Secret Writing, Fencing Out the Armadillo, and Undrained Sinks

An old friend called yesterday and we talked for an hour. I used to love to talk writing with her. She was in one of my old critique groups. But yesterday I found writing was the last thing I wanted to talk about with her. She was full of doom and gloom about the writing business, friends that we had with past published novels who could no longer find a home for their work, other friends who lost their agents, and on and on like that. She kept urging me to pull strings I might have to get my children's book read. I just don't want to do that and I could not make her understand. No one seems to get my disillusionment with the whole world of writing. I think that's what makes me want to write secretly without telling these people, or even my loved ones.

Back in the old days, when I was unpublished and sitting at my computer for hours in solitude, burning the midnight oil to use a cliche, I got much more kick out of writing that I do now. It was something that was only for me, and it was more fulfilling for me than now. This probably doesn't make sense and I wish I could explain it better. It was my dream and mine alone. I had things I wanted to accomplish, and it had nothing to do with fame and fortune. Once I had my first book contract all that changed. Everybody else got involved in it, watching from the sidelines, wringing their hands in solicitous greed, spoiling the self-satisfaction that should have come from that success.

I lost my way.

Spent $300 buying border fences for all the flowerbeds. We've given up on trapping the armadillo who has been rampaging every night. He leaves the beds looking as if they've been busted with a sulky plow. Hopefully, these sturdy little metal fences will keep him out of the garden. I hated having to do it. You don't see the flowers as well with the little fences binding them, but it was our last resort. As soon as it's light enough, I'm going out there to see if the fences worked to keep the critter out.

The little wren with the nest in the baby's breath basket is starting to sit all day now, so I expect her babies to hatch while we're gone to the Coast. I have been trying to carefully water the plant with her and her darlings in there, but it isn't easy. She flies out as soon as the watering can touches the edge of the hanging basket. I can't see well enough to know if I'm watering right into her nest or not, but I have been putting in just a cup at a time and no more. Next year, I swear, I will stop the nest building immediately. Wrens have a tendency to come back to the same nest building place year after year.

The morning glories have begun to twine up and around the trellises I made for the two wall containers attached to the wellhouse. I imagine they'll outgrow those little trellises quickly, and then will either drape over the edge, or go up over the roof of the wellhouse. I'm anxious to see what works. I don't have much experience with morning glories. I planted some at the Coast, too, and am also eager to get down there to water everything. I imagine it's all thirsty by now, if not deceased already. Don't know why I persist in trying to make something grow down there, with us going no more frequently than we do. Most of my efforts die if it doesn't rain. And it hasn't in a week.

This coming Sunday is the SO family's cemetery decoration day. We're coming back early to attend that, and also to make food to go along with us. That's going to be a trick with the plumbing problems we're having in the kitchen. As soon as the SO's kids left last Sunday, the sinks in the kitchen and the sun room, which are all plumbed together, decided to back up. I brought home some gel type drain opener, but that didn't work at all. So yesterday, when I came back from buying the fencing, I brought sulfuric acid. My SO poured half the bottle down the little sink in the bar in the sun room, but it actually seems worse now. We've said before we call the plumber, we'll try pouring the other half down the side of the kitchen sink without the garbage disposer and see what happens. Now, when we run the dishwasher the sinks all back up, and that was not happening before. We may be making this situation worse instead of better with our stabs at pretending to know what we're doing. The soonest we could get a plumber out would be Monday, and I really hate to go away to the Coast with this problem on our hands. Oh -- sigh! -- the joys of homeownership.

Onward ....

Birthdays, the IRS, and Writing Clearly

Yesterday my oldest son turned 39. It's hard for me to believe I have a child this old, yet when I look at my Daddy, who will turned 86 this year, I FEEL old. Odd to me that it should be that way. Where the hell did the time go? It almost like I was absent for a lot of it. I'm reminded of the George Strait song, "Where've I Been All My Life?" Good question.

When you're young you believe life is endless and you think the next best thing is around the corner, not in the present moment so sometimes you make really poor choices. I made so many poor choices during my young years, choices I've had to try to forgive myself for making. In fact, I've come to realize that it's all about forgiveness really, and forgiving yourself most of all. Not an easy task for a perfectionist. It has caused me no end of trouble. I have to keep reminding myself, even at this age, to live for the moment, because it might never get any better than this. You can live through your finest moments and not even recognize it until way too late.

Dealing with the IRS again today. This 2008 return has been a real headache and I'm anxious to get it off my desk and out of my mind so I can focus on something else. It started last July and has continued, though aborted correspondence and aggravating phone calls, accompanied by bouts of high blood pressure. Finally, after contacting my state senator for help, I have been assigned a case advocate and she's about to get it straightened out. But the whole thing is a big confusion to me, my CPA, and my advocate. I'm tempted to just pay them the amount they say I owe and be done with it. That amount is less than $200 but I've just never had a reasonable explanation about why their figures don't jibe with mine. Ah me ....

Made a mad dash to Austin yesterday to my dentist. The older I get the less I want to make that trip four times a year. I really like those people though, and I've been with them since 1984! Gads! More of that flying time.

I did stop by the Apple Store at Barton Creek Mall and bought Final Draft software. I have all the rights to my books now, and I want to try doing a screenplay for THE PASSION OF DELLIE O'BARR. That's the one I have always wanted another stab at -- the ending primarily. I recall attending a book club discussion where that book was the pick of the month. Out of the 16 or so people who were at the meeting, only about 2 of them understood what I was going for with the ending as it was published. The rest thought something else entirely, which told me plainly that I had not done my job properly. If a writer doesn't get her message across to a majority of her readers then the writing failed to clarify. Clarity is, in my opinion, the ultimate goal, or should be, of any writer. This is probably why I get so frustrated by writers who try to impress with their writing acrobatics. I don't want my readers to have to reread a single sentence, or sit with a dictionary at their elbow. I want my words concise and crystalline in their simplicity.

Well enough already. I think I'm in a mood today. IRS headaches. Old age flashes. Feelings of inadequacy. Blah!

Onward ....

Already Getting Hot

It's just now April 24th, and it's already beginning to get too hot to work outside in the afternoons. I really hate that. Yesterday, I mowed up around the house, didn't start until about 1 o'clock, and by the time I finished at 2:30, I was dripping with sweat. Same thing today -- went out to spray Roundup, and didn't get out there early enough. Had to change my T-shirt as soon as I came back inside, it was so wet. It's still cool early, but heating up too quickly already. I'm going to be ready to head for the mountains pretty soon if this is how it's going to be this summer. We already have reservations at a campground in New Mexico for a week in July. Can't wait!

My SO has been down in his back all week. Which means I've been doing both of our work. I was worn out last night. His son and daughter-in-law are here for a weekend visit, and to get ready for them, I did the mowing, grocery shopped, cleaned house, did laundry, and cooked a big meal. I was exhausted by the time Jay Leno came on last night. I begged goodnight, and was the first in bed. As I've said before when he's been gone on business trips -- I don't realize how much he does until he's gone or unable. It takes two people to keep this place up, doing something around here every day. I have a feeling that the day may come when we decide to downsize. I know I sure would not want more than this three acres to maintain.

We had a quick break earlier this week when we packed up and headed for the Coast for a couple of nights. We had not been down there in about six weeks, so the yard there was a mess. And once again, SO couldn't do much besides lie in the bed inside with the cat, while the dog and I took care of things outside. At least it's a small yard we have there. But I think I've actually lost about 6 pounds this week, just doing domestic work. Not complaining.

It's always a lot of fun to have company, but it's also exhausting in a way, too. We're cooking out tonight, having Daddy over, which means there will be four dogs to look after, too. Poor kitty will have to stay banished to the upstairs with his gate at the top of the stairs closed and latched. Last night SO's son's schnauzer discovered the cat's hideaway and stuck his nose through the slats. Think the cat surprised him with a big hiss and a swipe. He raced back down the steps as quickly as he'd come up. Same thing happened to Daddy's dog when she went up there once. This cat is not afraid of dogs, not one bit. And he certainly feels he's been trespassed upon when they try to invade his fortress. Besides which, he's the senior animal around here, and he will assert himself whenever he needs to.

Woke up in the middle of the night with the urge to write. Go figure. This happens to me all the time. I swear off the stuff, and then the urges come over me again. I'm now trying to figure out a way to work it all in again. I guess I'm a writer at heart and I just can't change it, no matter how many times I wish I weren't. I just don't seem to be content unless I've got some project in my mind and on my desk.

Onward ....

Unfinished Business, or Living in the Moment

Each and every time I turn on my computer, I see all these unfinished projects on my desktop. There’s the endless WWII novel, the YA western, the food memoir, the lost doggie children’s book. And then there are all the ideas in the folder marked “magazine articles.” Have I become one of those wannabe writers now, who wishes to have written rather than having to actually DO the writing? What was it that caused me to lose my fire?

It used to be the purpose of my life, writing. Time was whatever writing project I had going consumed me completely, sleeping and waking. I lived and breathed it. And in some ways, lost my life to it. Now, I just don’t seem willing to give myself up to it with that intensity anymore. I have so many theories about why that is, but none of them seems to be exactly right. Maybe they’re cumulative.

It began after the completion of RIGHT FROM WRONG. I do know that I felt betrayal during the publication of that novel, felt that the publishing business had taken a bad turn on me, hadn’t lived up to what I had hoped it would be. I remember sitting in yet another book store with a pile of books stacked on the table, pens lined up for autographs, and nobody walking through the door. The futility of it crept in a little deeper. I had the thought: Is this all there is to it? All those lonely hours at my desk, sweating over each paragraph, each sentence, each word -- for this? And in such a little while, three months at most, the book would be off the shelves in all but the smallest of independent bookstores. A blip.

Also, life gets in the way. My dad began to grow older and to need me more than before. He had moved closer and those cloistered days of writing began to seem almost selfish with him so close and needing me. My grandson needed his Granna. My youngest son’s marriage began to disintegrate, and then my own marriage sounded its death knells. A whirlwind of change began. A new house, a new life, new friends. I was upset by the changes, by the political climate, by the ongoing war, by the buffoon of a president we had in the White House. I got active. I strung myself out too thin, obliging myself to this cause and that committee. Pretty soon, writing was the farthest thing from my mind. It seemed frivolous to sit down and make up love stories. It no longer interested me.

But I didn’t really stop writing. There were all the book reviews for the newspaper. There were the contests I judged, the monthly newsletter for the local Democrats. There were the journals I filled. And filled. And yes, these bits and pieces of things now sitting on my desktop. None of the writing in these book parts (I almost said body parts) is bad. Writing has become second nature to me, and for the most part, just putting down thoughts on paper (or more correctly on computer monitor) comes easily. I know how to make myself clear. I understand structure and tone. I know how and when I can break grammatical rules and get away with it (like right there!). In fact, I understand so much about writing I can hardly enjoy reading anymore. I’m unforgiving of weak stories, hypercritical of poor endings, always aware of devices and writerly cop-outs. Reading fiction is not as rewarding for me as it once was.

Truth is, I’m having too much fun just living these days. I’m in the moment, to use a cliche. If I self-analyze, I see that writing was my panacea. I realize now that I spent most of my life unfulfilled, under-whelmed by my love life, by the joys of motherhood and wifehood (OK, I’m allowed to make up words, too), and writing was my only outlet. I buried my unhappiness in it, made up more interesting lives than I was leading, more satisfying romances, more beautiful people, more heroic, more passionate scenarios. I played paper dolls.

Now, that no longer seems like enough. Yet any more feels beyond my capabilities. The thought of laying aside my real life to finish a play-pretty one on paper doesn’t interest me anymore. I wake up eager to see what each day holds in store. I love my man, my animals, our place, our travels, our friends, our habits. Nothing bores me more than the thought of sequestering myself away from all of this, mundane though my life might seem to an outsider, to arrange and rearrange words all day. It’s just not there anymore for me. And I really cannot explain it more fully than that.

Have I mentioned the wildflowers? The raccoons in the trap? The tomato blossoms in the garden? The bird’s nest in the baby’s breath hanging basket? The paper whites I transplanted from one bed to another? The gut-wrenching movie we watched on Saturday night? The family reunion or the coconut pie I made? The Christmas party I’m planning? Have I mentioned that we’re so busy we can’t find a free weekend to go see my son in DC this summer? Did I talk about the RV trip we’re taking to New Mexico? Or the long Father’s Day week at the Coast? Or the birthday bash for my SO’s mom? Did I write about the back-to-back luncheons last week or the quick trip to Seguin? See? I’m living too much in the moment to even keep up with this blog properly.

Maybe it’s just a phase -- my “me” phase, or rather “us” phase. I haven’t had a lot of true “us” moments in the last thirty years. I think I’ll go ahead and wallow in this one. I’m pretty sure I’ve only got this one life.

Onward ....

Possum in the Trap

We've had marauding armadillos, or maybe just one armadillo, in the flower beds and the yard. As hard as we have worked to get the area around the house into some sort of shape, it's disheartening to walk outside in the morning and see all the bedding plants you worked on your knees installing have been uprooted and in some cases eaten or killed. I know this is the country, and some of this kind of damage from wildlife goes with the territory. I also know that armadillos eat grubs and other bad insects, but we broke down and bought a Have-a-Heart trap, thinking we would trap some of these creatures and relocate them to some other place that's wilder than ours. We read up on bait to use to lure armadillos. They apparently like cat food, which we have in abundance. So we set the trap out front near the bed that has been the current favorite for them to destroy in the wee hours.

Well, we get up this morning, look out the front window to see if the trap has worked. Evidently, possums also like cat food. A big possum sat inside the trap looking wide-eyed back at us. My SO and the dog went out to inspect the catch. The possum growled at the dog when she went up to the cage. I'm not a lover of possums. Possums can be vicious, they have the most teeth of any other mammal in North America, and they hate cats. Back in the days of the lakehouse, when the feral cat colony that lived there had their spring babies, possums would decimate the kittens with impunity. So I'm not a lover of possums. However, after a while, I began to feel a little sorry for the fellow in the trap, and urged the SO to stop reading the paper, drinking coffee, et cetera while the possum was caged in the trap. He just left with the dog to relocate the possum. Odd how a thing like that will yank at your compassion.

Going to a ladies luncheon with my SO's mom today. We're listening to a horticulturist speak on antique roses. I'm sure I'll enjoy it, but I always dread these command performances a little, or resent having my time spoken for, I guess is the truth. Tomorrow is my lunch buddies from years ago, our monthly gathering. The Lunch Bunch, or the Birthday Club, or The Yorktown Auxiliary Club, depending on whose name for the group you prefer. I'm also dreading it a little. But these are the things I do always enjoy once I'm there. But today, this morning, I'm feeling the urge to sit down and write something. I suppose I could've done that first thing. However, I would've resented any interruption, especially if I had actually managed to get in the groove. Interruptions are deadly for me. But I really DO see that I need to find a way to get quiet with myself, listen to myself think, and get back to work. I need to sort out my time, quit wasting so much of it. I know this, yes I do.

Onward ....

HOME FROM THE HILLS

Here I am back from the trip. Had a wonderful time with my son and his partner in Monument Valley. While we were there a dust storm hit. Visibility went down the tubes, and we got sandblasted besides. You couldn't even smile in that dust without feeling like you'd spent a weekend at the beach, sort of like that polishing stuff they use at the dentist. Bad. And the wind followed us as we headed east once our rendezvous with the boys was done, so we were never out of if until we made it south of the Panhandle.

While we were traveling, calling on my SO's customers, we did take the time to stop and see the Rocky Mountain National Monument. Spectacular canyons and vistas. Also a hairy drive up some mountain roads without guard rails. Both of us have a phobia of great height so this part was unpleasant but I braved it long enough to get pictures.

By the time we got home, we were all ready, especially the dog. She pouted the last two days we were on the road, but was jubilant at the sight of her front gate. We were in two cars, since mine was still at the long term parking in Austin, but we arrived at almost the same instant. As usual, it's good to be home.

I read an excellent book while on the airplane, and finished it in Grand Junction. NEVER LET ME GO by Kazuo Ishiguro who also wrote THE REMAINS OF THE DAY. At the end of NEVER LET ME GO, I was moved to tears, and that doesn't happen often. It also is one of those books that leaves you thinking, and feeling you have some profound new understanding. As a writer, I admired how well he pulled off the first person narration, an unreliable narrator at that. Halfway through the book you realize that you know more than the narrator does, and that is not an easy thing to pull off. Anyway, I recommend it to anyone who enjoys excellent writing and a story that will linger in your mind.

Also while we were gone, I got some good ideas for magazine articles. I seem to be thinking along that line more and more often lately. Now, if I will just sit my butt down and do it! That's always the hardest part for me, especially since I stopped working for the paper. I seem to have a perpetual case of the lazy-es. Or something like that.

Onward ....

April Fools

No idea why I used that title. I'm not even sure where "April Fools" even comes from, but it might be something interesting to look up sometime.

I'm joining my SO in Colorado later today. I miss him, but at this moment I'd rather stay home and putter in the garden with the cat. I hate leaving the cat with a sitter after the last time. I just hope he stays well while I'm gone. He's clearly enjoyed having it just the two of us for the last few days. He even did some real exploring outside yesterday morning, walking up the north fence almost to the front forty. When I was done with my little greenhouse project, I called him to come inside with me. He sat in grass up to his chin and stared at me. I imagined him daydreaming about being a lion on the Seregeti or something. Anyway, he didn't come, which he is wont to do when he's happy with his situation.

Later on, I called him in through the sliding door in the bedroom, which faces out the direction of the north fence. He seemed surprised to find that there was a door there, and once he was inside, snooped around the bedroom for a moment as if he were inspecting some new terrain. His usual door is the sliding door that faces to the back yard, so I think I must've thrown him off calling in him through a different door. Odd to think of how limited his world is, and how content he seems to be with those limitations.

I submitted a little piece and a photo to Birds and Blooms magazine yesterday. They don't pay much but if they take it, it will make me feel like a productive writer. I'm finding that most of these specialty magazines really don't pay a lot. I'd have to be incredibly prolific to make even half the equivalent of the advance on my last novel. But I'm just not ready yet to focus on a big project right now.

What has happened to my spelling ability? I used to be a good speller. In school, I was usually one of the last to be eliminated in spelling bees. But sometime in the past ten years that ability has really fallen off. I don't know if it's a reliance on spellchecker or estrogen depletion, but it bothers me. I'm really not happy about growing old, but I don't want to be one of those ridiculous women who fights it tooth and nail. However, I do need to get more active. I dug out the pilates CD and worked out twice this week. Sure made me feel better, and it puts no stress on the damned foot.

It was while I was in the middle of the Tuesday workout that my grandson called. While we were talking, I set him up an email account and we went through how to use it. He even sent me an email while we were on the phone, asking for a new Xbox. I replied that I didn't approve of them, thought he was way to obsessed with video games, and that he would not be getting one of those things from me. He already knew all that, so he just laughed. I hope he will email me regularly, although I'm not taking the laptop on this trip. My SO really hates it when I take it along, plus I'm flying and already have another carry-on, and since I'm not in the middle of a writing project anyway, there's no real need for me to take it. I can hardly scold my grandson for being obsessed when I have my own obsessions. I sent him a parting email last night. Hopefully, there will be a reply waiting for me when I get home.

I have a gazillion things to do this morning. And I'm going to be exhausted by the time I land in Grand Junction, with only two hours of sleep last night. A splitting headache kept waking me. It's from the oak pollen. I know better than to stay out in it as long as I have been this week. When I got in the hot tub last night, I swept a big green pile of it off the spa cover before I opened it. It's the one drawback to living under an oak motte: the pollen and the ocean of fallen leaves.

So I will go off today, and I will try not to worry over the cat and the plants. Daddy's coming to tend the garden, and the sitter is coming to check on the cat this evening. I've got everything covered. And I'll be seeing my DC son this Sunday, so why am I so reluctant to go? I think I've fallen too much in love with this place. Obsessions--

Onward ....