The Summer Doldrums

I've been stuck in summertime writing limbo.

I feel horribly guilty. For two weeks Kiddo has been in summer camp eight hours a day. And I accomplished nearly nothing.

Okay, for one of those weeks he kept me up all night coughing and was home sick for a day. And I absolutely do not function without sleep. (Thank God he was an angel baby, because there is no way we would have survived if he had been one of those infants who had their days and nights mixed up or didn't sleep more than a few hours at a stretch for two years.) Being the kind and generous kid that he is, he shared his sickness with his Mommy, who always gets it ten times worse. Kinda hard to write when your skull is pounding or you're floating away in a medicine-induced fog. Before the sick set in I caught up on my errands, did some minor focus group work, attempted to plan a birthday getaway, dealt with insane familial dramas... And made excuses.

After 28,000 words, I am at a major transition point in my novel. There is a total setting change. I'm about to introduce a ton of new characters and I need to curve the plot in a different direction. I took some time to immerse myself in my new local--scanning photos, digging for video, reading blogs to bring me back. I need to feel the weight of the saturated air, hear the sounds of the lush jungle around me, smell the ever present beans and rice mixed with the briny sea air to send me back and create my world.

I also am attempting to figure out my "black moment" and all the technicalities that go along with it. I know how my story ends, but how do I bring together all the loose ends and tie them into a giant knot that will have readers caring enough to untie? Should I add some more elements of mystery? Make it a bit more comical? Both?

Decisions must be made about tense as well. I had been writing in first person present tense, but I think I must switch to past tense.

Decisions, decisions...

Later this week the Romance Writers of America National Conference will be swinging through my part of the world and a few of my fellow book club members have decided to crash the book signing event. I'm hoping a gathering of such talent and tenacity--authors who managed to muddle through all the muck to actually complete and PUBLISH books--will inspire me and make me get moving again. Or perhaps I can just hope for some miracle of osmosis.

On the bright side, I have finally been savoring some great (and a few not so great) summer reads.

For now I have only three weeks of summer vacation left to enjoy with my Kiddo. I need to take advantage of our scant time together, soak in the sunshine, the play time, and create a few memories.

And get rid of this dang flu.

The Beautiful People...

 Beauty is in the eye of the beholder?

I just returned from a 40th birthday party overflowing with the Beautiful People and I'm feeling a little old, a bit saggy, and Marilyn Manson is echoing through my head...

You know who I'm talking about, right? The Beautiful People? All the girls had salon blown-out hair, chemically golden tans, blindingly white teeth, full makeup (in the pool), fat-phobic bodies (except for their enhanced curves) and microscopic bikinis. The boys were buff, golden, flashing the cash and...well, boys don't really need much else, do they?

The party was a plastic surgeon's dream come true. There was so much silicone and saline now floating around the pool I suspected the surgeon was lurking about handing out cards and offering on-the-spot consultations to those admiring his work. I wouldn't be surprised if the few guests who had crossed the 30's threshold already had several discrete visits for Botox as well.

The average age, I'm guessing, was about 25.  Keep in mind this was a 40th birthday party. But a McMansion on the lake, a live reggae band, free booze, fast boats, and the promise of fellow Beautiful People to ogle and hit on at seemed to draw them out.

Where did these people come from? None of these people live in my neighborhood. I do not see them at my grocery store or park. I do not know where they hide during the day. The gym perhaps? Swanky office jobs? Upscale shopping venues? Even when I was young, single, and cute I still did not know these people. I don't know where they congregate at night--I am not hip or beautiful enough I suppose to be included.

And the bikinis... I don't consider myself modest. I am proud to say that even in my (eek!) mid-thirties and having born a child I will still wear a bikini in public and feel relatively comfortable with myself. But the suits these girls were wearing were about 1/2 the size of my swimsuit. Dental floss, a few beads, and blind faith were all that held most of their bikinis together. And what's with these new bottoms that look like you have a wedgie before you even put them on? I just looked them up on Victoria's Secret and found that they are called "cheekies" because they don't even leave the crack up to anyone's imagination. How comfortable can they be? I also discovered that's where most of the girls bought their swimsuits. And heels! I somehow forgot that I am supposed to be wearing 4 inch heels while trouncing around in my bikini...

The boys seemed rather pleased with the views though, to say the least. The few of us who were actually closer to the Birthday Boy's ripe old age clustered together in a corner of the pool. The old boys just stared in amazement while we ancient girls made catty comments.  There were only a handful of us who were actually married and I was one of only three wives in attendance. The married boys (sans wives) tried to talk around me as they commented and rated the girls, known only by their bikini color. As in Oh Man, check out Pink. Yeah, I bet she'll be on the Birthday Boy's boat. Or Damn, where did green go? She is one of my favorites.

{Sigh}

As I was told by them, they are married, not dead. So apparently, we wives are death. Way to make us feel good boys.

I couldn't even focus on the pretty boys in attendance. Lots of muscle, funky trendy sunglasses (who said huge white plastic frames look good?) and board shorts. By the size of their biceps and darkness of their tans I would assume they don't spend much time reading or keeping up with current events. I don't think I could have held a cohesive conversation with any of them. Nothing like a boy who is dumber than a pile of bricks--which is why I 'll never understand all the girls who love Jason on True Blood, but that's another story...

I felt as if I had been transported to Cancun during spring break. I was waiting for someone to break out the beer bong and start the wet t-shirt contest. Maybe the Girls Gone Wild bus paid a visit after we left and the party really got going.

Perhaps these are just the ramblings of a cranky SAHM who is offended by and out of touch with this world of wannabe-nouveau-rich-glitterati.

Or maybe I just like my friends to be like my favorite books: whether their covers are brilliantly enticing or homely and plain, what lies beneath must have beauty and substance to be of value.

Beauty IS in the eye of the beholder.

I'm ready for the Tooth Fairy...

My Kiddo, who is only a few months away from tuning seven (OMG!) finally has a loose tooth.

We have been awaiting this day with great anticipation for at least a year or so. I have fielded nearly constant questions about why EVERYONE ELSE has lost teeth and been rewarded by the Tooth Fairy and HE has not.

We have been checking on its wiggle-ability for a week now. While smiling and trying to figure out a somewhat believable story about the Tooth Fairy's existence (because there is not nearly as much background available for her as there is for Santa or even the Easter Bunny) I realized I had nothing to put the tooth in. No special little pillow or chest or envelope. And it HAS to go in something or it could get lost or eaten by the cat or spend eternity rolling around in the chaos under the bed until he packs for college and we get grossed out by our discovery.

I looked online. All I could find were overpriced little girly things. I still have my little girly tooth pillow and although it is blue, the stuffed angel/fairy thing just wasn't going to cut it. What do you do for a boy?

I finally stumbled into the world of crafting blogs, a place I had feared and avoided until now. I am just not a crafty girl. I don't create unique heirloom gifts for family and friends. I don't scrapbook. Every craft supply I have optimistically purchased for Kiddo to create masterpieces with has turned into shredded cat toy. It's just not our thing.

But I had to do something. So I found some simple, step-by-step instructions on a beautifully rendered blog (which also made me feel horribly inferior and lacking in creativity).

And I did it. I crafted. It...doesn't look half bad...

So thank you to the purl bee for making your Tooth Fairy Bags simple enough for an utterly inept mother/crafter/seamstress like me.

Kiddo loves it. Now we just have to wait for the tooth to fall out...and figure out the Tooth Fairy's going rate for a body part...