Well, the month of February is almost over and I can't say I'm sorry to see it go. Having said that, I must acknowledge that February 2011 was better than February 2010. Last year I was sick almost nonstop from Christmas through -- April? No, then there was all that strep throat, so it was really more like August. And then Rocket Boy got pneumonia. Last year was a TERRIBLE year for us. This one is healthier, so far, at least for me (Rocket Boy is planning to go to the doctor for another round of antibiotics tomorrow).
Also, the weather has been better. Don't quote me, but I think we haven't had as much wind. And perhaps a bit more rain, which is a good thing (wildflowers!). Ridgecrest is still dull, but it's been tolerable.
From a personal standpoint, though, February sucked. I spent the first 23 days of the month finishing up my entry in the Amazon writing contest and waiting to see if I'd make the first cut -- and the last few days feeling rotten because I didn't make it.
The first cut (where they winnow the pool of contestants from 10,000 down to 2,000) is based on your 300-word "pitch" for your novel, and mine was obviously found wanting. From reading the message boards associated with the contest I've learned that the pitch judging is somewhat arbitrary -- people have entered the same pitch two years running and one year they make it through while the next year they don't. But it's still the gateway for the rest of the contest, so if you don't get through, you're out. And I'm out.
I can't stay away from the message boards, though, and this weekend I studied one of the discussion threads carefully. This was a thread where people posted their "winning" pitches, i.e., their pitches that got through. At first, reading the winning pitches, I felt angry. My pitch was just as good as theirs! Why didn't mine get through? But I went back and forth, reading theirs, reading mine, and I came to the conclusion that in fact mine was not as good as most of the winning pitches. I focused on making mine well written and clear and concise, but I forgot something important: I forgot to make it interesting. There were all sorts of things I could have said that would have made it stand out more.
So now I know what I need to do -- problem is, I won't have the opportunity to do it until next year. A lot of things could happen between now and then. I could write another novel and decide to submit that one instead. I could rewrite this one entirely. I could give up writing, or at least give up submitting my writing to contests. We'll see.
I still feel sad. I'm living in this little window of time right now where I actually HAVE some time to myself -- I don't have a job -- and no sense getting a job if we're going to move soon -- and the twins go to daycare in the afternoons. I probably won't have this much free time again until after I retire. The ONE really great thing about living in Ridgecrest is that it's given me this time. So I am trying to use this time to write. And I feel like I'm failing.
On Friday I was sitting here feeling sorry for myself when the phone rang, and it was my old advisor from grad school. He calls me every month or two just to chat. Ever since we moved to Ridgecrest he's also been quizzing me on what I'm actually doing with myself these days -- "Are you working? Doing anything with your time?" I think it really upsets him to think that I'm not being productive. Of course, I could have told him that I'm doing a lot of writing that no one wants to read, but I couldn't quite bring myself to say that. So I said I wasn't doing anything.
Through all my years of working I was used to having evidence of my productivity -- technical reports, annual reports, press releases -- all of them produced, published, distributed. Doing creative writing for my own enjoyment is more like doing pure, unfunded, scientific research -- years of toil, often with no discernible result, no recognition from one's peers. When I try for a result -- when I submit something I write to a contest or a publication -- and then get rejected, it's really painful. I want all this work to be for some purpose!
But then I start thinking about how I might revise whatever it is. And then I have an idea for a new story or poem. And pretty soon I'm wrapped up once again in the glory that is writing. Even if I never publish a damn thing, writing is still the most wonderfully fun thing in the whole world to do. I guess that's where I am right now.
But I'm really glad February is ending. Onward to March!
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
San Luis Obispo and some musings on family
We're just back from a weekend jaunt to San Luis Obispo, where we visited relatives and saw some of the sights of the Central Coast -- which is a very lovely part of California. Its beauty was enhanced by the heavy rain we experienced on Saturday -- on Sunday and Monday the sky and the hills and even the ocean had that freshly washed look.
The twins had a great time exploring the area. Here we are on the beach by Morro Rock with Daddy:
And here we are hiking on the hill behind our relatives' house:
Ridgecrest seems very drab and dry and dull by comparison. Not to mention the fact that last night after we got home from our trip, when Rocket Boy and I went to bed, our cat Pie Bear threw up all over our comforter and blankets, perhaps as a sort of special cat welcome. I had to spend all day today doing laundry, and the comforter had to go to the Laundromat and it cost $15.
Anyway. Can't really blame that on Ridgecrest.
An interesting aspect of our trip was the chance to get better acquainted with my second cousin Stefan, a person I had barely even met before this trip. Stefan is younger than I am, but less than 10 years younger, so he still feels like a contemporary. This is interesting to me because his mother (my father's cousin) also feels a bit like a contemporary, perhaps because she and I once took a linguistics class together.
But I was thinking about second cousins. First of all, I wonder how many second cousins I have. Second cousins are the children of one's parents' cousins. I have no idea how many cousins my parents had. They didn't keep up with most of them. Between them, my parents had roughly 26 uncles and aunts (blood relatives) and many, though not all, of those uncles and aunts were married and had children (i.e., my parents' cousins). If most of those children had children, I could have hundreds of second cousins. Well, dozens. Lots.
Not ONE of these second cousins is on my Christmas card list.
Rocket Boy's situation is quite different from mine. His father emigrated from East Germany as a child in the 1930s (before it was East Germany). We have zero knowledge of the relatives left behind, including any and all uncles, aunts, and cousins. RB's mother, on the other hand, was illegitimate, and we have no knowledge of her biological father or his family. On her mother's side she had one uncle and one aunt. The uncle emigrated to America and we don't know what happened to him. The aunt stayed in Germany and had one son, who himself had a son, who is Rocket Boy's second cousin Andreas -- his favorite relative.
So here I am with my thousands of second cousins (or whatever) and I hardly know any of them, and here is Rocket Boy with just a couple, one of whom was the best man at his wedding. Odd how things work out...
Anyway, it was nice to get better acquainted with Stefan. One tiny little connection with my vast network of unknown second cousins. Can it be a network if I don't know them? I think links can exist even if you can't see them.
I wonder how many third cousins I have.
The twins had a great time exploring the area. Here we are on the beach by Morro Rock with Daddy:
And here we are hiking on the hill behind our relatives' house:
Ridgecrest seems very drab and dry and dull by comparison. Not to mention the fact that last night after we got home from our trip, when Rocket Boy and I went to bed, our cat Pie Bear threw up all over our comforter and blankets, perhaps as a sort of special cat welcome. I had to spend all day today doing laundry, and the comforter had to go to the Laundromat and it cost $15.
Anyway. Can't really blame that on Ridgecrest.
An interesting aspect of our trip was the chance to get better acquainted with my second cousin Stefan, a person I had barely even met before this trip. Stefan is younger than I am, but less than 10 years younger, so he still feels like a contemporary. This is interesting to me because his mother (my father's cousin) also feels a bit like a contemporary, perhaps because she and I once took a linguistics class together.
But I was thinking about second cousins. First of all, I wonder how many second cousins I have. Second cousins are the children of one's parents' cousins. I have no idea how many cousins my parents had. They didn't keep up with most of them. Between them, my parents had roughly 26 uncles and aunts (blood relatives) and many, though not all, of those uncles and aunts were married and had children (i.e., my parents' cousins). If most of those children had children, I could have hundreds of second cousins. Well, dozens. Lots.
Not ONE of these second cousins is on my Christmas card list.
Rocket Boy's situation is quite different from mine. His father emigrated from East Germany as a child in the 1930s (before it was East Germany). We have zero knowledge of the relatives left behind, including any and all uncles, aunts, and cousins. RB's mother, on the other hand, was illegitimate, and we have no knowledge of her biological father or his family. On her mother's side she had one uncle and one aunt. The uncle emigrated to America and we don't know what happened to him. The aunt stayed in Germany and had one son, who himself had a son, who is Rocket Boy's second cousin Andreas -- his favorite relative.
So here I am with my thousands of second cousins (or whatever) and I hardly know any of them, and here is Rocket Boy with just a couple, one of whom was the best man at his wedding. Odd how things work out...
Anyway, it was nice to get better acquainted with Stefan. One tiny little connection with my vast network of unknown second cousins. Can it be a network if I don't know them? I think links can exist even if you can't see them.
I wonder how many third cousins I have.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Two years in Ridgecrest
I actually missed the anniversary -- it was yesterday. Two years ago yesterday the babies and I and my two sisters showed up in town. Two years ago tomorrow, Rocket Boy drove in with now-deceased Whiskers. Or something like that. Anyway, this is definitely anniversary week.
I used to celebrate my anniversary of moving to Boulder, because I felt that it was such a special thing to have done.
The anniversary of moving to Ridgecrest seems like something to commemorate, or observe, not celebrate, as one would commemorate or observe the anniversary of a death or tragedy. OK, maybe it's not THAT bad. But still.
Here is a photo of my sisters and the boys in our new rental house, two years ago:
And here is that room today. I guess you could say we've made it our own:
I wish I could say we've made the town our own, but I don't feel that. We've both joined clubs and gotten involved, to some extent. But except for some of Rocket Boy's coworkers (both of whom have since moved back East), we haven't come close to making a friend. The only party we've had in our house was the tortoise club party. No one (except those coworkers who moved on) has ever invited us to their house. The twins haven't had a playdate or gone to a birthday party (maybe a little young yet, I don't know).
It's hard to feel at home in a place where you have no friends or family. Friends and/or family are what make a place a home.
Well, here beginneth Year Three. What will it bring?
I used to celebrate my anniversary of moving to Boulder, because I felt that it was such a special thing to have done.
The anniversary of moving to Ridgecrest seems like something to commemorate, or observe, not celebrate, as one would commemorate or observe the anniversary of a death or tragedy. OK, maybe it's not THAT bad. But still.
Here is a photo of my sisters and the boys in our new rental house, two years ago:
And here is that room today. I guess you could say we've made it our own:
I wish I could say we've made the town our own, but I don't feel that. We've both joined clubs and gotten involved, to some extent. But except for some of Rocket Boy's coworkers (both of whom have since moved back East), we haven't come close to making a friend. The only party we've had in our house was the tortoise club party. No one (except those coworkers who moved on) has ever invited us to their house. The twins haven't had a playdate or gone to a birthday party (maybe a little young yet, I don't know).
It's hard to feel at home in a place where you have no friends or family. Friends and/or family are what make a place a home.
Well, here beginneth Year Three. What will it bring?
Friday, February 11, 2011
Pearsonville
Last weekend Rocket Boy had to go to Colorado to deal with some problems involving our property out there, and the boos and I were left to our own devices. I hadn't had to take care of them for a weekend alone since, gosh, last summer I guess. So I was nervous about it. And my nervousness turned out to be justified. It's hard for me to take care of those two little guys for long stretches of time. In Ridgecrest. Where there's nothing to do and we know pretty much no one, even after two years. But somehow, barely, we survived.
On Sunday, we went for a long stroller walk in the morning -- got the newspaper, had a snack at the Starbucks inside Albertson's, walked over to Subway to get a foot-long sandwich to share, and then went home the long way. After lunch it was time for a nap drive, so we drove to Olancha, turned around, and drove back. On the way back we drove past Pearsonville, where there is a park.
Pearsonville is a tiny community on Highway 395 about 20 miles north of Ridgecrest. Wikipedia says it has 27 residents. It has a Shell gas station with a Subway attached to it. Pearsonville is called "the hubcap capital of the world" and has a huge wrecking yard, but I guess you can't visit that without permission.
Pearsonville also has an old park. Its equipment is aging, but the park is well kept up. Rocket Boy found it on a map and then explored it with the twins. Now, almost every time we drive north on 395 we at least consider stopping at the park. The boos love it and so does Rocket Boy.
I don't love it, actually. I think it's kind of creepy.
Near the entrance to the park is a 30-foot tall statue of a lady. It appears that she used to hold some sort of sign in her hand. I don't like the lady, I think she's creepy. But the boos like her. "See that teeny-tiny park, see that lady!" they shouted from the back seat. So we went to see that lady.
I should note that these photos were not taken last weekend (Rocket Boy had the camera with him in Boulder). They were taken a few weeks before. But it's always the same.
Some of the equipment in the park just looks like stuff I used to play on.
Other equipment is a little weirder.
What you can't tell from these photos is that Highway 395 runs very close to the park. Actually, just outside the park is Pearson Road, and then just beyond Pearson Road is the highway. So you're not really isolated when you're here, even though there is NEVER ANYONE ELSE THERE. I just constantly have the feeling of being watched. I also have the feeling that a murderer is going to appear out of nowhere and either steal the boos or slice them open. Or that the giant penguin cage thing is going to come alive and start walking towards me. These feelings are naturally lessened when Rocket Boy is with us, but do not entirely disappear.
When he's NOT with us, as he was not last weekend, I spend the whole time in the park looking over my shoulder and saying it's time to go home.
On the other side of the park is a big rock with a memorial plaque on it, to Andy Pearson, co-founder of Pearsonville. Someone (presumably his surviving wife) keeps the front of the rock well-supplied with fake flowers.
I hope this is not actually a gravesite, but I don't know. Rocket Boy and the boos like to climb on this rock, but I don't.
I don't know why this place gives me the willies, but it does. From now on, unless Rocket Boy is with us, I think the boos and I will stick to parks inside Ridgecrest city limits.
On Sunday, we went for a long stroller walk in the morning -- got the newspaper, had a snack at the Starbucks inside Albertson's, walked over to Subway to get a foot-long sandwich to share, and then went home the long way. After lunch it was time for a nap drive, so we drove to Olancha, turned around, and drove back. On the way back we drove past Pearsonville, where there is a park.
Pearsonville is a tiny community on Highway 395 about 20 miles north of Ridgecrest. Wikipedia says it has 27 residents. It has a Shell gas station with a Subway attached to it. Pearsonville is called "the hubcap capital of the world" and has a huge wrecking yard, but I guess you can't visit that without permission.
Pearsonville also has an old park. Its equipment is aging, but the park is well kept up. Rocket Boy found it on a map and then explored it with the twins. Now, almost every time we drive north on 395 we at least consider stopping at the park. The boos love it and so does Rocket Boy.
I don't love it, actually. I think it's kind of creepy.
Near the entrance to the park is a 30-foot tall statue of a lady. It appears that she used to hold some sort of sign in her hand. I don't like the lady, I think she's creepy. But the boos like her. "See that teeny-tiny park, see that lady!" they shouted from the back seat. So we went to see that lady.
I should note that these photos were not taken last weekend (Rocket Boy had the camera with him in Boulder). They were taken a few weeks before. But it's always the same.
Some of the equipment in the park just looks like stuff I used to play on.
Other equipment is a little weirder.
What you can't tell from these photos is that Highway 395 runs very close to the park. Actually, just outside the park is Pearson Road, and then just beyond Pearson Road is the highway. So you're not really isolated when you're here, even though there is NEVER ANYONE ELSE THERE. I just constantly have the feeling of being watched. I also have the feeling that a murderer is going to appear out of nowhere and either steal the boos or slice them open. Or that the giant penguin cage thing is going to come alive and start walking towards me. These feelings are naturally lessened when Rocket Boy is with us, but do not entirely disappear.
When he's NOT with us, as he was not last weekend, I spend the whole time in the park looking over my shoulder and saying it's time to go home.
On the other side of the park is a big rock with a memorial plaque on it, to Andy Pearson, co-founder of Pearsonville. Someone (presumably his surviving wife) keeps the front of the rock well-supplied with fake flowers.
I hope this is not actually a gravesite, but I don't know. Rocket Boy and the boos like to climb on this rock, but I don't.
I don't know why this place gives me the willies, but it does. From now on, unless Rocket Boy is with us, I think the boos and I will stick to parks inside Ridgecrest city limits.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Poison Canyon
The writing contest is now closed and I have stopped editing. Actually, apparently you CAN still edit your manuscript -- but the contest administrators swear you can't. While they're working that out, I've decided to LEAVE THE NOVEL ALONE and move on to other things...
...such as what we did last weekend. Rocket Boy has been wanting to explore an area between Ridgecrest and Trona called Poison Canyon. So on Saturday we set out to do just that. We weren't sure exactly where it was, so we both looked online, and came up with entirely different directions. Because I am the girl, we followed my directions first.
My directions led us to a place where you can go off the highway (Highway 178 between R'crest and Trona), down across a deep wash, and along a rocky road to the fish rocks.
These are the fish rocks:
Rocket Boy and the twins climbed up on them, while I stayed on the ground and took photos. As I walked around, I noticed pieces of glass all over the ground. I was afraid to put my hand down anywhere, for fear of being cut. When we started walking beyond the fish rocks, there continued to be glass absolutely everywhere, all different colors, embedded in the sandy soil. I commented on this to RB: "It's like people come out here just to break bottles!"
RB: "Target practice."
Me: "Ohhhhhhh!"
I tend to forget how much people out here love their guns.
Poison Canyon, once you get beyond the fish rocks, is a very creepy, funky, interesting place.
More and more I'm realizing how much I love the desert. Don't get me wrong, I like green places too. I like grass and trees and water. But the stark beauty of the desert is pretty mind-blowing.
The boos enjoyed Poison Canyon too. They walked happily through it, and whenever Rocket Boy climbed a rock, they climbed it too. This quickly became very dangerous, because they had no idea what was safe and what wasn't, and they were too quick for me. I had to keep yelling to Rocket Boy that either Baby A or Baby B was in a dangerous spot and could he please go and rescue him.
As we walked back to our car, Rocket Boy climbed a rock and found an old mineshaft (which all these hills around here are full of). He showed it to Baby A, upon whom it made a big impression. For a few days after our trip, both boos talked about "Poson Cannon." I would say "do you want to go back to Poison Canyon?" and they would say "yes!" but Baby A would add, "No like big tunnel!" (meaning the mineshaft)
After quite some time in this area, we got back on Highway 178 and followed Rocket Boy's directions, which took us to another area entirely. Here there was water (Poison Creek, we think).
Poison Creek is called Poison Creek because it contains toxic levels of several different minerals. "Don't drink that!" I said to the twins. "It will make you sick!" Rocket Boy being Rocket Boy, he took a drink from the creek. "Whew, salty!" he said, spitting it out.
So here we have both the pluses and minuses of having Rocket Boy for a father. If the twins survive their childhood, they're going to be very savvy outdoorsmen. If.
...such as what we did last weekend. Rocket Boy has been wanting to explore an area between Ridgecrest and Trona called Poison Canyon. So on Saturday we set out to do just that. We weren't sure exactly where it was, so we both looked online, and came up with entirely different directions. Because I am the girl, we followed my directions first.
My directions led us to a place where you can go off the highway (Highway 178 between R'crest and Trona), down across a deep wash, and along a rocky road to the fish rocks.
These are the fish rocks:
Rocket Boy and the twins climbed up on them, while I stayed on the ground and took photos. As I walked around, I noticed pieces of glass all over the ground. I was afraid to put my hand down anywhere, for fear of being cut. When we started walking beyond the fish rocks, there continued to be glass absolutely everywhere, all different colors, embedded in the sandy soil. I commented on this to RB: "It's like people come out here just to break bottles!"
RB: "Target practice."
Me: "Ohhhhhhh!"
I tend to forget how much people out here love their guns.
Poison Canyon, once you get beyond the fish rocks, is a very creepy, funky, interesting place.
More and more I'm realizing how much I love the desert. Don't get me wrong, I like green places too. I like grass and trees and water. But the stark beauty of the desert is pretty mind-blowing.
The boos enjoyed Poison Canyon too. They walked happily through it, and whenever Rocket Boy climbed a rock, they climbed it too. This quickly became very dangerous, because they had no idea what was safe and what wasn't, and they were too quick for me. I had to keep yelling to Rocket Boy that either Baby A or Baby B was in a dangerous spot and could he please go and rescue him.
As we walked back to our car, Rocket Boy climbed a rock and found an old mineshaft (which all these hills around here are full of). He showed it to Baby A, upon whom it made a big impression. For a few days after our trip, both boos talked about "Poson Cannon." I would say "do you want to go back to Poison Canyon?" and they would say "yes!" but Baby A would add, "No like big tunnel!" (meaning the mineshaft)
After quite some time in this area, we got back on Highway 178 and followed Rocket Boy's directions, which took us to another area entirely. Here there was water (Poison Creek, we think).
Poison Creek is called Poison Creek because it contains toxic levels of several different minerals. "Don't drink that!" I said to the twins. "It will make you sick!" Rocket Boy being Rocket Boy, he took a drink from the creek. "Whew, salty!" he said, spitting it out.
So here we have both the pluses and minuses of having Rocket Boy for a father. If the twins survive their childhood, they're going to be very savvy outdoorsmen. If.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
February
I was going to have this be a "reading roundup" kind of post, but I hardly read a thing in January. Three books, one of which was that young adult mystery I mentioned earlier. The other two were Book 10 and Book 11 in the "Dance to the Music of Time" series and now I'm reading Book 12, which is the last one. I'm unhappy with myself for doing so little reading, but maybe I was just taking a break.
What HAS been occupying my time, at least the last ten days of it, is the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest (http://www.amazon.com/Breakthrough-Novel-Award-Books/). My writing goal for January was to enter this contest, but early in the month I decided not to. My novel wasn't ready to enter, it was awful. I needed to rewrite it completely, there wasn't time. It was inherently worthless, no one would ever want to read it anyway. I would get knocked out in the first round, and that would leave me so demoralized that I wouldn't write anything for the rest of the year. Etc., etc.
Then, on January 24th, CreateSpace (Amazon's self-publishing branch, which co-sponsors the contest) sent me an email to let me know that the contest was now open for entries. And I thought, perversely -- Hey, why not? So then I spent a frantic week revising, submitted my manuscript, and then have continued to edit it all day every day since. The entry period is January 24 - February 6 -- or until they get 5000 entries (there are actually 2 categories, each accepting 5000 entries, so each category could close at a different time). Once you submit your manuscript you can go right on editing it until they close the contest -- which could be at any moment. Every morning I wake up and think, "I wonder if the contest has closed?" Right now, as I'm typing this, I'm thinking, "I wonder if the contest has closed in the last five minutes?"
Last night I made one last change to the manuscript, uploaded it, and then said to Rocket Boy, "That's it, I'm not touching it again."
"Oh good," he said. "It's probably fine."
As I was taking my shower, I realized that my "pitch" (the 300-word description of your novel that they use to reduce the number of entries from 5000 to 1000 in the first round) was all wrong and that I would have to start over from scratch. I thought about getting out of the shower, going back to my computer, and doing it right then, in case the contest closed overnight, but I resisted. I made myself go to bed and do a Sudoku. Looking at numbers keeps me from thinking about words.
Mornings with the twins are agony. I want to revise my novel but can't, must make puzzle after puzzle, go for a stroller walk, fix snack, change diapers... Also, must ENJOY all these activities, because these are the wonderful times that will be gone so soon and I must EXPERIENCE them to the fullest and not be distracted by how I'm going to rewrite Chapter 8.
I want to make it clear that I really don't expect to make it through the first round of this contest. I'm going to be one of those (up to 8000) people who sit around on February 24th saying "huh!" Therefore I should just chill out and start on my February writing goal, whatever that is.
I wish the contest would just hurry up and close, put me out of my misery.
OK, gotta go, my pitch is waiting to be rewritten.
What HAS been occupying my time, at least the last ten days of it, is the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest (http://www.amazon.com/Breakthrough-Novel-Award-Books/). My writing goal for January was to enter this contest, but early in the month I decided not to. My novel wasn't ready to enter, it was awful. I needed to rewrite it completely, there wasn't time. It was inherently worthless, no one would ever want to read it anyway. I would get knocked out in the first round, and that would leave me so demoralized that I wouldn't write anything for the rest of the year. Etc., etc.
Then, on January 24th, CreateSpace (Amazon's self-publishing branch, which co-sponsors the contest) sent me an email to let me know that the contest was now open for entries. And I thought, perversely -- Hey, why not? So then I spent a frantic week revising, submitted my manuscript, and then have continued to edit it all day every day since. The entry period is January 24 - February 6 -- or until they get 5000 entries (there are actually 2 categories, each accepting 5000 entries, so each category could close at a different time). Once you submit your manuscript you can go right on editing it until they close the contest -- which could be at any moment. Every morning I wake up and think, "I wonder if the contest has closed?" Right now, as I'm typing this, I'm thinking, "I wonder if the contest has closed in the last five minutes?"
Last night I made one last change to the manuscript, uploaded it, and then said to Rocket Boy, "That's it, I'm not touching it again."
"Oh good," he said. "It's probably fine."
As I was taking my shower, I realized that my "pitch" (the 300-word description of your novel that they use to reduce the number of entries from 5000 to 1000 in the first round) was all wrong and that I would have to start over from scratch. I thought about getting out of the shower, going back to my computer, and doing it right then, in case the contest closed overnight, but I resisted. I made myself go to bed and do a Sudoku. Looking at numbers keeps me from thinking about words.
Mornings with the twins are agony. I want to revise my novel but can't, must make puzzle after puzzle, go for a stroller walk, fix snack, change diapers... Also, must ENJOY all these activities, because these are the wonderful times that will be gone so soon and I must EXPERIENCE them to the fullest and not be distracted by how I'm going to rewrite Chapter 8.
I want to make it clear that I really don't expect to make it through the first round of this contest. I'm going to be one of those (up to 8000) people who sit around on February 24th saying "huh!" Therefore I should just chill out and start on my February writing goal, whatever that is.
I wish the contest would just hurry up and close, put me out of my misery.
OK, gotta go, my pitch is waiting to be rewritten.
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