Why I Blog

If it isn't clear, my blog is a journal. Not of every dark secret but basically a written account of the travails of the Turtle. When I started blogging all those years ago, I couldn't write enough. I had three blogs I wrote daily and sometimes more than one post per day. I was young, happy, and excited about life's possibilities.

Yeah, that's over. 

I stopped blogging mainly because I had said everything I wanted to say and started repeating myself. Depression is the same script, after all, and writing that script doesn't help in the slightest. I get tired of my own depression, so I'm sure y'all are completely sick of it. Depression is dull. 

I resumed blogging for two reasons. One, I needed to write about recovery. I needed to do something different and different is admitting the problem openly. Most of the time, writing helps me get a handle on my circumstances. It has helped me do that.  

Two, I was curious if I could still do it. Thanks to FB, my writing life had narrowed to sentences posted to my feed. Easier, yes, but not necessarily better. Since leaving FB and TV, I've resumed reading, resumed crafting of various kinds, and resumed blogging. I don't know that there's a direct correlation but not being reminded of the griefs of my past or the stupidity of the present is good for now. I need real people who are in my physical sphere of influence to focus on. One reason to return to church. I have a chance to do good for those folks. 

Blogging doesn't fit my schedule as easily as it once did. I replaced gaming and vegging with reading and hugelkulturing. My weekends are focused more on seeing family than staying home with the ipad or dvds. As always, I'm seeking balance with alone time - of which I need a lot - and not-alone time, which has proven benefits. 

And, this week, I've resumed writing one of my books. I know I am taking my emotional life in my hands with this action. The last three times I have tried to do this, Satan has hit me so hard with trauma/drama I've folded into depression and panic attacks without a prayer. 

TT: Proof? I resumed writing in 2016 and four animals died in nineteen days. I resumed writing in 2017 and a feral cat and five kittens showed up and tumbled me into chaos and depression for three years. I resumed writing in February 2021 and a stray cat showed up within two weeks and nearly killed me with anxiety until I found a home for her. 

The garage is closed for business. I have plans in place for stray cats now. I have made what peace I can with my guys dying, although they currently appear healthy and obnoxious as ever. 

We'll see. I have no expectations other than trying something new. Something new would be to keep going. 

Keep the faith. 

Goodbye, 2017. We Tried.

I really did try, too. I wanted to like 2017 so much.

I like the new president. Yes. I really do like Trump. He's way funnier than Hillary.

No other Turtle household member died (although I had my doubts a few times).

I made measurable progress on the mortgage.

I spent lots of time in The Swamp, front and back, and avoided city citations.

I even wrote on my next book. That kinda stopped when the cat family moved in but I believe it will pick up again.

I adopted a dog and a kitten.

On the other hand, I got to see just how entrenched evil is in my country.  I mean, I suspected, but this year I have actual proof. Work got weirder than it has been in a while. I've felt incredibly restless and apathetic, often at the same time. I know more people with cancer than without. OK, not quite on that one, but it feels that way. I stopped blogging. Not like I have anything to say that I haven't said before. I also like making little side comments on Facebook instead of writing a small essay. It's easier.

I'm curious and wary about 2018. A paid-off mortgage is huge, but it can't be at the expense of my emergency fund. Work will change again; the upcoming election will see to that. The household includes four cats and a dog. That's the line, though. Last year taught the adult me that three cats are plenty, but I'm glad Dandelion joined the gang. He's sleeping on my lap at the moment, resting between destructive rampages. Avery is asleep at my feet, and I'm glad she's here, too. When the weather warms up a bit, we'll resume our walks.

I'm learning to say "thank you, Lord," no matter what. It's called the "sacrifice of praise," and it's a sacrifice because, while I don't always feel thankful, if I believe God is good - and I do - then whatever comes will result in good ultimately.

That's my belief for 2018. Whatever comes, good will result ultimately.

Happy New Year, folks.

If You're a Writer...

I'm taking a class about powerful prayer that involves creating a prayer journal. In this instance, journal connotes notebook for holding lists more than diary. Nothing wrong with that.  Prayer is communicating with God, and talking is one means of communication.

When asked how our prayer efforts were going, I said I prefer to write out scriptures and prayers. I do. Something about using a nice pen on lined paper makes my heart sing and my mind focus. I mean, I have all those pens and that paper (what writer doesn't? Didn't we all start by drooling over blank journals and composition books in the school supply aisle?). Why not use them?

I suspect I am the only person in the group that does this. I'm likely also the only person who has only cats to talk to at home. C'est la vie.

Later, while illustrating a point, the teacher waved in my direction with: "If you're a writer..."

I had to smile. That sums it up, doesn't it? If you're a writer, you write. You write your prayers and your thoughts on scripture. You write blog posts, if that's your bent. You write business letters or short stories or fiction books. The written word is your medium, and you are as comfortable with it as a turtle in water.

After a million words of practice, and another million words or more of application, I am a writer. My first drafts are almost publishable. I would never do that, of course.

It's not that I don't write. It's that I no longer have the drive to write. I have some story ideas. I have the ability to write them down in a readable way. I just don't have the urgency I used to have. It's not a muse thing. I am too practiced to blame a muse's absence for lack of productivity. It's that I don't care anymore whether my stories get told.

I will write, because I'm a writer. What I will write is the question.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Goodbye, 2016. You Were Unexpected.

I can't think of a better word. The weather returned to normal, but the Kansas wind blew plenty of change in with it.

I was promoted in an unexpected fashion. It's been a learning curve, but not as steep as, say, learning to drive. I dare to think it's gone fairly well.

I began the countdown to paying off my mortgage. It's never seemed more possible.

Life without Farmville created Bible study time, and I read the whole thing this year without skipping. I plan to focus on the New Testament in 2017. I've always preferred the Old Testament, so it's time to branch out.

The city code violation reminded me how much I like working in The Swamp, front or back. It got me in shape, it got me meeting my neighbors, and it got me a chipper/shredder that makes my heart sing and my compost pile grow.

I returned to church. It's been a while.

I was happy Trump won. I didn't expect it, I tried very hard to be OK with whatever would happen as God's will - permissive or directed - but I was pleased the election went that way. Donald is no saint by any stretch of the imagination, but he's way funnier than Hillary.

You would think losing four dear friends in seventeen days would be enough to make me curse this year, but it hasn't. God loaned them to me, and he took them back. I wish it hadn't been quite so one-after-the-other, but I don't know that any way would have been easier. I find myself embracing stoicism.

Despite the roller-coaster ride of stress that was 2016, I dare to face the new year with a sense of hope. Not because things can't get worse. They can always get worse. More that God has seen me this far, and I don't think he's going to leave me now. This may just be the year I lean into God's love instead of hairy-eyeballing it.

May the God of all comfort, who comforts us in our affliction, comfort you abundantly, both in what has passed and what is to come. May he comfort us all and bind us together by his Spirit.

The Layers of Friendship

Growing up, I was a one friend per year kind of person. I had one specific friend in school, and one specific friend outside of school (only because she attended a different school). I ignored most other people, and tended to ignore my friends except during those specific "school" or "play" times.

I was not a nice child.

In college, I learned about variety in relationships, specifically proximal friendships, meaning you're friends because you're in proximity to each other. Most friendships fall into this category, btw. Close when physically close, and separate when separated. These can be intense relationships, but they rarely outlast a change in distance.

I've made deals with several friends since learning this. We will never recriminate on why we've fallen out of touch. Each meeting will begin with the enthusiasm of a dog greeting an owner, no matter how much time has passed. It works great, as long as you really mean it. Which I do.

When I think the word friendship, though, I think of something more. That C.S. Lewis definition of "What! You, too? I thought that no one but myself..." A similarity that goes beyond working in the same office, or attending the same Sunday School class. A similarity of worldview.

I have tried to expand my friendship base as an adult. To be friendly with those not like myself and enjoy our differences. It is useful to measure life against a different viewpoint, and one of the benefits of a true friend is enough difference in perspective to keep conversation interesting.

However, some perspectives are just too different. I may love, admire, respect a person, but if the differences in our worldviews are too pronounced, they move out of the friendship circle into the proximal friendship circle. This may be a sudden shift or a gradual decline.

I have heard friendship likened to a well (although maybe a money jar is more accurate). A friend must contribute to the well before drawing out. If more is drawn out than put in, the friendship cannot last.

In a perfect world, I could be friends with everyone. I could handle all differences and never find opposing viewpoints toxic. I do not live in a perfect world, and I am far from perfect. I do not find comfort in contention. I will do my best to minister daily to the world around me, but my friends enjoy a special, peaceful, pleasant place in my heart, and I will seek them out for that reason.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Too Adult?

I've often complained about how dead my inner child is. I blame graduating from college, and all that "life" that happens afterwards. You know, the part where you work really hard to improve your circumstances until you can afford all the things your parents used to pay for (for all the lemmings out there, that's how it's supposed to work).

Anyway, I've noticed a trend in my TV viewing habits, possibly because I'm watching things that went off air before I was born or hit puberty. Rather than just watching the show, I want to know about the making of the show. I'm going to IMDB daily for research. Was The Virginian shot in Wyoming? Where did they get the cattle? Were they used multiple years or did each batch go off to slaughter after filming? Did they boast in line about getting hog-tied by Doug McClure or James Drury? Were the same cowboys or cowboy footage used in Bonanza? The High Chapparal? The same guest actors show up in all the shows, oftentimes as different characters in different seasons, so the same could happen with the horses, too, right? Although, the horses seem as distinguishable as the wardrobes. Does anyone else get tired of the men wearing only one set of clothes for 9 to 14 seasons? The coats I understand, but the same shirts and pants? Was that a budget decision?

What was NASA's position on I Dream of Jeannie? They can't have been pleased with Roger Healey.

Are these adult musings? I used to be able to watch a show and follow the story. Or maybe these shows don't have stories, so I look for the stories about them. Maybe this is the resurrection of my inner child and her relentless questioning.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Goodbye, 2015. You Were Wrong

I don't mean wrong as in right vs. wrong. I mean wrong as in "unsuitable or undesirable." I tried very hard to get along with 2015, but my feelings say I hated it.

The weather was wrong. Too much rain, too many clouds, too mild. No wind, except for the severe weather threat (meaning strong tornado chance) every 7 days starting in March, taking a brief break at the end of September into October, and ramping back up with tornado outbreaks from Thanskgiving through Christmas. That's insane. Normally, I catch a break in winter and summer to recover from from my tornado issues. No break this year.

The social climate was wrong. Everybody's upset about something and bitching about it at the top of their preferred social media. Can't get on the computer without reading about who hates what, or who's being intolerant or how suicide and gender-swapping surgery are admirable, and if you disagree, you're a bigot and deserve to be beaten with a rubber hose.

My attitude was wrong. I spent the first five months of the year furious, and the next three grieving. Thankfully, God reminded me about forgiveness, so I've been working through all that, but strong emotions take a toll.

My body was wrong. My back has twinged before, but this year it decided to become a full-blown weather barometer, and I've had to adjust my definition of pain. My mouthpiece stopped working for reducing jaw and neck pain, which is fine because the crown made it impossible to wear anyway.

A few good things happened, mostly in the last three months.

Forgiveness, for one. That's a daily exercise, but totally worth it.

Daily exercise is another. I found Miranda's Classical Stretch in late September, and I'm growing longer and more flexible all the time. Days started with stretching are good days.

As a result of the increasing hostility on Facebook, I quit Farmville and limited FB and computer game time. That has made such an improvement in my overall mood and cognitive capacity, I strongly recommend all my Friends start reducing their online and/or gaming time and see what happens. I'm almost convinced that my general depression was being fed by too much mindless computer time.

I now have a line-of-sight end date for the mortgage payments, which gives me a short-term financial goal and a wary hope for the future. It also gives me something to work toward for the next 3 - 6 years, and I like that idea a lot.

I started reading Heaven by Randy Alcorn. That book has made such a dramatic impact on my mental state, I'll likely devote several posts to it. Next year.

In short, a few good things crammed at the end, but mostly drawn-out, emotionally exhausting wrongness. Not my favorite year.

Goodbye, 2015. Let's not call each other.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Blog Review

I've noticed a few things as I've been reviewing this blog.

I usually post when I'm cold and unhappy in the dark of Winter, occasionally upset by current events. If I'm too upset, I don't post at all because I don't want Mom thinking I'm suicidal.

The fact is I was suicidal once, and I never will be again. I'm not chemically unbalanced, and my life is lived on the melancholy side of things. It doesn't bother me anymore. Not in a kill-myself way.

I do have an obsessive bent. Blogs topics focus on one thing for two weeks to a month and move on. Thankfully, I have the self-control to not obsess with money on a new thing. If I can hold off buying for one month, I usually snap out of it and move on. Things that stick with me longer than that are life habits. The Blood Type Diet (11 years this January), cats, excelling at my day job. Essential oils and "natural" living (like bone broth) are the newest at slightly over two years, but they've stuck.

I want to add "writing" to that list, but I've almost decided to give it up. It doesn't make me happy, and I've chronicled my growing aversion to the task over the last four years, using every excuse in the book for why I have trouble producing. On the other hand, I've written stories for most of my life, and perhaps one "season" where my writing happens more at work than at my home computer isn't a failure. And it has definitely been happening at work.

I'm not nearly as detailed as I thought I was in this blog-journal. In my quest to avoid unprofessional TMI, I've left even myself wondering what I'm referencing on some of these posts. Something was going on, but I can't for the life of me remember what the fuss was about. That's probably good. Do I really need to dwell on past unhappiness when I have a whole world of future unhappiness to anticipate?

Finally, I worry. A lot. That and pride are my big Jesus-working-on-it issues. They're kind of the same thing. Pride says I can control everything in my life. Worry says I control nothing. A kind of inner tornado that never lets me rest.

Ah, well. If I were perfect, I wouldn't still be single.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Goodbye, 2014, you were OK

Last year wasn't horrible. I could go so far as to say, for me, it was a good year.

Mild weather, no massive losses or traumas, steady job, enough money to pay my bills: what more can I really ask of a year? True, I only harvested six zucchini, but I made a blueberry shelter, strung a fence and lost a pant's size working in The Swamp. Writing goals were almost non-existent, but part of that was intentional. A bit of sabbatical.

So many times I've considered not writing anymore. For all practical purposes, I've adopted a non-writing lifestyle. I'm not driven like I used to be. I have no explanation for this, but it is time to accept that if I am going to write, I must do it without a monkey on my back whispering in my ear. That's OK.

If you know me on Facebook, you know I found an old journal going back to 1996. This "dead inside" feeling has been with me that long. So has my tendency to depression. It's time to accept this is how I am, and move on. Enjoy the little things and all that. The beauty part of living with chronic depression is knowing it comes and goes. Just hold on a little bit, and the chemical wash recedes.

This is not to say don't treat your depression. Depressed people are extremely hard to live with, so don't do that to your loved ones. I self-medicate with St. John's wort, extra sleep, exercise (even daily stretching helps) and my new Winter best friend, vitamin D 5000 IUs per day. I am saying if you live on the line, don't let it become your only focus. 

The world hasn't ended, so I may as well continue to play along. I'll never get anywhere if I don't start, right?

Keep the faith.

Good-bye, 2013, I'll Miss You

I mean that. This was my calmest year in a while, and I needed the break.

I'm in the minority. Most of my friends have had hellacious years (hmm. Blogspot doesn't know that word). New jobs, lost jobs, floods, chronic illness, never-ending divorces - you name it, I have a friend going through it.

But my 2013 was good. I kicked depression in the teeth and out the door. I settled into my cemetery job and gained a little mastery and a lot of attitude. The weather was remarkably calm for Kansas. My zucchini flourished, even if the tomatoes faltered. I found peace with Zynga.

I've read some books. More books than I've read since pre-college. I've watched some movies I've never seen. I attended a conference and met people I've only known virtually (and still liked them). I'm remembering how to sing in the shower. If lack of cavities is proof, I've successfully reintroduced fluoride to my teeth cleaning regimen.

The only thing that suffered this year was my writing. I've been avoiding my WIP like a clingy, demanding boyfriend. I've forsaken NAF almost entirely (as an alumnus, my responsibilities are less than they were, but still...). I've run out of blogging ideas, as if you couldn't tell. Not a good thing, as I've apparently added some fans. Got a message from one last week asking if I had a release date on my next book.

Sigh. A release date. I should probably get on that.

Thank you, 2013, for being a year I could love. A Year of Jubilee, as it were. I needed it. I suspect 2014 will be a real nutcracker.

Happy New Year's Eve, dear readers. Count your blessings and forget the rest.   

The Answer

I am officially The Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. Yes, today I am 42.

This will be the first birthday I do not eat an entire 3-layer German's chocolate cake in celebration.

I don't have a good track record with birthdays. They tend to be all about me. Yes, I know that's how they normally work, and for normal people, that system works well, but for an egomaniac like myself it leads to tantrums, unreasonable demands and self-indulgence of truly epic proportions.

No more.

I am now The Answer. Today I shall be gracious. Today I shall be kind to all those who are not The Answer. Today I am All There Is, and I have no reason to be petty about it. Today I will march out my door with a Pan-Galatic Gargle Blaster under my belt, my Joo Janta 200 Super-Chromatic Peril Sensitive Sunglasses on my face, and my towel firmly in hand.

Don't panic. I am here, and I am The Answer.  

Oh, and regarding all those previous birthdays...

"We apologize for the inconvenience." 

Douglas Adams 

So Long and Thanks for all the Fish.  

The Difference Between Cats and Dogs

Sweetie the dog and Simon the cat both had dental work done in the last six weeks. This is the first time for both, and both had known dental issues when they went in. They're about the same age, although it could be argued since Sweetie is a big dog, she's older than Simon the cat.

Sweetie had one tooth pulled and came home with heavy duty pain meds, extra antibiotics and obvious pain for the first 24 hours. She wouldn't open her mouth, so I dissolved her meds in water and used a syringe to squirt them in the opening between her back teeth. Give it two days, and she was better. A week later, and you'd think we'd knocked five years off her age, the sweetheart.

With this recovery curve in mind, I was extremely reluctant to put Simon through that. Cats don't take meds like dogs do. I knew Simon had at least two cavities, and that means extraction. If my sweet girl had such a hard time the first week, what would it be like for spoiled Little Brother, who can be a real toadmonkey even in his best mood?

I read an article in the Tufts University cat magazine Catnip that claimed cats do very well with tooth extractions. For most, it's a new lease on life.

OK, that's most. What about my guy? Would he be "most" or the "least?" The article was convincing and my vet is skilled. I took the chance.

I can't believe how true the article was. Simon came home without pain meds, without extra antibiotics, and other than a severe case of the tipsies that had me running after him to prevent landing slippage, no apparent side effects at all. I even fed him a little wet cat food that night, probably more than I should have, but it was either feed him or put him in a carrier to prevent him from searching the house like a dopehead on a munchie binge.

If your pet has cavities, spend the money and vacation time and get them out.  Yes, it's harder on the dog than the cat, but bad teeth cause all kinds of other expensive problems no one wants to see. I wish I'd done it sooner for Little Brother. He probably does, too.


Happy Thursday, dear readers. Hug those furry family members and check their teeth when they aren't looking.

Good-bye, 2012. You sucked

I can't remember ever being so glad to see the back-end of a year. I really hoped the Apocalypse would come, but even that was a bust for 2012 (unless the die-hards are right, and it did start small and intends to build, but, hey, that sounds like normal life to me, so how would we know?).

Let's recap:
A backyard destroyed first by arborists, then drought, then Bermuda grass (the only thing to survive the drought)

Mom's highly traumatic and nearly fatal neck surgery

My highly traumatic and nearly fatal publication of my first novel (I sure thought it was going to kill me, anyway)

The 25th anniversary of my father's death

Two close friends experiencing on-going, major life traumas that almost completely destroyed my emotional support system (didn't do them much good, either)

The first anniversary of Grandma Turtle's death

Complete and utter writer's block encompassing even my blogs

Lavender Squeak and the accompanying vehicular homicidal urges (I more than once considered wrapping that POC around a light pole. The only thing that stopped me was the fear I'd hurt myself worse than I hurt the van)

2012 election results (hardly surprising, though, were they?)

Diagnosis of clinical depression

Switching from a job I love and do well to a job where that remains to be seen

Sounds fun, don't it? 

On the up side:
We've already gotten more snow this winter than last winter, which should help with the drought and the backyard.

Mom came through the surgery, and the neck works. Everything else is falling apart, but the neck works.

Star of Justice is out and well-received by the 10 strangers who've read it.

My friends are getting their lives together.

I met my publisher in person, and, more importantly, liked her in person.

Lavender Squeak has been replaced with Dodge Caravan, who can't help but be a better van 'cause the bar's pretty low.

The 2012 election results just mean Jesus is coming sooner.

I got a clean bill of health from my doctor.

God and I finally had it out, and we both won.

I'm treating the clinical depression.

My new job includes a new salary, which should come in handy when the results of the 2012 election start hitting my bank account next paycheck.

My writer's block is slowly dissolving. 

I met my goal of reading the entire Bible chronologically in a year.

Of course, all the "bright side" events have happened in the last two months or so, which means the majority of 2012 sucked. Like a novel. All garbage and hardship until the end. I guess that's an optimistic way to think about it.

So, good-bye, 2012. You will not be missed any more than Lavender Squeak.

Happy end-of-the-year, dear readers. Best good-bye ever. 

Not So Bad

When I started this road to publication three years ago, I started hanging out with writers.

I knew a bit about writing before that. Most of it was untrained talent from birth, apparently. One of my classmates from elementary school commented at my launch party that I tended to set the class bar too high. "Didn't matter what we wrote, Robynn was gonna do something prettier and better." Or something like that.

Frankly I was so startled by the observation, I didn't pay much attention to the actual words. Bad Turtle.

Elementary school? Did it really go that far back?

During high school, mom and I studied writing. Went to conferences, hung out with local published authors, bought books on writing, that sort of thing. Didn't go anywhere at the time for either of us, but it did provide a nice, realistic base for what the publishing industry was like twenty years ago.

Hasn't changed all that much, folks, FYI. 

As I've said before, though, I was a big turtle in a small pond. When none of your associates care about writing as a skill past the grade on the next test, it's easy to think you're big stuff. You find out how small you are when you seek out other writers.

It's good to have a healthy appreciation of your skill level. Somebody will always be better than you at writing and somebody will always be worse and many will be about the same. Sometimes, though, it's disheartening to see how many are the same or better.

For the last few weeks, I've been helping a normal person with a paper for class. Not a huge paper and way outside my genre, but I've done what I can. Don't know the grade yet. Curious about that.

It reminded me that, small turtle in an ocean of writers that I am, I do know more than the average schooling fish. Considering how severely my current WIP is kicking my tail, I needed that.

How Honest Can I Get?

I don't blog as much as I once did. Part of it is the new job. Not only is a majority of my energy going to learning new skills, but I'm fairly exhausted at the end of the day from dealing with people.

TT: Introverts can learn to deal with people quite well but it takes a lot out of us.

Also thanks to the new job, I can't listen to the radio during the day. I don't have time to catch up on what I missed at night, so my "information feed" and, consequently, my thoughts on current events have dried up. I just don't know as much as I did about the world last year.

TT: I've been a lot calmer the past 8 months.

Blogger changed its format, and, frankly, I hate it. I hate it a lot, so I don't enjoy blogging as much. It doesn't look any different to you out there, but in here it's a whole new bag of worms, and they're an ugly, slimy, prickly mess.

Last but not least, I've pre-edited myself. The one thing I should be blogging about - my experience with upcoming publication - I have not shared because my experiences could distress my friends and family (and publisher) and make me appear to be not only the weirdest person on the planet, but also the most ungrateful, spoiled, whiny mother of a dog who can type English. Meaning, the one topic weighing most heavily on my mind is the one topic I refuse to tackle in print.

Hence, the silence.

I suppose this post is my deliberation on whether I should change that.

Once upon a time, I knew for a fact no one read this blog. I wrote anything and didn't care. I'd like to think I did so in a professional manner, but I was way more honest than I have been lately. I don't reach millions, but I reach a few people I care about very much, and I don't want to do or say anything that would reflect badly on them.

I've suffered a lot this year. Scary-to-me stuff got piled on my plate and I didn't know what to do with it. I've taken it to God - daily - but I miss writing about it. There is a catharsis in writing down my truth and hitting "publish." There's also a risk and it's the risk I haven't wanted to handle.

Anyway, that's me this morning. Maybe I'll tell you more later. Maybe I won't.

I do love and appreciate all of you, dear readers. My one desire is to be worthy of your trust.

Maligayang Bagong Taon!

I have it on good authority that means "Happy New Year!" I don't celebrate New Year's myself. I'm an early bird, not a night owl. I am grateful the extremely cold weather kept the firecracker crowd inside last night. I slept uninterrupted until cat breakfast.

(I never mention the dog waking me up because she's better behaved than the cats. Bless her.)

Many people use the the New Year to make resolutions they later break. I do not. If I'm going to resolve something, I do it when the idea occurs to me. No sense waiting.

This year our Bible study group will read the entire Bible in chronological order. I've never done that before and I am looking forward to it. I will, naturally, start today. This can only help me in my writing journey as a Christian author. I continually seek inspiration for my characters in the Scriptures (guiding verses, issues to overcome, that sort of thing). I suspect God will use this discipline to reward me in ways I cannot now see.

I will continue to seek publication, both for Star of Justice and Elementals. For the moment, Star of Justice will stay with Jeff the Publisher until I receive a "send me more" or a "not yet, thank you." But I can work on Elementals. This means more research, more marketing-skill polishing, perhaps more contests. I will keep self-publishing as an option, but MLS has shown me the value of having at least one other author review something (my growing thanks to the Lioness!).

Those are two goals, and that's enough for this turtle. That was the "looking forward" part of the blog evaluation.

Now, a brief look back to get that out of the way.

I think I've added two new followers to the blog, both of whom were in the premise contest.

Welcome to The Wordcrafter/ Keven Newsome who wrote Winter, and to Diane Graham, who wrote I Am Ocilla, one of the winning premises! Congratulations, Diane! And Wordcrafter, I am shocked yours didn't advance. It is safe to say, any future publication I enjoy will be God's doing, because I can't read a crowd's preferences to save my life.

I have added more scriptures to my blog, finished labeling posts (the hard part is remembering to label in the first place), and added several more "blogs I follow" as I find writers at MLS I like. Diane, that's an invitation to send me your blog info.

As for my website, I've been having all kinds of fun! I added a full page for Star of Justice, and even have my first "reader comment." I will add another page of links for "authors to watch" from MLS. Several authors have websites but no blogs. I hope to change something on the website once a month to keep it interesting.

Good-bye, 2009. I will hopefully remember only the good things. Hello, 2010. May God have mercy on us all.

Evaluation

It seems important to perform a monthly evaluation of this site most likely for the next year (unless the Internet gets shut down in that time, that is). Important to me, anyway. Let me know how you feel about it. It is nice to pause and look back, around and forward. Hmm. I don't think I've looked forward yet. See? That's why you evaluate.

This month I've added one official follower. Hi, Kristen! I know of a couple more who read it but don't "follow" officially. Hi to you, too!

I've increased the number of commenters to five (I think), including my mom. Way to go, mom, on figuring out how to post a comment! Mom's also learned how to navigate The Anomaly. I'm very impressed with her.

I've learned how to put a picture inside a post (see Neno Award). Thank you, Susie, for the award and the instruction. If only I took more pictures!

I've added "labels" to my posts (not all of them yet, but I'm working on it). I saw that on (correction) Kristen's site and liked it.

I've tossed out the corny poem and replaced it with a less-corny guidance verse of Scripture.

I've added my own website link to this site.

This blog (as well as my website) shows up on search engines. Irony: when I googled my name, one of the links that came up listed "Star of Justice entered in Marcher Lord Select Premise Contest" from my website. Of all the parts to list. I decided to leave it on there. How many people will be looking me up by name? A lot, I hope, but originally, Jeff the Publisher was considering posting author's names, so...shrug. Besides, I wanted the website to promote my name as an author, and I'm doing that. I will not feel guilty. That's a topic for another post.

I started this post early this morning, and almost forgot I hadn't finished it. I'll finish it now.
The last month's posts have focused mainly on the Marcher Lord Select contest. Prepare for some MLS posts for the next month. The contest will conclude New Year's Eve. I'll give more details tomorrow. I haven't looked them up yet.

I do have other things to write about, though, and I'll get back to some of those, too.

Now, I have some main contest reading to do. I'll start with my picks that made it, and work out from there. I think we're only allowed three, and I think only three of mine made it. Choices might be pretty simple here.

And a heartfelt "I'm so sorry" to Ginny Jacques. I was surprised Zinovy's Journey didn't advance. I'm more shocked by some of the ones that did. This is a weird contest.

Second Month Evaluation

I'm two months into this blog. Let's pause and reflect, shall we?

I haven't gained any more public followers, although I think, based on outside conversations, I have more readers than I suspect.

I have learned how to post a poll and links and move things around layout-wise.

The thrill of writing daily has faded into duty. I knew it would, as life caught up with me. I suppose as my writing goals become more serious, it is logical my writing about those goals would follow suite (it is suite, right? like suite of cards?). I'm fighting it, though. I want to keep on the sunny side of writing. The weather hasn't helped my mood, but as The Wise Woman would say, "You cannot be princess of others until you are princess of your moods."

Now that the contest has begun, I feel very calm. I suppose that's because it is officially out of my hands.

I want to make it very clear, as I write about the contest, I am fully aware I am over-functioning. In the real world, I would tell you about it and leave it up to you to do as you will. In the real world, that's how I work. Personal responsibility applies to everything, even contests.

However, since this is important to me, and if you're reading this blog it may be important to you, I will help you as much as I can without violating my conscience.

If you notice the time stamp on this post, you may wonder what I'm doing up at this sacred hour.
Cats are no respecters of daylight savings time. Cats won't give you an extra hour of sleep. In fact, cats will wake you up an extra hour early just to make sure you don't forget to wake up at the usual time. We're doing some retraining, but I'm going to be a little fuzzy for the next week or so. My apologies to those of you who must deal with me in the real world.

As far as the contest goes, I read through the prospective premises last night. Turns out I'm very picky about my reading subject matter. A few premises I dismissed out of hand, not because they didn't sound interesting, but because I would never read that kind of book. I tended to be interested in the fantasy ones. Shocking!

Anyway, I've chosen 11 to vote for, so far. I will probably go back and add some. If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know I don't form snap judgments. I have to gather information and mull things over.

I'm following dizzyjam's advice about how to choose. I credited it to Jeff the Publisher, but it's one of his senior members who actually wrote the post.

Keep in mind, some writers don't know how to write a good hook. This doesn't mean their book is bad. In the next round, we'll get the back cover blurb and that might make all the difference in your interest level. If you're remotely interested, there is no harm in voting for it.

I must also admit, I'm looking at the word count. At 166,000 words, Star of Justice is a little over 300 pages single-spaced. I think 100,000 words is the average for a Christian romance novel, and that would be about 250 pages. Some of these premises have 78-80,000 words. I don't know if that means they are amazing writers who know how to make every word count, or beginning writers who have a good idea that's a little thin in execution. Of course, I've read some fantastic books that were small and to the point: The Myth Adventures series by Robert Aspirin springs to mind, or anything by George MacDonald. A book doesn't have to be long to be great. Also, if the story is a great idea but a little thin, I'm sure the publishers/editors would be willing to offer some help in bulking it up.

My dilemma is whether or not to assume these writers are like me. Are they experienced but unpublished? Is this their first foray into the publishing world? Do they have good ideas but lack ambition? (this is me.) Or, are these real newbies, eager to jump into the writing life and get it going but maybe still lacking some skills? Wow, that sounds arrogant even for me.

I'm not saying I've got it all figured out. I don't. But I have read manuscripts that are more eager than coherent. A good story is a balance of many elements. It's hard to do. I've also heard good pitches that were poorly executed. Just because the hook is a zinger doesn't mean the book will deliver.

Hmm. That stream of thought wasn't helpful, was it?

It will be hard to figure out from the tiny slice of writing we're allowed in the premise contest who is capable of presenting a good story. I suppose that is why the prize is a review, not a publishing contract. Marcher Lord Select has already figured this out. It's one of the reasons I like them.