Soon it will be just "Kate plus eight"
This interview makes me really sad.
The way she talks about Jon and their marriage is just SCREAMING that it’s over. Oh, Gosselins …
My life as Stephen King
Well, the waiting game is finally getting interesting. I got my first rejection letter yesterday, from Publisher #2.
Unlike this cute little cartoon, it was actually a very kind letter. “Rejection” really isn’t a word I would use to describe it — except it technically was a rejection.
They said their publishing house wasn’t publishing any Young Adult Fiction now, but they actually suggested three other publishers — two I have not yet pitched — and apologized for not being more helpful.
Wow.
I thought I would be sad to get a rejection letter, but I feel OK about it. As my mom likes to remind me, Stephen King — one of my favourite authors — was rejected before hitting it big with his first novel. When the right to Carrie sold for $400,000, he got half of that!
Since I’ve started pitching, I’ve been adding to my novel, to beef up some of the areas I felt were lacking. I even added a whole new element to the plot, that I think really helps. I believe it had good bones, when I started pitching, but now I’m trying to give it more meat.
But at night, after a long day at work, a long commute home, and all of the cooking-dinner-washing-dishes crap that comes with a regular day, I’m so tired. I can’t think, let alone write. I have been thinking about going to bed earlier and getting up extra-early, to get in some writing before work. Maybe my mind will be fresher? Maybe I’ll try it next week, and see how it goes.
The thought that my story, at any moment, could be picked up by a publisher, has truly kicked my ass into gear. This is what I want. I can’t say it any other way — this is what I want, so badly.
So the rejection letter? It’s going in a frame above my writing desk. Motivation, people! I’m Stephen King, and this is my Carrie!
Da da da da da da …
Every one in a while, I get little glimpses of the kind of mother I’m going to be.
Singing, for example. I may love belting it out in the car, but I am a horrendous singer. However, I am constantly singing, rhyming, and telling stories to Little Dog.
When she runs up her miniature doggie steps to look out the front window, I sing How much is that doggie in the window? I entertain her with a rousing round of Do you know the muffin man? as I bake.
Honestly, I should be teaching nursery school or something. I’m freaking Mother Goose.
But I only started noticing it recently, after Darling Husband caught me lifting up her floppy little ear and singing something into it.
“What are you saying to her?” he asked, looking at me strangely.
“Picnic time for teddy bears. You know? ‘The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today. Da da da da da da …'”
Blank stares from Darling Husband. He claims his parents did not read nursery rhymes to him, and I think he might be right. He honestly wouldn’t know Hickory Dickory Dock from Pussycat, Pussycat.
Oh well. At least I’m well-qualified to educate them.
P.S. If your Mother Goose education was lacking — like that of my sweet husband — here are the lyrics. Study them, memorize them –because at some point as a mommy or daddy, you’ll need to sing, and you will probably get sick of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.
If you go down to the woods today
You’re sure of a big surprise.
If you go down to the woods today
You’d better go in disguise.
For ev’ry bear that ever there was
Will gather there for certain, because
Today’s the day the teddy bears have their picnic.
Ev’ry teddy bear who’s been good
Is sure of a treat today.
There’s lots of marvelous things to eat
And wonderful games to play.
Beneath the trees where nobody sees
They’ll hide and seek as long as they please
Cause that’s the way the teddy bears have their picnic.
If you go down to the woods today
You’d better not go alone.
It’s lovely down in the woods today
But safer to stay at home.
For ev’ry bear that ever there was
Will gather there for certain, because
Today’s the day the teddy bears have their picnic.
Picnic time for teddy bears
The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today
Watch them, catch them unawares
And see them picnic on their holiday.
See them gaily gad about
They love to play and shout;
They never have any care;
At six o’clock their mummies and daddies,
Will take them home to bed,
Because they’re tired little teddy bears.
All in the family
Some extended families talk about the weather. Or sports. I wonder what that’s like …
You see, Darling Husband’s auntie is in town, so last night we paid a visit to his parents’ place to see her.
“I was talking with my friends the other day,” Visiting Aunt tells me over tea and dessert. She pauses suddenly. “They … they don’t know you, of course.”
Oh dear. This can’t be good.
“Anyway,” she continues. “I was telling them how you and my nephew are going to be trying soon, and that you’re taking the vitamins …”
Oh God.
“And they couldn’t believe that I knew all of that!” Visiting Aunt chuckles. “One said, ‘Oh, I would never know such personal details about my family.’ And I said, ‘Yes, we’re all very close.'”
I smiled weakly and shovelled more dessert into my mouth. I don’t mind that Darling Husband’s family knows our plans. I mean, we’ve been married just about a year, and everyone knows how much we want kids. “Trying” is not really a surprise.
And, of course, since we are all “so very close,” everyone knows we can’t try until Best Friend’s wedding (two months, one week, six days).
I don’t mind them knowing. But after last night, I’m thinking … if it doesn’t happen in July, or August, or September, not only am I going to be anxious/disappointed every month, but I’m going to have a slew of phone calls from across the country asking if it’s happened?
I think it’s time to start keeping my mouth shut … in real life, at least.
The winning weekend
I hate John Mayer.
Since I’m firmly planted on Team Aniston, he is dead to me. But I have kept him as a Twitter-pal, simply because I want to be the first to HUNT HIM DOWN if he dares to say anything about Jen.
And the other day, he actually Twittered something that made a lot of sense …
Damn it. The man has a point. OK, let’s pretend he stole it. It’s a quote from someone else, and he is just repeating it. There, that’s better.
I adore weekends — who doesn’t? But lately, I have been feeling conflicted about how I’m spending them. They are just going by way too fast, and I feel like I’m not using them to their full potential.
To me, the ideal weekend is …
- Relaxing – a respite from the crazy week you just had.
- Productive – a time to catch up on the housework, so you feel prepared to handle the upcoming week
- Fun – a time for enjoyment (especially stuff you don’t have time for during the week)
The problem is, my weekends only ever seem to be one of these! It never rains but it pours, when it comes to the scheduling of social events, timing of Hubby’s overtime, etc. I either have all the time in the world to myself, or none at all.
On the “relaxing” weekends where I am totally lazy — watch movies, watch the backlog of shows on the DVR, make crafts, write — I feel relaxed, but frustrated that I didn’t accomplish anything.
On the “productive” weekends where I’m a total warrior — do loads of laundry and dishes, scrub the bathrooms, vacuum, organize, clean closets, etc. — I’m happy I got it all done, but feel exhausted.
On the (rare) weekends when I’m Miss Social — go out after work on Friday night, shop on Saturday, have friends over on Saturday night, family dinner on Sunday — I’m glad I saw everyone and had fun, but cranky that I didn’t get any time alone to relax or do things I needed to do.
I think I need to make more of an effort to have balanced weekends. A bit of social, a bit of relaxing, and a bit of productivity.
Because let’s face it — Mondays are not cool when you have no clean clothes, are totally exhausted, or are ready to kill for five minutes alone.
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Heather's Handmade Life 