How’s the Book?
How’s the book? That simple question draws out a full range of emotion. Yes, I started writing a novel in November 2015. I have wanted to write a novel all my life, so it was only natural that I’d make that one of my activities during my career break/freelance period. I participated in the NaNoWriMo novel writing competition in November which just requires writing 50,000 words in a month in order to win. Quality is not a concern for those 50,000 words, just quantity. I finished a week early with just over 50,000 words, and I have continued to work on that novel off and on ever since then. The problem is that I told several people what I was doing back when I started, and ever since then people ask me, “How’s the book?” I smile and say that it’s x-number of words, and of course they ask if I have worked on it lately. The truth is that I wrote 3,000 words last month, and I wrote over 2,000 words just the other day. Yes, I have the opportunity to be more disciplined, and I’m not. Now that I have started writing a novel, I want my loved ones to understand some things.
This is a testing ground
For me, working on a novel allows me to test my abilities as a writer. The novel might not ever see the light of day, and that is okay. I have never attempted writing a novel previously. I’m allowing myself to dabble and think and feel my way through this. Along the way I worked on a non-fiction piece which is now just over 30,000 words, and I contributed to this blog. I also wrote several short pieces as a way to sort through emotional topics. It’s a time for testing the waters and figuring out if novel writing is something within my realm of abilities and interest.
My first draft is near completion
I expect I’ll need 15,000 to 20,000 words to finish my first draft. I’m not stopping to edit anything, so when I do write I’m only moving forward. About three months ago I decided to make a major story shift which will require a virtual tear-down of everything I have written so far. I’m okay with that because the second draft will emerge with a better story. My goal at this point requires me to push through these last 15,000 to 20,000 words so that I can get to the rewriting phase. In the end my second draft will resemble a lot of people’s first drafts, but I’m okay with that. After the second draft I plan to write a third draft that I might consider somewhat readable, but I know that additional drafts will be needed to hone the storyline, remove unnecessary characters, tighten up narrative structure, etc. This could take years, and that’s okay. Will I abandon the story somewhere along the line? I don’t know, and that’s okay too. The effort itself garners a sense of personal accomplishment.
I’m not self-publishing
I appreciate well-crafted and well-edited fiction. Books with too much fluff and useless storylines bore me, and I refuse to do that to others. Some people do really well in the self-publishing world. Some authors have a knack for a well-written story without the need for the traditional publishing vetting and hierarchy. I admire those authors, but I’m not one of them. With my own writing I either view it too negatively or too optimistically. I want someone to tell me that I suck if I truly do. I want real, constructive criticism. I also don’t want to spend money to self-publish and market my book. I’d much rather have a publishing house take on that burden. I want a publishing house to think I’m worth the risk. Plus if what I write is honestly good, I want the book to be visible enough for book awards, and traditional publishers can help with that. Due to my desire to go with traditional publishing, which will require my finding an agent if my book is anything worthy after all the rewrites and restructuring, I fully expect to spend several more years trying to go the traditional publishing route.
Life happens
While I haven’t been working in a regular, full-time job, I’ve been doing other things. I decided to offer website consulting, and I’ve been making some income doing it. I have been volunteering at our local museum as a docent. I have been getting my paperwork in order for my DAR application. I’ve been digging into myself and considering what I want out of life and work, how I want to be treated by friends and employers, and who I am now as an adult. I’ve been grappling with the terminal illness of a close, long-time friend. Last month I started looking for a full-time job, and I applied to a few. I spend time cooking, cleaning, running errands, caring for our elderly cat, and handling little house projects here and there. I also take time to enjoy life. I don’t write everyday though I should, but I’ve had several great writing spells spanning weeks at a time, and that’s way more than I ever did prior to this break.
So how’s the book?
The answer is simple. It’s a work-in-progress just like I am. Will you get to read it? I don’t know. Will I ever finish? Again, I don’t know. Is it worth working on a novel that might never see the light of day? Absolutely!
Longing for a Change of Season
As always, I have reached the point where I am bored with summer. I’m over the 90 degree temperatures, plethora of bugs, and summer activities. While cookouts and swimming can be fun, I don’t enjoy either one when temperatures exceed 90 and the heat index reaches over 100. In fact, the miserable heat forced me into the rooms of my home with window units. I might feel differently about summer if I had central air conditioning, but as a general rule for my entire life, I have always loved fall.I look forward to fall. I enjoy fall. I don’t get tired of fall. If I had to choose one season for the entire year, I’d choose fall for so many reasons.
Just add a Layer
As I sit in my home wearing a tank top and running skirt with the window units running full blast and still feeling hot, I long for the joys of adding a layer. In fall, if the house gets chilly, I can throw on a fleece or cover up in an afghan or pull on some fuzzy socks. I don’t have those sorts of options in summer. If my house is too hot, short of stripping down to nothing, I have few options for getting comfortable.
Goodbye bug bites
While some mosquitos linger into October, they definitely don’t linger very long. If we have an early frost, they die away even faster. While I love butterflies, moths, dragonflies, ladybugs, lightning bugs, and a few other choice bugs (it’s a small club), mosquitos can return to the dark underworld that spawned them.
Die weeds die
During this particularly hot summer, I have allowed weeds to encroach on my flower beds. I look out the window and see them in all weedy majesty, and I remind myself that when frost hits they’ll die, and I can pick their decayed bodies away from my beautiful plants in the spring.
Beautiful leaves
I’m a sucker for beautiful fall color. I love leaves on the ground and on the trees. I remember building leaf forts as a kid. I enjoy the crunching sound just walking across my yard.
Nerd heart
My nerd heart glows with memories of back-to-school shopping, marching band practice, new school supplies, early mornings in a classroom, afternoons in the quad at college, hiking trips with classmates, bonfires, and so much more. Now that I live in my hometown, I can hear the football games at my high school. I watch children jumping on and off school buses. My friends post
photos of their kids in their college dorms.
We are having a brief cold front, and I can open the windows and air out my house. The temperatures are sitting around 79/80 with low humidity, and it feels like heaven! The breeze refreshes me and reminds me that fall is not far away. I just have to hang on a little longer and try not to wish my time away.
Tough Tree Decisions
My heart breaks for my red sunset maple. Mom bought the tree for me in 2012, our first summer in our current and final home. She had the nursery plant it. She wanted me to have a nice big shade tree near my kitchen. The tree was over 12 feet tall at planting, and the nursery staked it for stability. I watered the tree frequently and did everything I could to ensure it got a good start in life. Unfortunately, the tree had issues from planting that could not be solved by watering and staking.
In 2013 I noticed that the tree was not growing as quickly as it should. The red sunset maple touts a vigorous growth habit much like the autumn blaze maple I planted at my previous home. My autumn blaze thrived, but this tree languished. I didn’t know if it took the red sunset maple longer to get established, but everything I read said otherwise.
By 2014 the tree started to show some crown dieback with sparse leaves in the upper branches. I thought it was due to our unusually harsh winter and waited for it to recover. Afterall we just endured a polar vortex with strong winds. I figured any tree would struggle after such a winter, and many trees in my yard did struggle. My crepe myrtles in particular took a beating.
Last year the tree looked even worse with significant crown dieback. Whole branches including the main leader lacked leaves. I hopped online and figured out the problem. The nursery had planted the tree too deeply. It looked like an electrical pole stranding out of the ground. Trees should have a root flare (or collar) at the base, and my tree did not. I read up on root crown excavation, and I started digging. Roots were wrapped around the trunk above the root crown, strangling the tree. I cut away the extraneous surface roots, and I continued digging. I located the root flare at the base of the trunk and continued digging around it. I found larger roots that encircled the base of the tree. I cut those roots away. I probably should have called a professional to come and lift up the tree and examine the roots underneath, but my instincts told me that the tree might be too far gone for such a costly endeavor. I cut away part of the crown dieback and applied pruning seal. I wrote about it. I watered. I watched. I waited.
This spring showed signs of promise, but more upper branches dropped leaves as the spring continued. Now the upper branches have no leaves at all. My red sunset maple is a shadow of the tree it once was, and all my hopes for a beautiful shade tree have faded with it. As the summer wears on I know the end game for this tree, and it involves a chainsaw. My heart breaks every time I look at it. That beautiful symbol of my first summer in my forever home is dying.
Though this is not the best photo (it’s a little dark), it shows the extensive crown dieback in my red sunset maple.I spoke with a representative of the nursery, and he claimed no blame, but he offered to plant a smaller tree for me. I explained to him in-depth how the tree was planted too deeply and then buried in a mulch mound. He told me that the trees in balled burlap do just fine and that he plants them in the burlap, which later decomposes. Even his explanation showed his ignorance about the proper planting of trees. The burlap should have been removed prior to planting. They should have looked for the root flare, even cutting away strangling surface roots to get to it. The tree should have been planted with the root flare (also called a root collar) at soil level.
If you are planting a tree yourself, please read up on proper tree planting techniques. If a nursery is doing it for you, read up on proper technique and watch them plant the tree. Don’t just assume that they’ll do it correctly.
As for me I have to look toward the future and figure out a shade tree that will grow quickly in the old tree’s location. My mind keeps turning toward the catalpa (or catawba). Though the tree produces debris from its flowers and seed pods, it also has an interesting branching habit with strong wood and big leaves. I have not located a nursery that carries catalpas, but I hope to find one soon. This fall I will plant my new tree, and though I will have to wait longer for my shaded kitchen, I look forward to beautiful blooms and gnarled winter shadows…
The catalpa is a stunning tree in the landscape with dense shade and twisted branching habit. This majestic catalpa lives at my local cemetery. Though I might not ever live to see my catalpa grow so large, I hope that adding a catalpa to my yard will bring joy to others in the years to come.
With large green leaves and big white flowers in the spring, the catalpa provides dense shade and animal habitat.
The catalpa’s twisted branching habit adds winter interest.
On Turning 43
Rumor has it that women over 40 stop caring what other people think and start living their lives the way they want. If that’s the case, then I guess I’m stumbling in that direction with a glass of wine in hand. Yesterday I turned 43, and like most folks on a birthday, I thought about the previous year and what it meant for my growth. This past year marked some serious changes in my life as well as personal growth.
Career Breaking
After 19 years of working without any breaks, I left my job for a world of uncertainty. My dedication to my work blinded me to other possibilities in my life so I resigned from my job and took my first-ever career break. Years of introspection and planning lead to this decision, and though I get nervous about the future, I do not regret taking this time to sort out my life. Giving myself the space to get in touch with my interests and figure out what I want out of a career should make me a better employee in whatever I do next.
Freelancing
Using the skills I acquired in previous full-time positions, I started offering my services as a freelance web consultant. It feels good to use my knowledge to help others. I keep the scope of my work limited to setting up, configuring, and styling pre-built WordPress themes. This opportunity allows me to make some money while getting in touch with the fundamentals of self-employment such as invoicing, collecting payment, keeping track of expenses, working with clients, etc. I have decided that even when I return to full-time work I’ll continue to offer my consulting services.
Writing
After years of neglect, I am writing again. I cannot say that everything I write is good. I cannot even say that 50% of it is good, but I can say that I am enjoying this opportunity to write. I always wondered what I could do with my writing skills if I had the time. Though I used my writing skills for emails, site update instructions, and user stories everyday at work, I felt too drained at the end of each day to explore my creative side. Self-doubt had crept into my mind and convinced me that I could not recapture my passion for writing. Without the pressure of a daily work schedule, I regained my confidence, and now I enjoy writing again.
Reading
Reading goes hand-in-hand with writing. I’m a slow and very thorough reader, and I often commit tons of information to memory. My reading so far this year covers horror, romance, mystery, thriller, and non-fiction.
Volunteering
Though I intended to begin volunteer work at the start of my break, I finally started getting involved in the last few months. I became a precinct chair and delegate for our local Democratic Party. I will begin serving as a docent for our local museum next week. I started my paperwork for membership in the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution). I am enjoying meeting new people and participating in my community. Rather than spending my days working in another town and barely leaving my house when I wasn’t working, I am interacting with folks in my hometown and giving back to the community. Plus, taking in some homeless kitties and their offspring turned my house into my own private pet shelter…just kidding (well, sort of).
Thinking
Career breaks foster reflection and reevaluation. I recognize now that I have spent most of my life being a pleaser and doing things I think I “should” do. To make matters worse, at some point in my mid to late 20s I stopped listening to my gut. I started doubting my intuition. The decision to take the career break came from my gut. My gut had been telling me for years that I should do this one thing for myself. My gut told me that if I didn’t reconnect with my passions and rediscover who I am as an adult that I would wake up at 80 wondering what happened to my life.
At 43 I’m on the road back to me. I do not doubt the path I’m traveling, and I try not to look too far down the road. I am wiser now about what I want, how I want to live, what matters, and what sacrifices I am and am not willing to make. The 80 year-old me will thank me for making these changes now.
Two Girls on the Run
Have I mentioned that I love cats? I will admit that my home is filled to the brim with cats at the moment (6 cats and 3 kittens who are almost full-grown). I promise not to descend into a crazy cat lady blogger, but I must tell the tale of two girls on the run and how they turned my home upside down.
In late July, I saw dilute calico cat in our yard. My Mom, who was gardening in my yard (yes, I was being lazy, and Mom was helping), talked to the cat, and they carried on a conversation. Cat lovers know what this means; you talk to the cat, and the cat chirps, trills, and meows in response. I sat down in the grass and talked to the cat. She wandered near me but not near enough to touch me. Mom encouraged me to give her a can of food. I grabbed a can of my elderly cat’s crack (Fancy Feast), and put it on a plate in front of the cat. The cat timidly walked up to the plate, took one sniff, and devoured it all. I gave her another can, and she devoured that one. She appeared to be thin and unkempt. She was young, not even a year old. I could tell she had fleas and ear mites, but she wouldn’t let me touch or hold her. My Mom tried to get me to take her in as my own, but my husband stood his ground, saying that if the cat came back we’d consider taking her in.
For the next several weeks, we looked for her, but we didn’t see her anywhere. One morning we caught a glimpse of her running through our back field. A week or two later, my Dad mistook her for his own calico cat who shoots out the back door every chance she gets even though she is supposed to be an indoor-only cat. He chased her around only to return to his home feeling defeated and finding his own cat hanging out in the house.
On a Saturday evening about a month after the initial meeting, we were entertaining my brother-in-law and his girlfriend. I looked out onto the back patio to see the girlfriend holding the dilute calico cat. I went outside, and the girlfriend said that the cat was homeless. The cat appeared even more thin with fleas jumping out of her fur and all over the place. I could tell the cat’s ears bothered her by the way she held and shook her head. I don’t go back on my promises. I gathered up the cat and put her on our screened-in porch with food, water, and a litter box. I planned to take her to the vet on Monday to have her checked out prior to bringing her into my home.
Throughout the night on Saturday, we checked in on the cat. She rested comfortably on the couch. She seemed completely at ease.
The next morning, my husband got up at 10 a.m. and checked on the cat. She was hanging out on the porch as peacefully as she did the prior night. He did not go out and sit with her. He wanted to wait until I got up.
When I got up at noon (I’m not ashamed to admit it!), we went onto the porch to find she had torn a small hole in the screen and escaped! We looked all over the yard but couldn’t find her. I was heartbroken, but I consoled myself that I had four, very happy and well-adjusted (at least to each other) cats.
That night I walked down the stairs to make dinner. I looked out the window, and there she was! I opened the door, and she ran to me. I scooped her up in my arms and carried her to the bathroom. I set up her litter box, food, water, and kitty bed and made plans to take her to the vet the next morning.
On the way to work, we dropped the kitty off at the vet. We got the call later in the afternoon that she was FIV and FeLV negative. The vet noted that she had two different kinds of worms, causing her body to be thin with a little pot belly. She was malnourished (obviously), and she had an eye infection and a bad case of fleas as well as ear mites. We had her scanned for a microchip, which she did not have, and the vet put her age near 1 year old though we speculated that she’s younger. The cat had not been spayed, but the vet wanted to wait until the cat gained weight and recovered from her other ailments.
Once we got the cat home, we put her in an upstairs bedroom so that she could start acclimating to our house. My Mom came over to visit and mentioned concerns about a small area near the window air-conditioning unit. She suggested that I stuff something in the small hole. I looked at her and exclaimed that the cat could not fit out that window! Mom reminded me that the cat slipped out of a small hole in the screen. Still, I scoffed at her but agreed to address the hole later.
About an hour later, I went downstairs and looked out the back window. I saw the cat in my backyard. I was amazed. I opened the back door, and the cat turned around and looked at me. It was the cat that we originally met, not the one we just took into our home. We had an imposter upstairs!
I called my Mom and told her, “There’s another one.” Mom asked what I meant, and I responded that I meant exactly what I said. Mom came over to the house, and we sat on the back steps talking to the cat. This cat, who was thin the prior month, sported a big pregnant belly. Beyond the belly, you could feel all her bones. The kittens were consuming all her nutrition. She was a little shy but extremely hungry. Fleas crawled all over her, and I could tell she had ear mites. We speculated that the two cats were sisters. They looked like bookends. We toyed with the thought of letting her be an outdoor mama, but I hated the idea of country mouse/city mouse. After all, why should one sister lead the good life in a cozy home while the other lived on scraps?
Again, I keep my promises. I gathered up the cat and took her into the downstairs bathroom to await her vet visit. In the meantime, we thought we’d introduce the other new cat. When we put them in a room together, they started trilling and bathing each other. These cats knew each other. They had to be sisters! Of course, once I saw them side by side, I also wondered how I could have mistaken one for the other.
Though I started the evening thinking about calling the one cat Brunhild or Sookie Stackhouse (I wanted something spunky and fairy-like), I ended the evening calling the two cats Thelma and Louise. Though Thelma and Louise were not sisters in the movie, I felt that the names were appropriate for two girls on the run. Thelma is the one with the wild, disheveled appearance, longer hair, and amazing escape techniques. Louise is the neat and tidy one who is a bit uptight (and pregnant).
On that first night, we found Louise hanging from the top of the window trying to break free of the house. She was terrified of everything indoors. We don’t think she had ever been in a home. Thelma’s presence calmed her.
Fortunately, everything at the vet checked out for Louise, and we brought her home to the same room where we put Thelma. I was afraid to look out the window in case a third one showed up. Our indoor cat population blossomed from four to six with more on the way.
Doesn’t Thelma look relieved to be in a comfortable home?In the weeks that followed, Louise delivered three healthy kittens (two tortoiseshell kittens and one black kitten). We named them Sookie, Shady Lady, and Merlin. Though we considered finding homes for two kittens, we decided to keep all three. We now have nine, indoor-only cats, and I do not shy away from calling myself a crazy cat lady. I wear the title with pride. I love all my kitties, and I thank those two girls on the run for turning my house upside down and making my heart a little bigger.
Three kittens: Merlin (left), Sookie (top), and Shady Lady (right)
A family photo: left to right – Mama Louise, Aunt Thelma, Sookie, Merlin, and Shady Lady. Not pictured – The originals: Kip, Krishna, Pickles, and YoshiThelma and Louise are poster children for what happens with unaltered free-roaming cats. Neither one of them had any sort of veterinary care. We later discovered that people in the neighborhood behind our house had been putting out food for them but that they didn’t appear to live anywhere. They were skinny, and I’m talking counting ribs and vertebrae skinny. They both showed heavy flea and ear mite infestations. Plus, they both had internal parasites (tapeworm and roundworm). Thelma’s diagnosis of an eye infection ended up being Horner’s Syndrome which is a paralyzed facial nerve that affects her eye. Her severe ear mite infestation damaged the facial nerve that runs through the inner ear area, causing Horner’s Syndrome. It has been almost a year since we got Thelma, and she still cannot shut her eyelid entirely (thank heavens cats have third eyelids!). When we got Louise, she weighed 6 pounds and was three weeks away from delivering her kittens. That is how emaciated Louise was. Thelma weighed 6 pounds as well, but she had a much larger frame. Fortunately Thelma was not pregnant. Her malnutrition probably prevented her from going into heat.