I'm the victim of myself, Just for Fun, My own craziness, Randomness

The Draft File…

Two years and Three weeks ago today I began my life as a ‘published author”. Not merely did I dip my toe into the waters, I climbed all the way up to the top of the proverbial 30-foot high dive platform, walked across and took a flying leap down into a pool that at times has not felt deep enough.

In February 2011, I went from virtually unknown–scratch that, I wasn’t virtually unknown, I was completely unknown, the only people of my acquaintance who knew I’d written anything was my husband and one of his co-workers. That was it. So I went from being just one person in the world, to one more person who had written a story.

Not much of a difference. Except, I then had a job of trying to do the one thing I’d never wanted to do before: draw attention to myself.

I am PAINFULLY shy. If you ever meet me in person, I might surprise you. I’m not the life of the party or fun, I’d rather be like Regina Banks and blend into the wallpaper. That’s where I feel like I belong!

When starting, there are a few things one has to do (other than have a book written lol):

Website

Facebook Page

Blog

The website was easy enough. The Facebook Page made me grumble. But the blog made me want to cower in a corner and breathe into a paper bag. I am terrible at blogging (just ask those who’ve been following me a while). I never have an idea what to say and have often made a real idiot of myself trying to say something interesting.

Well, after two years, I still don’t have any easier of a time when I sit down to write a post (this one for example, I started more than four hours ago), but I do have 96 “drafts” where I’ve started a post, only to give it up.

Today, I thought I’d share a few “starts”:

This was intro to my first visit to the State Fair last October, titled: Strange Confessional

Shamefully, I have only posted like two or three times in the last fortnight, and one of those was to present my latest book as  if you were all sitting on the edge of your seats, biting your fingernails to the quick with anxiety over it.  So now, almost a week later, I do believe it is time to move on and write something else. Unfortunately, I have no real news, nor is there any inspiration striking for writerly advice. 

However, I feel compelled to confess I’d never been to the fair before. Ever. Yes,  I know it is nearly unheard of for anyone to reach adulthood without going to the fair, but I did! And now, I’m about to share my recent adventure that has left me undecided on if not going was the disappointing thing I thought it was or if it was truly a blessing in disguise.

It all started a few weeks ago when out of nowhere I agreed to be the room mom. That’s when I first found out that this year would be the year for me. The year I’d finally get to go see what all the fuss was all about. The only caveat was I’d be going with a gaggle of kids ages four to six. As my heart started to pound just thinking about taking so many children to such a large, crowded place, I put the thought out of my mind, otherwise they might have to scrape me off the floor. As the days got closer, I got a little more comfortable with the idea, but still a little apprehensive.

Then the day arrived…

To sum up the part that I didn’t write here: it was a horrid affair. Filled with a whiney, bratty kid (not mine. Thank God) clinging onto my pant legs until he almost pulled them down, screaming, answering awkward questions about how the baby goat got in the mama goat’s belly, a lego up someone’s nose and a temper tantrum like I’ve never seen before. But the weather was good!

Here’s another.  I wrote this one last August when my kids were about to go back to school, titled: Kids + Outside = Resistance, “no fun”, and a tinge of whining! Why, oh why?

Today is the last day of my kids’ summer break. Thank goodness. For as much as I love them, and I really do, they’ve been driving me nuts!

When I was a kid, we played outside. As soon as it was bright enough to see, we were out riding our bikes, wrestling the neighbors, throwing water balloons, and just being noisy in general until it was almost so dark you couldn’t see in front of you. We even ate lunch outside! Not these days. I never thought I’d be one of those moms who let her kids get addicted to the TV and refuse to go outside. In fact, I only allow them to watch very little, and yet, all summer it was like pulling teeth to get my kids to stay outside. Sure, they’d go out for about then minutes, then suddenly, the sliding glass door would open and the words, “I’m bored” would echo through the house.

My first thought of course was: How can that be? You have all sorts of toys out there. From a swing set with slide to a cozy coupe, they have all sorts of things to keep them entertained…and they’re not.

The concept of boredom when they have so many toys, plus a brother close in age and a dog, is too hard for me to wrap my mind around it.

So if this scenario reminds you of yourself this summer, know that you are not alone. I suffered it, too. As did millions of other 

One more. The title I’d given this one (and I can’t remember where I was going with it because it’s been so long) was Oh. My. Which is perfect because when I read over it a few minutes ago while going through my draft list, that is the FIRST thing that popped into my mind.

[Warning: Please be advised, this post discusses s-e-x. If you swoon at the thought, please delete this from your inbox or close the page immediately.]

As it would happen, I have two children, and this may be a shocker, but neither were conceived while sitting in a church pew. They were, however, conceived with the lights (including the nightlight) off, in the dead of night, while I waited under the covers, wearing a thick, flannel nightgown that stretched from my chin to my ankles. Bob, who was dressed similarly, slipped between the covers and did something–I’m not entirely certain what–while I counted the textured balls along the ceiling by the light of the moon. I don’t know about the rest of you, but for me, this was the way of things.

Because I live the life of a wannabe nun who just so happened to want children, I hire someone to write my sex scenes… And while proofreading over one of my books tonight, I was mortified with what I read. Absolutely MORTIFIED. Who does that stuff?! And who even thinks of it?! Good grief.

As I said, oh my. I have NO idea where I was going with that, which is probably a blessing, and just in case you couldn’t tell, it was intentionally meant to be sarcastic.

I hope you all enjoyed something and I didn’t scandalize anyone too much.