh writers and their ego). Even her dogs are Puck and Pip. Oh, and they are beagles. I’m so original. What different about this one is the tense (present) and the point of view (1st person). I am very very comfy writing in 3rd/past, but my lovely DeMentor recommended that I change it. So far it works, although I find myself having a hard time stopping the action to put in things that the main character notices. When is it really good to put in detail about a fight? Or when should the action stop to explain something? How do you balance the need for pacing with the need to keep the reader informed? I guess this is all a balance I will learn to maintain.

Or I will just switch the motherfucker back into 3rd/past.

I’m also going to take a stab at outlining this. That is kind of scary for me. I’m a “pantser” writer. I write by the seat of my pants, never planning, just seeing where the words take me. Now, this is fine and all, but I’ve noticed I start the books with one main character and end up writing about another one entirely. That’s a tad distracting when you intend to tell a story. That happened with the last book I started writing (which has been shelved until I finish this monster). I had a great hero, who turned out to be a great villain, who ended up overshadowed by another great character.

Le sigh.

Such is the life of a writer.

So, I sent an email to my crit partners and my DeMentor with the cleaned up, numbered version of my submission. All before midnight.

I’m notorious for turning things in late. I would rather be notorious for being an awesome writer, or particularly good at storytelling. Alas, no, I’m the girl with 10000000 excuses and inconsistent prose. I’m not beating myself up here, it’s the truth. When I have time to edit, which I like way more than the actual writing, I’m proud of what I turn out. But when I wait until the last minute to shit out some half-baked text, and then try to edit it, well the end result is somewhere between awful and embarrassing. I’ve promised myself that I will work ahead this term. It’s my last one, for real, so I should give it my all.

Now, I have some travel plans coming up this week. Unfortunately the flight was booked for last week, so I spent a frantic hour on the phone with the family trying to rectify the situation. It’s fixed. I’m still going to see them, but my new flight leaves an hour earlier. Doh! That’s going to be a long ass day, let me tell you. I’m going to work from 6:00 – 2:00 and then head to the airport to fly out. Let’s hear it for coffee! Wheeee!

Now, I should try to get some sleep, but that pot of coffee I drank so I could stay up and get my submission done has woken my brain. Where’s my off switch? In a bottle of wine, of course. But even I know that’s a bad idea.

I’ve made birthdays a big thing. It’s the one day I think that everyone should drop everything for their friends and show the fuck up. My birthday has become the day of disappointments. It fractures the fragile bonds I hold sacred. It just mucks things up.

This year, it would do none of those things.

David worked his ass off to make sure I was happy. We woke. I made a lovely meal. We played WoW until the evening, when we jumped into the shower to make ourselves presentable. The time spent at Alu really solidified things (by the way, they have the COOLEST front door…and a little fire pit..and popcorn w/ curry, and little tags on your wine so you know what you drank and if you liked it…brilliant little place). My birthday may be important to me, and David and my family, but I can’t expect the everyone to understand. The universe didn’t even see fit to grant me my first rejection (this waiting game is killing me). What it did give me was my first birthday in years without tears.

And that is a beautiful gift.

That is honestly because of David, not the universe. So thanks, honey.

David also made me fall back in love with my camera again. He rules. I heart him.

“I would rather have gotten the $30 they spent on the pen.”

I shook my head, “I like the pen.”

She smiled, “You would.”

And I do. I like the pen. It feels heavy in my grasp, substantial. The top is magnetic, so it makes a satisfying little click when I put it back on, and the aluminum body stays cool in my hand. It’s not an afterthought, and that is one of the reasons I love working here.

I like the ethics of my company. I like that they are looking at green initiatives, that they are willing to lease a car for those of us at the other office so we can commute together, that I have health insurance that is affordable, that they care. I like that the office is mostly paperless, that we have happy hours and that people actually attend. I love that I’ve made good friends.

So, with my pen, I’m going to make this amazing week. Saturday is my birthday, and David and I  are going to do three things this weekend that we’ve never done before. He got free tickets to the Chinese Garden (his office is moving close to them), so that’s one… let’s see what the rest of the week brings, shall we?

I don’t hold with a few of Facebook’s privacy policies. I have that profile locked down completely, but my blog is open. You will probably know more about me from this place than from Facebook. I know it seems contradictory, but I want my address and cell number hidden, thank you very much. Also, it’s no one’s business who I am connected with. I look at this blog like a mirrored room. I’m in here, doing my thing, making an ass out of myself but the windows are mirrored so I can’t see who looks in. In all honesty, I don’t care. I know that my family has read this, friends, perhaps old acquaintances. I hope no possible jobby jobby people reads this, but I’ve locked down most of the posts that dealt with jobs. Except that “I got laid off twice in one year” thing. No, everyone can read that.

It sucked.

I share the suck.

Back to facebook. So I’ve found:

• my first boyfriend when I moved to Miami in 94 (he is happily married now and has a ridiculously adorable dog)
• the guy who inadvertently started the breakup between me and the bastard that almost ruined my life (we went to see Bauhaus together and the ex had nautical hissy fit – thank god for Bauhaus)
• the only man who was ever able to call me a princess with a straight face and I didn’t punch him (he actually meant it, perhaps that is why I loved him so…he saw something in me I still don’t see)
• a friend I used to bite because I thought it was funny (yes, I acted like a toddler back then) and a few people who knew me by a completely different name (the interwebs and chat rooms were newish back then, so I was Q for a long time… long story).

It’s been amazing catching up with many of them, and it makes me wonder where the rest of them wandered off to. Where is my ex-roommate who danced with me and kissed me on the sidewalks of Ybor City, or the friends who danced with me to DJ Icey until the sun rose that FIRST time (I ditched a date to hang out with them),  or the former coworker I had a terrible crush on but with who ended up being one of the nicest people I’ve ever known. I wonder about the people I’ve hurt – the former best friend who had a thing for me but who I abused (never take people for granted), or the other friend who got caught between my destructive relationship and my need to move on. Maybe they will find me on facebook too. Maybe not. I’m just happier knowing where some of these characters ended up, many of them happy and settled. Oh, but the wild nights we used to have…. there are stories I could tell.

This weekend started off well. It’s been hotter than the devil’s taint, here in loverly Portland.  The hubbie and I gallivanted down to an impromptu happy hour with some of my favorite people from work. Then we geeked out at the casa and ignored the fact that we really need to clean (Cats should seriously have to shave themselves in the summer. Valentine’s hair has gotten ridiculous). I’ve been bitching about it all summer, the whole 5 days we’ve actually had this summer. Saturday we spent time at a favorite watering hole with a favorite friend who, no matter how many times we talk, shocks me with her intelligence and wit. And, holy god, does she have some funny stories. It’s the hardest I have laughed since residency.

Then on Sunday, put on my Grumpasarus pants.

I lost the domain name for my other site. How many Erica McEacherns are running around out there? A few, as far as I can tell, and one of them snagged the domain name that has been under my control for 2 years. But I didn’t pay attention to the e-mails and hollering from godaddy and so now I don’t have the fucking site.

I’m very bitter about this.

I.Should. Pay. Attention.

I get so much crap in my email these days that I ignore most of it. I am waiting for a very important e-mail from a woman I have dubbed Awfulsauce. But that is a story for later in this blog post.

CHICKEN!

I’m listening to a really good song right now – “Warning” by Great Northern. Hmmm… I should remember them and check out the rest of the album (I love you Pandora…. Loooooooveee youuuuu).

Back to the bitching. So, to torture me, I keep getting e-mails about the status of my former site. I then, in a knee-jerk reaction, purchased two new domains, which I will be working on getting up and running in the coming days. Thank god my other site is hosted by Squarespace… didn’t lose anything, just the name.

Fucking douche.

In the same month, our car was hit in the parking lot at New Seasons and our radio died. It’s not actually dead. Dead would be okay. Dead would not tempt me by playing music at mid level and now allowing me to change the song. Dead would not tease me with a radio button that doesn’t work. Dead is fine. No, the damn thing half-works. I need to order a new faceplate from Alpline. I just haven’t. Our car also got banged up by some fucktard at New Seasons when I ran in to grab lunch. It’s not worth filing an insurance claim, it just looks like shit. I wish someone would throw the car off a cliff.

No radio.Bad paint job when we had it fixed from the accident and a radio that was never installed correctly when it got ripped out last summer.

I hate that car, but I miss NPR in the morning.

School was amazing. This is the first term that no one was graduating, so when we would normally trod off to thesis readings, we had time, and lots of it. Too much time, if you ask me,  because idle hands do the devil’s work and apparently my devil really likes to drink (I know this is a shock to you all…it’s okay. I only really drank to excess 2 out of the 6 nights we were there). There were again jokes that were made that still make me giggle, but Zorro just isn’t funny to other people (It happens…in your EYE!). I ended the week with a less functioning liver, many bug bites, a new thesis project, grass stains on my favorite jeans, mystery bruises, corgi hair on my sweater,  a fun button that mentions my Twitter addiction, new friends, and lots of big dreams.

So, speaking of dreaming. I have had the lovely Calie as a crit partner for 2 years now (god help her). We were told that we had to have a third person in our group. Now, Calie and I are kind of snarky. We can deal with each others bitchiness and flaws because we truly love each other and we have no qualms about calling the other out. In truth – we are honest in the most vicious way. This attitude and way of working is not feasible for many of our school cohorts. Only the strongest of bitches can put up with us, and that woman would be Ven. Now Venessa is a recivitus, and a full time editor. She’s also willing to spank me, so it is the best of all worlds.

During the residency, a few agents came to work and speak with the alums. I am techincally an alum, but since I am back in school to get the “F” or get “F’d” as it were, I didn’t have a chance to participate in any of the alum stuff. They had pitch sessions that the alums could sign up for, and Ven was in charge of getting them filled up and keeping the agents happy (that woman is a workhorse and can juggle monkeys. I’m sure she can.), which mean getting all the pitch sessions signed up for. We were upstairs, and I think I was probably bitching about day 3 of my hangover when she demanded I go downstairs and sign up for a pitch session.

Truth? I’ve never written one.

Truth? I don’t have a synopsis.

Truth? I hate talking about my book because I always feel like I’m saying the wrong thing.

Truth? I was scared shitless.

Ven and I went to the room to sign up. A woman was signing little tickets for the raffle next to us when I began bitching about not know what the hell I was doing. The woman, with a hungry smile, sat me down and had me practice pitch to her, had me answer some questions (It made me feel amazingly stupid when I didn’t realize what my conflict was) and then proudly told me that I’d just pitched. Then Ven told me who it was.

One of the agents.

Who is known to be beastly.

And then I signed up to do a formal pitch. I still had an entire class to get through prior to the pitch. I will admit to not paying one iotia of attention. I wrote my pitch. Ven was in the class with me and found a lovely handout generated by another student that walked us through how to write one. It was an amazing document. So, we both wrote our pitches (she was to go right after me), and then I snuck out of class early to go downstairs and deal with the agent.

I heard her reject someone right before I went in.

My stomach fell into my toes.

And then with a laugh that could shake buildings she called me in. I don’t know if it is polite to state who I spoke with (I’m going to err on the side of caution here), but she made me laugh. She was so easy to talk to  and her laugh was inflectious, but she still scared the hell out of me.

Then she requested a full manuscript.

I didn’t pitch my book. She liked me. So, she wanted my book.

Life is strange.

I tried to hug her later and she kicked me (or poked me… I may have a been a touch overserved), but Awfulsauce seemed happy to meet me, and I was more than pleased to meet her. Now I’m just waiting for my first, ever rejection. At least it’s going to be a big one. By the way, in her contacts list, my profession is listed as: Awesomesauce. I met another lovely agent during the weekend, but I think I was too drunk when I tried to pitch to him. He may or may not have asked for pages, but I was so embarrassed about my drunkenness then I didn’t send a damn thing. I am only regretting it a little.

I am also starting on a new thesis project. When I wrote my first book (which was my thesis for my MA), I had no clue what I was doing, or what I was getting myself into. I painted myself in a few corners with the story and the limits I set for the characters. I felt comfortable with those characters though, so I started book 2 with my MFA. That sounded like a grand idea but I’m tired of those annoying little buggers. In all honesty, they are not cooperative and the characters I want to focus on decide to retreat to the shadows and pout, or smoke crack, or make fingerpuppets out of napkins. I don’t know what the hell they are doing back there, but they are not helping the story. I’ve had another idea, a type of female character I’ve wanted to write for a while. So when I submitted a peice to be critiqued at school I wrote something new, something that made me happy, something I had fun writing. The peice was well recieved. My DeMentor lead the workshop where we cut it to peices, but overall, they liked it. And I like that they liked it. And then the DeMentor turned to me and said, “You are changing your thesis to this, right?”

I smiled. The bastard was right. Book 2 has not been fun to write. However this new thing has been. And I’m getting all crazy and writing in first person (Calie is going to kick my ass for this because I generally hate 1st person, but she’s doing it pretty well… maybe I can too). So that will be what I’m working on for the next 6 months.

Oh, and I got an iPad. I LOVE IT.

I think that covers most of the madness in the last few weeks. I should get back to working on things that need to be completed. My life is going to be wicked busy come these next few months. Things I am looking forward to: World Fantasy Con, the Willamette Writers con thingy in August, dealing with some family stuff, a trip to Seattle with a close friend, and my freaking birthday. I don’t care much for the birthday, but the rest of it will rock. Now, back to your regularly scheduled madness….

I actually stopped most of it this term. I read my books. I did my papers, and I wrote. I’ve written a lot and it feels fantastic. But there is a fear gnawing at the back of my brain that I can’t write anything outside of the worlds I’ve built in my first two books. We have to submit something for critique for residency, and I whipped together a first chapter for a future novel. It’s fun, fast and fierce. It’s also in Portland. Now I have two long manuscripts that are going to take place in my town. Is that not stretching my creative legs enough? There’s some overlap of the magical concepts as well…is that laziness? Or have I had my head too far up the Bowergent’s arse to write anything else? I don’t know.

Sigh.

Meanwhile, on the life front, not much has changed. My friend Cat is graduating from college this weekend (HUZZAH!) and David and I plan on going to the graduation. It will be taxing, for reasons I can not reveal at this moment (although I think the reason doesn’t even realize I have a website…but I’m keepin’ secrets here!). I’m really proud of her. I know how hard it is to finish your undergrad when you have a full-time life. Sometimes I wish that I was smart and got my degrees when I was younger. Then I remember I wasn’t ready for all this studiousness. We are exactly where we need to be right now.

Speaking of graduations. This is an interesting tidbit. I haven’t seen my father since I was 12 (I think..memory is fuzzy). So over twenty years. He lives in PA, where I go to school. We have been chatting via e-mail for almost a year now and it’s been nice. No pressure. No expectations, just a father and daughter trying to figure out who each other are after not speaking for over 10 years. I got an e-mail from him last week. He wants to come to my graduation in PA. You could have bowled me over with a feather.

I have quite a bit of traveling to do this year: School in June, Seattle to visit Erin and Jason a few times this summer, World Fantasy Con in Ohio, School in Jan. David is also take a trip, but that’s a secret.

Have I mentioned that I’m terrible about secrets?

Before I say any more, I should get to work.

What is being a mother, exactly? Is it giving birth to another life? Any woman can do that, but many women are not terribly good mothers. Are we celebrating them on a day like this, although they wrecked the lives of their children? Should we strip the title away from them because they are less than deserving? And how must this day feel for those women who have lost children. Or other birthmothers? What of children who have lost their mothers? Do they need to be reminded of what they have lost?

I don’t like the “day” kinds of holidays. Valentines day. Mother’s and Father’s day. Truly, these holidaze are supposed to make everyone stop a moment and remind their loved one how much they care. Again, I argue (I say this about V-Day all the time) that this should be done every day. Why wait to tell your mother you love her? Or your father? Or your best friends? Why the one special day?

I don’t know what it is like to be a mother. I can tell you that being a birthmother has been challenging. There is no rule book, no list of directions, no advice that can be given to navigate the relationships I have with my birthdaughter’s family. Having an open adoption has been a challenge and a blessing, but I wouldn’t change it. But I think my birthdaughter is smart enough and grateful enough to remind her mother how much she loves her every day. They have a beautiful relationship, one I hope all daughters have with their mothers. I am happily on the periphery, watching and observing and reveling in the beauty of their family. And I knew on the day that I gave birth to her that I would never have another child. Some of us are not meant for motherhood. It is not a loss, nor a lack I feel in being who I am. I just know that my life is not big enough for children. That does not mean I am any less of a woman. I just know who I am.

I called my mom today to wish her a happy mother’s day. It’s what good children do. But I don’t love her any more today than I did yesterday. I speak with her several times a week. I don’t wait for the “day” to tell her how happy I am that she is my parent. I tell her all the time. And so should you.

So know what? It’s bullet time!

• I think the word “huzzah” is making a comeback. David and I heard it while watching the John Adams miniseries on HBO and I find that it’s lovely for random occasions. See how you can use it in daily life. That is your homework.
• I am finishing up with my term for school, which means I’m not sleeping and have turning into a beastly person to deal with. The additional classes they added for the “F” are bringing me to my knees. I’ve spend more time in a state of panic, or talking Calie down from the edge, or whining that is decent. You know what’s terribly fun? It’s going to be worse next term. I have  3 weeks to write an entire book. Okay, well to finish book 2. Remember that life I had? Yeah, I don’t either.
• It’s silly, but my new purple hair makes me happy. When I told a co-worker how old I was, he looked shocked. “I refuse to grow up,” I told him. I don’t know what it is about me and this phase in my life but I’m having a lot of fun. I’m just being me, and it feels fantastic.
• We are debating moving again. Not outside of Portland. We can’t afford to pick up and move to Seattle when we both finally have jobs. But our house is pissing us off. The heat is sketchy, there is no insulation, and frankly, the house is too old. It’s also massive, way more than 2 people and 4 fuzzies need. But it is nice to have space, and we don’t have to worry about someone else accepting our creatures (why is it kids are okay, but having a cat with claws is a deal-breaker?). We are on the fence, but it comes up constantly. We need to either make this a place we want to stay or pick up and move. The decision will come eventually.
• I am sometimes reminded why we leave certain people behind, and seek others out from our past. Recently, I was reminded how much of an assshole someone was. May they enjoy their karma. And then the hubbie found his old roommate, which is brilliant. We have some secret plans regarding Florida, but I’ve said too much.
• I’m heading out to PA next month for my last residency, I think. I’m still contemplating taking one more res, in January, when I graduate. I get to hang out with my dear friend Nikki, who is going to lend me her corgi so I can smoosh him to death. Corgis are an ongoing obsession of mine… I blame Cowboy Bebop.

• D got a job, thank the gods. He is working for an educational nonprofit that makes modules for teaching children. The good thing is that he gets to draw all day – weird stuff like beakers and hurricanes and dragons. The bad thing is that they are underpaying him by a mile. That being said, he’s got a job so we are content.
• My job is going well. I grew very close to my boss very fast, and then the bitch moved to Seattle. How DARE she! So D and I have made a few trips up there to visit, and since she and her boyfriend have family 45 minutes north of us, they are down here quite often. It’s interesting when you meet someone that you really just click with. We laugh a lot, about juvenile stuff. She isn’t as political as I am and she is defiantly girly, but in a grrrly kind of way. I adore her boyfriend (who is so tall, when I hug him, it feels slightly inappropriate) and D and I love spending time with them. Selfishly, I wish she had stayed in Portland, but she didn’t. Maybe one day we will move to Seattle…one day.
• Oh yes, the job thing. Well I am keeping most of work out of this blog. It is safer for everyone. I like what I do. I love my window office. I am blessed to have a job and am learning a lot about myself and the world around me. It’s good to be able to pay the bills.
• My sister and her family finally got orders and moved from Tacoma. Now they are in St. Joeseph, Misery. It was harder to say goodbye to my sister than I thought it would be. I know it’s not permanent, and a few more miles will do nothing to lessen our relationship. But there was something nice about saying “Hey, I’m coming over this weekend” and actually being able to do it in reasonable time. They bought a house in St. Joe, so they won’t be moving in the foreseeable future. D and I won’t leave the Pacific NW. We love it here, so our almost 3 years of living close will probably never happen again. I’m grateful for the relationship I have with my sister. I think I have grown as a person being exposed to her kids. I still don’t like kids, and I think bad parents should be shot with a rubber-band gun. That will never change, but I don’t loathe kids as much as I used to. They can stay on the planet for now. But they better not make a mess.
• I am BACK at Seton Hill University. There were rumblings that they were going to try to change the program from an MA (Master in Arts) to the better MFA (Master in Fine Arts), which is a terminal degree. It happened faster than the school anticipated, and so two weeks after I graduated, they sent us letters telling us we could come back for the “F” part of our MFA. What does this entail? I need to start a new work, so all the work I did on my first book is independent of what I have to work on now. I still have a crit group (more on that later), I have 5 classes to take online, in conjunction with 2 residencies. Right now I am in a Horror class and the Teaching Popular Fiction class. Anyone that graduated with the MA can come back and take these classes, and get an MFA. Sounds grand, right? Well the workload is easily tripled for those of us who are coming back. These additional online classes are wonderful, and if I had the spaced out one in a term, it would be perfect. Right now I am taking two and I feel overwhelmed. My muse and I have had long discussions about my work and she and I both agree that this has stopped that forward motion in my writing life. Next term will be worse – I’ll be in 3 classes. God help me.
• I have reconnected with certain friends lost to infantile arguments. Sometimes I need a break, we all need a break. I could be more skillful in relaying my needs to others, but sometimes I’m just dumb. It feels good to have these people back in my life. The time apart was fruitful for both of us, I think. And now we know what we were missing, what we threw away in fits of stupidity. I will be more forthcoming next time, and more forgiving.
• I planned on seeing my birthdaughter for the firs time in years this month, but the trip was postponed due to her family health issues. She’s 16 now, the same I was when I got pregnant with her. I remember it like it was yesterday, feeling so scared, so alone, so freaked out that I was going to California to give birth when my home was in North Carolina. They say that you change after situations like that. I felt like I boarded the plane to California as a young, immature, scared kid. I left as a damaged woman, with leaky breasts, and a irreparably shattered heart.  Sixteen years later, I know that she is in great hands, and she’s grown up to be a beautiful young woman. But I will always remember holding her when she was a day old, and I promised her I would do right by her by becoming a better person. I hope I’ve succeeded.

Whew! That was a lot. Of course, that was not everything, but it is enough for now. It feels good to blog again. I am headed to World Fantasy Con in October with my lovely, charming, and brilliant crit partner. It should be tons of fun. Right now, though, I need some damn coffee.

This blog has been around for many years, through the genesis and termination of friendships, changes in my own personal world view, moves, marriages, deaths, and discoveries. I won’t retire it just yet, but I may keep infrequent updates going. I am also working more on the site where I actually use my name. Being a 33 year old writer living in Portland really isn’t that interesting, at least not in a way I can describe. So, for a while I am going to live my life, not write about it. If you are agonizingly curious, I am still on Facebook and I Twitter regularly (see the links in the sidebar). Or, you could just e-mail me.

For now, interwebs, have fun, play nice and remember everything you’ve ever written on the web can be found.

~Erica~

Today I woke and have started to dig myself out. I had much of my teaching module done for school and in a fit of despair, deleted the entire thing. I’m back to building it from scratch again, trying to piece together the info I still have sitting on the desktop. Crazy people take a lot longer to do things, I guess. At least I know where all the information is.

I think I have settled with the sections I want to read for my thesis defense. Then again, I will probably change my mind. But I am trying to ignore the fact that D won’t be there. That honestly makes me get all teary eyed every time I think about it. I am starting to get excited about school,  but I am feeling overwhelmed. What if I bomb my teaching module? That is the one that has me worried.

And I haven’t even thought about pitching my novel yet. I can’t wrap my head around that. One thing at a time…. just one thing.

Right now, I would like to kick life in its everloving ass and tell it to be a little more fair. David will not be flying out to my graduation. We’ve both been unemployed since January and our finances just can’t take it. I pouted, felt sorry for myself, worried that I would be embarrassed at graduation because none of my family would be there to holler for me. And I will admit that I cried a bit.

Then we got the call today that his father is dying. He has had several bouts with melanoma, but the cancer spread to his brain. He was given 2-4 months to live. Suddenly my selfishness for whining about David come to my graduation are eclipsed by the fact that I think he needs to say goodbye to his father. He’s ambivelent. He wants to go out to support his brothers (he has 5) and his half sisters (he has 4), but we are not financially in a place where that can be done. Now, David had a great interview today and we are both very hopeful, but there’s no guarantee that he can fly out there. It’s no question that he should go out, it’s just whether the economy will allow us the cash to get there. I will bleed the rock dry to try to get him out there. We are also dealing with all these extra expenses for my graduation. Yes the car and plane flight are paid for, but I do need to eat, and the fucking gown is 75 dollars. I’m tempted not to walk at all to save that money. It’s just the suck right now.

I, as David’s wife, think he should fly out to say goodbye. He’s not close to his father. They have had a distant relationship their entire life due to a separation before David was born. But his father has tried in recent years. We are very different when it comes to loss and mourning, but I do think David would feel better about things if he could just spend some time with his family at this point. Now, I’m hoping the next few weeks will include some rockin’ good luck and love from the Fates. Perhaps all this worrying will be for naught and we can scrounge up the cash to get him to see his Dad.

That’s not to say that it’s all terrible. It isn’t. David and I are working very well together to keep each other out of the pits of despair. We make little plans to keep from going insane. And honestly we’ve grown closer these 6 months without work. I guess that is what happens when adversity hits your family – you sink or swim. My sister has been invaluable through the whole process – both as a shoulder on which to lean in my weak moments and the one who saved our asses to pay rent this month. If I have to pay her back 5 bucks at a time, I will. You can’t take that kind of kindness for granted.

So, all in all this is really a post about the bad and good in things. I’ve had a few dark days recently. But I realized that getting up every morning, I have a choice – I can mourn the loss of my former life with a steady income or I can celebrate the time I’ve had to grow closer to my husband and write. My only wish right now is that I can find the money to get David out to see his Dad before he passes. Honestly, everything else is a luxury.

We grilled in the back yard – asparagus by the pound and veggie sausages. She made chicken for everyone in my stove. We danced around the kitchen, nearly bumping elbows, laughing more than one should. I actually have a grown-up table and a kids table now. Who knew I would flex the edges of my life to include children? Granted, they are not my own, but I’ve made space for them and their noise. I’m proud of that.

And when they left, I felt the silence of this big house for the first time. It fit like a sweater four sizes too big. I’ve made my life in the quiet of our house. We laugh loudly, we watch movies at decibels that would make one’s ears bleed, and if you’ve ever heard a beagle bay, you know that it’s not all quiet. I missed my family when they left. I missed my BIL and the bright way he smiles when my niece gives him a hug. I miss my younger nephews incessant questions and constant ramblings (he is much like my sister at that age, never quiet, talking even when no one listens). I miss my older nephews uncomfortable stance in the world, at fourteen, on the edge of childhood and adulthood, with a timid foot in both. I miss my niece, who has discovered presumptuous questions but still loves to play on her own. And I miss my sister, who beyond all other in my life (except my husband) understands that family is what you make of it. The differences exist, but our love for each other has gone beyond the normal sisterly bond. We are the best of friends.

In the coming months I shall swallow the sounds of my family. This is the last summer they will live close by for the military is moving them somewhere far away. Honestly, anything beyond the NW part of the country is far for us. The visits will become infrequent. I will end up remarking how the kids have grown in the spans of time between visits. I will feel my age as the loud, boisterous love of being young fades into the sullen contemplation of the teenage years. I will struggle a little with that last visit which will probably be on my 33rd birthday and I will have to grow used to a house whose silence fits uncomfortably around the memories I cherish.

But Erica, you can catch a ride with somone else, you say.

Yes, I could. This is my last term, and we are trying to get David out to watch me walk, and I would want to be able to take us back to the airport together. I want that experience of traveling with him again. We haven’t done it in years because school necessitated that I fly twice a year. It’s almost over. I don’t really know how to feel about it.

I submitted my manuscript, after additional issues with the time. I’m hoping it is edited to everyone’s satisfaction. It felt like, at least to me, that the first half was edited well. The last 100 pages left much to be desired, I think. The only comfort right now is that I can’t do anything about it. It’s been submitted and my mentors will make their judgements. If I have to make edits, I will.

David and I saw Star Trek last night. I thought it was brilliant. The pacing was intense, the tone both comical and serious, and the actors just blew my socks off. If you can, I think that you should go and see it. I would say more, but I know some of my readers will go and see it this weekend. I hate spoilers and I wouldn’t do that to you.

But now, I have things to do, so here’s a picture of bliss.