Tattoo Me...Please!

Is it a mid-life crisis thing?  Or perhaps a need to rebel?  Or maybe just an urge to take control of some small part of my bod?  For whatever reason, I've been aching to get a tattoo.  The big question is, what do I want to etch into my ivory skin forever?  Of course a nice little celtic design would graft my love of Ireland to my shoulder for all eternity.  Maybe a spunky little fairy.  Of course horses are another passion, but I'm not sure I want just a horse-shaped stamped on my shoulder blade unless it's something really interesting.  What about something literary?  I considered a wonderful "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good" or something like that, but I think an iconic image would be more up my alley for this purpose. Or maybe something ghosty.

Here's the gig:

• I need a great idea.
• It has to be small.  I don't want it to swarm across my back.  Just a small little accent on my shoulder blade.
• It can be color or monochrome
• I'm asking my blogging buddies for help...HELP!  

If you have a suggestion, post it in the comments along with a link to the image.  OR email me with your suggestion and paste the image right in the email.  I'm open to original work by any of my illustrator buddies as well.

Hit me with your best!  

I Break for Birds

One benefit to our recent relocation is I have a better bird-watching perch. I find that when I need to think, I tend look out the window, often at nothing at all. I'm not sure why, but it just feels good. But I must say, it's definitely better to have a little natural drama to zone out to. At the old house, we had a bird feeder to watch, but it was in a flower bid in our front yard, outside the living room—not particularly conducive to taking pictures or journaling. Too much traffic to make the little tweeters comfortable enough to stay awhile. What I really need is a sanctuary so I can let my brain relax and wander through my character sketches and plots with a little bit of nature to inspire me.

So now, I have a chair on the back patio always waiting for me. I settle down into my cheap Walmart camp chair with Ghost Hunk's Nikon with the extra cool lenses...and wait...and think...and prewrite. Eventually, I'll have a little birding journal, but for now I guess I'll just play the voyeur. To the birds, only! My little oasis helps me clear my head and focus my thoughts so I can write. I don't know how it works, but it does. Love those birds!

The Creative Correlative

As my sanity wanders dangerously close to the abyss, my creative urges start gurgling and swishing in all directions (and unfortunately nowhere in the vicinity of my next novel). My bones ache to create something, and in this case, something useful and fun. My neighbor, a dear young friend, is having a baby shower this weekend. It will be her first little bundle of ecstasy, so I really wanted to do something special. But let's start with the end of the process...the card.

Today, we have a brief oasis before the scorching 90's return tomorrow, so I spent most of the afternoon outside—eating, reading, drawing, PAINTING. Yes, it's been years, and I mean years, since I got the watercolors out for my own enjoyment. So today I decided to paint a card to go along with the gift I made for little baby Neighbor. And Ghost Daughter has been inside far too much, so I roped her into bringing her new paints out on the patio, too. And voila! Her work of art. She painted it for her brother, his "welcome home from Boy Scout Camp" gift. (ouch...missing him again...)

While she splattered sky all around and grew a watercolor flower and a happy camper, I sprouted a jungle. Now remember, it's been years since I did anything like this, so I'm a little wobbly with the brush...and the pencil. But, I wanted to carry over some of the fun of the gift I made for baby neighbor. Yes, the theme is a baby jungle. No particular reason. I just know that my friend is doing the nursery in yellow and green and they don't want to know the baby's sex until he/she is born. So off to the fabric store for something baby, but unisex. A Jungle! Why not? I found these cute fabrics and they just seemed to fit. And with the final approval of Ghost Children, the theme for a brand new baby quilt was born (sorry about that pathetic pun!)

So, since my writing impulse has been stunted by all this waiting and worry, my creative flow had to find another pipeline, and that would be the quilt. Little baby monkeys, elephants, giraffes, lions, and hippos all peeking through the jungle foliage. How fun! So, in a week or so, I had made a pin-wheel quilt, complete with hand-sewn binding. (Let's hope it doesn't unravel and become a baby hazard...hand-stitching is definitely not my talent!) I love putting these together, though. I've done quilts for both my kids, and they still use them. So far, they haven't come apart...after 8 years, too!  Cards are always hard for me. I tend to like the funny ones (Farside and other twisted humor) or the clever ones. But this time, I really wanted something that drew the color and brightness from the quilt, so I made my own. And, as part of the gift, I'm also including the board book Goodnight, Gorilla. I don't know what the jungle swallowed me up on this one, but I hope it's not too much for my neighbor. There is still a lot of baby here and whether it's a boy or girl, every little schpunt loves jungle babies...right?

Yes, there is a high correlation between creativity and sanity. At least between my creativity and my sanity! When I get stuck in the worry bog, I simply have to find a way to make something new so I spend less time racing through that doomsday scenario over and over again. Ah...creativity therapy.

My Preview Audience...

I know I've blogged about Ruthie in the past, my erstwhile sidekick who shares my writing desk...and my bookshelf! She's pretty selective about her reading, and very interested in education research...

Sadly, I have neglected two very important members of my literary audience who see me through my mad re-enactments of the most dramatic (okay...sometimes inane) scenes in my WIP. So meet Whitman (yes, he's named after the poet). He has a bad habit of chewing up my daughter's plastic toys--the basement is a sea of FP Little People amputees--so he is not allowed to come all the way down into the basement.

Despite his banishment from the lower depths of my "office"/playroom, he sits sweetly on the step at just about eye level while I work. On occasion he snores or sighs, but he's good company when the house is really quiet. He's fairly opinionated, too. That's how I developed my thick skin against rejections.


My other buddy, Daisy. A true pound puppy, we adopted her from the human society in Indianapolis more than 7 years ago. She's the sensitive one. I can always count on her to laugh or cry at the right time in my manuscript. I don't know what I would without these little guys. Tea party guests, Halloween costume pals, roll on the floor and love 'em up buddies, they are such a part of the family and my literary critics circle. Just a small tribute to these three incredible companions. If you don't have a furry critique partner, I highly recommend it!

Two for the Road

After some questionable accommodations and service at our fabulous retreat, the time has come to consider other options for next year's venue. I've been busy hunting down potential spots, trying to keep things in the Poconos and keep them intimate and inspiring, and I lit on 2 specific possibilities. What's that you say? Come on up and check it out? You'll hook me up with a room for the night and a tour? Great!

Bummer...my cohort has a big commitment this weekend and can't go with me, and we can't find babysitting so DH and I can go together. I guess I'm on my own. Ah but wait! The film maker. What about him?

Yes, my little Spielberg accompanied me up into the Poconos for a look around, and what a blast! I love having that quiet time with my son, especially when it involves an adventure. Our last big adventure took us to New York City to the movie set of Spiderman 3, where my little guy was an extra in the film. This time we were sampling menus, hiking into the woods, evaluating the size and spring of the beds (always fun with a 10-year-old), and taking in the "sense" of the place, which is absolutely key to the success of this journey.

We found a fabulous place just 20 minutes or so from our former location, and it has everything--facilities, atmosphere, service, good food, free-roaming deer and even a few bears! It may have been more fun having my son there than DH (shhhh!) because he really wanted to see everything and try out all the amenities. Looking and seeing was not sufficient for him. He's all about the whole experience. That something unmatchable about our little jaunts, and Connor said, "Mama, can we do this every year? I mean just have a weekend together, just you and me?"

Yes, my insides rolled up into a big mushy knot and my eyes welled up. Absolutely! Daddy can have Boy Scout Camp and all that, but these little journeys will be for me and my boy. What a tremendous gift this weekend offered. Beautiful weather, a successful search, and priceless mama/son time that still pulls my lips up into a grin every time I think about it.

15 Years and Counting--Quite Happily!

Yes, indeed. My man and I have been married 15 years today. It's amazing how fast the years have flown by. They haven't all been full of bliss, but they have been exactly what they should be. We've seen the tough years and the joyful, some met more handily than others, but always with love and respect. I gave my beloved a book of letters, My Dearest Friend, the correspondence between John and Abigail Adams. Amazing--a country struggling to be born, a sometimes crass and arrogant man laboring to bring about the revolution, and a woman of infinite strength holding her man together from afar. Yes, Abigail really was the foothold, here. The first letter in the book is absolutely lovely:

October 4th. 1762

Miss Adorable

By the same Token that the Bearer hereof satt up with you last night I hereby order you to give him, as many Kisses, and as many Hours of your Company after 9 OClock as he shall please to Demand and charge them to my Account: This Order, or Requisition call it which you will is in Consideration of a silimar order Upon Aurelia for the Like Favour, and I presume I have good Right to draw upon you for the Kisses as I have given two or three Millions at least, when one has been recd, and of Consequence the Account between us is immensely in favour of yours.

John Adams

My man gave me exactly what I wanted--tulips. They are my favorite and were our wedding flowers all those years ago. So no matter how frustrated we are feeling about the job situation or waiting and waiting for word on my 2 manuscripts, we know that the foundation of this life is real and solid. And all I can say is, never settle. The right one is so worth the wait.

The Epistolary Approach

What ever happened to...the letter? You know...those pieces of paper hand-decorated with the most intimate of thoughts, sometimes the most carefully sculpted deceptions, often dipped in the sincerest of emotion and accented with a splash of sarcasm or a good bit of humor.

Take this little bit, for instance...

But with all this I am a weak man and a fool; weak, that I should be caught in the midst of my grave purposes by the gilded dust of a butterfly's wing.

From a letter written by Elisha Kane to Maggie Fox, c. 1853

Not that everyone needs to fill their letters with poetry and mush, but there is something infinitely more personal to a hand-written note, something so deeply connected. The writing itself is often lovely to behold. With the advent of computers, email, and the effortless keyboard, however, it's a wonder that any of us can remember how to sign our names to the mortgage payment! Aside from beautiful penmanship, there are the other elements of this life that only a letter can bring, bits that simply cannot seep through the computer screen. The feel of the paper in your hands. The scent of the writer--perhaps a little chocolate, or lilac, or something muskier. The sound of the envelope giving way to whatever device you choose to extricate the precious contents from their protector. The marks of its journey--stains and stamps and smudges. A letter gives you the whole sensual experience.

I'm scolding myself as well. About a year ago, I started a pen-pal relationship with a fellow writer who was looking for a pen pal via SCBWI's discussion boards. Absolutely! I love to write letters. Of course when the whole job kerfuffle began, I lost all sense of time and space and pretty much evaporated from the correspondence pool. (Sorry, Christine...hope you got my letter a few weeks ago!)

I have spent most of my life staring wistfully at mailboxes, praying for some little treasure (these days that would include a book contract!) to open and savor with a cup of tea. When I lived in Ireland, I ached for letters from friends and family across the pond, but the crippling can't-write-a-letteritis had already seized a generation and left my poor mail slot empty and unfulfilled. What dejection! The letter carrier whistling as he skipped right past my lonely old letter slot. May as well stuff it full of wool to keep the cold wind out!

It is so rare to find something other than bills or crappy invitations to steal my identity in that precious box standing guard at the end of my driveway. No matter how much I talk about it, however, I still need to do more to perpetuate the art of letter-writing. So...I've got my fountain pen and my stacks of interesting papers, and a proper "thank you" is on its way to a generous friend who loaned me her couch for a few nights...

Seed Catalogues--Hurray!

Yes, they have started coming. Those lovely seed catalogues full of luscious photographs and wistful desires. I love this time of year when the flower catalogues start jamming my mailbox. Hey, it's better than a boatload of rejection letters! It always makes me a bit wistful for spring and for simple country life--the house full of savory aromas and rich colors. I used to have a large garden in my back yard, back when I still had a little farm. I loved to plant veggies and tend to them through the steamy months of summer. Funny, when these little tomes of graphic beauty arrive, I always start cooking more, too. Those beautiful catalogues just inspire me to cook from scratch and bask in the aroma of comfort food as I anticipate the return of long, light days filled with warmth and birdsong.

I can't help but imagine placing a huge order for all kinds of exotic flowers, things I could never in a million years actually grow because I just don't have that kind of green thumb. So I try to find some lovely phlox or some geraniums and petunias, vinkas, begonias, all the more pedestrian blossoms that make our house look welcoming.

Interestingly, reading through theses catalogues often educates my writing as well. My settings are suddenly populated with the vibrant little heads of native flowers and foliage that build the character of the book. When I started working on my most recent novel, I stopped to research the flora and fauna of the Gennessee River valley. It had to be right.

What simple bits of mail inspire you?

Ruthie--Muse, Critter, Companion

Before you think I've really gone round the bend, consider it. A fabulous, affectionate friend who never scolds or annihilates your MC with a dismissive remark, or shatters your plot line with one swift blow of logic. Nope. Ruthie is inspired! Originally a class pet (well we know what happened to that plan!), now she is simply my buddy. Before I got this quaint little rodent, I had no idea how remarkably affectionate and quick-witted rats are. She's smart and sweet and already bonded to to me--and I to her. She loves to play around my feet or explore my desk when I'm working. Although the desk-top expeditions can be a bit dangerous to my files as her dainty little toes can wreak havoc on my keyboard, sending my document into the strangest of convulsions. "Save." Hit "Save" often!

Call her a mascot or a curiosity, I'll always call her my buddy. As odd as it may sound, Ruthie seems to make my little space, surrounded by the playroom mess and loads of youthful distraction, truly my space. She anchors me and encourages me as I plow through the pile of ideas scattered among the flotsam on my desk. Her little nose poking at my sock, her tiny toenails gently tugging at my pants leg, her feathery whiskers tickling my skin as she climbs into my lap and nudges my chin.

I know--it sounds a bit sappy. But it feels so nice to have a little buddy who is just interested in a little cuddle and some good writing! I think everyone should have a personal mascot! A critique critter!

Birthday thoughts...

So it is, indeed, my birthday. I'm not afraid to admit my age--43. And despite the drama of the past several weeks, I feel tremendously blessed. One of my dearest blessings, apart from the unfathomable joy of my children and the love of my man, is a particular friendship that started almost the instant we moved to Pennsylvania. I met Lee on Connor's first day of kindergarten. She had a baby on her hip as she was ushering her 5-year-old into the classroom for the first time, same as me. Our children were the same age, and Lee and I were of the same heart--full of artistic drive and passion for our children and the gifts this life has to offer--even though she stands about a foot taller than I.

She is an artist, an entrepenuer, a vivacious spirit who has untold depths of kindness and optimism. I am so thankful that I met her. She now manages an art gallery in town and is phenomenal at her job. But even more, she is a phenomenal friend. I have been lucky to have been blessed by a few such friends in my life. My oldest friend, Lisa Joy, and I have known each other since we were 9 years old, and we still talk as though we've never been apart, even if she does live 5 states away.

I guess what I mean to say is that on this day that I get to celebrate chance to be a part of this world, I am counting my blessings in friends. And I have met so many here on-line. You have given me strength, courage, inspiration, and lots and lots of hope. Not to mention a little faith in my own writing. So tonight, I will raise a glass to all of you and let my heart be glad of all that I do have at this moment.

Cheers!

My New Passion--Archery!

Since I was a wee one, I have always wanted to try archery, but as far as my father was concerned, my Red Ryder BB gun was enough. So I spent my entire childhood deprived...well, that may seem a bit melodramatic, but to a kid, that was a big deal. Now that my son has spent a few cub scout meetings at the archery range, my husband has become obsessed and decided that with some of the extra money from teaching a summer course, he would satisfy his obsession and mine. He was thrilled when I told him I had always wanted to give it a go, and before we knew, both of us were well armed for the sport.

In my first outing, I shot I don't know how many arrows before I realized that a huge welt was growing on my forearm, a nice little token from my bow string slapping my arm. I was having so much fun that I never noticed my bursting blood vessels! A week later, I have a lovely green patch, still tinged with a delicate hint of purple, about the size of a kiwi. The solution? An arm guard.

Yesterday, we went out in the morning and shot for a while at a target in our back yard. It was my first adventure since we were outfitted at the shop last week, so my first shots were a bit erratic. Take a close look at that target...the purple arrow smack dab in the middle is mine! Bullseye!

Do you think Robin Hood has room for a Merry Maiden?

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

I woke up to a beautiful morning, ushered in by my 6-year-old daughter ever so gently closing the door behind her (instead of slamming it as usual) and tip-toeing over to my bed to say quietly, "Happy Mother's Day, Mama." Then she crawled up and snuggled with us for half an hour. My son was downstairs flipping through the cartoons, patiently waiting for his lazy Mama and Daddy to crawl out of bed.

After a great cuddle, I came downstairs to another sweet kiss and a hug and flopped into my comfy seat on the couch. Then the first present came--a beautiful salmon-colored silk scarf, hand-died by my daughter and wrapped in a stunning watercolor painting, complete with a card decorated with delicately drawn flowers and her own lovely signature. Then...the book. From both my children (with a little help from Daddy!), an amazing book.

Above is a picture of this tremendous book, which in the span of 30 seconds vaulted to the very top of my list of all-time favorites. I spent my formative high school years with Bloom County and Berkeley Breathed, so his work here is even more dear. If you haven't read this gem, you absolutely must.

I really got spoiled this Mother's Day. Flowers, chocolate, a lovely new tea set, and a fabulous breakfast prepared by none other than dear hubby (big snaps to him for the whole plan). Wow! My biggest gift was getting to be a mom in the first place, so this is just icing on the cake.

All you moms out there, enjoy this day and snuggle your buddies close. And beware the Martians!