Anticipating a birth

If you read this blog much at all, you know I have four children. And many of you know that I've never given birth. All of my babies (now ranging in age from 44 to 38) are adopted. Every once in a while I had a pang of regret that I didn't have that period of anticipation, of waiting for a birth. Most of them arrived unexpectedly on the scene, only to be greeted with great joy.
But now I feel another kind of birth coming on--I'm getting ready to birth another Kelly O'Connell Mystery. I know it's ahead of me. I've signed a contract. I have a sort-of synopsis, and fleeting thoughts about it go through my mind, little ideas that I mostly try to jot down. One important thing is that I know the first two lines: Keisha says to Kelly, "Someone's trying to kill Miss Lorna," and Kelly says, "Did you just say the coffee is ready?" Not sure what comes next--it will happen when it happens. Sometimes I'm anxious to get on with it, and other times I put it aside in my thinking. Is that like pregnancy? You will have to tell me. My deadline (or due date) is still quite a way off, so I know I'm early. I have time to procrastinate.
And I have a novel by someone else to edit, at least one guest blog to write. Plus it's amazing how much time yoga, lunch with friends, etc., can take out of my day. School is out in two days, and Jacob will not be spending his afternoons with me, which will I think make a whole different work schedule. On the other hand now that I'm not so rushed on school days, I've made several luncheon appointments so I may be shooting myself in the foot.
I know to the mothers amongst you comparing the birth of a baby to that of a novel is ludicrous, and I'm sure the discomfort of pregnancy and difficulty of birth can't compare, but I will say birthing a novel is not easy. The process leading up to it can be filled with doubt, anguish, despair--it's seldom pure joy, though there my be moments of that. And you'd think once you've given birth to it--sent it off to the publisher--it's all easy. But not so--there are revisions and marketing and waiting for reviews.
I  think ultimately I'll produce a novel I'm proud of, but nothing like the pride I feel in those four grown children! They are wonderful human beings; my novels are always going to be genre fiction.
 

Learning to Live with Yourself

Years ago, when I was married and had young children, our house always overflowed with people--for dinners, parties, just for happy hour, whatever. Someone said we lived that way to avoid talking to each other and in retrospect it may be true--we didn't really want to know what was going on with the other. Then when I was the single parent of high school and college kids, there was always a houseful. Friends worried how I would do when I lived alone (it came late--some of the kids hung around for a long time, and Jordan came and went until she was almost thirty). But I did just fine, loving cooking just what I wanted, the freedom to keep my own schedule (I keep an internal one and am not real flexible, but, hey, that's how I live best).
Still there were what I called "divorcees' damn dull weekends."
All these years later, this was one of them. Other than keeping Jacob Friday night (which is questionable as a social event) I had nothing on my calendar. I decided I could wallow in self-pity or enjoy it and get things done. And I did the latter. My only outing was to Central Market, where I bought fish for my dinner last night. I spent yesterday doing laundry napping, reading a manuscript and then a book I'm reviewing. By last night I had made a list of things I had to do today--that's the compulsive in me.
This morning, lingering over the paper, I thought that I had better get moving to get all that done by lunch, so I could work and nap in the afternoon (my usual pattern). So one by one I crossed things off the list: finished the laundry, made up the guest bed because Fran is coming to spend the night Monday, cooked a rather intricate dinner for myself (more about that another day), got a start on cooking for three friends tomorrow, set the table, did my yoga, and so on. I was tired by the time lunch time came. Did get my nap and read more on the book I'm reviewing. And tonight I have a really good supper waiting for me.
I don't think I could have happily done this five years ago. I feed on having people around me, and I usually try for some kind of sociability each day. So now I'm ready for social contat. Hmmmm--who should I call?
It's been a satisfactory weekend

Yikes!

That's exactly how I felt when I walked into my own house tonight, 8 p.m., tired after a long author's reception, and hungry. This is what my house looked like. When I left it may have had a few corners that needed straightening--the bathroom and kitchen may not have been perfect, but oh my! I'm not fastidioius housekeeper--I hate to clean house, but I can't stand clutter. The great warning used to be "Hold on to your glass or she'll police it." So you can imagine how overwhelmed I feel. All this is in preparation for the garage sale Jordan and Christian are having at my house at the break of dawn (or before) tomorrow morning--you'd be surprised how early people arrive. It's at my house because I live on a busier street than they do and because tomorrow is the annual neighborhood garage sale. I'm hoping Jacob and I can sleep through the early parts and then I can calmly feed him breakfast and get him watching Lion King or some such, but I have a feeling it's a vain hope. I may run away mid-morning to the grocery, but I cannot adequately tell you how much I dread this periodic event. Where in heaven's name do they get all the stuff to sell?

TCU Press hosted a reception for one of our books tonight at the Community Arts Center. It's a photography book, Fort Worth: A Personal View, and 18 photos from the book are on exhibit in one of the CAC galleries during the entire month of October. The photographer is thrilled; he sold some books tonight, we did an inexpensive reception--pretzel sticks, smoked almonds, and marianted olives, plus wine, of which folks didn't drink a whole lot. But it was a good three hours on our feet, and I was hungry and tired when I got home. The kids had eaten smoked turkey sandwiches, and while I was eating my dinner at my desk, Christian stuck his head in to ask, "What did you cook that smells so good?" I felt guilty telling him it was a ground sirloin patty and a blue cheese salad.

Last nigth Betty and I went shoe shopping before dinner and bought identical black shoes--we'll be the Bobbsey twins. Then we went back to the wine cafe, and I had the same thing I'd had two nights earlier--wedge salad and chocolate mousse. So good. Then I came home, watched the debates--until Jordan, Jacob and Christian arrived after which I watched with half an eye, the other eye on Jacob. Still no great writing accomplished.

So now it's the tail end of another

long day--I did a massive grocery shopping, worked in the morning, etc.--and I'm too tired to think about being a writer. I find my days boil down to work in the morning, deal with emails in the afternoon, a nap, and maybe something constructive at night. At this rate, I'll never get my second mystery done, and I have to somehow change my schedule--no, giving up the nap is not an option! Sometmes I think how lucky I am that my life is so full that I don't have time to write--but hey, that's wrong. Writing is what I want to do.