Sharing my thoughts

"When life gets to hard to stand, kneel." A sign on my kitchen window sill. Thought I would just share it with you. But seriously, have you ever actually tried kneeling when you pray? I don't know about you, but it's pretty powerful stuff - assuming you actually allow yourself to focus on what you are thinking about rather than think about how silly you feel when you are doing it. Ok, enough of that - don't like talking about that except with a few select individuals. I hate being judged, although I am completely aware that there's not a damn thing I can do about it. People are going to judge whether we like it or not, but yeah, it's probably my biggest weakness.
I really don't have much thoughts to share right now. Sad, huh? Mackenzie is in a holding pattern because...ok, I don't really know why. I just know my brain needs a break. OMG she's talking about her brain again! Why?! I have come to the conclusion that my BRAIN (yes, I said brain again) is in hyperdrive at most times. It is seldom that I think about one thing at a time. And I really mean that. At the exact same time that I am thinking about what I am writing here, I have several other things developing and working in my head. I have no less than three books, one short story and at least one developing short story bouncing in my head. I also am evaluating the chores - dishwasher needs emptying from earlier this evening. Need to buy more dishwashing detergent. K has homework that I helped her with earlier and needs more attention. Her band instrument is missing in action and I am doing a vertual (is that how you spell it) tour of my house trying to remember where it is. Watching Weather Channel and thinking about the storms I grew up with and wish I could experience one of those again - they were intensely cool! (No disrespect to those dealing with the current storms - I'm not talking about experiencing the devestation that Alabama is suffering right now - I'm talking about the intensity of a long storm, anticipation, etc.) Need to change laundry over. I need to iron for tomorrow morning. Ok - get the drift? In my head these are not thoughts that I have one after another. They are all occurring at the same time. I just can't write about them at the same time. Sounds like a potential mental illness! Hah!
So this is just to show you why Mackenzie has not made another appearance. She's there. she just hasn't manifested in a form that I can display on the blog. But I will try to weed out the other crap so I can reach her. If nothing else, I painted my toenails. That has been bugging me like crazy. can't wait for the first pedicure of the season. Not that it's routine for me. I think in my entire life I have received either 3 or 4 pedicures. But I think I will get one soon.
Like anyone gives a giant crap about my nails. Except for me. Oooohhhh! And this is MY blog - so there you go. Pedicure. Exciting topic for the evening.
Peace out people. I shall be back - hopefully with Mackenzie's story and not mine!

Updates on THREE CROSSES

I have just recently learned that there are editorial mistakes in both the Amazon and the BN.com versions of THREE CROSSES. For all of you who have purchased a copy, I am terribly sorry for that. I make a better writer than a self-editor. When I write a book, especially one at full steam like I did with THREE CROSSES, I have a habit of writing NOTES TO CATHY within the manuscript. These are just for my reference and serve as a tag so I know where to return to review or correct. They might be notes on a detail that I cannot recall from earlier or a question I have regarding the direction the plot should move in. I go back to these notes later, after the 1st draft is written and work on them at that time. If I tried to fix or address these issues as they pop up, I would never get through a 1st draft. Well apparently I left one or two of those self-notations rather then delete them on the final draft. And then that copy not only went into epublication but it also went to the Copyright office like that. UGH! I will address this but I don't want to take them off sale just yet and I am not prepared to fix these mistakes just yet.
Anyone who has read the epublished version of the book and can recall any of these mistakes, please let me know so I can more quickly get to fixing them.
On another note, A Miracle for Mackenzie will be along shortly (not likely tonight) but I am still recovering from this cold or flu or whatever it is/was. It knocked me for a loop and I am trying to get back on track. Again thank you for all the kind words about the Mackenzie story. I really do get energized and excited to work on it some more when I hear that people are enjoying the story and are waiting for the next installment.
In the meantime, you will just have to settle for boring personal notes like this one:)

A Miracle for Mackenzie - 7

          I walked the short distance to the table, telling myself that I wanted to check out the flowers. They were beautiful. Nothing from the grocery store florist. Red and pink roses, not even opened completely, tucked neatly into white and green flowers that I didn’t even know the name of. I traced my fingers across the envelope and I picked it up to investigate his handwriting. I wanted to see if there was any aggression in his penmanship or if it looked friendly. I couldn’t tell but it didn’t look angry. It just looked like his handwriting, near indiscernible print. I flipped it over. It was sealed.

            “What the heck,” I said to no one and jammed my finger under the flap. I ripped it opened in a jagged line and pulled out the folded white paper. I opened it to find a money order made payable to me but without my address. It was for five hundred dollars. The letter was printed in his handwriting but I could tell he must have taken his time to write it because it was neater and easier to read than his usual handwriting.

            Dearest Mackenzie,

You have every reason in the world to hate me and I don’t blame you if you never wanted to see my face again. But please know that I hate myself too. I hate that I have destroyed everything we had. You and the baby are so precious to me and I would do anything to have you back. My life is so empty without you and I feel like I am dying every day that I wake without you by my side. I know I cannot ask you for your forgiveness but I hope that in time you will know that I promise to never hurt you like that again. Can we please try one more time? I can take care of you and the baby. You won’t have to worry about a job or health insurance. I will make you my wife and make sure that you are taken care of. I hate that you are out there in the world trying to do it all on your own. You don’t have to. Give me the chance to be the man I know I can be and I promise you won’t regret it.

I have enclosed a money order because I knew if I wrote a check from my account you wouldn’t cash it. And I know you need it. I heard you got fired from your waitressing job. But that’s ok. You are too good for that anyway. I know you need the money so I wanted to make sure you had it. I can send you more or better yet, you can come home and never worry about money ever again.

I love you Mackenzie and I think that somewhere in your heart you still love me. A love like ours can’t be destroyed.

Forever yours,

Jason

            I read the note a second time before the tears started rolling down my face. I had felt so confidant earlier that I could do this on my own, but I suddenly felt stupid and incompetent. Was I doing Renee an injustice by striking out on my own? Pretending that I could be a responsible caregiver on my own?  Hell, I didn’t have money to buy her diapers, let alone a crib. What was I thinking? It was great and all that I was just offered a full time job but I was exhausted all the time. How did I expect to work 40 hours when I felt like I needed a nap every few hours? And with a full time job, I would have to find a daycare for her once she was born. How could I afford that? But not even the money, what kind of mother was I to send her off all those hours in a week? Someone else would be raising her. And then what happens to my job if she got sick and I had to take off from work to stay home with her? It was more than my brain could handle.

            I hated Jason for doing this to me. I crumbled the note and tossed it on the floor. The money order stared at me from the table. I decided not to crumble it. I could use it. And it was his responsibility to help anyway. I’m not the one who cheated. At that moment it dawned on me that he would be responsible for child support. I hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. And then I really started to cry because I wandered what kind of father Jason was going to be and suddenly I saw him in my head with another woman. They would be a happy couple and Renee would love going over there to their place where she had toys and her own room and clothes and better food on the table. He would make sure that in his home he provided her with a crib and diapers and a mobile. I completely lost it at that moment. I flung myself on the couch and bawled, hysterically shaking and sobbing. I was going to be the worst mother on the planet and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

More Comments on Mackenzie from Catherine Lee

As a reminder - A Miracle for Mackenzie is a work in progress. This translates to - there will be mistakes. This is also NOT what the final product will look like. But so far I am happy with the story line for the most part. There are details I will most likley change. Not crazy about Jason's name but it will have to do for the time being. Anyway, enjoy this next installment and I will see you all tomorrow.

A Miracle for Mackenzie - 6

2

            Sixteen fifty an hour? I had never earned that much my entire life. By the time I was back in my car, I was feeling giddy. I turned the engine and rolled down all four windows. It was hot as Hades, but I didn’t care. I had a job! A job that paid me sixteen dollars and fifty cents an hour. I looked in the rearview mirror to backup and I thought how in just a couple of months, I would look in my mirror and see a baby seat with Renee in it. A baby seat. I needed one of those too. Oh the list was getting longer and longer. Maybe Joy could loan me one from the twins when they were just little things, assuming she still had them.

            I drove away from the building filled with excitement and hope. I wouldn’t need Jason after all, thank goodness. Of course the reality was that eventually I would have to take time off when I had the baby. Then I would have to find a sitter. A sitter would probably charge at least half of my income. Would they hold my job for me while I was on maternity leave? Did they have to by law?

            I would figure that out later. For the time being, I would have an income. I would save as much of it as possible so while I was on maternity leave, I would have money for Renee. I detoured to Wal-Mart. It was usually pretty crowded, but not at that time. Probably too hot for people to be out. I walked directly to the back of the store where the baby clothes and supplies were. There were so many pretty little dresses for newborns. Fancy ones with pink polka dots on the skirts and gingham prints in shades of green and yellow. I traced my fingers over the fabric of one of the green gingham dresses. It had watermelons appliqués sewn on the bodice. So sweet. I looked at the price tag. $15.99. Almost an hour’s worth of work. I released my hold on the dress. It would have to wait until I actually got a paycheck. I slowly walked through the aisles making mental notes of all the supplies I would need. Bottle, wipes, powder, baby lotion and shampoo. Cleaning brushes for the bottles, thermometer, nail clippers, nasal suction bulb, diapers, a highchair. The list seemed endless. Blanket, mobile. A mobile was a luxury item, but I knew my baby would get one. Somehow or another, I would see to it that she would have a mobile over her crib. Her crib! They were so expensive and where was I going to put it in my teeny tiny apartment?

            Suddenly, I wanted to cry. I wanted my baby girl to have so many things, but I was in no position to buy them for her. I felt like such a loser. What kind of mother was I going to be, bringing a precious little girl into the world where I couldn’t even afford to buy her a mobile for her crib? I walked away from the baby aisles and out of the store. I had felt so confidant going in, knowing that I would have paychecks soon, good paychecks. But now, looking at all the stuff I needed, the money didn’t seem enough.

            I found my car and drove home, only crying once I was behind the wheel. As I pulled into the bumpy dirt street behind the three decker, two little girls stopped their jump roping and stepped to the side of the road to let me pass. As soon as I was past them they were back in the road, one jumping and the other hollering as she counted the number of jumps. “Forty-three. Forty-four.” I guess my interruption didn’t make them start the count over. I watched them for a few seconds and recovered some of my confidence. I was given an opportunity and I was going to make the most of it. My daughter would one day be old enough to jump rope and all these fears would be long gone.

            I parked along side the beat up fence that separated the backyard of weeds and dirt from the road. I left enough room to open the car door. It was getting harder and harder to get in and out of the car. I struggled with my bag but shut the door. Across the yard at my front door was a beautiful mixed bouquet of flowers in a clear vase. Oh no. Jason figured out where I live. I shuffled, which I was doing more of lately, down the length of the dirt driveway. Two cars were parked, one belonging to the landlady and the other to her son. Their tenants parked wherever they could find a spot. I opened the gate and walked down the few steps. I reached for the card in the little plastic stick. On the little florist card was Jason’s handwriting. “Mackenzie, please give me a second chance. Love, Jason.” My heart raced. He knew where I lived. I didn’t want to see him.

            It was hard to bend down and grab the vase, but there wasn’t a lot of water so none splashed on me as I grasped it into the crook of my elbow. I unlocked the door and stepped in. On the floor just on the other side of a door was and envelope with just my first name scrawled on the front, in Jason’s handwriting. I put the flowers on the little round kitchen table that served as my desk as well. I went back to the envelope and bent down for it. I didn’t open it but rather called Joy, tossing the envelope next to the flowers.

            “Hi Mackenzie,” she answered on the third ring. In the background, I could hear one of the boys crying.

            “Joy, did you tell Jason where I live?”

            “Of course not. I take it you’re home now. Where were you?”

            “How does he know where I live?”

            “He doesn’t. I delivered the flowers and the note.”

            I felt a sense of relief wash over me but I only felt a little better. I had worked hard to distance myself from Jason and having his presence in my home was unnerving to say the least. “Did you call him?”

            “No. He called me. Said he found out you worked at Pepper’s and went by there. Found out you had been fired. Mackenzie, he really wants to work things out with you. Give him a chance.”

            “Whose side are you on?”

            “Don’t be silly. Yours of course.” The crying got closer. She must have picked up the crying twin because it sounded like he was on the phone.

            “I can’t go back to him. He cheated on me, Joy. While I was pregnant.”

            “He’s sorry. Really, really sorry. He wants to make it up to you.” And then to the baby in her arms she said, “Shh, shh, shh.” I could imagine her bouncing him on her hip.

            “I don’t care that he’s sorry. He shouldn’t have cheated in the first place, then he’d have nothing to be sorry about. And you know things weren’t good between us anyway.”

I don’t know if she heard me over the baby’s crying or not because she said, “Did you open the envelope yet?”

I looked at it on the table. “No.”

“Then open it and call me back.” She didn’t wait for me to answer but I heard her say before she disconnected, “Come on, Paul, stop the crying.”

            I closed my phone and stared at the envelope. I told myself that I didn’t want to know what was in it.    Part of me wanted to shred it to a million pieces but another part of me was curious. I had fallen in love with Jason the moment I saw him. Something about him made me feel like he could see me all the way to my soul. I knew I was still messed up over him but I couldn’t go back to him, could I? Wouldn’t I be a pathetic if I went back to him?

A Morning Quote from My Homepage

"To make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe." - Carl Sagan

It's good to be brilliantly funny.

A Miracle for Mackenzie - 5

The machine behind Barbie stopped making noise and she turned to retrieve my license. She handed it back to me and smiled. “Are you finished with these?” She didn’t wait for an answer but took the papers back without even glancing at them before she tucked them into the folder.

            “We have a couple of shifts here to accommodate our international professors and the west coast. But for the time being, you can come in tomorrow at ten. Abby is the floor shift supervisor who will get you started. You’ll have to come in the main entrance until we get you an employee passcard. Any questions?”

            “Um, yes. Why is Mr. Riley hiring me? He doesn’t even know me.”

            “Mackenzie, no one knows why Mr. Riley does half the things he does. Just consider yourself lucky that you found a job in this economy. Any other questions?”

            “How much does the job pay?” I hadn’t even considered the possibility that it paid minimum wage. I might be better off with unemployment.

            “Oh, I’m sorry.” Barbie looked to her computer screen and seemed to be looking for something. It might have been an email from the way she recited to me as she looked at the screen. “$16.50 an hour. 40 hours a week. You don’t qualify for the health and dental insurance plan until after you have been here for three months.” She looked back at me. “Abby will go over your schedule. Let her know about any upcoming doctor’s appointments and she’ll work around them.”

            I shook my head. $16.50 an hour? Holy cow!

            “You get paid every week, but any hours this week will be in next Friday’s check. Do you want your check directly deposited into your checking account?”

            “That would be great.”

            Barbie smiled again. “Do you have a blank check with you? I can start the processing on that but it probably won’t go through until your second check. Our payroll service is a little outdated with the times.”

            I fished through my bag, thankful I had returned the checkbook. I tore out a blank check and passed it across the desk to her. She wrote VOID across the front of it and tucked it into the folder. She looked at her computer screen again. Her computer beeped. She moved her computer’s mouse and then pressed the button.

            She read something on her screen for a few seconds. Then she said, “Mackenzie, Mr. Riley just sent me an email. He wants to know if you have health insurance coverage in the interim.”

            “I can get COBRA.” He emailed her? Was he sitting in his office behind the closed door? How did he know I was here?

            She typed without looking at the keyboard, a skill I had always envied. I was a descent typist but I had to look at the keypad. She stopped and watched the screen. After a few seconds, there was another beep and she read.

            She looked at me and smiled. “Do you have email, Mackenzie?”

            “Not anymore. I don’t have a computer at home.”

            “I have to set you up with a company email address. I’ll send you a link to the Mass Fair Health Plan. You can check it out tomorrow.”

            The computer beeped again. She read and smiled.

            “Mackenzie, you have a car, yes?”

            “Yes.”

            “Mr. Riley asked that you spend some of your time tomorrow taking care of your health insurance issue.”

            “I can do it in my free time, since I don’t have to be here until 10.” I was anxious to start clocking in my hours. It was already Wednesday so I only could get two days of work under my belt. I had already walked away from Pepper’s with my check for the week. I had included it in my budgeting.

            Barbie held her hands up in protest. “What Mr. Riley is getting at here is he wants to know if you would mind running a few errands for him tomorrow and while you are out and about, take care of your health insurance needs.”

            “Instead of working in the office?”

            “Both. Come here at ten as planned. And from there we will figure out your day. He’ll pay you for your time no matter whether you are in the office or running errands for him. It is his company after all.”

            “Whatever he wants is fine.”

            “Very well, then,” she said and stood up. She walked around the desk and held her hand out to me. I stood too and shook her hand. “We will see you tomorrow at ten. Just come to the main entrance and ask for me again.”

            “Thank you. And please thank Mr. Riley for me.”

            Barbie smiled and released my hand. “Can you find your way out?”

            “Yes, no problem.”

            Barbie shut her office door behind me and I was only a few steps away when her intercom buzzed at her desk. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I bet a hundred dollars it was Mr. Riley.

Where are you C.L.LeMay?

I am terribly sorry that I have disappeared. I shall return shortly. Got hit with a fever. I assume some kind of bug but don't really have any other symptoms. This is the first time in a couple of days that I have turned on my computer. Mackenzie will be along - hopefully this evening. Again, sorry for the interruption in the flow of the story. But I am thrilled that there are readers who are anxiously awaiting her return:)

To the Faithful Followers of Mackenzie

Mackenzie will make her 5th appearance tonight. Sorry for the delay - busy (but good) weekend. Also, I have lowered the price of THREE CROSSES on Bn.com and Amazon.com. I did this for 2 reasons. #1. It seems to be a trend among new authors/epublication authors to keep the prices down which is a direct correlation to more sales - I would assume. And #2. I want to get the next novel prepared for publication and if I could get my attention off of THREE CROSSES, I think it will be easier to move in that direction. So, anyone wanting to buy the novel but don't want to spend $9.99 on an author you've never heard of - now's the time to buy at $2.99. It may eventually return to $9.99 - so buy now. It's a bargain! My Spring gift to the readers out there who will eventually want to read more C.L.LeMay:)
Hectic week commences now - but Mackenzie will be here tonight for tomorrow's viewing. Also look for a short story within a couple of weeks. I need to tweak the short story since it has a couple of versions, but I am excited to post it.
Happy Monday to all of you. And again, thank you for giving me the encouragement to keep posting A Miracle for Mackenzie.

A Miracle for Mackenzie - 4

“You must be Mackenzie,” she said.

            I shook her hand. “Yes.” I felt so dowdy next to her.

            “Come with me,” she turned and waved a hand for me to follow her. We walked down the corridor with its green plush carpet, her heels leaving imprints. The walls were a medium shade of purple, something that tittered on the pink side.  The color actually complimented her jacket.

            We turned down another corridor, this one shorter which bent to the left at the end. There were only two offices in this stretch of the hallway. Barbie opened one of the two closed door with the name plaque BARBARA HYNES on it. Diagonally across the hall was the other office, door closed with a name plaque ANDREW RILEY.

            It wasn’t a large office, just big enough for her desk and chair, two smaller chairs on the other side of the desk and a long short file cabinet. But the décor was designer, the file cabinet was chocolate brown wood that looked like three double drawer cabinets with one fitted piece of flat top over them. It matched the desk and chairs. The carpet was a light beige and the walls were a shade or two darker beige. On the side walls were  beautifully framed large landscape photographs, each graced with shades of orange and red. One of them could have been a sunset or a sunrise. I decided it was a sunrise.

            “Take a seat,” Barbie indicated to one of the two chairs in front of her desk, as she maneuvered into her desk chair. There was a thin manila folder to the side on her desk and she pulled it in front of her. She opened it and took out a couple of sheets of paper. She turned them towards me and laid a heavy looking silver pen on top of them.

            “I’ll take a copy of your driver’s license while you fill these out.” She didn’t ask, she stated this to me.

            I reached into my bag for my wallet, but stopped as I held it in front of me. “Can you tell me a little about the company?”

            “Certainly. We are Arlington Press. We provide a service for college professors who are interested in reviewing textbooks that they might want to use for their curriculum.” She stopped as if that explained everything.

            “And what would I be doing, if I took this job?”

            She smiled, almost a smirk. “You will take phone calls from professors and their assistants. You will take their order, fill their order and then follow-up with them as to whether they would like to order the textbooks for their class.”

            “Oh. Ok.” I handed her my driver’s license and she swiveled around so her back was to me. A machine whirred to life. She turned back and saw me staring at her. “That will take a couple of minutes to scan. If you could please fill out the application.”

            “Yes, of course.” I took the pen. I was right, it was heavy. It was a short application that didn’t ask for references but did ask for the previous three year employment history. That included my short stint as a waitress at Pepper’s and I hesitated. I hoped they wouldn’t call on previous employers.

            “Is there a problem?” Barbie asked.

            “No. I just, well are you calling my previous employers for employment verification?”

            “Perhaps. Is there a problem with that?”

            I shook my head. I felt like a child next to Barbie who not only looked impeccable but exuded an air of confidence that made me feel smaller and smaller. I don’t think she was doing it intentionally. She seemed genuinely nice, but I felt like squirming in my seat as she sat there waiting for an answer from me.

            “Not from Pepper’s. And my other job before that is fine too. It’s just that I don’t want the owner to know where I am applying for work.”

            She opened her eyes wider as an invitation to continue.

            “I worked for his company, you see, and I left. And I don’t want him to know where I am.”

            “Did you embezzle from his company?”

            I sat up straight, startled by the question. “No. No, nothing like that.” I considered that the way I was describing it, it could have sounded like I was hiding from him for sinister reasons. Best to be honest, but not too much information, maybe. “We dated. I broke up with him and he…”again I hesitated.

            “He what? Stalks you?”

            “No. No.”

            Barbie leaned her upper body across her desk and said in a low voice. “Is he the father of your baby?”

            I nodded.

            “Has he ever hurt you, Mackenzie?”

            “Not physically, no. I just don’t want him to know where I am. I’ve worked hard to hide myself from him.”

            “I see.” She leaned back. “I suppose you have a W-2 or a 1099 from your employment time there?”

            “Yes. Yes, I do. Will that suffice for employment verification?”

            “I’ll check with Mr. Riley. But quite frankly, Mackenzie, Mr. Riley only has you going through the application process as a formality. He intends on hiring you as long as you are a legal resident of the United States.”

            “I am.”

            “Then I don’t see any reason for calling your previous employer.”

            My shoulders relaxed. I hadn’t even known they were tense.

A Miracle for Mackenzie - 3

            “If I need a job?” Several things went through my head. The first being that the note had been there for a long time, but then it looked fresh, the ink wasn’t smudged or faded. The second was that the nice, quiet man who had given me the tip had written the note specifically for me. Why would he do that? I tried to remember something about the man.

            I didn’t have time for this. I was running out of hot water. I went back towards the bathroom and dropped my clothes just outside the door. I stepped into the shower stall and doused my hair, before I realized it was still in a ponytail. I yanked the rubber band out and shampooed and rinsed as fast as I could. I was just about to start washing my body when the water started to cool off. It would be cold in thirty seconds. I’d have to wash up later. At least I had rinsed off. I turned the water off and stood there looking down at my belly. It was stretching so much. Who knew that skin was so elastic? Hopefully it would go back when the pregnancy was over. Would the skin hang loose and gross after Renee came? Oh jeez, just one more thing to think about.

            I pulled back the curtain and reached for a towel where I had installed a cheap ring rack.  I had three body towels to my name, a three pack at a discount store. They were already starting to deteriorate. The baby was going to need better towels. It was time to start a list, maybe pick up a few things, a little bit at a time, so I wouldn’t be overwhelmed. Buying stuff for the baby meant money would have to come out of my grocery and gas money. I’d have to eat more mac and cheese.

            I couldn’t very well wrap the towel around my body so I dried off and took my robe off the back of the door. Door hooks were an essential in a tiny apartment. I tied it and threw the towel over the shower rack. I had to use them several times before washing them since even doing laundry was a luxury at this point. Fortunately I had just done laundry, so all three towels were clean. That was something I could talk to Joy about. I bet she would let me come over once a week to do laundry at her house rather than go to the laundromat. Good thinking.

            I looked at the twenty dollar bill again. I tried to picture the guy who gave it to me, but I was so distraught over the news of being fired that I really wasn’t paying much attention to my patrons. He sat at the counter. That much I knew, because all of the other waitresses had willingly given up their shifts at the counter for me. Less walking around. I had only been at Pepper’s for about four months and hadn’t gotten close to any of the other waitresses, but they had all been so nice to me. I had actually enjoyed the job too, when I wasn’t completely wiped out with exhaustion.

            I looked at the bill again. Was the message really meant for me? The guy was nice enough to give me a good tip. Maybe he did write the note for me. What was the harm in finding out? But what if he was some kind of wacko? Or a pimp? Ok, now I was getting ridiculous. I was seven months pregnant, what kind of pimp would be offering me a job?

            I brought my cell phone to the window where the reception was best. I didn’t have a land line and kept the cell phone so I had a phone. I had changed my plan to be the cheapest possible. I never got calls, so it didn’t matter that my minutes were so few. Jason didn’t have the number, so he didn’t call it.

            I dialed the number that was on the bill. Before the second ring, a pleasant sounding woman answered and said, “Arlington Press, this is Barbie, how can I help you?”

            “Barbie?” I said before I could shut my big mouth.

            “Yes?”

            “Umm,” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t plan on what to say. “My name is Mackenzie Dalton. I got this number…I know this sounds strange, but I got this number off of a twenty dollar bill that a gentleman left for me as a tip. See, I’m a waitress…”

            “Mackenzie, Mr. Riley said that if you should call, to come down and fill out an employment application.”

            “Mr. Riley? Is he the one who…”

            “Yes, dear. If you have a resume, you may bring that with you, but don’t worry if you don’t.”

            “Ok. But what is Arlington Press?”

            “I’ll explain it all to you when you come down. I need to take another call.” She spouted out the address and told me she would be there until five. I hung up looking at the phone. A job? I was offered a job just like that? Well, I didn’t have it yet technically, but the offer was there. And he obviously knew I was far along in my pregnancy. A press company? As in printing press or publishing press? I wasn’t familiar with the company, but I was with the street. It was in a semi-industrial area about four miles away.

            I rummaged through my meager closet of clothes and decided to wear a black blouse that draped over my belly in pretty lines. The sleeves were little butterfly shapes. I only had black skirts with stretchy waist bands. I pulled a clean one out of the closet. What was I going to do about clothes for me once the baby came? Everything was going to be too big. I supposed I could just get fat so I could still wear them. That was an option. Not a very appealing one, but still. I put a brushed through my still damp hair and pulled it into a ponytail. I looked in the mirror over the bathroom sink. I needed makeup. Just a touch of it, to offset the paleness.

            After that I gathered my bag, cell phone and car keys. Outside was sweltering. And it was only June. It was going to be an intensely hot and sticky summer. The Camry started right up and I rubbed my hand across the dashboard. “Good girl.”

            I drove to the street, glancing at my gas gauge which was almost half a tank. At one point I was sure the car was excellent on gas but with all the miles on her engine, she wasn’t as good anymore, but still, not bad. I found the number of the building. 1125. It was a blond brick building with no windows. The parking lot to the right had about twenty to twenty-five cars parked in it. I found a spot up close because most of the cars were parked close to the tree line away from the building. Although there was a double set of doors at the middle of the building on that side, there was a sign posted in front of my spot indicating that the main entrance and visitors were to go around to the other side. I walked the paved path and felt the sweat beading up on my brow and under my clothes just in the short distance.

            There was a single glass door with the words Arlington Press spread across the front. There was a vestibule with a small sliding glass window to the right. A young blond girl, not much older than twenty slid the window opened.

            “May I help you?” She asked.

            “Are you Barbie?” I asked.

            The girl laughed, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She cleared her throat and moved her hand away. “No. Do you have an appointment with her?”

            “Kind of. She told me to come down and see her.”

            “What is your name?”

            “Mackenzie Dalton.”

            The girl shut the window and picked up the phone on her desk. I could hear her through the glass. “Mackenzie Dalton is here to see you.” In a split second she had hung up the phone, used her head to indicate the interior door and a released the door lock. I grabbed the handle and pulled it open. There was a counter space to the right where the girl swirled her chair around and said, “Wait here. Barbie will be along in a minute.” She went back to whatever it was she was doing at her desk. Her phone rang and she answered, “Arlington Press.”

            I wondered why she didn’t answer my call earlier. In less than a minute, a well dressed woman in a two piece suit of a slim black skirt and a lilac jacket with four pearl buttons down the front came around the corner. Her hair was crisp blond and cut in a stylish short wedge that hugged her face. She either wore little makeup or was such an expert at applying it that you could barely tell she was wearing any. She wore high black pumps that looked so new that she could have just bought them. Her legs were lean and muscular and so tanned that I couldn’t tell if she was wearing nylons or not. Despite the fact that she looked amazing, she was clearly in her early forties. She held out a hand for me to shake.

2nd posting for A Miracle for Mackenzie

Once again I want to remind you before you read the 2nd posting - this book is in its rarest form. I have not performed any editing, neither for grammar/spelling nor for content. It may or may not read well. This is an example of what a book looks like as it exits my brain (OMG! she mentioned her brain again!). Things will change eventually but I don't usually edit until the 1st draft is completed. I can make notes as I go along. Like for instance - I like Mackenzie going into the pet shop but something about the scene doesn't flow well. I think she accepts his dismissal too fast. But it's okay for a first draft. The next draft will probably have her showing a sense of embarrassment or something to that affect. As I get to know her character more and understand what she would most likely be like, I can make appropriate changes then. But the fact that she so quickly accepts his dismissal in the first draft is a pretty good indication that her self esteem is on the low side (at least at the start of the book) and that will carry through to the next draft.
Thanks for reading:) Hope you enjoy it.

A Miracle for Mackenzie - 2

Joy gave me a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. She needed to relieve her mom who was had been watching the two year old twin boys all morning. I hoped that I would look as good as Joy after my baby came. Joy was always put together, makeup and hair in a stylish fashion that I could never seem to achieve. My dirty blonde hair was always in a ponytail and lately the grays at my hairline had been popping through. 27 years old and I had kinky gray sprouts poking out along my forehead. How attractive. The first thing I was going to do after the baby came and I had a little extra cash was to get my hair highlighted.

I looked around my little basement studio apartment. The futon sofa that served as my bed as well looked tempting. Maybe a quick nap would revive me. I sighed. No. No nap. Not yet. After I visited the library and perused the want ads. Then I could come home and take a nap. I gathered my pocketbook and keys and locked the door behind me. Outside, it was hot. Summer was bearing down on us with fury and it was only the second week of June. I decided to walk the three blocks to the library, better to save on gas money.

At the library, I took out a small pad of paper and a pen from my bag and jotted down a couple of potential jobs. Nothing exciting, but I didn’t qualify for most of the other ones that wanted five years experience and an MBA or some other degree. I folded the paper and returned it to its shelf. One of the potential jobs was only another block up the road so I decided to walk on over. It was a pet grooming boutique. They needed a receptionist. I loved animals and I was pleasant enough to be a receptionist.

The bell chimed when I pushed the glass door opened. Darling Pets was decked out in puppy décor. Cute. Behind the mahogany u-shaped receptionist desk was a thin, tall bald man in a dark three piece suit. He must have been sweltering under the layers but he looked crisp and not at all like he was wilting.

“May I help you?” He asked in a cheery voice.

“Yes. I wanted to fill out an employment application for the receptionist job.”

“Oh dear,” he said and shot a look at my belly. He ran his fingers along the barrel of a pen. “I filled that position just this morning.”

Was he lying to me?

“Oh, I see. Thank you anyway,” I said and turned. The contrast from the nice cool air conditioned boutique to the hot, now turning sticky outside air was so intense that I felt a wave of nausea ripple through my belly. I stood outside the door for just a minute to gather myself. Taking a couple of deep breaths, I moved on.

The other job was a couple of miles from my apartment so I would have to get my car, a 1992 navy blue Toyota Camry with rust spots at the wheel bases and 125,000 miles on the odometer. But she ran ok and the air conditioning worked. I had bought it several months ago after kicking Jason out of my life. Joy’s husband Eddie had helped me find it. It belonged to an elderly lady who had recently passed away and he knew the grandkids were looking to get rid of it. He learned about stuff like that since he worked at a funeral parlor. I got it for a thousand dollars, which was most of my savings, but it got me back and forth to work.

I took my time walking home. Unlike the man in Darling Pets, I was wilting. I actually was feeling a bit like a crayon melting into a puddle of wax swirled with red dye. The image made me think about the baby growing in me. I rubbed my hand over my belly. Renee Mackenzie Dalton. I’d known for a while that I was carrying a daughter. I wondered if she would like coloring as she got older. I fought the urge to turn back towards town to the pharmacy where they carried all kinds of fun things, including I was certain coloring books and crayons. Besides the fact that it would be years before the baby would attempt to color in a coloring book, I didn’t have a single penny to spend on frivolous things.

I took the four steps down to the cement balcony of my apartment. I unlocked the door and walked in. I didn’t have an air conditioner but between being below ground level and the shade from the upper balcony, the place had yet to get hot. Hopefully it would stay that way as summer progressed. I had only lived there for four months so I wasn’t sure how it would fair in the hotter months. I plopped on the futon and reached behind me where I pulled a shade down at the window. I curled up, pulling a throw pillow under my head and was asleep in seconds.

When I woke, I was hungry and had Jason on my mind. I must have been dreaming about him because I felt like I had just been talking to him. Enough of that. I had nothing to say to him and I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say to me. I stretched and went to the little kitchen with the apartment sized stove and fridge. Enough for me, I thought, proud that I wasn’t giving in to the fear that was creeping into my head. I prepared a box of store brand macaroni and cheese, skipping the butter part, only because I was out of it. I put a healthy helping into a bowl and knew that I had enough left over for supper later. I opened my checkbook and glanced at the balance. I needed to budget for the next few weeks, just in case I didn’t find a job right away.

My rent was $125 a week. Miss Laurell had offered the place to me for $100 a week but it didn’t include utilities. For $25 more a week, she threw in the electric and water. There was no gas hook-up. I took the $125 a week because it was easier that way. A quick analysis showed that I had enough for four weeks of rent and a little extra for grocery and gas money. But it was going to be tight. I still had some in my savings but I wanted to hold on to that for diapers and formula. Not that it would get me very far. I had already priced them and they were expensive. For a split second I thought that maybe I should call Jason. But no. Absolutely not. I didn’t want his help. Maybe I was a mule, but I had my pride and no way was I going to give that up. But the baby was his. He was partially responsible. Maybe I should call him. Whatever. I’d think about that later, when things got really tight.

            I put my checkbook back into my pocketbook, a Coach hobo bag, a present from Jason. I supposed if things got really tight, I could try to sell it. I looked it over. Still in pretty good condition, but definitely not mint condition. I shrugged to no one. Whatever. I’d deal with it when the time came. I washed my bowl and fork and placed them in the dish rack to drip dry.

            After that I decided to shower. I needed to go back to the library and use the computer and printer there. I had abandoned a lot of my personal possessions when I left Jason. He had paid for most of them anyway. I learned quickly how to live without the more expensive salon style hair and bath products, but what about the baby? Was it fair to bring her into a world where there was little luxury, no luxury? I needed a job and fast. The second job needed a resume. I had never written one in my life. I had thought before my nap that I could just march in and fill out an application, but if I was serious about getting a job, I needed my resume, thus the library trip.

            I went to the little bathroom, just barely big enough for my full belly. In another month, I wasn’t even sure I would be able to turn around in it. I started the shower to heat it up but the hot water would only last a few precious minutes, so I stepped out of the bathroom to undress, where I had more room. I reached into my pockets, empty. Everything must have fallen out while I was napping. I raced over to the futon and found two ball point pens, the paper with the job info on it and the folded twenty dollar bill. It was unfolded now and I saw something written on it. I picked it up and read, “If you need a job, call me.” There was a phone number.

A Writing Sample - A Miracle for Mackenzie

As you can see, I have found A Miracle for Mackenzie. It is in pure rough draft form so please forgive the mistakes that I am sure we will all stumble across. I am not in love with the title but it is the working title so until I think of something better, it will have to do. Also, with this genre (women's lit - not really romance, but maybe as I continue to work on it, it will evolve into romance), I like using the pen name Catherine Lee.

Hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think:)

A Miracle for Mackenzie - 1

1

            “That’s discrimination!” Joy nearly screamed in my face, not that she could get past by seven month pregnant belly.

“It’s in the employee handbook, Joy. Right there in black and white.”

“That’s so stupid. Whoever heard of anything so stupid?”

“I knew wearing nylons was part of the dress code. But it was so hot this morning. I was hoping nobody would notice.”

“And you’re pregnant. What’s wrong with that guy? How could he fire you when you’re pregnant?”

“He said I’ve missed too much work lately.”

“Yeah, because you’re anemic. I mean, look at you, you’re white as a ghost. I think you should march right back over there and tell him that you’re going to bring him up on discrimination charges if he doesn’t give you your job back.”

“He said he wouldn’t fight it if I filed for unemployment.”

“Oh great. So you’ll get what? Sixty percent of a waitress’s salary. It’s your tip money that pays the bills, not that pathetic salary.”

“Oh that reminds me,” I dug into the front pocket of my black skirt – I had gotten to where I wore skirts with big pockets because I couldn’t fit the small black apron around my waist without looking absolutely ridiculous. It either sat way too high and looked like a bib or it got lost under the belly and I couldn’t find it. I pulled a folded twenty dollar bill out of my pocket and held it between two fingers and wagged it at Joy. “One of my customer’s must have heard Mr. Rukin firing me this morning. The guy slipped me the twenty on a six dollar special. I thought he wanted change but he told me to keep it. Wasn’t that nice?”

“You’re going to tell me that you kept waiting on customers after that guy fired you? Are you nuts?”

“You just told me that I should go get my job back.”

“That’s different, Mackenzie. Honey, I think you need a break. Your brain’s not working right”

I put the twenty back in my pocket. I thought it was a cool story. Just because Mr. Rukin was mean and nasty didn’t mean all people were. But then I felt guilty thinking that way of Mr. Rukin. He wasn’t really mean and nasty, just doing his job. I mean I would probably fire me with all the time I’ve missed. I didn’t want to miss work, it was just that I was so tired. And nothing I did seemed to help.

“Ok fine. The reality is unemployment might compensate for tips. A percentage, maybe? I don’t really know.” It was possible I supposed. I showed tip earnings on my tax return every year. Wouldn’t they take that into consideration?

“Who knows. No matter what though, it’s not enough to live on and then when the baby comes…What then? You can’t feed a baby on that kind of money.”

“I can’t think about that right now. I’ve got to find a job.”

“Look at you, Mackenzie. Who’s going to hire you in your condition? What are you going to do about health insurance?”

“Mr. Rukin has to offer me COBRA.”

“That’ll cost you more than unemployment will pay you in a month.”

“I’ll figure it out, Joy.”

Joy looked at me with those big brown sad eyes. I couldn’t bear to have her feel sorry for me. It was my mess. I’d clean it up. Somehow. Something would change.

“Mackenzie,” Joy said, rubbing her hands on my arms, “you need to call Jason.”

I pulled away, gently though. I knew her heart was in the right place. “No. Absolutely not.”

She inched back to me, only placing one hand on my right arm. “You need to call him. Let him help you. He wants so badly to be a part of the baby’s life.”

“He should have thought of that before…” I couldn’t bring myself to utter the rest of it.

“He has said he was sorry a thousand times. You need to give him a second chance.”

“No. I’ll figure this out on my own. I’ll find another job.”

“And then what are you going to do when the baby comes? You’ll need time off. You need to call Jason. Let him help you. He owes you that much.”

“Joy, I’m not going to call Jason. Period. End of story. I’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay.”

Joy sighed and let her hand slide down to my elbow where she let go. “Fine. You’re such a mule, Mackenzie Dalton.”

“It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

“I still think you should call Jason.”

“I’m fine. I’ve saved a little bit. It’s amazing how much you can save when you stop going to the movies and watch what you buy at the grocery store.”

“You better be eating well, Mackenzie. Not only for the baby. You really do look awfully pale. What did the doctor say yesterday?”

“She said to eat more spinach. The iron pills were just making me too sick. I can’t take them.”

“Poor girl. What am I going to do with you?”

“Just keep being my friend, Joy. That’s all I need right now.”

“Yeah, that and Prince Charming.”

I held my hands out around my protruding belly. “Don’t think I’m exactly princess material right now.”

We both chuckled. At least I still had the ability to laugh. It made all the difference in the world if you could still laugh.

“Oh Mackenzie, I wish…”

I cut her off. “I know, Joy. It’s okay. I’ll be okay. The baby will be okay.”

Joy placed a hand on my belly and the baby moved. “Oh,” she said, surprised and laughed again. I placed a hand over Joy’s and felt the baby stretch out a foot, pushing against my stomach. So weird and cool at the same time. The baby had really become active lately. But I was getting more and more tired. And the anemia didn’t help. There were times I thought I was just going to drop. Pure and utter exhaustion. It was probably a good thing that I lost the waitress job. Standing on my feet all day was tiring enough when I wasn’t pregnant. I was certain that losing my job would turn out to be a blessing in disguise. It just had to be.

A Slow Day

Today was a quiet day for pageviews. Not that I am complaining. I have soared this past week and I greatly appreciate everyone for helping me to get the numbers up. And of course I am wondering, hmmm...why is it so quiet? Am I boring everyone away with all my "brain" ramblings? I suppose it is possible, but it's still what I want to write about. But please anyone, feel free to comment at any point. Get a conversation going. Redirect my ramblings to topics you might be interested in. Otherwise, I am just going to keep on the same path until something else gets my attention.
Anyway, working on job stuff but thought I would take a quick break to say hi and see if anyone has anything to say about my rambling on and on about my brain. Maybe everyone is waiting for A Miracle for Mackenzie and don't want to hear about the writing process? That's a real possibility. Ok. Let me go through my storage disks right now and see if I can find the book-in-process. I'll let you know the results of my search.
Peace Out
Oh wait...Happy Birthday to you know who!!!

Declutter the Brain

Before I get started on the next segment of The Art of Writing, let me clear my head. I believe I have talked about this before. If I have, I apologize for the topic revisit. It's like there is all this junk buildup in my brain and before I can start writing something useful and creative, I have to purge out the crap. I have learned that the best way to do this is just to free write. Whatever comes to my brain. This is not a problem when I am on MS Word, because I can write whatever I want and then just press delete when all is said and done. I suppose I could still just delete this when all is said and done or just save it as a draft. But I kind of want to show you the process. But it also means I am doing some self-editing as I go along. Not everything that comes out of my brian is meant to be shared (and I am not saying this is unique to me or to writers - most of us in life have a whole bunch of crap floating in our head that needs not to be shared - but that doesn't mean  it shouldn't be purged out).
Remember that scene in WHAT WOMEN WANT where Mel Gibson's character hears the thoughts for the first time of the women he passes. It's this cacophony of "notes to self", self-beratings, self-encouragement, etc.etc. If you put all those separate voices into the head of one person, that would be my head. Kind of like how he experienced it. Bombardment of voices from every direction. And no, I am not schizophrenic (and yes, I had to look up the spelling because I couldn't even wrap my brain around the fact that the word started with an S - normally I know how to spell it but the mud puddle that is my brain today has a suction hold on my intellect.)
I could blog all day long. I get bored of the topic of C.L.LeMay after a while - I mean I live with her, so it's not that. But it is an excuse to write. Somehow it is easier to blog every day then it is to work on one of my books or a short story. Why is that? Because there is an end result? Because there is a time factor - direct correlation to there being an end result? Because I know that there are people who are reading this? Because I don't have to do much for editing? Because I am not putting a "real story" out there to be judged by others? In the end, it is simply the opportunity to write.
Ok - brainwaves are coming back into focus (thank you for your assistance, 2nd cup of coffee and all you little keys on my keyboard - well except for you X. I don't think I used you, except just now, ooooh and again in the word except. So thank all of you letters, including you, X). I think I have time to work on another posting of the art of writing...

The Art of Writing - 4 (Part 2 of a story)

I am probably including too many details as I tell you how THREE CROSSES came to be, but two things - 1. giving details when I describe something is common for me (sometimes it is a good thing, sometimes not as it can take me a while to get to the point) and 2. it's important to describe the general situation so you can understand what our lives were like. A few of you saw how the situation existed in our lives, but there were emotions and thoughts that I kept to myself (for the most part) that will unfold.

Another note: A lot happened during this time of our lives. So the sequence of events or ceratin details may be off a bit but the general drift of details is accurate. For instance, I am almost positive that we had the blood tests at Children's Hospital (from here on referred to as CH) so that once we arrived at Milton Hospital to meet with K's (my daughter) PCP, she had the results in her hands. But it is possible that she ordered them at Milton and then we met with her. I may have some medical details incorrect as well, so for you med buffs, I apologize for any misinformation. I took in a looooot of information during this time and not all has retained in my memory. This is not a medical journal but rather a writing journal - please keep that in mind. And I will relay this story as if everything I say is what actually happened rather then let you know when I have times that I can't recall accurately. So did I disclaim enough? On with the story...as I remember it.

As I was saying...almost immediately K's PCP told me that we were likely not looking at leukemia. That was a huge relief as I had spent the last couple of hours waiting to hear that my precious daughter had leukemia. So that fear out of the way, the question was, what the heck were we looking at? It was not something the PCP had seen before. She talked with us for a bit about the prelimianry observations and decided that meeting with an orthopedic was the best course of action.
Within two days, we met with the orthopedic who ordered an MRI. K had the MRI (she did awesome with it and gave me courage when a couple of years later I had one and was anxietied out over the close quarters). We were told that we would be contacted regarding the results. So we drove home, only about 1/2 hour drive from CH. We pulled into the driveway and remember it was late June, a time when the sun is still out until 9ish. It was dark out, so although I don't recall the time, it was late. Once in the driveway, I realized that I had a voicemail (must have had the radio too loud to hear my phone ring). It was the orthopedic - please call him back. I reached him right away. We were to head back to CH with a bag. He gave me a quick version of the situation and all I recall was the sensation of being swept into a tide. I knew I had to move and act but I also knew I needed to put into place a few things - call work, call K's dad, take care of the dog. I had even asked the orthopedic if we could wait until the next morning to be admitted. Suffice it to say, we were admitted that night, about an hour or so after we had just left. My brain was trying to make sense of this. It was an infection called discitis which is exactly what it sounds like, an infection in the discs of her spine (2 disc to be exact).
The point of telling you all of this is to simply let you know that we were being swept into something we had never heard of before, something that we had no idea what the outcome would be, and something that was so urgent that we had to respond to it immediately. My logical brain went into gear and I faced the next few months with that mentality. I literally pushed the fears aside and squashed them anytime they reared. That little voice of paranoia that any parent would hear was dismissed, because I refused to go there.
K received a PICC line, a several day stay at CH, and weekly visits from a nurse. Off to home we went. I became K's home nurse, administering antibiotics through her PICC line. If you have ever done this, you know that there is a sequence vital to administering the meds and saline and heparin. I tried not to think about the PICC line that traveled up her arm vein and down into her chest cavity. I was confidant that this course of action would clear out this infection, as was everyone else, as far as I could tell. And for a while, it looked to be the case. We were wrong. It wasn't that the diagnosis was wrong or that the course of action was wrong. It was that something happened that none of us predicted.

Touching base

Hey all. It's Saturday night and it was a great day. The weather really was incredible and much needed. Did a ton of yard work. I am too tired to write the next segment of the THREE CROSSES story and how it came to be. But I promise I will come back to it, most likely in the morning. It's the best time for me to write creatively. As you can tell because this is just soooo boring and blah. But wanted to say hi anyway. Is nonetheless spelled that way - no breaks between the words?

The Art of Writing - 3 (Part 1 one of a story)

Here's the post regarding the personal stuff about THREE CROSSES. First let me state that the reason I want to write this (even though it gets into my personal life more than I would normally want to share) is because I was talking to a business owner/friend/installer the other day at my regular job about THREE CROSSES. He asked me when did I write it and I told him the story. It was a story that moved him. I never really thought about it from his point of view and it's not a long story, but I thought that perhaps some of you would be interested in it as he was. Plus it willl give me an opportunity to say a few things that I have never really disclosed nor did I disclose to him the other day.

Many of you alreay know this story but don't know the connection between THREE CROSSES and the situation I am about to explain.

Again, I preface - THREE CROSSES actually developed some years ago. There were some details, but not a lot. One of the first details that arose was that Matt Madison was mauled to death by a tiger. Within weeks of making this discovery about my book, Roy of Siegfried and Roy was mauled by one of their tigers, which means this book was born somewhere around 2003(?). Out of respect to the illusionist-tiger tamer and because I was afraid that it would appear as if I was cashing in on a horrible situation, I put the book aside.

Occasionly I would think about it but I focused my writing on short stories and other novels. It brewed in the back of my mind but I wasn't ready yet. I will get into details in another post about writing COVET (which was a 5 1/2 week process) which played a pivotal role in my writing life. In late June 2009, my daughter, then 8 years old, complained to me that her back hurt. I thought that perhaps it was a result of riding her bike for 4 hours straight the night before (which is really cool because she and her neighbor friend were riding their bikes til midnight while the grownups all sat outside enjoying the beginning of summer vacation). After several days of her stating that her back still hurt and small doses of ibuprofen, I took her to her pediatricians office. I was to continue the anti-inflammatory doses and if things didn't improve in a week to come back. We came back and were immediately sent to Children's Hospital in Boston for x-rays. Now I am no x-ray technician, but I can assure you that as those pictures were developing, it was immediatley apparent that something was wrong with her spine. It looked as if a couple of her higher vertebrae (is that how you spell it - where is my spell check?) were collapsed. She had a significant crook in her spine. I don't know why but I immediately thought leukemia. Blood tests were ordered. Then we were sent to Milton Hospital where her PCP was working for the day. She saw us immediately and apparently leukemia had gone through the doctors' minds as well.
Sorry to tell this story in bits and pieces but I have a mess of things to conquer today and I would like to come back later. Til then, ciao:)

The Art of Writing - 2

Good morning! What an absolutely gorgeous morning! The weather plays such a huge role in our mental state. I feel like I could tackle a million projects - and finish them - all because the sun is shining, the air is crisp, but warm enough for a light sweater. By noon, the kids in the neighborhood will all be wearing shorts.

Enough about the weather. Ralph Keyes. If you haven't heard of him, listen up. If you have any desire whatsoever to be a writer (or any type of artist), you need to read his book, THE COURAGE TO WRITE. Why? In one sentence, he addresses issues about the writing process that no one else has ever touched upon (not that I could find anyway) and to me, they were the real issues about why we as a culture find it so difficult to put ourselves out there in the world as artists. Ok - it was a really long sentence, but you get the drift. I have a rolltop desk and when I open it, I have a quote typed and taped up to read that I pulled from his book. It is not his quote, but one he collected from Shirley Hazard. "The state that you need to write is the state that others are paying large sums to get rid of." If you have ever lost yourself in the writing process, that quote makes a ton of sense.

The Library of Congress still has my case for THREE CROSSES in open status. It is a several month process to become a closed case - which means that the book will be assigned an ISBN and will be a registered literary work through the LOC. Cool, huh? It is my wish that some agent from a publishing company will read THREE CROSSES and contact me about publishing it. I allowed the LOC to make my contact info public with the book. Apparently it is common practice for publishing agents to visit the LOC for new material. Actually I wouldn't mind a literary agent to approach me. Of course, I could be dreaming, but heck, why shouldn't I have that dream. It's not like I am a bad writer. I am a good writer. Maybe not a great writer; however, my small fan club would argue that.

I remember coming home one day to find my assistant, Mel (and not the Melanie that is a follower - which makes me want to say - hey Mel, when are you going to become a follower?) hugging my manuscript of COVET. She had been typing the manuscript from my handwritten copy (God bless her!) and when I walked in and saw her hugging the stack of typed papers, I could have sworn she looked on the verge of tears. She said, "I love this book." My immediate reaction was to scream with joy that I had impressed her so, but I suppressed the desire and instead my brain told me that she was just trying to be nice. Over time, I learned that she genuinely really loved the manuscript (as do I). When she read a draft of THREE CROSSES, she told me that she really liked it but that she really still loved COVET and wished I would put my efforts into that one. I am still torn about which book to focus on at this point, but I think she is right. I think COVET needs my attention. I have a couple of characters in that one who are screaming for my attention. But the same goes for characters in ALONG BLACK RIVER. What to do? What to do? Make a decision and get on with it, girl! Well, I am going to end this post because I want to discuss something personal about THREE CROSSES that really demands its own post. So I will see you again in a few minutes.
Thanks for reading my blog. Knowing that there are people who open it everyday to see what I write, makes me want to keep going. :)

The Art of Writing - 1

I want to preface this entry with a quick note. (Turns out it was not so quick)
Many of my posts have very little to do with writing unto itself. Not because I don't want to discuss it, but because there is more to my life than writing. However, I find myself not disclosing much of my personal life in the blogs either simply because it is personal and I don't like to share personal stuff - good and bad - via the internet. It's not personal anymore if I announce it for all the world to see. And I am a feeeeling kind of person. I feeeel my way through life, exploring like an ant does with my antenna (what's the plural form of that?) probing my surroundings and adjusting my movements based on my discoveries. I am way too aware that people say and do things in life that are not necessarily true reflections of their genuine selves. Some of you will get this and some of you won't. Not a bad thing. Not a good thing. It's just how I live and how some other people live. I am often aware of why people do the things they do even when they don't understand it themselves. Many people have accused me of being too sensitive, or too analytical, and a few have perceived me as very intuitive. Either way, I don't share too much personal life stuff (except with a few people who are accustomed to me and my ways) because I seldom am quick to react to a situation. I wait (sometimes too long) for others to figure out their motivations or if I point out the unscene motivation behind their actions, I get myself into trouble. Sometimes they become aware of what I am saying, sometimes not. Sometimes I am just simply wrong about it. And other times I will convince myself that I am wrong, when I wasn't. Confused yet? Or are you one of those people thinking, "is she talking about me?" I'm not talking about anyone in particular, so stop thinking that.

So what does all this have to do with the art of writing? Well, a lot actually. Writing allows me to work through my perceptions of the human condition, including their personal motivations. Gives me a forum where I can place characters in a situation and watch them unravel the strings. Sounds mundane now that I say it.

I think I lost my train of thought. I got sidetracked. Hmmm...what was I going to say? It was...oh wait! Now I remember.
I have been asked on more than several occasions where do I get my ideas for my books and characters. I usually provide the simple, uncomplicated answer - "It just comes to me." Most people who get that answer are content enough with that answer and we move on to another topic. But a few will push and want a better explanation. So here goes. This is the only way I can really describe where I get my ideas from. Imagine if you will a story that has yet to be written. The characters, the setting, the situation, the action, the interaction, the outcome. All unknown but they still exist - somewhere in space or time or perhaps another dimension. Now imagine me, the author, as a medium between that unknown world and here. Those characters, stiuations, etc. have discovered that they can tap on my brain to get my attention or maybe I just pickup on them like radiowaves or lightwaves that other people can't hear or see. And if I pay enough attention, I can see their images, their location, their situations. I get the information in little glimpses. Maybe a name will pop into my head. Then suddenly I might see the hair color or some little detail that goes along with that name. And then I wonder what is the significance of that detail. What difference does it make that Thadius has a touch of red in his hair? Which leads me to wonder why his hair is long in the first place. Etc., etc. And then I am at liberty to bridge the gaps between all those glimpses to create a storyline.
Well, that's it for now. I will return will more of The Art of Writing - C.L.Lemay style, of course. And I haven't proofread this entry, nor will I. SO I apologize now for any misspellings, poor grammar, blunders, and verbal mishaps.

Yippee! It's Friday!

I went through most of my life without caring when it was Friday - I think because I often worked weekends so it didn't have any significance in the whole work arena. But now I really look forward to starting the weekend because I am never scheduled to work then - so I can look forward to doing my own stuff. I have really come to love my weekends.
Ohhhhh...my wit is not operating today. I keep writing stuff and then deleting because it sounds forced. It should just flow naturally but I got up late and now feel a bit out of whack. So when I feel back in whack, I will return. But it's not a bad thing. It is Friday afterall.

Overload on the poor brain cells

If you have ever watched THE AFRICAN QUEEN, you will recall the scene where Humphrey Bogart's character jumps out of the boat into the murky, mottled, mushy mess of the leech infested water because the boat cannot move on it's own. So he pushes through, tugging the boat by a rope. That's how I feel today. Mostly my fault though since I often pull a Scarlet O'Hara - the whole "I can wait to worry about it tomorrow" mentality. Well every once and awhile, tomorrow comes along and all the stuff I didn't want to deal with yesterday is on my lap and demanding my attention NOW. Well today is that tomorrow and I am going to hyperventilate if I don't get this under control.
My brain is overloaded. BREATHE. JUST BREATHE. And drink more coffee. Coffee is good. Coffee is my friend.
Ok. Take one thing at a time. Which I can shift my brain into that direction, but there's the dark cloud over my head that makes me completely aware of the fact that it won't (can't) all get taken care of NOW. And I don't put stuff off because of laziness (although as a Leo, I am sure I could be diagnosed with a bit of laziness), but because I have a real sense that I can't accomplish it now due to lack of sufficient time or money or capability. There's that word sufficient again! So I shuffle the stuff to get the stuff done that I know I can accomplish NOW which leaves the bigger stuff aside to gather momentum and strength until it is much bigger stuff than it was yesterday.
Do I make any sense whatsoever?
Either way, have a great day. Oh yeah, btw, I am aware that I misspelled restaurant a couple of posts ago. I could fix it, but then I couldn't tell you that I misspelled it.