|
|
Thursday, July 28, 2005The World Can Be Glad I'm A Writer....and not a dancer. On Tuesday, I was playing some Beethoven on the piano whilst waiting for the microwave to finish heating up my -- um -- gourmet frozen corn. Hearing the "beep beep" I'd been listening for, I hopped up from the piano bench and began to half-run to the kitchen. I remember thinking to myself, "My, I'm happy today. I'm actually running on my tiptoes to fetch a bowl of corn." No sooner had the thought rambled through my mind, than WHAM! I ran into the arm of a double-seated bench in my foyer. "OW!" I yelled, clutching my thigh and limping toward the kitchen. I wasn't even being dramatic (this time) -- it really hurt! "What did you do?" asked thirteen-year-old Jonathan in a calm and only slightly inquisitive voice. He knows me too well to become overly alarmed at my antics. "I ran into the bench," I said, still limping, still holding my throbbing thigh in my hand. My son smirked. The next morning, the Second Largest Bruise of my life was apparent to even the most casual observer. I mean, this thing is bigger than the cosmetic sponge that comes with my Clinique powder make-up. In fact, it's roughly the size of the palm of my hand, in all its gray and purple and green and red glory. The Largest Bruise of my life appeared when I was seventeen -- in the same spot on my thigh, come to think of it. It happened when a very stupid boyfriend decided that, on my very first day of downhill skiing, I was ready to go down an intermediate slope at the end of a "train" made out of four brainless teenagers. Needless to say, we wiped out halfway down the hill. My right ski flew off, jabbing me in the thigh and leaving me sprawled in the snow, unable to move for a full minute. I thought my leg was broken. No, it was just a bruise -- at least six inches in diameter, and interesting enough to pull my girlfriends into the ladies' room at school that Monday, in order to show them. So this encounter with a bench arm has brought back some nasty memories. Know what's really funny about this, though? Jonathan, who doesn't flinch when it comes to pulling a hook out of the eye of a sunfish or cutting up live worms to feed to his slew of baby toads, can't stand to look at my bruise. He blanches; he turns his head; he says, "Eww." I can't figure this one out. He'd better buck up if he's going to watch his wife give birth some day. So you see, I'm much less of a menace when I'm sitting at the keyboard, quietly constructing my next chapter. Sure, I might spill something or get a kink in my neck, but I've never been bruised. Well, not physically, anyway. And the emotional bruises are fewer and farther between, as my "writer's skin" grows thicker day by day. One of these days, someone is going to say to me, "Jill, that article really sucked," and I won't bat an eyelash. Till next time! Labels: writing Monday, July 25, 2005Hold Me In the WaterI've had a rough weekend. No, nothing horrible has happened; the chickens are fine, the weather's been hot and sunny, and life is as good as always. It was just one of those "writer angst" weekends. Angst over some business decisions I need to make; angst over another "stuck" place in my latest novel; angst over the entire process and journey of writerhood. For as much as I love to write -- for as much as it energizes me and fills me with life the way nothing else can -- I sometimes despair of the entire thing. "Bah! Who needs this! I'm tired of being a strung-out artiste." My darling Eric took the children swimming, as he often does on weekends in the summertime. While they're gone, I am left with a quiet house and the ability to string thoughts together without being interrupted. Sunday was so bad, though, that I ended up wallowing in a sense of loneliness instead of luxuriating in productivity. "If you can't think of anything else to do but talk to me, come to the pool," Eric had said into the cell phone. I must have sounded fairly "on the edge" when I called him. I wasn't in any mood to go to the pool, though -- who needs all that noise and splashing and extra kid count? An hour or two later, though, I was humming a different tune. It was actually the buzz of Eric's electric razor as I did a quick "leg job" in order to appear in public without looking like a prehistoric throw-back. Minutes later, I was standing at the pool gate -- and when I caught Eric' s eye, I felt like the most loved woman on the face of the earth. Despite my funk, he actually WANTED me there with him. It was hot enough (near 100) for me to actually want to go in the water. Trust me, it's got to be a bath tub or I'm outta there. Eric loves to be in the water with me. OK, it's even cornier than that -- he loves to hold me while we're in the water. So, for the next forty-five minutes or so, Eric walked around in the pool holding me in his newly-buff arms. All the insecurity and vulnerability and stress of my weekend dissolved. Such a simple pleasure! Of course, whenever Mommy's in the pool, it's an immediate magnetic draw, so we were often surrounded by at least two of our children at any given moment. That cuts down on the romance factor just a tad, but I wouldn't change it for the world. It's awesome to be so completely and unconditionally loved. So, a cuddle in the pool was very therapeutic. Now it's Monday, and I'm back to the writer angst. It's not going to go away unless I decide to quit writing once and for all. I don't think I can do that, though. When something's in your blood, it's in your blood. I might as well stop breathing. Thursday, July 21, 2005The Endless Sucking of Creative EnergyThere is something less than inspiring about the mundane tasks of motherhood. I don't mean to whine -- but I will, anyway. Just a tiny bit. It's the repetitive tasks that do me in -- the laundry, the cleaning-up-the-kitchen-after-every-stinkin'-meal -- basically, the brain-slurping stuff that most women can do while half-asleep. If my mind is a scythe, then my daily duties are a 2000-acre wheat field that has dulled the scythe beyond recognition. So, I have to battle uphill from the moment my first finger hits the keyboard. In a perfect world, I'd have a fulltime housekeeper and a sweet, Hispanic woman to come in and make authentic Mexican lunches for us every day. Well, let's be honest -- I wouldn't really do that. There's a part of me that prides herself in running a household and keeping it reasonably clean. (My husband and I have different definitions of the word "reasonable," but that is another story altogether.) The real kicker, of course, is when I'm finally going somewhere -- finally actually WRITING something worth keeping -- and there comes a little knock on my office door. Moments later, in walks the most adorable six-year-old on the face of this earth, thumbie firmly entrenched in his mouth, tattered blankie dragging behind him. "Mommy, I'm in the mood for a snuggle." What self-respecting author wouldn't drop everything in a heartbeat? My little guy isn't going to waltz in with a thumbie and a request for a snuggle forever. These are the golden moments that need to be grabbed -- or they are forever lost. It's the way he says it, too -- I think he's going to be a writer some day (or maybe a politician). He doesn't come in whining, or pouting, or saying something less-than-intelligent like, "Mommy I'm bored." No, indeed. He comes in and says, rather plaintively, "Mommy, I'm in the mood for a snuggle." He doesn't "want to snuggle" or "need a snuggle." He's IN THE MOOD for a snuggle. So, we snuggle. After a while, if I'm in the midst of some great inspiration, I may start to type a bit, my arms reaching around his warmth and my chin colliding with the top of his skull. His head tends to bob against my shoulder when I do this, though...and he invariably starts wriggling. Snuggling doesn't mesh well with moments of inspiration. Still, I'll take my snuggle, thank you. In the end, when the snuggling is over and my office is free of anyone under four feet tall, I find that the act of snuggling has somehow had the same, energy-sucking effect that the laundry and the lunch preparation has. It's almost as though I've got two separate brains; one for mommyhood and one for writing. When I disengage the writing brain in order to engage the other one, it's often impossible to re-engage afterward. I wish I had the energy to write at night, after the wee ones are sleeping. But I can't function after 8:00 -- it just doesn't happen. And besides -- I would like to spend at least a little time with the love of my life. That's enough rambling for today. I'm still seriously considering -- planning, really -- the online fantasy serial. I'll just have to be sure to schedule in a good "snuggle time" each day before I start writing, so that I can keep up with the story. Until next time! Labels: writing Monday, July 18, 2005Wanna Hear a Story?Bear with me while I attempt to create a "place" -- or perhaps a name -- for myself as a fantasy writer. For almost four years I've been "Jill Schafer Boehme, non-fiction/humor/encouragement." I'm not walking away from all that -- it's a huge part of who I am and where my heart is. But I can't lump my fantasy writing in with all that. So, we've got JILLIANBOEHME.COM parked -- the official web-site-to-be of my "fantasy author" persona. We've also parked a site for the title of my first novel (sorry, can't disclose that yet!). So a few things are in place. But here's what I'm toying with. I'm thinking of starting a serial fantasy story online. A monthly installment, can't-wait-to-see-what-happens-next kind of thing. Avid readers can sign up to receive a notice in their inbox when the next chapter is available. It will give me the opportunity to stretch my writing abilities, as well as to establish a reader base. Here's what worries me -- do I have the time and creative energy to do this? I've already got a story bubbling just beneath the surface of my brain. And heck -- Charles Dickens did it, so why can't I? I'm way less verbose than he is, by any stretch. He wasn't homeschooling his children, though. And I'm fairly sure he didn't have to clean a house and do laundry for six people, either. So I've really got to think this one out, don't I? It sounds incredibly fun, though. I really want to do it. I think I just need to de-weenie myself. There really isn't any reason that I can't commit to creating something like this. Right?? Anyway, I'll let you know. In the meantime, send this blog to every half-crazed fantasy-lover you know who's dying for a good online read. If I get enough rabid pleas to go ahead and begin the series, I may just get over my fears a little more quickly. Have a great Monday! Friday, July 15, 2005Embarrassed.....Sort of
I don't know why I struggle with this blogging thing. Yes, I do know. Two reasons. 1. Eric asked me to do it. If it had been MY idea -- my own brilliant, heart-stopping, THIS IS WHAT I REALLY WANT DO TO! idea -- then I'd be all over it. As it stands, it feels more like an assignment. I've never been very good with assignments. 2. It drains my writing energy. Ohhhhh my, is that melodramatic or what?! Yet it's true. Having recently finished a very intense six weeks of revisions on my first fantasy novel, I can honestly say that, yes, writing DRAINS me. It energizes me -- fills me with life; but it also drains me. So, after having been told what to do and feeling like I have nothing left to do it with -- well, there you have it. My husband, on the other hand, has been doing rather well with his own blog. I'm proud of him! What's really neat is the way he is learning to express his deepest heart -- the heart of the Daddy, Husband, and Man he really is. It's inspiring, not only to me, but to the women who have discovered his writing. Let's face it: it isn't every day that our men bare their souls and hearts and talk about the things that make them cry and ache and swell with pride or longing or a sense of affirmation. Yet that is just what Eric is doing in his blog, and it's an awesome process to watch. How I love him! I think part of the problem with my blog is that it doesn't have an identity. When I began, it was my intention to use this as an extension of MOMMY! Ezine, to get a little more personal on the "this is Jill on the homefront" bit. It seemed a bit redundant after a while, though, so I thought that perhaps this would be a good place to ramble about my fiction writing and the long, painful road to publication. Then my insecurities surfaced and I began to think, "But but but who wants to actually read about THAT?" Then I stopped blogging altogether. But I'm back -- and we'll see where this goes. |
About Me
I am: Mother to five stunningly individualistic children... Writer of young adult fantasy... Passionate advocate for Women At Home... Madly in love with my husband... In need of Organic Gourmet Chocolate on a regular basis. I've got a Paypal account if you'd like to contribute to the cause....
|
