Sunday Morning

DH and LO are away on their male-parent-and-child camping trip this weekend. They have one in the spring and one in the fall. Doubtless I have shared this in other posts, um, in the spring or fall. We have friends who have 100 acres on top of a mountain in the western part of the state, and twice a year, they invite about a dozen dads/grandpas and their kids. They have a 40' zipline that crosses a creek; a huge rope swing, a 40' square roof-on-poles for safe haven in case of rain. The children shoot skeet, run in the woods and generally act like crazed kids with no crime or childsnatchers or homework or overprotective moms/nanas to worry about. EVERY photo from these trips shows bedhead, dirty nails and huge smiles. LO even drives DH's car in the pasture.

Their trips used to always include a man named Tom who carefully taught them how to shoot. Real. Guns. He made sure they had on ear protectors and that all the kids were behind the line of hay bales. Across the way he had more hay bales with tin cans on them. Then he carefully and quietly worked with the child holding The Gun and taught him how to aim, how to squeeze. Bang. Next kid.

Tom passed away this summer from sudden and massive heart problems. He had been sweet and kind to all our kids and it was quite a loss. His generous and sweet wife shared some ashes with DH and the other men so they could have a service for Tom this weekend and leave a tiny bit of him there in the beautiful NC mountains.

Last spring, the dads prepared a treasure hunt that involved compasses The directions told each team to proceed x feet to the northeast, turn due west and go x feet. At the end there were token treasures, tiaras for the girls and I forget what for the boys, but the kids talked about it forever. They had to use math to calculate how many strides equalled how many feet and work as a team. There were two teams. I was so impressed with all the facets of this exercise.

Of course, this weekend also provides some lovely and shall I say highly deserved alone time for the women in the family. I believe most of the younger women get together for a night of wine and gossip, but I'm not in their crowd and likely wouldn't be comfortable even if they did think of me. No, I went Another Way. Serendipity provided me with a FREE writers' conference yesterday in a Nearby City. I drove the hour alone, enjoying NPR and a cup of tea, attended the conference, and drove home in the evening. Each and every speaker provided helpful information. At one point I abandoned my notepad and just turned on my iPod recorder; the guy was that helpful.

His name is John Hart and he grew up here in Small Town USA, although he doesn't live here now. His books are set here in this very town. He was nominated for the Edgar Award for Best First Novel for his first novel, but did not receive it. Last year his second novel was nominated for the overall Edgar Award, and he WON. He is published in 16 countries in 13 languages. He did not share specific dollar amounts, but said his income is exactly ten times what it was as a successful attorney. He spoke on how to find an agent, find a publisher, what to ask for, what not to ask for, how it all works, and so on. He tells everything with this self-deprecating humor and it was not only informative, but hilarious.

One speaker spoke on the different formulae for plot. She had diagrams and so on. I made scads of notes on my own novel and learned so much. Fortunately, I will not need a total rewrite, as some at lunch said they did.

One speaker talked about scene. I knew much of what she said, but hearing it out loud was a great reminder and I made tons of specific notes about how this character will need to x and this one needs to y, and so on.

At the end of the day they had a panel to share the Ten Things Authors Do Not Want to Know, and the panel was made up of three published authors, one being the fellow from our town. The other two painted a dreadful picture of how unlikely it is to get published at all, and the fellow put it in a much better light. He said it's amazing how many prisoners write books and send them in. They have time on their hands, access to computers and think they can write. He told about all sorts of people who can't write but think they can. Then he contrasted it to us, the people who think about our writing and care about it and travel to a conference to learn more, and, hey! you stand a much better chance of being published than someone whose only credential is lots of time on his hands. Without his perspective it could have been a depressing end to a nice day.

These kinds of things are typically great for networking, and although I met a few people, we were busy all day, and had little time to talk. I did run into another person from our town and she happens to be the best friend of someone I know. We had each heard quite a bit about the other from our person in common, so it was good to finally meet.

The day cost me $7 for the (veggie! Yay!) lunch, the cost of diesel to get there, (102 miles / 27 mpg * 3.40 for deisel = say, about $12...), and of course I sprung $20 for someone's book. I would say the day was well worth the $40 I spent and I felt so liberated, not having to feel as if I had abandoned my job back home.

Last night I splurged on veggie sushi and curled up to watch a Japanese classic movie that my DS2 recommended. It was quite depressing, however, and I had to turn it off about halfway through and go to bed with the newest Smithsonian.

I woke up this morning with a terrible cold; it has been coming on for a few days now. I can't seem to quit sneezing. So here I sit in my candycane pj's with a dog in my lap and the cats nearby waiting their turns.

It's my month to shake hands, distribute bulletins, and pass the plate at church, at the 11:00 service, and I regretfully had to call and cancel. Many of the 11:00'er's are 100 years old and I would hate to spread a cold.

Later today I have to tackle LO's room. I have to catch up on the laundry and put out our Halloween decorations. For now though, I plan to stay right here and write.

Sunday

My damned headache is mostly gone. As long as I don't spin my head around or rise or bend too quickly, everything seems fairly normal. My eye sockets are sore but my head is not. Thank you for all the well wishes.
I just spent the morning on my front porch, rocking. Overweight cat in lap, sprawled from my tummy to my knees. He is so tolerant of me. I picked him up and hugged him. Clearly he did not enjoy this, but he looked at me as if to say, "Okay, I let you do this because I love you." Then I turned him around and held him in the croook of my arm like a baby. I rubbed his tummy and kissed his nose. I love you but not that much, he said, and his eyes darted from side to side as he planned an escape. I realized his diilemma and released him before he excaped, because a rejection from your own cat is just too humiliating.
We had a yardsale yesterday and my gf who is also a writer shared our yard with us. She lives in a charming house at the end of the street and yard sale ppl tend to like the center of the neighborhood, not the ends. She has a charming picket fence, and yard sale ppl seem hesitant to open the gate. Most everything about her is charming, and I enjoy time with her.
She had two wicker chairs for sale and would not budge on the price. Two for $65. Yard sale ppl tried to bargain her down, only the yard sale ppl with taste, as these chairs are really quite charming, but she would not budge. These are good chairs, quite charming, and really worth $65. In the end no one bought them and she loaded them up in her car and went home. A moment later she returned. She idled her car in front of our house and called to me through her car window: You want these chairs? YES! I yelled and she just gave them to me. Last night I rearranged our porch so the wicker chairs are in protected areas, will not be rained on, and they look simply...charming.
She also gave me a paperback book written by a friend of hers. When she lived Chapel Hill she was in the same writers' group as this woman. The book is called, "A Broom of One's Own," and I finished reading it today, out on the porch with the chairs and the cat and very loud singing birds. The sun is shining and it is a perfect North Carolina spring morning.
The book is about being a writer, about the battle between needing income and needing to write and forsaking writing for financial survival and trying to do both and finally coming to resolution with the whole thing. It is interspersed with observations of the people for whom she cleans houses, because, yes, for most of the book she cleans people's homes to make ends meet.
Her writing has a wonderful cadence and speaks to my heart. It's a short book, only 169 pages, and I finished it this morning.
I must think of something I can do for my gf. I got two very charming chairs and a book that has really made me think.