BTR

So on Saturday the husband and I took the girls to a BTR concert at the State Fair.

BTR?

Big Time Rush. They are a boy band with a TV show on Nick. Imagine what you would get if you mated The Monkees with the Jonas Brothers...



Awww aren't they cute? The thousands of screeching girls on Saturday night sure thought so. I admit I like them too. Their TV Show is fun, their songs are catchy, and my daughters LUUVV them (and there are a lot worse things they could LUUVV).

But as they began to play, I noticed my 13-year-old glancing around in hesitation. Young girls all around us were standing and bouncing, hands flailing, jaws open wide as high-pitched screams pierced the air. My daughter stood awkwardly as she tried to shield the homemade T-shirt she had made with her crossed arms. The mom alarm in me immediately sensed the problem. She was easily the oldest girl in our row.

"Those girls over there have to be in high school," I said pointing a few rows down from us to a group in matching homemade T-Shirts dancing and singing along. I noticed her shoulders relax and it wasn't long before she was jumping along with the rest of them.

I couldn't help but think how much she is alike me. How often when it comes to writing I have a fabulous idea that I am ecstatic about only to let my eyes drift to those around me. I start comparing myself. They are younger than me. They are smarter than me. Their blogs are better. Their writing more polished. And like a deflating balloon the excitement and passion I had for my idea leaks out of me and my writing.

I don't want that. I want to be like the little boy in the row in front of us who was dressed to the nines and sang the words to every song, despite the rows and rows of girls surrounding him. I want to be like the little girl behind us who screamed over and over "I love you guys", even though the stage was too far away and the band would never hear her. I want to be like the dad who stood up and danced right along side his little girl while all the other parents sat in their seats.

I want to be me. To be excited and passionate and not give a hoot about what everybody around me is doing.

Whoever thought I could learn so much from a boy band concert?

BTR. Be Totally Real. That's my goal this week.

Happy Writing!

Writer's Platform Building Campaign

I jumped into this blogging thing in hopes of meeting more writers, so I was excited to stumble upon the Third Writers' Platform-Building Campaign.

It kicked-off last week and signups run through August 31st at 11:59 p.m., so it is not too late to head over there and join in. Hope to see you!

Why I've been Incognito

So I haven't posted on here in like a week ...tsk..tsk..

But so much has been going on.

First this awesome, wonderful, fabulous thing called WriteOnCon happened. And in case you haven't heard of it, WriteOnCon is a three day online writer's conference. Oh yeah, it was completely free too.

If you missed the event, it's not too late. Head over to their website and you can still find the articles, videos, and chat transcripts with loads of advice from agents, editors, and authors.

Since I have a day job, I spent most of my evenings this week cramming it all in to stay caught up. Writing, blogging, and even the everyday chores (thank you sweet husband for cooking dinner each night) were ignored.

But I learned so much! I'm overflowing with new inspiration and ideas and can't wait to dig back into my WIP.

Then today I woke up to this in my e-mail box...


After several long moments of screaming and jumping up and down, the fear hit. Access to Pottermore today of all days. Not a good thing for me. It could might possibly definitely would drench the fire WriteOnCon had kindled.

I am a writer, and I love to write, but I can sooooooo easily be distracted.

And Pottermore....irresistible.

As I read and re-read my e-mail this morning, those new shiny WriteOnCon-inspired ideas ran through my head.

So what would it be this weekend? What would win my time?

Pottermore...Writing...Pottermore...Writing...my daughter...

Yeah the 13-year-old child of mine who also registered the same night I did. The one who refreshes her e-mail twice every hour. The one who follows the Pottermore blog religiously. The one who is the reason I ever read the books in the first place. The one who didn't get an e-mail today.

And yes, she won (my Pottermore account, that is).

Now she's spending the weekend at Hogwarts, while I'll be the muggle with my butt in the chair and my fingers on the keyboard.

Happy Writing!

Another year older...

And here are 5 goals I have in the coming year...

1. Weigh less than I do now.
I'm hoping that while the number of candles rises, the number on the scale lowers...dramatically!

2. To get a new phone.
My current one is sick, very sick. It tends to lose text messages, not ring when somebody is calling, and shut off when it feels like it. And I can't get twitter to work on it. Thankfully Verizon says I can get one next week! Now if I could just decide...

3. To write 2 more books - well at least the first draft.
Very ambitious of me, but the last one took 8 months, the one before that 10. Guess this means I could maybe do one in 6 months, and voila - 2 new novels before I get older again.

4. To jump into twitter.
Yep I was always that quiet girl standing awkwardly in the corner at parties thinking hard about the right time to jump in. That's what twitter feels like - I'm against the wall watching the popular kids tweet on by. This year I vow to jump or at least wade on in.

5. Come all the way out of the writing closet.
Announce you're going back to college on your Facebook status and watch the "likes" pile up. Announce you are writing a book and well...I can almost hear the snickers (yes I had a few bad experiences). You currently can't find this blog from my Facebook page. And although I've let it slip to a few, the majority of my friends, unless they've been googling my name, are clueless.

And here is what I'll be wishing for when I blow out my those candles today...

1. An agent.

2. A cruise this winter.

3. My Pottermore Welcome e-mail. (I'm starting to believe this will be the least likely of my choices).

When There Are No Words...

I met Lizzie one September evening at a Monday night church class. We were put in the same group. Table #16. I was new. She was new. I was shy. She had a pretty smile and laughed a lot. The weeks flew by and other group members came and went. Lizzie and I were the steady fixtures of our group.

Over those Monday nights we shared of ourselves. She talked of her three sisters and the close bond they all shared. I relayed the latest antics of my kids. We talked of our past experiences, and the choices that had shaped our lives. We shared our dreams for the future.

One cold snowy Monday evening I told Lizzie about my dream of writing. At this time in my life, I had shared this dream with few other people. I was afraid of the reaction - afraid of the looks people would give me when I told them. The "oh that's nice but yeah right" sort of look.

I remember that moment after I told Lizzie. That quiet space after the words left my mouth where I just wanted to reach out and take them all back. I waited for the awkward look, for the polite response. But Lizzie just smiled. Her big, glowing, genuine happy smile. "Me too," she said. And so, Lizzie became my first writing friend.

We talked a lot about writing over the coming months. Over breakfast dates and library meet-ups we developed and began to write a story together. When Lizzie got a job out of state, we continued our novel through bi-weekly phone conversations and Google Docs. Every other Tuesday at 9:00 p.m., my phone would ring. We would share our latest chapters, discuss plot ideas, and catch-up on each others lives.

She came to visit twice - the last trip came in late May. I met her for breakfast one Sunday morning where she told me about the fabulous day her and her sisters had spent together that past Friday. I smiled enviously. I had no sisters and couldn't help but think longingly of what it must be like to have three built-in best friends for life.

Shortly afterwards I left for vacation and Lizzie went home. We got off our Tuesday chat schedules and started attempting to plan a phone date to get back on track. It never happened.

Then July 31st came and I sat down to do something I rarely do - watch the news. The body of a 24-year-old woman had been discovered. A tragic, accidental death. How sad for her family, I thought before going to bed. The next morning a Facebook post from Lizzie and a news article sent my heart spiraling down into my knees.

That young woman was Lizzie's youngest sister.

Words have the power to make somebody feel. Whether it's joy, peace, shock, sadness, laughter or escape, the best words leave us feeling something. Entertained. Moved to tears. Not alone in the world. But there isn't a word in any language that can take away the grief of losing a loved one.

I've sent many messages to Lizzie over the past week to let her know I'm thinking of her and praying for her. They've gone via Facebook, via card, via the hugs at the funeral. My messages have all been similar to the numerous words of others. Thinking of you. Praying for you. I'm here for you. Short, cliche, yet heartfelt, sentiments that are mere fillers for when we don't know what to say.

Because even a writer knows sometimes there just are no words.

Divergent by Veronica Roth

It doesn't happen very often, but every now and then a book comes along that has me counting down the minutes until my lunch break or bedtime or...I'm surprised to say - exercise.

With a family, a day job, and lofty writing goals every day, finding time to read for fun is difficult. So I usually reserve my lunch hour, a half-hour or so before bed, and the time I spend spinning the foot pedals on my elliptical as "reading time". Now I'll admit, I hate exercise. For me it's about as much fun as cleaning toilets or going to the dentist. So for a book to actually have me looking forward to those thirty sweaty minutes I absolutely abhor, well it better be a darn good book.

Divergent was exactly that. And here are 5 non-sweaty reasons why:

1. An intriguing premise. In Divergent, the city of Chicago has been divided into five factions, each representing a certain virtue: Abnegation (selflessness), Amity (peace), Candor (truth), Dauntless (bravery,) and Erudite (knowledge). 16-year-olds are given the opportunity to choose their faction - whether it means staying with their family in the faction they've grown up in or transferring to a new one. Our protagonist, Beatrice "Tris", chooses to leave her faction, Abnegation, to become a Dauntless.

2. A super kick-butt heroine. Beatrice "Tris" rocks. I love it when the girl saves the day. I love it even more when the girl saves both the guy and the day.

3. A love interest worth falling for. Four was everything a girl could ask for - mysterious, brooding, hot. Even better - he not only let the heroine be kick-butt and independent, he encouraged it.

4. Friends worth having. The other initiates transferring into Dauntless come complete with their own strengths and flaws. They make you like them, hate them, want to slap them, and sometimes even cry for them. They are a diverse group, and even more important, they are real.

5. Kick-butt parents. Lately most of the parents in the YA books I've been reading are dead or non existent. And while you won't find Tris' parents overtaking the pages in Divergent, they do show up in the nick of time willing and ready to do what any parent who loves their child will do.

Waiting anxiously for March 2012...