The Cookie Thief & Mother of the Year Award

untitledWhat do a mischievous little dog named Trigger and a Cookie Thief have in common?

Well I’m about to tell you.

I had a deadline. I had only just so much time to get the first draft of a project I was working on to my Editor.

Isn’t it funny how the picture we conjure up in our minds so many times does not match AT ALL the reality of what really happens?

Come on, I know I can’t be the only one.

So in my mind, I have totally concocted this view of myself. Here I am, sitting in my beautiful home, surrounded with love, peace, and life. I’ve got my coffee next to me, my laptop on my lap and I’m working on my project, which is due in less than 24 hours. In my mind, I just know the kids and everyone around me are going to part the ways and make it easy for me.

I mean, they KNOW how important I am, right?

Yeah. Okay.

Not.

This is the real world. Remember? Maybe I have spent too much of my life with my nose in a good book or dreaming about a movie or something.

My #1 Teenager (whom I might add has a head full of red hair and not at ALL the temper to go with it – AHEM!) had made some homemade cookies. She’d spent hours in the kitchen preparing the goodies and had a customer who was to buy them.

They are not just any cookie.

They are the homemade chocolate, Nutella goodness of the Pinterest recipe world.

Fabulous.

So, I’m trying to fit in to my pants and working hard and making good choices. Knowing that the goodies will torture me and sidetrack me, I make the (what I think at the time) wonderful and smart decision to remove the cookies off the counter in the kitchen and have my #3 Teenager (Blondie) put them on Red’s desk in her room.

She shuts the door behind her.

Squabble avoided.

Tighter pants avoided.

I’m good. AHHHHH, back to writing for my project, which did I mention has to be done within (less than) 24 hours now?

Click. Click. Click.   I’m typing away. Progress. Maybe my vision of being one with the universe and getting it all done is going to happen after all.

But wait.

The Universe has others ideas in mind for our household.   At that moment, I hear a blood curdling screech coming from the other room.

“WHO ATE THE COOKIES IN MY ROOM?!?!”

In classic great mothering, I look at my kids to blame them. Blondie is looking at me to blame me. But we both know the truth.

Red comes out, in her hands we see the remains of a crumpled up and abused plastic container. Not one cookie left. Not one.

“WHERE’S THE DOG?!?”

TRIGGER!!!!

Oh look, he has some chocolate on his mouth. And there is a trail of plastic going from her room to where he is. And you know that moment when you ask a dog a question and they get all innocent looking on you and try to act like it didn’t happen? You know how they cower down and look UP with pitiful eyes, just letting you know that they would never, ever, never-ever eat the Nutella Chocolate Cookies?

Yeah. That’s what happened.

Then, in one moment the entire house falls to pieces and any shred of normalcy is gone.

In my mother of year style, I sit there and keep typing and try to pretend this isn’t happening.

This is good parenting, right?

Meanwhile, it’s getting louder and louder and things are festering.

I know what I should have done. But hind-sight is always 20/20. Instead, I decide to scream at the top of my lungs “WOULD YOU ALL JUST STOP?!? GOOD GOD! IT’S JUST SOME COOKIES. AND I HAVE A DEADLINE TO WORK AGAINST HERE. JUST BE QUIET AND STOP!!!!!”

What was a 10 on the loudness chart has now escalated to 100 because when a parent loses control, the entire house loses control. I know this, but I made a choice and hey, it’s the honest truth of what happened.

Finally things quiet down. I think the storm has passed. Then, it occurs to me. Wait a second, the dog (who is NOT supposed to have chocolate) has just downed a DOZEN chocolate cookies. I should probably put him outside before he –

Never mind. Too late.

Not sure how to spell the awful sound that happened followed by the big pile of regurgitated cookies that were now sitting next to me.

In my beautiful world.

Where I’m typing.

A masterpiece.

(not)

And that’s how I won my mother of the year award.

 

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Getting Published Takes Matzi

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Just like the blooming of this tree that lives in my front yard, I am having fresh and new ideas in my heart right now.  I’ve begun the process of sorting out my thoughts towards the first story that is jumping inside of me trying to get out.

I’m trying right now to decide which direction to go, and the way I see it, there are three options on how my book could come out.

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Option 1:  Not so sure about this one

Write the story as it truly happened.    However, the drawback on this is that I would have to list real names and people and this could hurt others.  Since hurting others will never be my intention, this option may not be viable.

Option 2:  A real, live, grown up Novel?

Write the story as a Novel.  This would be fun because I could take liberty in parts and really get creative and add many things to the story line.  I could take the characters wherever they want to go and really have fun in the process.  I really like this option the most  because what’s in my heart is to write an inspiring novel like Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers.  She took a hard story and turned it in to a spiritual solution without being overly “religious” – which I definitely don’t want to do!   I just know in my heart that there are ways to share and touch people with bringing in the spiritual aspect that can give hope, and that is my ultimate goal.

Option 3:  Non-Fiction Self Help

I could write it as a Non-Fiction Self Help book.  Now this would be good as well because I could offer true and practical tips and help.  This one would require tons and tons of research and the like – but what a fun challenge.

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In the end, I realize more than ever that it really takes courage to write anything at all.  I probably have this on my mind as I’ve been reading Courage to Write.  What a wonderful book for anyone to read before they would set out to publish a book.  I think just the fact that I am “aware” that the fear can be there,  gives me strength to go ahead instead of allowing myself to be paralyzed n the fear.

Even just pushing publish on this post requires a certain amount of steel.

Naked Authors?


10904_10205068959856692_8260032182457779553_nQuestion for you… What fancy computer program is the famous author using to write his or her book?  

The answers might surprise you.  They sure did surprise me.     

  1. Ernest Hemingway balanced his writing between a simple pencil and a typewriter.
  2. George Clooney is not good at technology – he was quoted as saying “literally when I cut and paste, I cut pages and tape them together.  But somehow we make it work”.
  3. Danielle Steele uses a 1946 Olympia Typewriter and writes in 20 hour blocks.
  4. Quentin Tarantino never uses a typewriter or computer.  He writes the whole thing by hand.  He goes to a stationary store and buys a notebook, just one and then fills it up, telling himself it will be his next big seller.
  5. Mark Twain wrote lying down in bed.  He also experimented with left handed writing when his writing became painful, and eventually began dictating his stories.
  6. Ernest Hemingway typed standing up.
  7. Victor Hugo, writing “Hunchback of Notre dame”, wrote naked so he couldn’t leave his house in order to make a deadline.  (naked?!  Really?)
  8. Many authors have special pens and/or pencil preferences, to the point of being a bit quirky.
  9. Vince Gilligan used index cards to line out the “Breaking Bad” story line. 

After completing this study, I went to the store and spent $10.00.  I bought an orange spiral notebook and two pretty pens.   I handed the $10.00 bill to the cashier while I reminded myself that this notebook will contain my next big seller.   It made me smile.

In the end, I think this said it best:  

There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are. 

W. Somerset Maugham

 

Perfection?

2784e178ab2a40e9c635568ff222a531In a perfect world

I would slip out of bed unnoticed by my family.  The coffee maker would already be brewing and I would hear it percolating as I am walking down the hallway.  As I slip onto my balcony overlooking the beautiful bed of water that I live by, I notice the birds chirping – already awake and beckoning me to join them in creativity.    I become aware of the gentle smoke of fog rolling across the waters’ edge as it hides the mountains from my view.   My laptop is already there with the cursor blinking at me, and as I sit down to type, my soul and fingers seem to work in tandem.  The creativity flows from deep within me.  I feel the same as I do when I’m playing music on my piano with my eyes closed, the point where nothing exists beyond myself and my music.

In the real world

In reality, I’m scattered and may forget to set the coffee maker to work ahead of time, so I will be sleepily making the coffee while trying to be quiet so as not to wake up the three teenage girls.   When the coffee is brewing, the dog will jingle his way down the hallway and spin in circles until I let him out, while my beautiful kitty will be at my feet EXPECTING to be loved on.  There will be no body of water or mountains outside my balcony because I live in Kansas.   And the honest truth is that the minute I sit down to write, I will hear something else percolating.  It will be the sounds of two or more of my teenage girls squabbling over a hairbrush or any other myriad of items they may be trying to gain possession of upon waking from their slumber.   The day will start.

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And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

William Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night’s Dream