My mom and I were talking today about how I don’t have enough faith in myself when it comes to my writing. I’m slowly starting to realize that I don’t suck at this and that I can do this. And we were discussing that a lot of writers say that can’t remember a time they didn’t write. I can and can’t.

I won my first award for writing in 2nd grade for a poem I wrote. I still have it and the silky blue first place ribbon. My parents were pretty strict and it wasn’t that I was a horrible child, but I did my fair share of things I shouldn’t. I was grounded quite a bit and when I ran out of reading material, I started writing my own stories or I’d sit and play with my Barbies–alone and for hours in my room. I didn’t just dress them and do their hair, they had names and lives and drama…

Later, my grandparents would bring me magazines when they’d come up on the weekends. At one time, my GMa was really into the tabloids and I would go through every one of them and cut out pictures of movie stars. These would get taped to notebook paper and I’d do what is now considered character sketches. The majority of my stories, which were written in a play-type format starred Rob Lowe, Emilio Estevez, Demi Moore, Ally Sheedy, Molly Ringwald…yes, I’m an 80s girl. One day, I got up the nerve to start showing the stuff I wrote to some of my friends and this became a studyhall thing. We’d write and exchange them for something to do.

In 1987, my mom gave me a “How To Write Romance” book she bought through the Harlequin Reader service and she gave it to me for Christmas. I still have that book–somewhere. The sleeve is gone, and the pages are coming unglued but I’d sit for hours toying with ideas and jotting them down. When I started dating, that kind of fell by the wayside and then life became a little more complicated for me. I graduated high school, left home for awhile, came back and then went into the Air Force. To pass the time in basic training and to get through the head games, I’d make up stories in my head about my peers. I picked up a notebook a couple of times during Tech school and then again when I got stationed in England, but nothing major until after my daughter was born. I even enrolled in the Children’s Literature School.

Then, I wrote a story about a major-league baseball player and his heroine female firefighter. I sent a letter requesting the writing guidelines from Harlequin and even though at the time, writing any type of hero who played sports was taboo and that they wanted the manuscript on white paper, I printed this book out on blue paper and I mailed it to New York and I just knew I was going to sell that book.

Needless to say, I got a form rejection and I’m pretty sure it said, “We prefer white paper, dumbass.”

More time went past, I bought my brother’s old Gateway computer and I purchased a Harlequin Duets featuring Lori Foster. At the back of the book it had a contest and I entered it and ended up finding the eHarlequin.com boards. That was ten years ago. Somedays it seems longer and other days, it feels like it was only yesterday I was dipping my toes into the water.

Time flies when you’re having fun and through all the ups and downs–and there’s been a lot, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

No, I’m not going to stop shaving my legs or let my armpit hair grow. Or start talking anymore incoherently than I usually do. I’m just going to slide on into the editing cave again. I don’t know when I’ll be out. On top of that, my schedule is packed with another thing added this morning which includes picking my neighbor up at the bank. She’s eighty-three and still goes to the bank every morning if she can. How cool is that?

Wish me luck as I go back in and tweak.

A dozen eggs, donuts, cookies? A dozen what?

Years.

Today marks the 12th year that I’ve been with My Guy. Twelve years of ups and downs, of triumphs and struggles, good, bad and ugly. But as Barry Manilow sang: “Looks like we made it!”

Highlight of my afternoon, he asked me what I got him and I said, “Well, remember when we were supposed to go shopping yesterday?” Then a few minutes later he was in the kitchen and I asked him what he got me and he did this stutter step and looked around the kitchen and started laughing. THIS is one of the goofy reasons I love him. I don’t need anything fancy, just him.

I haven’t yet, but I’m working up to it. I had some things to do this morning. I have to admit, I’ll be glad when this election is over. The flyers, the phone calls, the people showing up at the door. People in my home town are running for the District Magistrate position and I think it’ll be a tight race between a few of them. Will be interesting to see who wins and how they do once they take their position.

In other news, my oldest turns 17 today. It’s so very hard to believe 17 years ago, I went to the hospital and delivered a son. I don’t feel older…not in the way I thought I would. He’s finally coming into his own and making some good decisions. He’s starting to mature in some ways and in others, he’s still my goofy kid. I’ll tell you though, it’s good to have my son back–back to his normal self. Happy Birthday, B. I love you very much and am so very proud of you!

Today, I’ll be at the Science Center in Pittsburgh with my son and his fourth grade class. I plan on taking tylenol and hopefully, none of the hyper kids will be in my group. Last year I lucked out. I don’t have anything exciting to share. Survived a family party for my oldest who’ll be 17 on Tuesday. Time flies. I did have a very nice older lady ask me if my daughter and I were sisters last night at her Leo Club dinner sponsored by the Lion’s. That was very nice to hear, let me tell you. Anyhow, here is a joke my friend Kathy sent me. It’s hysterical.

So, here’s your Monday laugh:

A woman visited her plastic surgeon who told her about a new procedure called ‘The Knob,’ where a small knob is placed at the top of the woman’s head and could be turned to tighten up her skin and produce the effect of a brand new face-lift.

Of course, the woman wanted ‘The Knob.’

Over the course of the years, the woman tightened the knob, and the effects were wonderful, the woman remained young looking and vibrant.

After fifteen years, the woman returned to the surgeon with two problems. ‘All these years, everything has been working just fine. I’ve had to turn the knob many times and I’ve always loved the results. But now I’ve developed two annoying problems:

First, I have these terrible bags under my eyes and the knob won’t get rid of them.’

The doctor looked at her closely and said, ‘Those aren’t bags, those are your boobs.’

She said, ‘Well, I guess there’s no point in asking about the goatee.’

As I was lazily driving to the bus stop, because one minute I looked out and it was raining and the next it wasn’t and one thing I hate is to get wet when it’s chilly, I started thinking about where I should start with cleaning. It’s supposed to storm here today. As I write this, the sun is shining, but the clouds are still there and looming. My house isn’t that bad. It’s just dusting and picking up after three kids and the man and putting their stuff in their rooms for them to deal with when they come home. One room spoke to me like a character in a book.

My bedroom.

It should be the most important room in the house–a sanctuary for us to retreat to in the evening. Right? It’s so not. The problem is, it’s pretty much wall to wall stuff. The layout is odd, so to rearrange–which I love to do and got from my mother–is close to impossible. The closets are tiny and so there are totes stacked beside dressers. Time to weed out the wardrobe? We also have limited storage space in the house because anything that gets stored in the basement usually ends up smelly musty–no matter how air-tight sealed things claim to make your….things.

Today, I need to figure out where to hide things and make this room look nice because it’s visible and I’m tired of shutting the door and worrying that I’ll have to go in there and someone will get a glimpse into “The Pit”.

Wish me luck, offer me suggestions or hey, if you’re in the area, come on over.

What one ( or more ) room in your house is neglected?

Tomorrow, I have to clean. Mega clean. And I need to make last minute phone calls because my oldest turns 17 next Tuesday and the following weekend is Memorial Day Weekend. Not doing anything major for him–just family a couple of his close friends and maybe his new girlfriend. We want to meet her. Saturday, I have a Leo/Lion’s dinner with my daughter. She has to get up in front of people and talk since she’s President of the Leo Club and she’s nervous about it. I assured her she’ll be fine. Sunday, we’ll have family over and God help me on Monday when I go with the youngest on his field trip. Yes, once again, he talked me into Chaperoning. I won’t get these days back with him, so despite him having a lot of bad kids in his class, will be worth it. Oh yeah, and in between all of that, I’ll be writing. Any chance I get. I have a notepad I carry around and leave in convienent places. So, hopefully, I’ll have some time to plug it into the computer.

What are your plans for the weekend?