I'm a reluctant gardener at best, driven more by the desire to have a lovely yard than love of the plants. When I complain that I killed yet another lovely, sometimes even "hardy" specimen, my sister asks, "Did you talk to it?" I must reply, "Yes, I tried. I yelled at it." Then she says, "Well, there you go. That's why it died. You've got to talk nicely to your plants."
Whether or not my plants die because they can feel my negative vibes approaching or for some other reason, this year promises to be a better year. If these photos are any indication of the prolific beauty that's to come, then we're in for a treat:
The small herb patch:
Oregano and Chives
with volunteer coneflower
and yarrow, not yet in bloom.
My grandma's irises.
Well, they're my irises,
descended from bulbs taken from
Grandma Cille's garden years and years ago.We've had spotty blooms in years past,
but this year, every plant seems to have
multiple blooms.
I've been trying to get columbines to grow for years,
and just when I had given up, neglecting the thing
all through one hot drought-ridden summer, finally,
one the puny thing is loaded with pink and white
blossoms. 
And this one I just threw in for fun.
My big fat tabby, Raphael, is quite the stalker.
It looks like he's peeking over the rim of the
picture, being all sneaky.
. . . so I suppose I ought to jot down a few things. Life has been good. How many people get to say that? Not enough, I guess. I've finished a ten-week long Bible study that was so intensive that it took up my mornings. I had to learn to let go of less important things, including my writing. I squeezed in a few words now and then, but progress has continued to be slow. Though I must say, it's been liberating to take a step back, breathe, and put things into perspective. Personal growth has been the surprise and the blessing of the season. The novel will be there in the morning, and I'd rather live this life in a spirit of peace and confidence than in one of frustration, driven by self-consuming goals. The novel will be there in the morning.
The guilt for not working on it every second of every day, of not finishing it sooner, will not be there. And that's a relief. Even those of us with enviable lives have wounds, many self-inflicted, some not. It's good to find healing at long last.
I am so thrilled! The revised version of "The Bone Harp" was snatched up by Black Matrix Publishing. They plan to print it in their next issue of Realms. I guess all those editors and critiquers were right. The story needed expanding. Go figure. ;) I've added a link to their homepage in my sidebar, in case you're curious. Also, their blog is in my bloglist.
Tonight, I get to celebrate! My honey said he would take me out to dinner. Mmm...
God is good.
Edit: the Mexican food was fabulous, by the way. I tasted garlic and onion for two days. Had leftovers with my own homemade salsa. *sigh* I make fabulous salsa! Without lime and cilantro, salsa is just tomato juice. The Sangria Swirl, on the other hand, was a little weak on the Sangria side. I was hoping for that blood-red splash down the middle of my margarita, but it was mauve. Mauve drinks are less than inspiring. And so the celebration went just fine. Happy and relaxed, quiet and romantic. Now the waiting begins. Now, when the editor said, "It'll be in the next issue," did that mean THE very next issue? Breathless, waiting to find out and get my hands on that copy!
Unsure since I had a slight disappointment with Kaleidotrope yesterday. Mr. Coppersmith posted (or his web guy posted) the roster for the April issue, but I did not find "Fire Eater" among the contents. Bummer. When the story was accepted, Fred informed me that my story would appear perhaps in the next couple of issues. When it didn't appear in October, I was sure it would appear in April. Alas. More waiting. On the optimistic side, I had the chance to send Fred my updated bio, which had changed somewhat in the past year. More publications, no longer suffering as a slush reader -- *shudder* And more enthusiastic about LegendFire than ever. So all is well.
Edit again: I received a reply from Mr. Coppersmith. Good news! But I don't want to spill any beans prematurely. Just in case he's not spread the word yet. (hint: I may not have to wait till October) :D
Well, we've made it over the Chapter 7 hump. On with Chapter 8! My two protagonists finally encounter the object of their search, the event that changes their lives forever. Things get to moving right along, then the family plans a four-day retreat that I feel I can't miss. We are a family of loud, kid-happy, cooking women, so when our core group gets together, our men tend to flee for the hills. It will be a fun, laughter-filled four days, but that is four days spent at my mother's house, four days I could be writing, four days that the novel's forward momentum must come to a screeching halt, four days without a moment's quiet. I shall have to run to the bathroom to snatch a moment to myself, I'm sure, but I'm packing the Xanax, so if worse comes to worst, I can pop a chill pill.
I think I'm giving the wrong impression. I love being with this wonderful group of women and kids. I just need lots of quiet and still, too, or I get so keyed up I can snap into cries-ville or feel so overwhelmed that I become introverted to the point that I float along in hazy-eyed silence. I'm not so alone in that anymore either. My sister made sure to ask, "You're bringing your Xanax, aren't you? I might need one -- or ten." She and mother knock heads a lot. So it can make for some tense moments. Another reason I dive into myself. Escape when there's no other option for escape.
I'm still giving the wrong impression. I'm fully anticipating a fun, food-filled weekend of well-earned indigestion and exhausted vocal cords. The kids are so much fun. I don't have any of my own, so I feel like I can dive in with them and play their games at times. The most precious thing is seeing them dress up in the same play clothes we women used to dress up in when we were that age. Sometimes they come to me for help, and I get to dress them up in wild combinations of old prom dresses we found at garage sales back in the 80s, or old drapes we turned into long capes and veils, or sashes that become a pirate's bandanna. Our memories become theirs, and we get to see them making the same precious moments that will fill them with warmth in the cold days, years down the road.
Not only has progress been made on the novel, however. We've completed one of our yard projects. I guess I can call it that. We were planning on getting goats; we put up the fencing ourselves, bought the guard dog, a huge Great Pyrenees, but decided to downsize the garden area, so we don't need the large animals now to produce copious amounts of fertilizer. We bought bunnies instead! Two adorable baby bunnies that now we must protect from the Great Pyranees, not to mention three cats who would love to ... how did I put it elsewhere? ... feast on those tender bunny brains. My sweet, snuggly kitty Raphael steals the varmints that his brother, Gabriel, catches, then eats the critters head first. Gopher brains! Yum. But hasn't this turned a gory direction? Bunnies. Right. Cute, fluffy, poo-producing bunnies. Project checked off the list. Progress feels good.
Oh, good grief! I looked back through these blog entries and saw that way back on 9 February I was about to start a revision of Chapter 7 of my novel. It's exactly a month later, and I'm still working on Chapter 7. That is just sad. Pathetic. As in Puts Me In Dumbfounded Despair kind of pathetic. I used to break into tears over the fact that I had no life, that all I had was my writing, day in and day out, all I did was write, write, write. A chapter a week. Now, what have I discovered? I have so much life going on that I have no time to write. I've been desperate to squeeze in a few paragraphs in a four-hour stretch here, a two-hour snippet there. And a month later, I've still not reached the end of Chapter 7. I'm never going to reach my deadline.
I am not a sports fan, never have been, never intend to be, but since I can remember, I have been enthralled with the Olympics. I think it was Mary Lou Retton that hooked me for life. What an impact she and her victories had on a five-ish year old girl. So, I guess the point is, my writing, reading, and other projects are doomed for the next two weeks. While I'm rooting for the Flying Tomato and other young American heroes (yes, they all look like babies to me now), I hope to make a little more progress on Chapter 7, but I'm not counting on it. It's nice to have some pressure taken off the drive for progress for a few days, at least, to enjoy some peaceful cultural exchange and human excellence. The games only happen once every two years. The novel will be waiting when they're over this time around, too.
Well, I decided it was time to explore new looks for my journal. Added some more pics, and brightened things up a bit. It's like makeup. Some women wear the same color of eye shadow every day. Me, if my eyeshadow doesn't match the shirt I'm wearing, I'm not sure how I can cope. So, in short, you never know what I'll be wearing next time you stop in.
About writing... I'm far happier with the revisions to "The Bone Harp." One of my critters said Experiment, so I did. Several said, It's incomplete, I didn't feel for the main chick, It needs a twist at the end, so I added 1600 words to a 2200 word story. The results, I must say, please me greatly. I loathe chasing word counts for anthologies or magazines. I'd rather write a story, then find the market that takes that length. So I've learned that I'm happier with stories that dig down inside a character, inside a world, and that means longer pieces. I have yet to master the moving flash masterpiece. Meh, nor have I interest in doing so. Give me meat, enough to sink talons into.
So I'm about to undertake a full revision of Chapter 7 of the novel, meaning, I think I'm going to have to add a character that I hadn't envisioned before, which means a full rewrite of several chapters all the way back to the beginning. I usually add too many characters and have to edit some out. It's good to have useful folks floating around, waiting in the wings, but this time -- chasing that lean word count -- I've not added enough, which means that word count is about to expand. Unless I can think of another way to punch up the villain interest.
Also about to go over "Swords of Glass" again. I've only submitted it to three places, but it's been nearly a year since I wrote it, so it's time to give it a new eye. Maybe find places that could suffer improvement. I greatly prefer editing over writing rough drafts. Rough drafts hurt ...
