Hello, Good-Bye.

It's with a disappointed heart that I share the following: this blog is going on hiatus until further notice.

I've been writing.  I have.  It's not that I have neglected my art.  Most of what I have been writing has wound up in the mouths of my teenage actors.  I've been writing new plays for them every 6 to 8 weeks or so, and I also feel that the time has come for me to resurrect some of my older skits and plays and give them new life.

In addition, I feel that God is calling me to do a new thing in my life, something that will require me to stretch my faith, embrace my gifts, and trust him in an area of my life that I've always considered a hobby, rather than a professions.  I am not ready to share this new goal just yet, but it will - God willing - involve me reaching out to others like myself to cultivate the link between the dramatic arts and the church.

I want to thank those of you who have read, commented, encouraged and supported me from my first social media posts (yep - myspace) until now.  You have helped carry me through times when I doubted my talent, doubted that I had anything worthwhile to say.  After many years, I believe I am finding my voice, and I know what I want to share.

I still have novels and skits and poems in my head that may never come out, but it's time I sat down at the computer and let them have a real fighting chance to do just that.  

I'm not ready to seal up this chapter of my life just yet, so I'm keeping my "good-bye" open-ended.  It's entirely possible that my path will bring me back here with a lot more to say.  But, for now, I need to step back and give my increasingly limited free time to the words that have been locked in my head for too long.

May God's love sustain you, may you never run out of coffee, and may every cat you encounter remind you of me.

Signing off for now,
Rebecca L. Godlove

Hello. It's Me. Again.

Maybe you're relieved to see this post.  Maybe you're irritated.  Excited?  Well, I'm back, in a way.

I needed time away from social media.  All in all, and initially as part of my church's annual January fast, I stepped away from all my personal social media accounts (I still maintained the church's sites).  In mid-February, I returned to Instagram.  About a week ago, I began commenting and liking n Facebook again, but I still haven't posted.  I haven't returned to Twitter or tumblr at all yet, save for posting from my Instagram account.

I have to say that I was shocked to learn that I didn't miss Facebook much at all.  Although my feed has come to be less about catching up with friends than it is about mudslinging, religious fervor, and cat pictures, it's still very addictive.  A great time-killer.  Likewise, though, it's a great way to avoid responsibility and face-to-face interaction with other human beings.  I realized that was not a healthy way to live, and found myself pointedly ignoring my phone for long stretches, or checking only e-mail or text messages.  

In some ways, I've emerged happier.  I don't get sucked into the abyss that is the comments section at the bottom of every Buzzfeed post. I don't mentally correct grammar or wonder what type of horrible education/recreational drug the comments were influenced by.  I don't waste time on finding out which celebrity my cat's personality most resembles (although, for the record, I think Freyja might be Adele).  

I've also been writing.  A lot.  I was entrusted with the huge honor of writing a program for my church's Good Friday service, which is something we haven't done in many, many years.  I wrote it, cast it, and we are currently in rehearsals for both the Good Friday service and the Easter Sunday service.  I'm incredibly proud of my actors, and more than a little shocked that my father agreed to play Caiaphas, the High Priest!

I've also, against my wishes, had to return to work full-time.  I do like my job - don't get me wrong, I really do - but leaving Ronen is not getting easier; it's getting harder.  Since January, he has been struggling - we all have - with separation anxiety and sadly, I get the worst of it.  He's displaying an over preference for Daddy lately, and I get ignored when I pick him up from my parents' house.  Daddy gets squeals of excitement, and I barely elicit a casual "Mum."  I know it's normal for his age (almost two, can you believe it?) but it's very difficult.

But the point of this post isn't really to tell you where I've been.  It's to tell you where I will be.  I'll be here, a bit.  I'll also be posting material on an online writing portfolio in the hopes of landing some freelance work (more information to follow).  I'm working on editing a collection of my church-friendly skits in the hopes of finding a publisher.  And I'm really hoping to work with some of the teenage girls in my church to put together a conference for tweens and teens about what it means to be a godly woman (hint: it's probably not what you think it is).

So I won't be online much.  I'll creep on Facebook here and there, and I'll still be blowing up IG with cat pictures and baby videos, but that's about it.  I'm not ready to slip out of the grip of social media altogether, but I've decided that I'm in charge.  Not my Facebook feed.  Not the links to those soul-sucking political articles.  I'll be using my accounts to my advantage - not the other way around.

Recommitted

I don't have studies to back it up, but my opinion is that, in most cases, a relationship works best when there is genuine, serious, and heartfelt commitment involved.  I don't know - is that common sense?  Do we even need studies to prove that?

With that in mind, I'm realizing that there is a particular relationship in my life that is not working, that is less-than-healthy.  It's time to commit, time to confess my love and show it through my actions.  

How can I call myself a writer if it's something I do only when it's convenient?  I mean, when you're a parent, you're a parent 24/7, asleep or awake.  You've made a decision to care for a child - or several children.  There are times when other people help you, but you don't stop being a parent.  When you're a spouse, it's the same thing.  You've committed to this other human being, and even if you don't like him or her very much, you're still married, and hopefully things will get better.  When you're a person of faith - any faith - you've decided to adopt a set of beliefs or principles, and you plan to stick by them, regardless of what people think of you.  When you're an athlete, you're always thinking about how to improve your performance, even if it's the off-season.

So why have I been treating writing so casually?  It isn't about time, not really, because we do make time for that which is important to us.  Plus, if I cut back on Instagram even a little bit per day, and replace that time with writing, I'll have written the next Great American Novel in, oh, maybe a month.  It's not about talent, because in-the-business people I trust - not just my "buddies" - have affirmed that I am a good writer.  It's not about ideas, because I have storylines for three major novels running through my head at any given time, and I can churn out a short skit for my teenage actors in just a day or two - there is no shortage of ideas for church groups, believe it or not (I mean, the Bible is pretty beefy source material).

Sooo, what is it?

It's with a measure of shame that I admit it's my fear.  Fear of failure.  Of not completing these books that are constantly - CONSTANTLY - rolling around in my head.  Of completing them and being unable to submit them to an editor.  Of submitting them and being rejected for publishing.  Of being published and then overwhelmingly negatively reviewed.  Of writing subject material too "religious" for non-Christians and too "secular" for Christians (I feature Christian themes and characters in my work, and I even my more mature themes are still family-friendly, but I would not consider my work appropriate for Tyndale or Zondervan).  Of being thought of as unoriginal.  Or "churchy".  Or too romantic.  Or too realistic. Or too flowery.  Or too boring.  Or too obvious.  

Now that these fears are out of my head, they don't seem too different than any others.  We hesitate to tell others how we feel because we're afraid we might be rebuffed.  That the other person wants to just "be friends".  We are afraid to ask our bosses for raises because we might be told "no" - and then we'll question our own value and worth.  We are afraid to parent our children, rather than befriend them, because we don't want to be seen as "mean".

So, ultimately, that means that my fear of failure is no different than anyone else's, and I just need to suck it up and dive in.  I need to re-evaluate my relationship with writing.  I'm not happy with  our infrequent but passionate trysts.  Seeing each other once or twice a week isn't really healthy for a couple; so why should I think writing once or twice a week would work for me?  

Dear Writing,

It's not that there is someone else.  You're still the only hobby for me.  I've just let things get in our way lately, and I'm sorry if you've felt neglected.  You're still a source of joy for me, something I dearly love.  I've let life and stupid things like clickbait articles get in the way of us being together, and I promise that I'm working to change that.  I won't be afraid of you anymore.  You were given to me as a gift. You help me see things more clearly; you help me organize my own thoughts.  You let me live a hundred different lives, and re-imagine my own past.  I appreciate that you've never left me and always been waiting for me to keep my promises to you, and it doesn't matter if you and I ever make money; let's just stay together.  For the long haul.

Yours forever,

Rebecca L. Godlove

Hour By Hour

Although my little peanut is approaching the nine month mark, some things are dawning on me just now.  As in, routine usually works really well for the baby's health and happiness...so why haven't I applied a regular schedule to my daily life, too?!

I'm one of those probably not-so-rare people who needs boundaries and deadlines in order to make things happen, because I'm exactly 0% self-motivated when it comes to most things.  However, for that very reason, I find myself unwilling to actually set those boundaries for myself.  It's a vicious cycle of laziness and anxiety.  But it's time to break it.

As things are, we've developed regular days and times for baby's bath, for example.  (He's doesn't get so insanely dirty yet that daily scrub-downs are necessary, and he might - like his daddy - be prone to dry skin, so why push the envelope?)  Regular feeding times are crucial for a baby, especially a formula-fed one, so I've become pretty adept at working my own life around bottles and naps.  Still, things fall apart.  Laundry piles up.  Plans come undone.  Photo and writing projects linger in purgatory, wondering silently to themselves if they will ever be complete.  Even this blog languishes, perking up like an old lap dog for its once or twice a month visit and petting session.

So, I think it's finally time.  It's time to spend a few extra dollars and go pick up one of those giant "mom" calendars.  You know what I mean - those ones with daily slots as big as an iPhone for you to write everything in.  Dinner plans, doctors' appointments, social events (ha, ha, ha - what are those again?), chores, etc.  

Part of the reason for this is, well, housekeeping and homemaking is kind of my full-time gig right now.  I'll probably end up having to work part-time once the baby is a little older, unless things change for us financially, but right now, why not do the best I can to make my house a happier place?  More welcoming for my husband, who works hard at a job he generally dislikes.  More pleasant for myself and my baby, who - at least until spring - spend the majority of our time here.  More organized, less stressful, more inviting, less cluttered.

I've always been that awful creative stereotype.  The one with clever and fun ideas, the one with half a dozen projects started and three or four more tumbling around in my head at any given time.  The one who finally gets that electric storm of inspiration and sits down to write/work/create for hours while the dirty dishes pile up and the curtains collect cat hair. (I mean, even more than usual.)  I'm finding now, after years of these fits of productivity mixed with months of sloth, that, well, it's not a great approach.

Slow and steady is supposed to win the race, right?  You don't lose weight from a single day of clean-eating after weeks of Egg McMuffins, nor does a novel come from an hour of frenzied, divinely-inspired genius followed by distracted musing.  So, what I have to do is create a schedule for myself.  An honest-to-goodness, real-life daily schedule with time for cooking, exercising, leisure, housekeeping, prayer, reading, and writing.  

Oh my gosh, just seeing that in black and white is terrifying.  How do I fit that all in a day?  Even without a baby, that would seem impossible.

I guess I'm going to have to start very, very small.  Like planning out the week's dinners.  And deciding which two weekdays I want to use as laundry days.  

Hey - writing this blog is a start, right?  Check one thing off my daily list.  Now, let's see...can I make two more posts this week?

...and still make sure the cats get fed?

Me-vember

Yup, I signed up for NaNoWriMo again.  Yup, I gave up again.  My excuse this year was the five-day road trip to Iowa, during which I tried to write but found myself both uninspired and carsick.

We were there to visit Ross's family and enjoy and early Thanksgiving.  It was a very quick but pleasant trip, made even sweeter by my decision to drop NaNoWriMo this year.  No, it's not that I am proud to be a quitter.  Not by any means.  I've tried this three times and just haven't been able to discipline myself enough to stick with a daily writing schedule.  And yes, I know that I will NEVER be a successful writer if I can't do that.

But, while we were in Iowa, I realized a few very important things about myself - things I was unhappy with.  Things I want - and need - to change.  Things that are far more important than stringing together 50,000 words and patting myself on the back.

Don't think that I'm mocking those who are participating.  I think it's a super idea, but for me, right now, it's become low priority.

In two days, I will be 33 years old.  My baby just turned 5 months old.  I am very unhappy with my body.  With my general state of health.  I've been told that moms can't snap right back into shape, that their bodies take 9 months to change and grow a baby and that there should be 9 months for it to return to "normal".  Which is fine.  But that doesn't mean that when my baby is 9 months old, suddenly by body will magically drop these 25 pounds, that my lungs will return to their "running-friendly" state, and that I will be able to sign up for the next 5K that pops up in my Facebook feed.

I have to DO something.

Granted, for 3 months after the birth of my baby, I was under medical orders not to exercise.  I'd had an emergency c-section and frankly, dealing with a baby who couldn't nurse, dealing with my own emotions, and dealing with the choice to return to work - or not - after becoming a mom, well, all those things were more than enough for me to focus on.  I wasn't worried that I couldn't squeeze my still-swollen feet into my Nikes.  Who cared?

Well, now that I've had to invest in a new, "upsized" wardrobe...I do.

It's time to celebrate me by beginning to take care of myself again.  Eating healthier.  Cooking at home more often.  Hiding the Halloween candy from myself.  Walking again.  Refusing to put myself down with my own words.  Putting God first again.

So.  For the rest of this month - and hopefully, indefinitely, I have to focus on myself and my family in a healthy, God-honoring way.  It doesn't mean I won't write.  It just means that I need to plan my time better, to sacrifice some of it for my husband and my son, to work on healthier decisions, to improve my spending habits, to put a little more effort into housework, to exercise more, to pray more, to cook more, to love more, to connect more with friends and family.

And...yeah...to put down the smartphone more.  

So that's what I'm doing for the rest of the month.  To my Nano-friends: I salute you!  May success be yours!  I'll join you next year.  By then, I am hoping and praying, I will have gotten back into the routine of taking care of myself.  

In fact, I'm planning on it.

It's a Kind of Magic

Still, it's kinda only suitable for geeks and readers.

Now that baby and I are beginning to develop a routine, I find that I do have some free time during my day.  If I'm not slavishly clicking "next episode" on Netflix, that is.  Or if I'm not meeting up with another chick for a mommies' coffee date.

So, that means one of two things.  Housework...or writing.

I'd be lying if I said that writing always wins, to be honest.  In fact, lately, a less cluttered house has really helped my mental state, so even if I'm only accomplishing a single load of laundry or washing just the pots and pans in the sink between feedings, cuddlings, and pumpings, it's worth it.

But I miss writing, and it's time to return to it.  I have two beloved casts of characters in two completely different novels just itching for me to tell their stories (I know they are itching because they live in my head, after all, and believe me - they itch).

The first novel I began for NaNoWriMo two years ago and, to my credit, got further than I've ever gotten with any writing project (other than a collection of mediocre poetry).  It's a fantasy story that centers on a group of bards-in-training and other servants belonging to a wealthy lord, and that lord's relationship with the King and his family.  It is a basic good-versus-evil story geared towards young adults and borders on being a Christian allegory, but nothing so majestic or sweeping as "The Chronicles of Narnia", for example.

I have much of the plot strung together, but here is where I'm looking for the advice of YOU, the geeky, intelligent reader.  

Magic.  Yes or no?

There is a double-edged sword to creating your own realm.  You make up all the rules!  Is magic practiced there?  Is it effective, or just a "sham religion"?  How does it work?  Who wields it?  Does a person need to work on spells, or possess a talisman, or be born with a special gift?  

Marvel's Infamous Loki.  En.wikipedia.org.

As of now, the story has been plotted and written without mention of magic.  It would not be difficult to add it in as a factor, but I'm not sure if I want to.  

I'd like you to weigh in!  Does magic or other supernatural phenomena in literature entertain you or frustrate you?  Is it too much of a deus ex machina for your clever, solution-seeking mind, or do you enjoy the escapism?  What works for you and what does not?  Try to think about the different ways magic is used in film; examples are as dramatically different as Highlander and Disney's Aladdin, Lord of the Rings and Supernatural.  Consider your favorite fantasy, supernatural, or sci-fi flick, book, or series.  What works for you?  What has always grated on your nerves or rang "untrue"?  That's the kind of info I am looking for.

You can comment here or on my Facebook page.  Thanks in advance for your input!

(And...by the way...there are no vampires or werewolves - glittery or otherwise - in this novel, thankyouverymuch.)

Privacy Policy

I made the decision to publicly share the details of my pregnancy in an effort to encourage other women who find themselves in the same situation as me – unhappily childless, for whatever reason.  Although I recently realized I’m an introvert, I guess I’m a pretty lenient one, since I’m not shy about sharing personal stories or struggles.  I’ve been told I’m a transparent person (in the best possible way), and that the honesty with which I share my challenges has encouraged others.  So I don’t have a problem being open about this particular journey.

What I am wondering about, though, is how social media is going to play a role once this baby comes along.  I’ve seen both extremes with new parents – moms and dads who refuse to post any pictures or even the names of their children, as well as moms and dads who recount the grisly details of the baby’s most recent diaper blow-out – including pictures!  Most of my close friends have babies or toddlers, and it can be fun to follow their adventures.  Two of our besties, Matt and Jaime in particular, post a lot of pictures of their fun, cute little girls.  I like seeing them, probably because I’ve known all the girls since they were born, and spent time with them, and because we’re close with their parents.  We know their personalities, and mom and dad are not all about the “look at how amazing our kids are; they’re better than your kids!” mentality.  They’re fun, relaxed parents who have a great sense of humor about parenting and life in general.  And they do post about things other than their children.  They have interests besides their daughters!  They’re Christians who are involved in their church; Matt is a super-geek like Ross and myself and we like to talk about superhero and fantasy movies.  Jaime is a hair stylist and a thrifty fashionista and we love sharing our opinions on the latest trends. 

They’re people who are people first, then parents.

However, on the other hand, there are some mothers who make me kind of uncomfortable. Moms who are hyper-obsessed with their children.  Moms who post nothing but stories about their baby bellies, sleeping babies, and the all-natural, pesticide-free, organic kale, kefir, and pomegranate smoothies they are feeding their toddlers because fast food is an invention of Satan himself.   

Let me try to explain.  It’s not an issue of the organic, whole food thing.  In fact, that's something I've been considering more and more lately.  However, it is an issue of the fact that it seems like these ladies have lost their identities and see themselves solely as child-rearers.  I mean, I know a baby is going to dramatically change my life, and I’m concerned about maintaining my identity as a woman, a wife, a Christian, a writer. 

Things already have begun to change.  For example, last year I had (finally!) developed the healthy habit of daily exercise, dropped about 20 pounds, and was hoping to lose an additional 15 more.  With the diagnosis of a subchorionic hematoma and its subsequent bleeding, I was put on strict pelvic rest, which meant that, at least for a time, I could no longer exercise.  Initially I thought, what a great excuse for relaxing and putting my feet up!  Five weeks and seven pounds heavier, I was having a hard time looking in the mirror.  (Please note, I am only five feet tall, so a “few pounds” look and feel considerably heavier on me and are harder on my health than on a person of a taller stature.  I’m not just being “overdramatic” and “hormonal” about gaining weight.)  I’ve had to make changes in my diet, like any conscientious pregnant woman.  I’ve given up my favorite food, sushi, because of the danger it poses to the baby.  I’ve cut back on artificial sweeteners and caffeine.  I’m shunning cold cuts.  I’m, asking for my meat cooked well (blech!) rather than medium.  I’m trying to incorporate more fruits and veggies (very hard, since I’ve been too tired to properly plan my meals lately).  I’m not complaining about these things, per se, because all are part of my efforts to keep the baby healthy and strong.  But it does feel strange, realizing that, right now, my body is not entirely my own, and my decisions have to reflect that.

I don’t resent this child growing within me – no!  I’ve prayed for a baby for years and was crushed when we suffered our miscarriages.  I’m saying that, even now, I’m becoming conscious of how great the changes in my life will be once there is another little human in my house, and it won’t be easy. 

If we’re honest, we have to face it.  Human nature is selfish.  We want things our way – no matter what society or country we live in.  Humanity is at its beautiful best when it is able to set aside that urge and put others first, whether it means individuals taking our turn in line, donating to charity, giving up a seat on a bus, or, more dramatically, laying down their lives for others.  I’m saying that I’m already experiencing the sting of selfishness, long before my baby arrives.

As much as I want a child, the idea of being one-hundred percent attentive to a tiny person is sort of scary.  When will I sleep?  What will my body look like?  Will I ever “feel pretty” again?  What if I want to spend quality time with my husband?  What if I act like my husband isn’t even in the picture?  What else in my life will change?  Which brings me back to those militant moms.  Did they forget how to be people?  It seems to me that their very existence is devoted to nothing other than raising their children.  Reading their social media feeds is pretty much like tuning into the “my child” station 24-7.  It’s terrifying.  It feeds into the fearful question I asked my friend Jaime when she was pregnant with her third daughter, and we were discussing parenthood.  “Will I lose my identity?”  Basically , her reply was “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.  You’re still you.  You have other obligations, more love in your heart, more responsibilities and more challenges, but you are still you.”  That was reassuring.

I mean, I don’t want a mommy blog.  I don’t want my writing to revolve around baby food and poopy diapers and unidentifiable rashes.  I want to keep writing about all the things that are important to me – my husband, my faith, my family, fashion, my cats, science-fiction, cooking, and yes – my children will absolutely make that list!  But I also want to respect their privacy and I don’t want to get into a place where I begin to  lecture other parents on how to raise their kids.  There is way too much of that already with the fiery breast vs. bottle debates, the vemonous battle between the vaxxers and the anti-vaxxers, the outspoken crunchy moms and the, um…slightly-soggy moms?  Yes, I will raise my children in the church and openly share my values and beliefs with them.  Yes, I will vaccinate my kids.  Yes, I plan to breast-feed.  Yes, I passionately and fervently believe that I will be doing the right thing for my children, but I am also determined to maintain an open mind in regards to parents who choose to do things differently (unless those things put my kids in danger). 

That being said, my friend and former college roomie Megan and I are considering starting a blog together.  She is a very funny lady who also happens to be a vegetarian, a leaning-to-the-left liberal, and a homeschooler of her three wild kids (one of whom has some different needs).  I know Megs well, and I don’t consider her “crunchy” or “weird”.   She is also a person first, then a parent.  She is a dedicated runner, a loyal and supportive wife, and a part-time professor.  She loves her kids.  She also loves spending time away from them.  She is secretly a little bit geeky.  We don’t see eye-to-eye on everything, but she’s a person who makes me laugh and whom I admire.  She’s one of the people who can talk about how passionate she is about the way she eats, and it’s neither annoying nor preachy.  We've agreed that we won't be discussing politics, and it will be a PG-rated blog (much to the sassy Megan's dismay).  Politics, religion, and otherwise volatile subjects will be discussed on our personal pages, if we desire, not our co-blog!  We're thinking of calling it "The Kid/Cat Club".

That is something I can hook up with.  Stories about her three kids, and the antics of my three cats, maybe some recipes, our adventures at work – what could possibly result but endless hilarity?

And that’s one thing all my new-mom friends seem to agree on…with a small screaming human being clawing constantly at your breast, you definitely need a laugh or two to get you through the day…

Nibble, Nibble

A lot has been going on in my life lately.  As I mentioned in my previous post, after six months of unemployment, I am now working full time again - and I'm loving it!  Working at a pediatric office is not my dream job, but I have to say that it's surprisingly fulfilling.  I admit that seeing all the newborns gets tough because of what I have gone through, but I get to see some pretty inspirational things, too.  I children with special needs whose parents are 100% invested in their growth and development - no matter how different or difficult that might prove.  I see men taking responsibility for their children and refusing to be just another "baby daddy".  I enjoy interacting with the kids - especially the ones who haven't yet equated the notion of the doctor with the pain of a shot.  They're fearless, and quite a bit of fun.  

Along with the sense of peace brought by being a "productive" member of society again, my job has given me another opportunity for which I am deeply grateful -  an hour-long lunch break.  I don't use these sixty precious moments to socialize, but, for the first time in a very, very long time, I use them to exercise.  Although I started counting calories over seven months ago, I hadn't added exercise to my plan until three months ago, when I started working again.  The changes in my body, attitude, and health have been mind-blowing.  I even got the chance to write about what I am experiencing on the practice's website!  I've lost seventeen pounds (give or take) and two jeans sizes.  I even did the unthinkable (for me) and signed up for a Couch to 5K program, which started this week. 

When I look at the progress I've made this year in the area of my health, I'm both very proud and very grateful.  I know that God has been with me during the whole process, even though I haven't talked to him about it a lot.  But when I sit back adn examine other areas of my life, I'm very disappointed.  For instance: my writing.

I call myself a writer.  In my head, that looks a lot like this: I use every spare moment to scribble on napkins, in notebooks, on my own skin the ideas that leap into my consciousness; I rollphrases around in my mind and on my tongue; I have conversations with characters that exist only in my imagination; I relish in sitting down before a blank screen and bleeding words until that screen is full of perfect little rows of beautiful black letters.

But, actually - at least lately - it's looked a lot more like this: I think about my blog and my two novels-in-progress while I'm power-walking on my lunch break, then I come home and have dinner, change into my pajamas, and watch Netflix (the show of the hour is currently Twin Peaks, since the parents wouldn't let me watch it the first time around).

ThenI I feel bad about my lack of writing, and plan to make up for it the next day.

Which, of course, never happens.

Well, I'm going to do something that I've never done before, and take a cue from my own success.  In regards to my health, I had determined to take things slow, one step at a time, and actually stop believing that change was impossible.  I set goals that were reasonable for me.  I took things one day at a time, one decision at a time, and, when I made poor choices, I forgave myself quickly and started anew the next day.  Instead of ripping off huge chunks, I was nibbling away at my goals, allowing myself to adjust to a different lifestyle. 

I'm going to "nibble" at my writing, too.  Finishing two full-length novels and blogging regularly - well, that's a lot to handle, especially when I have the ridiculous mindset that all of my blog posts have to be life-changing - or at the very least, completely thought-out, rehearsed, and flawlessly edited.  Not that they always are, of course.  But perfectionism will do that to you.

I'm going to "allow" myself to post blogs that are neither deep nor meaningful.  I might even post some short stories or creative writing.  Poetry.  Movie reviews.  I will not post anything that violates my stated purpose - to encourage and inspire.  But maybe it would be good to start "nibbling" away at my dream again.

It might even taste sweeter that way.

Ketch-Up

My step-mom used to be the children's church teacher at Berean Fellowship, and she led the kids in a simple game they called Ketch-Up.  She took an empty Heinz ketchup bottle (we're Pittsburghers, so the kids literally rejected the Hunt's bottle I once tried to substitute) and passed it down the line of kids.  When a child had the bottle, he or she had a few minutes to share something - whether it was a worry about a test at school, an upcoming vacation, or a Christmas list.  The other kids were not permitted to talk when one of them had the bottle.  Not that that part of the plan always worked, mind you.

Well, I wanted my first blog after my unexpected hiatus to be deep, significant, and thoroughly thought-out.  But ain't nobody got time for dat, so here's my "ketch-up" version.  Don't interrupt.  Read on.

1. I got a new job.  I now work in a pediatricians' office.  I'm still adapting to working full-time after 6 months of unemployment (part of the reason I haven't written lately).  I generally like it quite a bit.  Sometimes my heart aches when newborns come in, but most of the time I enjoy what I do.

2. I'm back on the weight-loss train.  After stalling out after my mom's passing, I'm now exercising five times a week (35-45 minutes of brisk walking during my lunch hour, which for me equals around 2 miles).  When I told my family I was planning on signing up for the Great Race in September, they smiles politely and said nothing.  Which is the response I also got from my husband.  Completely understandable, given my history of (a) hating exercise; (b) having trouble completing tasks, and (c) hating exercise.  But I'm still going to try.  I am starting out with teensy-tiny baby steps so I don't get discouraged.  My blood pressure is going up again - inexplicably - and I know this will help.

3. Ross is still actively looking for a better job.  He had an interview with Duquesne, which was something that we hardly even imagined would happen.  He was one of only three people considered for the position, but he did not get an offer.  I had a harder time than him about it, and had several temper tantrums that were directed at God for being "unfair" and "tricking us".  Yes, even we "mature Christians" struggle to understand how and why God allows certain things to happen that don't seem to make any sense at all.  I've calmed down considerably, but we are still fighting discouragement about his career situation.

4.  We're going to Disney!  I'm not telling when, because then all my Facebook stalkers (pfft, yeah, 'cause there's hundreds of them) will loot my house while we're away...but we have plans, it's paid for, and I'm crazy excited for my first-ever trip to the Magical-est Place on Earth!

5. Loki now plays catch in addition to playing fetch.  If I bought into the theory of reincarnation, I'd say it was 100% evident that kitten was a Golden Retriever in a previous life.  WHOSE CAT DOES THAT?

6. I found a pair of red snakeskin-print stilettos at K-Mart for $3.99.

Now, here's where we take a more serious turn.  Another huge change that took place recently is that Ross and I made the difficult decision to step down as the youth leaders at Berean Fellowship and North Church.  It was a choice that was, unfortunately, a long time coming.  Around the time of our third miscarriage, we began to struggle a little with our obligations.  It became more of a chore than a joy.  Then I lost my job, and even though I had more time to work on youth-related events, it was something I was forcing myself to do.  Ross and I repeatedly heard ourselves saying "no, we have church on Saturday" when our friends or family wanted to make plans.  (Don't get me wrong, Pastors Mark and Steph are NOT slave-drivers!  We could have taken off days here and there when we needed them!  But, for our purposes, things were often last-minute and we couldn't really find a pinch-hitter two days before we were due to teach.  It wasn't fair to the people we'd be asking for help.)  We loved our church (and still do) but were lacking the fellowship of our circle of peers (many of whom we'd met at the now-defunct young adults' group The Bridge).  Ross's sister Lindsey was in town twice (we only see her a few times a year, at best) and both times we were unable to see her.  Then, his dad had a stroke right before Christmas, the healing from which has been complicated by his Parkinson's.  And then, in February, my mother died.  (It still sucks royally to even type those words.)  And I still wasn't finding work.  My unemployment was running out.  Things were really ugly.

Dealing with the pressures of so much loss in such a short period, we weren't treating the kids the way we wanted to - heck, we weren't treating ourselves the way we should have been!  Ross and I went back and forth debating, discussing, and even arguing about what was best for us, for the kids, and the church.  We were concerned that the kids would feel we had abandoned them.  We were concerned that we were giving up simply because the job was tough.  We were concerned that we were letting down our church - and God.  We were concerned that people would fear we were leaving the church (that fear WAS confirmed as several members of the congregation did approach us with concerned whispers, asking if we were heading elsewhere - at least they came to us instead of letting their imaginations run wild; we were grateful for that respect!).  We prayed about it and finally brought it up to Pastor Mark - but God had already given him a hint as to what was in our hearts.  We received nothing but encouragement and understanding from him, which confirmed that we had made the right choice for this season in our lives.  Our goal right now is to focus on our friends and families - to spend time with them.  To help Ross's dad with his antiques business.  To see our nieces' recitals.  To grill ridiculously delicious burgers on my aunt and uncle's patio.  To hop from estate sale to estate sale with Deana as she hustles for eBay treasures.  To see our friends' new babies.  To reconnect with the many relationships God has given us.

We love our church family dearly.  We love serving.  We love being trusted as leaders, even if we don't carry a title anymore.  We love our pastors, who never made us feel like failures - or even that we were giving up at all!  We love the kids we taught, and we're still a part of their lives.  We love talking with them and staying in touch - even if we're maybe not quite as cool as the incoming leaders, Tim and Victoria.  But we're grateful that God's voice is persistent, and he kept telling us what was most important in our lives right now.

We still want children.  Desperately.  We feel that God is using this season to draw us closer to him and the network of loving friends and family we have in order to make that dream a reality.  We have a "plan" in place, but experience has taught us that God loves wrecking our plans because we dream TOO SMALL.  His goals for us are so much bigger than we can wrap our minds around...and sometimes we have to take a step back and be willing to wait for his next step to be revealed.

That's where we are right now.  Waiting with a purpose.  

Yeah, that doesn't make it any easier.  But here we are.  Go ahead, God.  I'm watching for you.

NWNE: An Excerpt

As promised to my faithful facebook friends and fans (and maybe some random people who took pity on me), here is a short little morsel of one of my two current novels-in-progress.  It's called Normal Was Never Enough.  This story, I admit, is nothing new: ordinary people find themselves suddenly in possession of abnormal powers.  It's a story literally as old as time itself, but I'm endeavoring to tell the story with a sense of humor, a sense of morality, and a sense of style.  In the following excerpt, we learn a little of the backstory of two of our main characters, Ben and Merrick.  Please do not use this, or any of my writing, without my explicit permission.  If you want to share, please post a link to my blog.  Thanks for protecting the integrity of my work!

With a bit of a sigh, Merrick muttered that Ben had darn well better appreciate what he was doing.  Ben glanced at Merrick’s Superman hoodie and stifled a grin, instead replying, “I know, man…thanks.  I didn’t know who else to take.  And you can’t beat free tickets.”

Merrick shrugged, his expression bland, but Ben saw through his façade.

Ever since they had met in fourth grade, when Merrick’s family moved to Pittsburgh, they’d pretended to be superheroes on the playground.  They had found a few (very few) like-minded friends and hunkered down in Merrick’s basement for hours of Dungeons and Dragons.  They vowed to each other that they’d always – always – get tickets to the midnight showings of the new action movies that came to town.  At least once a week, they snuck out of study hall to visit the local comic book shop.

Then Merrick got a girlfriend. 

            It was in eleventh grade.  The day was burned into Ben’s memory like the ring around an eclipse.  They’d made plans to pick up Mexican food and join a few buddies for a Star Wars marathon on cable.  He’d borrowed his parents’ station wagon and had stopped at Taco Bell (which was even busier than normal, as it was a Friday night).  He pulled into the Merricks’ driveway and stopped short.  Merrick was walking out the front door with a girl.

Not just any girl, of course.  A pretty girl.

Liz Cramer.  She wasn’t the most popular girl at school, not by any means – but she was cute, and she wore shorts that were just a little too short for school, and she had her own car, and she always smelled like apples.  That night, she was wearing impossibly tight jeans and a huge smile.  Merrick’s smile matched hers, but as Ben got out of the car, it faded.

“Oh, man,” he said, “I tried to get a hold of you before you left home.  I, uh, I can’t hang out tonight.”

“Hi, Ben,” Liz said.  She had a few fingers curled around Merrick’s hand.

Ben stood there for a moment, holding the soggy bag of tacos.  “But, nachos,” he said dumbly, as the grease dripped onto the sidewalk.

Merrick forced a grin and waved him off.  “We can get something for lunch tomorrow.  You don’t have to go to your grandpa’s, do you?”

Ben silently shook his head.  He had mowed his grandfather’s lawn two days before and it was still looking pretty good.  He was free for the weekend.  “But, Star Wars,” he pressed.

“Ah, I’ve seen it before,” Merrick said with a dismissive shrug.  “Hey, if you still wanna do something, I know that Curt and Billings are free tonight.  Maybe I can join you guys later, if I’m not out too late.”  He sent a raised eyebrow Liz’s way, and she grinned back.  She gave his hand a noticeable squeeze.

Ben hadn’t moved from his position outside the car.  Curt and Billings were supposed to meet up with them to watch the movies.  They always went to Merrick’s house because his parents didn’t mind them crashing in the basement.  They often played card games and watched movies late into the night, and it wasn’t unusual for them to wake up the next morning to Merrick’s (very attractive) mom flipping pancakes for them on a bright Saturday morning.

“Can’t Liz stay and watch the movies with us?” Ben persisted, hearing a bit of a whine creep into his voice.  The bag kept dripping.

“Ew, no,” Liz laughed good-naturedly.  “That’s not my thing.  Wait, that’s with the girl with the cinnamon bun hair and a whole bunch of robots, right?”

Ben’s face fell.  “Star Wars is…it’s a film that broke all types of records…it’s the ultimate story of good and evil.  It was ahead of its time.  It-it…”

“Cinnamon buns, yeah,” Merrick supplied as he guided Liz to her car.  “Give me a call tomorrow, Ben,” he threw over his shoulder as he opened the door for her.

At that very moment, the bag of tacos exploded onto the pavement, spattering Ben’s well-worn Nikes with grease and hot sauce.  Ben stood there, watching Liz and Merrick drive away, and, for the first time in his life, his confidence was shaken.  He’d always realized he was an introvert, a nerd, and he’d been fine with that – as long as he’d had someone to share in his nerdy indulgences.  Merrick’s betrayal was as cutting as if he’d used his Dark Elf to slay Ben’s Healer Priest.

As his socks began to soak up cheese sauce, Ben made the decision that he would never compromise who he was for something as trivial as a date with a pretty girl.

Which explains why he ended up spending most weekends alone.

 

And now, Merrick was “between girlfriends”, meaning that he was spending his weekends alone, too.  Ben had won a pair of tickets to the convention by answering some trivia on the radio, and he was quite pleased with himself.  Maybe, for a few hours, things would be like old times.  Before girls, before college, before jobs.  Merrick didn’t even seem to mind that Ben had donned his Doctor Who costume, complete with sonic screwdriver.

“You know there are going to be like eight million of you dressed like David Tennant,” Merrick had pointed out.

Ben grinned.  He copped a fairly decent British accent. “Right then, I’ll be in good company.  I’m not going for originality.  Just style.”

Merrick rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Can we just agree that we will try to act normal?”  When Ben turned an aghast face on him, Merrick amended, “Normal for geeks, I mean.”

“I’m in complete control,” Ben answered innocently.

As they entered the convention center, Ben felt himself getting giddy.  He barely paid attention to the bored-looking older gentleman scanning his ticket.  How could he, when he was surrounded by pointy-eared Vulcans and shiny androids and armed Avengers and two dozen other Time Lords?  He felt himself getting light-headed.  Then, he felt himself actually getting lighter.  He glanced down and noticed that his scuffed Converse sneakers were hovering a few inches above the floor.  He tried not to panic and forced himself back to the ground.  Merrick, watching a bikini-clad slave Leia saunter past, hadn’t noticed.

Ben wasn’t ready to tell him yet.  Maybe after the convention.  Maybe never.  Things had changed so much between them that he didn’t know if he could trust Merrick anymore.  Not the say he used to.  He wanted to.  But this wasn’t gossip or a secret crush he had to talk about.  This wasn’t high school drama.  This was real.  He took a deep breath and suggested they head to the booths and check out some local comic book artists. 

Merrick, still eyeing the princess, half-heartedly nodded agreement.

The Freefall into Failure

Sorry, NaNoWriMo.

I know I have almost four days left.  But I don't think that even my brilliant wit and clever writing (note: sarcasm) can pummel through 30,000 words in half a week.

I have failed my task.

I was not able to complete a 50,000-word novel in thirty days.  I am disappointed in myself because I was really trying to make things different.  For years now, I've had the bad habit of adopting wonderful ideas, nurturing them for a few days or weeks, then leaving them starving on the side of the road.  I wanted this to be better.  Different.  I wanted to be able to keep my promise: to deliver a finished product (albeit one that needed major editing in the aftermath).

I couldn't.  Not this time.

Granted, I had a lot of setbacks and other obligations this month, some good and some bad: my car died when I was driving to see my mom in Kentucky...we held Thanksgiving at my house and spent Black Friday with my in-laws...I've been writing and directing several short plays and skits for church...my birthday was this month (which meant a wonderful road trip to Lancaster)...

Not that any of those things are excuses.  But they provided an easy way for me to make excuses.  I've learned that practicing self-discipline takes time and committment.  I can scoop a blog post out of my brain in a few minutes, a recipe in several minutes, and a short story in a few hours, but writing a novel is a much bigger project and it does require, for me, far more discipline.  A change of venue helps - sometimes.  More coffee doesn't help.  Two adoring cats who NEED TO BE EXACTLY WHERE I AM  AT ALL TIMES don't help, either. 

The good news is: I learned from my failure, which ultimately means it wasn't a failure at all.  I have a plan for next time!  I will hash out my plot in its entirey before the month begins.  Although I had a good general idea of where I was going, I found myself adding characters and doing a lot of rewriting of the ones that I had thought I'd established.  I also changed several major plot points.  Repeatedly.  Like I didn't trust my own instincts.  Not that novels-in-process are fixed in time and space.  Ideas come and go.  I'm really thrilled about one in particular, though, that struck me like lightning while I was thinking of something entirely different: I have planned that a character who seemed like an innocent pawn will end up as a co-conspirator.  I love what it adds to the story. 

But my second-guessing ended up being part of my downfall.  It was as though I had bought a decent house that needed nothing but a paint job and some redecorating, but I decided to rewire all the electricity, replace the carpet, and update the plumbing, too.  Wasted time and effort.

I will have a flow chart, pie chart, graphs, timelines, whatever I need to keep me more focused during next year's NaNoWriMo (and as I continue to work independently on this book).  I will be more strict with myself about keeping ahead of the game.  The first week, it was easy to do that.  But ideas flowed less freely after that.  The longer I waited to sit and write, the more nerve-wracking it became when I finally did so.  I panicked.  I didn't let the story unfold as it needed to.

It became like forcing myself to like someone for whom I had no feelings, but who needed me.

Ugh.  When I did that in real life, I ended up in unhealthy relationships with guys with criminal records. 

But I digress.

I guess that I'm making progress.  In  a way.  I am not giving up on my novel. I wrote 31 pages. That's more than I've ever written in one shot in my life.   I love my characters!   I love that they've taken me on an adventure these past few weeks, and I don't want to give that up. I love that they've come alive and surprised me with twists and turns I didn't expect.   I need to make time for them.

I guess they wanted more than a month out of me!  I'm willing to give that to them.

Writer's Pause

I slept in too late today.  The coffee isn't good.  I accidentally oversweetened it.  My church kids have Dean Martin's "Mambo Italiano" replaying through my head all hours of the day.  We served spaghetti to 90 people at our fundraiser yesterday.

I guess I've already hit that "pause".  I won't say "block" because that's just not true.  I still have dozens of ideas swerving around Dean Martin's catchy chorus in my head, and if they keep at this pace, they may just force him over a cliff somewhere up ahead and take the lead.

I am surprised that, even without a full-time job, it's difficult to make time to write 1,667 words per day (that's what the leaders of NaNoWriMo recommend to keep you on track for your 50,000 word goal).  I mean, the writing itself comes fast when you've got an idea in mind, but...otherwise...

I'm doing something I've never done before in regards to my writing.  I am writing from the beginning to the end, period.  They say that you can - even that you should - write your climax scenes first, or your character-building scenes, but that has never worked for me.  All that happens is I end up with these gorgeous, juicy, characterization-filled pages that go nowhere.  I mean it.  I have loads of unfinished work that is just clever exchange between characters.  Witty, informative, plot-driven, but...well...stunted.  This time, I am not allowing myself to "jump ahead" and work the "fun" stuff.  I am plodding along like a fat old unwieldy dinosaur, determined to get where I'm going and not skip steps along the way. 

Okay, the dinosaur image was a little strange, but that's what I am picturing.  A wobbly, ancient stegosaurus, great gnarled head down, whuffling along the dusty ground, single-mindedly putting one humongous foot in front of the other in the simple effort of walking forward.

I'm a dinosaur!  I'm a novel-writing dinosaur!  A curious and adorable, determined, novel-writing dinosaur!  Like this:

Yes.  Exactly.  Now what was I talking about?

And the Winner Is...

Earlier this week, I made it known via social media that I was participating in this year's NaNoWriMo...which means that I'm making it my goal to write a 50,000-word novel by the end of November.

'Cause what else does an unemployed, slightly loopy and extremely creative hausfrau have to do in the fall?

In order to help gather my thoughts and create an outline (which, according to the rules, is completely acceptable as long as I am not using previously-written prose), I asked my facebook friends to help me choose between two (in my humble opinon) pretty neat ideas.  The first is very contemporary: a superhero-style adventure that takes place, of course, in Pittsburgh.  The second is a little more epic in scope: a tale of a young woman who has to defy her king and the laws of the land in order to protect it.  It's a Christian allegory.

Both ideas are precious to me.  The first is fairly recent; it includes a plus-sized female role model and explores healthy relationships as much as it deals with super-powers and heroics.  The second idea is born of characters that I created (but never did anything with) in college.  Dear God, that was a long, long time ago.  These folks have been haunting me for a decade, at least.  Time to get the ghosts on paper, I guess.

Which is, ultimately, why I chose the second option.  Seriously, people, it was like Sophie's choice!  Yes, most of my friends chose it, too...but don't get me wrong.  The other idea has grown very quickly on me, and I hope to finish that story within the year as well.

But even before I had seen all the "votes", my head had turned towards the allegorical story.  I found myself, over the past few days, I was beginning to research names and other ideas.  Looks like my head knew before my heart did.

Below is part of my "wall of inspiration"...character prototypes that have been collecting dust in my portfolio for years.  I brushed them off, touched them up, and hung them.  Really helps.  Top one is Berengyr, a herald.  Bottom is my main character, Arnavet.  She is a court musican.

Thanks for your help!

Radio Blessing

Last week, I had the opportunity to visit my sister in Edinboro.  Because she doesn't drive and our schedules rarely mesh (she works odd hours for the food industry and, until recently, I was working daylight hours), we see each other maybe once a year.  I decided to capitalize on having a completely open schedule and see if there would be a good time to visit her. 

Lo and behold; there was!

Last Wednesday, after my husband insisted I have my car's oil changed, I drove for two lovely and autumnal foliage-filled hours up to my sister's place.  As I had some time completely to myself, I prayed a bit and asked God for direction.  I asked him to help me to do the things I know he has called me to do - mostly, to write.  I have two ideas for novels that I really believe have come from him, and I love to write, but I find it very difficult to set aside blocks of time to write and edit.  It's like, I will get these kicks where I sit and whole scenes or ideas just flow through me and I am so proud of myself, and feel so accomplished...but then I will allow days to pass before I even think of writing again.  I hate that about myself.  I'm pretty sure, though, I am not the only person who feels like that in one way or another.  Some folks might feel that way about other crafts or hobbies, or exercise (yeah, I'm in that boat, too), or maybe about cooking or baking (you know what I mean...the day-long epic cookie/muffin/bread marathon...then nothing home-made for months). 

And, in a way that I haven't experienced for some time, God answered me: immediately, lovingly, and boldly. 

The road to Edinboro is littered with mediocre country music, talk radio, and a handful of crummy pop stations.  I spent a good 25 minutes just flipping between stations, trying to find something decent that wasn't marred by static.  I caught the word "discipline" on a Christian broadcast and thought maybe I should keep listening.  The speaker was Chip Ingram.  I hadn't really heard of him before, but his message was powerful and completely relevant for my current situation.

His short sermon, which was geared toward a small-group setting, was about discipline, goal-setting, and that much-despised concept in today's society: delayed gratification.  The main thrust of the message was a very simple but eye-opening one - for me, at least.  It was this: self-control and discipline are not about denying ourselves so much as they are about foregoing temporal pleasures for a much more wonderful future goal. 

This really hit home for me because I really struggle with instant gratification.  If I come into money, I want to spend it immediately.  It's not always on frivolous, selfish treats, mind you, but I'm more likely to buy a few cute pairs of cheap, trendy shoes than I am to save up for a really classy, well-made pair.  And, as for dieting, well, can I get an "amen"?  It's so hard for me to envision a future where I really am my ideal weight, and where food is more about satisfation and nutrition than about "OMGthisissogoodIneedtoeatthewholeboxrightnow". 

Chip's message was about forgetting the idea that we are depriving ourselves - whether it is with food, pleasure, free time, whatever.   Instead, we are making a "down payment" on a goal that, for us, is much more important and, ultimately, satisfying, than whatever it is we're currently denying.  I think that might really help with healthier eating.  For example,  cookies really taste delicious, but my goal is to be healthy and avoid the health problems that plague my family.  Since the cookie doesn't contribute to that goal, it gets skipped over - or, at least, consumed in moderation.  This could apply to the job market, too.  For people who want to move ahead in their fields or move into new ones, reviewing each potential new task this way could really help.  If it's optional, of course.  I'm hardly saying to say "no" to staying late one night because it's not in your ultimate plan. 

For me, my ultimate goal in this lifetime is to be a full-time writer.  (Okay, it's really to be a mom, but it seems like those plans are on hold right now.)  I want to publish the family-friendly plays I have written.  I want to finish the stories and novels I have constantly banging around in my head.

For me, the hindrances are...well, yeah.  Facebook.  Instagram.  Wikipedia.  The internet: the tool that I could be using as a force for good, um, is using me as a force for apathy and obsession and otherwise diffusing the well-meant dedication I always have when I start out. 

I like thinking about self-discipline this way.  It's not about punishing ourselves for having desires.  It's denying the immediate "wants" so that the ultimate result is much, much more satisfying.   It's about putting the flesh on hold so that it can truly and wholly enjoy what is on the way.

To that end, I'm going to write reminders to myself and post them all over my house.  Even on my mirrors.  So that when I get ready in the morning (or whenever I get around to getting ready), I can look myself in the eye and say, "Don't settle for less than the best.  Even if it takes a while to get here!"

Rebooting...

I am awesome at making excuses about my writing.  For example, here's a great one: I haven't written lately because I've been too busy thinking about writing.  Lame?  Maybe.  But true.  At least, mostly true.

This past month has brought a lot my way.  There was the Chick-Fil-A rally/scandal/protest (depending on your viewpoint), some disappointment (my husband did not get the job he's been holding out for), and adventure (we took 7 members of our youth group to summer camp).

And a lot of thinking.

There are about half a dozen blog posts rolling around in my head that I just haven't sat down to write yet.  Every time I think of working on them, I get caught up pinning, or tweeting, or instagramming (is that a word?), or watching My Little Pony on Netflix (yes, really), or, to my chagrin, eating (I love to eat).

This is why we take the kids' cell phones away from them at the beginning of each youth group meeting.  Because we as humans, and particularly our generation and theirs, are far too prone to distraction.

For example, since starting this blog, I have gotten up from the computer four times: for snacks (at least one was vitamin-fortified cereal), to play with my cats, to keep my cats from assaulting each other (all in play, of course) and to check the laundry.  Not to mention, I've checked facebook and Pinterest, too.

As with weight loss, I find myself having a hard time disciplining myself.  There are so many "shinies" that are tempting me away from my ultimate goal.  I know I want to be a writer.  I've wanted to since I was probably about eleven years old.  Every choice I made in school, every elective, everything was to further my goals are a writer and performer.  Even now, I blog not so that my incredible and impassioned ideas make their way into mainstream thinking (please: note the self-deprecating sarcasm), but so that I would have another outlet in which I could express myself and entertain others the best way I know how.

And yet.  Even as I scroll through Pinterest and smugly mutter to myself, "I could have made that", I hear a tiny voice whisper back, "Yes, but they have and you haven't."  I skim through the books available on my Kindle and, after reading some with their grammatical errors and flimsy plots (and please don't get me started on the eight thousand vampire series out there now), I say aloud, "That is what people are reading?!"  Yet I have not given those people any other options.

Ross has encouraged me.  The comments, made both by friends and strangers, on my blog and facebook, encourage me.  My family has encouraged me.  God himself has encouraged me in ways that only I understand.

But where the rubber meets the road, I find that I'm likely to veer off the highway and into a comfortable embankment of all-too-available technology.  A pretty elaborate metaphor, but most of you understand completely. 

So it's time for me to really, really start writing again.  Not just blogging, but sitting down, doing research, and working on my novel.  I've been told that a plus-size superhero isn't that great an idea. 

I've also been told that I was foolish to wait for the man of my dreams, because he didn't exist.

After two and a half years of marriage, we can see how super that advice was.

I don't want to reveal too much here, but it's a dream that is too big for me to handle alone.  I love what my pastor says: "If that dream you keep having is too big for you ever to achieve on your own, then it's from God and you will need his help!"  A young adult novel with a plus-size heroine and an underlying Christian theme?  Yeah...that's media poison. 

So it's got to be God's way.

I get down on myself for lack of discipline, both with eating and with writing.  But then, I think...discipline isn't about getting up at 5 AM to go jogging, or resisting every single sweet that comes my way.  It's not about giving up every ounce of free time to work on my writing.  It's more about obedience than willpower or personal strength.  It's about doing what you're supposed to do, even when you don't feel like it, because you know it's the right thing and it's good for you - and others.

Which is why I am ending this post right now, ignoring my cats, silencing my phone...and working on the book that I will someday publish.  God's way.