Most Embarrassing Moment...

I'm fortunate enough to have the kind of memory that...blocks things. It must be a self preservation tactic. Due to my "condition", I've blocked a lot of the embarrassing things I've done in my life. I think it falls close to the category of how mothers forget the misery of childbirth, when contemplating having another baby. If our minds didn't work that way, there would be A LOT of one child families out there.

When I was younger, probably Junior High and High School age, one of the most popular questions to ask people was "What is your most embarrassing moment?" Maybe because it acts as an ice-breaker. Maybe because teenagers spend their time dwelling on their own embarrassing moments, and like to feel secure in knowing theirs aren't as bad as yours. I'm not sure. But I don't think I've had anyone ask me that question for at least a decade.

The reason I remember the question so well is because I never had an embarrassing moment to share. (At the time, I didn't know I had the "block that from my memory" condition.) In searching my memory, I always came up empty. Not that I never got embarrassed. I just never felt like they were funny enough moments to qualify for "most embarrassing".

Things like trying to pull open a door when the sign right in front of me said "Push". It's funny, but it wouldn't win any awards. For a while, it was the best I could do.

Until...This happened:

While waiting in line at Lagoon Amusement Park, my teenage friends and I began "flirting" (translation: acting like ridiculous, giggling girls who thought the world revolved around us and whether or not the boys thought we were cute...)

Where was I? Oh, yeah, we were flirting with the boys in front of us in line. It was for the Sky Tram thing - the one that takes you from one end of the park to the other. As we got to the front of the line, I had my back turned to the boys (probably asking a friend something stupid like, "is he looking at me?"), when suddenly that "friend" told me to hurry up, it was my turn and I was going to miss the chair.

Without thinking, I turned around and stepped onto the spot right as the chair rounded the corner. About a second later I saw a boy, sitting in the chair next to me with a puzzled look on his face. Then I heard the giggling from behind me, and I knew what had happened.

I'd been set up. And I now had to ride the entire length of the park with the startled, albeit cute, stranger.

That story became my saving grace at those times when the question was asked: "What is your most embarrassing moment?"

But here's the thing:
I'm 99% sure it never happened.

I actually think I made up the whole story as a teenager, so I'd have something to tell, and then over the years of retelling it, I convinced myself it really happened.

Awkward!

I've been doubting the truth of that "embarrassing moment" for a few years now. So when I read this quote a few weeks ago, it really made me laugh:

"There are lots of people who mistake their 

imagination for their memory."

-Josh Billings

I think I have a new most embarrassing moment. It just might be this blog post.

The Thief of Time

I was going to write this post last night.

Then, I was going to write it first thing this morning.

It's now just after lunch, and I'm finally getting around to it.

Where does all the time go?

The answer to that question leads us to this week's writing quote:

"Procrastination is the thief of time."

- Joseph Heller

Oh, that's it. Procrastination took my time away. The thief!

I never used to be good at procrastination, but I'm learning!

And I hate it.

I hate how I feel when it's the night before a big event, and I'm scrambling.

I hate the sleepless nights, or even worse - the nightmares of being unprepared if I do actually manage to sleep.

Each time I promise myself that I'll be more on top of it next time.

Like I always used to be.

What happened to me?

Kids?

Church service?

Work?

Housework?

Friends?

Television?

Books?

General laziness?

Writing?

Okay, so it's probably all of the above. Plus a few other things.  Like trying to find a picture for this:

Today's writing quote was taken from The Write Planner, my day planner designed for writers. To learn more about The Write Planner, click here

That Explains It!

A couple of years ago I began feeling nauseous.  You know, pregnancy-type queazy.  The problem was, I had an almost two year old, a not quite six month old, and nearly panicked with the idea of having another one added on to that.

It just couldn't be possible! Could it?

After a week or so of serious anxiety, an idea occurred to me. I had started taking a new multivitamin about the same time I began feeling "sick".

Could it really be that easy?

To my great relief, it was.

I stopped with the vitamins an voila!

They made a two-point shot, strait into the garbage!

Fast forward to two weeks ago.

Once again I decided to start taking a multivitamin. I chose a different brand, and hoped for the best.

The queasiness came back the first day!

Ugh! Could it really be so hard to add extra vitamins to my diet?

I had a new idea. I had been taking the vitamins in the morning, with breakfast. I changed to taking them at dinner. Maybe if I took them with more food I would be okay.

Guess what? It worked! No more pregnancy-like sick feeling. Hooray!

About a week into my new routine I was up late, unable to fall asleep - again! I needed to sleep. I needed to get up early. I had barely been able to stay away during the mid afternoon. Why couldn't I sleep now?

On a whim I headed toward the pantry. (Okay, it was probably more of a "search for a late night snack", but...)

While staring at the shelves, wishing for some zero-calorie chocolate to magically appear, I saw my vitamin bottle. Picking it up I read the following:

This product contains about as much caffeine as a cup of coffee.

Seriously??!!

No wonder I couldn't sleep at night. I'd just taken a caffeine pill with dinner!

Now I've moved onto option number three, taking it with lunch. If this doesn't work I'm swearing off vitamins forever!

It's Days Like These...

It's winter in Utah. Even if the calendar doesn't say so, twenty inches of snow does! It's cold. The roads are bad. Most of the time I just hide out at home. But even home is lacking a few of my dream necessities.

It's days like these that make we wish for three things.

1. A fireplace. I want to sit next to it, curled up in a blanket while reading a good book. I've got the blanket. I've got the book. I don't have the fireplace.
2. A big bathtub. You know, one for normal size people, not kids under five years old. I want to actually be able to lie down in it. That would be great. Oh, and the water needs to be hot. I mean, almost scalding. That would also be great.
3. Finally, an in-home-at-my-beck-and-call masseuse. I shoveled so much snow yesterday that my arms and hands were numb. Not from cold, but from overuse. I could barely hang up the laundry after dinner last night. Today, when I woke up I could barely move. My arms. My back. My neck. Even my legs! Ummm... Ouch!

Maybe I'll write to you-know who.

Dear Santa,

I've been really good this year. At least, I've tried. I tried not to laugh during that over-acted roll play training meeting. I tried not to eat all the chocolate in a three mile radius from my house. I tried not to neglect my kids while I finished "one more chapter". See list above for my heart's desires.

Love,

Kim

I fear his reply would be something like this:

Dear Kim,

I received your letter of request for Christmas. I've reviewed your actions for the past year. I've come to the conclusion that I will be filling your request, at least in part. You've asked for much. Personally, I think you're being a little greedy. I'll tell you what. You get your own bath tub, and I'll send some bath salt. You get your own massuese and I'll take advantage of a nice massage when I'm there on Christmas Eve dropping off your coal (that goes in the fireplace you are in charge of getting yourself).

How does that sound?

Have a Merry Christmas. (Try harder next year.)

Love,

Santa

I'm Finally Beginning to Understand.

Now that the holiday season is officially upon us, it's time to get down to business. For the first time in my life, I took advantage of Black Friday. When I heard that Walmart was opening at midnight I decided it would be easier to stay up late than wake up early. I waited on my couch reading a book while watching a movie (not sure why I was doing both) until 11:30. I figured it was close enough, so I headed out.

What a Joke!

Seriously!

I didn't know that many people lived in Utah. The parking lot (which is quite large) was full.

Completely full.

A miracle happened and a car backed out (someone who had decided it wasn't worth it) and I got their spot.

I noticed that the doors to the store must have been opened early, because no lines were gathered outside in the freezing air.

Lucky me. (I thought.)

While walking into the store I passed another woman who was leaving, while muttering under her breath that it was definitely not worth it.

I should have listened. But I was on a mission.

I rounded the corner and immediately I saw what I was searching for. A young woman was holding the very cowboy doll (Woody from Toy Story) I wanted.

I looked around for more.

She had the last one.

I looked down, searching for the companion doll that was even more of a necessity than the first. But there were NO JESSIE DOLLS!

While I searched the young woman standing next to me set the Woody doll down and walked away. Before she'd taken two steps I snatched it up, holding it close to me.

But what about Jessie?

I wandered the store for a half-hour looking for her. It still wasn't even midnight, but lines had formed at the registers, continuing all the way to the back of the store. I looked everywhere. I sqoze between carts, people, racks and shelves. Several times I looked down and saw her in other people's carts.

That's when it hit me. I finally began to understand all the stories about people fighting like crazy animals over silly little toys.

They had what I wanted. No, what I needed. How could I not get it for my sweet little daughter? It's all she's asking for. She can't wait to see Santa, so she can tell him she wants a "Big Jessie". (The one she has now is about two inches tall.)

And I didn't get there soon enough. I failed.

Inside my head I joked to myself about elbowing the woman next to me, grabbing Jessie and making a run for it. Surely I could run faster than her, right? I could blend in with the crowd!

But of course I didn't give into such foolishness. I waited in line for an hour and a half to buy the one I did get. Then I went back again at 7:00 in the morning. Still, no Jessie.

I sent my husband back in the afternoon. And I went again on Saturday.

I still don't have. But I will get her! I'll pay full price for her too, when I do find her. And on Christmas morning I'll see the light come into my daughter's eyes when she sees the Big Jessie popping out of the top of her stocking.

I'm not sure if I'll do Black Friday next year or not. I guess that depends on how bad I want to make my kids happy. If I do, I will certainly be going earlier!

You Know You're At Grandma's When...

We recently got back from a trip to see my husband's grandpa (92) and grandma (84). They are both in good health and enjoy seeing their grandkids. But lets face it, they enjoy their great-grandkids even more.

And you know you must be at Grandma's house when she showers your kids with presents.

Like a talking Teddy Bear.

And a harmonica.

(The ride home was so much fun!)

But the kids loved them. So I'm happy.

Another sign you must be at Grandma's? When you arrive at 2:00 in the afternoon and the table is already set for dinner. A wonderful, homemade dinner of rolls, jello salad, a veggie tray, green beans cooked with bacon, and scalloped potatoes with cubed ham. Oh, and dessert!

Dessert consisted of little bowls of ice cream and homemade cookies. Last time we visited we had the same dessert. Is that a generation thing, or just this grandma?

The next morning Grandma apologized for only serving us cold cereal. Of course there were three kinds to choose from. Plus orange juice, raisin toast, apples and bananas.

And the final sign that proves you're at Grandma's house? When she tries to pour the milk (from the store-bought container) into a pitcher for the table.

I convinced her that was not necessary.

But it did make me smile.

Only at Grandma's!

They live about 3-1/2 hours away. Most of the drive was pleasant (well, except for that harmonica!). Traffic was calm until the final hour as we drove into the city. It's my least favorite part of a trip.

The re-entry.

With semi-trucks on all sides we all managed to all stay in our own lanes, though some cars just barely.

We got stuck behind one particular car that didn't think they needed to drive the speed limit. (Just to be clear, the roads were dry, the weather was clear.) It took a few minutes before we could pass, but as we did we got a good laugh.

On the side of the car was a giant size logo that read ASAP.

Hmmm.  Did someone change that to mean As Slow As Possible, and not send me the memo?

My First Day of Kindergarten

If you would have asked me last month when I decided to become a writer, I would have told you it started about three years ago. I went to a presentation where a local author spoke about the message in one of her books.

That's when the idea started to grow within me.

At least, that's what I thought.

A couple of weeks ago I was deep cleaning, and found a box of childhood memories. Inside that box, I found this:

My first book!

I wrote it in the fourth grade. I even won a contest with it, and got to go to the local library for an award ceremony. (Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I will admit to only remembering one other book submitted from my class, and there may have even been two awards given, but still - I won!)

Apparently I have wanted to write since I was a 10-year-old kid. Now that I've found this book, the memories are flooding back. I remember the feeling I had as I walked into the room to receive my award. I imagined dozens of people (what I now know to be called "agents") to be waiting for me, each wanting to buy my book.

I was going to be famous!

I was going to be rich!

Then reality settled in.

There were at least a hundred other kids sitting in their chairs, each having "won" their own class contest. And can you believe it, no one had to protect me from the onslaught of raving fans I was sure would pop around the corner any second....

While reading through this masterpiece, I was overwhelmed by how much I've learned in the twenty years since its publication. (And by publication, I mean my hand drawn, hand written on uneven sheets of hand cut paper.)

It's time to redeem myself. Surely this time I will be famous. Surely this time I will be rich.

Without further ado, I present:

My First Day of Kindergarten

(Type-o's, tense, and grammar errors left intact)

Hi my name is Jenny. I am 5 years old. I have lots of friends and I am a popular girl. I live in a strange pretty house.


"Jenny," your father and I talked about moving to somewhere else. she said. "Where" I demanded. Rigby. "She said" I didn't want to but I had to. The rest of the month I was  glomy.


The days past. Tomorrow was the big day. I did a lot of cleaning. I packed and gave half of my stuff away. I hated it.


I went to bed. Jenny time to get up. So I got up and finished packing. The truck got here. We put all the things in the moving van. and we said good-by to our friends and went.


I got there and I like my new house. it was pink and blue. it is very pretty. I live in a fansy place.


Jenny, we are going to start school next week my mom said. your going to be in kindergarten. "I am" I ask. Ya! said my mom. I can't wait "I said." Let's go get suplies I said.


So we went to Shopko, and got all our suplies, and then we went home. we put our name on everything.


School starts tomorrow so I went to bed at 7:00. Jenny get up school starts in 2 hours. So I got up and got in the tub.


and got in my best dress. And went Down stairs and ate


and brushed my teeth and went to school


my teacher was pretty. Her name was mrs. Rose.


Recess. Jenny, do you want to come play with me on the swings. A girl ask me. I guess. I said, and we went and played on the swings. My name is Debbie. she said. Hi Debbie I said.


The bell rang. Time Passed. Time to go home and eat. Debbie can you come to my house I ask. yes. She said. So we went to my house and she called her mom.


her mom said she could eat at my house so we had some soup.


Then we went to her house and got some milk and cookies.


And went up stairs and played Barbies and other games like
     Hid and seek
     tag
     man in the moon 
     we drew
and had fun.


I always had days like that until...Jenny, we had another talk and we desided to move to Salt lake.


here we go again, I said.


I know!

Please send fan mail via the comments section of this blog. I will await to hear from you with the patience of a 10-year-old.

I Can't Make You Be Funny!

The Book Academy Conference, continued...

Immediately following Brandon Mull's Keynote address, in which I decided I need to add more comedy to my writing, I stepped into Becca Wilhite's class. Let me tell you, she is adorable. And funny. And adorable (did I already say that?). I found myself suddenly wanting to cut my hair just like hers. That's how adorable she is.

She walked into the room with a burst of energy I can only dream about. And I do - dream about it, that is.

Becca is the author of two books (with more to come). Her first is Bright Blue Miracle, and her second is My Ridiculous, Romanic Obsessions. I have to admit that I hadn't read either of these before the class, but after meeting Becca, and seeing her personality and sense of humor, I've added them to my "To Read" list. Check out her website here.

Okay, onto the class notes.

The first thing Becca said when she walked into the room was:

"If you're not funny, I can't make you be funny."

We all laughed, and she announced that because we had, she could teach us how to use our funniness (my word, not hers. I'm not sure if is really is a word).

First thing? Read funny books! (Do you see a pattern here? Writers have to read!)

She identified Three Kinds of Humor:

1. Silly
2. Sincere
3. Sophisticated

Silly humor is things like puns. She used the movie Shrek as an example.

Sincere humor is everyday funny.

Sophisticated humor is a little more complicated. First, she said you are required to be British to pull it off. (Jane Austen, for example.) This type of humor is intellectually demanding. You have to understand the back story to understand the humor. No one-liners here.

Testing your humor:

Not sure if your stuff is really funny? Test it by having three different people read it out loud to you. Not just any three people though. Becca provided a formula to make sure you cover all the basis.

Person number one: Someone who reads like you.

Person number two: Someone in your target audience.

Person number three: Someone with no sense of humor.

After listening to all three, you will have a better feel for how it reads. Did they understand? Did they laugh? Did they stare at you like you're an idiot? (That might be okay if person number three is the one staring. But on a personal note, I think you need to find someone who is more fun to hang out with.)

Sometimes swear words are used for humor. Sometimes they work. (For me, most of the time they do not.) Whenever you are tempted to use swear words, think of them as cliches. And as writers we want to avoid cliches like the plague! (Did you get that, or are you a person number three?)

Lastly, make your story funny for different age groups. If your writing children's books, add something that the parent will laugh at. If it's for adults, don't forget to include humor that a teenager will get.

For example: One of my daughter's favorite movies is Toy Story 2. She loves the part at the very end, where Jessie skateboards down the loopty-loo ramp, flies across the room, and opens the door for the dog. Buzz Lightyear watches in amazed awe, and... (do you remember?).

She laughs every time. I laugh too, because she has absolutely no idea what it means. She's three. When she's older, I won't think its funny anymore.

Check back tomorrow to learn about Research! (Seriously, come back. It's not that bad. Every writer has to do it!)

Now go. Write something funny.

Optimistic Mondays – Laugh So You Don't Cry

Lately, I've been surrounded on all sides by things I "Need To Do". I acknowledge the fact that many of them are self imposed, but that doesn't diminish the importance of getting them done. At least not for me.

I've divided my life into four quarters.

1. Home/Family
2. Church Responsibilites
3. Work
4. Writing

Each of those sections has many subsections within it. They swirl around me, each begging for proper attention, none able to get it.

It's very overwhelming, but I've chosen it. I choose to clean my home

. I choose to interact with my children. They demand to be fed, and I choose to quite them by listening.

I've chosen to accept my church calling. It takes more time/thought then I imagined it would.

My work is less of a choice than a necessity, but nonetheless I still choose to do it. Like I said above, my kids like to eat. Who am I kidding, I like to eat.

I don't always choose the story lines that pop into my head and talk to me, but I do choose to write them down. Writing is so much bigger than non-writers think. There's the actual writing. Then the rewriting/editing multiple times. I have to continually learn the craft. I have a critique group that I submit to, and critique for.

Blogging is pretty much a necessity for writers now. This means not only do I need to have my own blog, but I need to read other blogs. To network. To learn from others.

These four main sections of my life each try to take over as "the most important". It's a battle every day. Sometimes I just want to sit down and cry.

So what's a girl to do?

Sometimes, I cry. But the rest of the time I've adopted a new attitude.

When something goes wrong, instead of crying, I try to laugh it off. It doesn't always work, but most of the time it eases the tension just enough to where I can deal with it.

So, my advice to you on this Optimistic Monday?

Laugh, so you don't cry.

Happy Monday.

Crunch Time

While driving across town last week, I was stopped at a stop light. I watched as two rather strange men used the cross walk in front of me. I was trying not be be obvious as I stared rather rudely, and I hope they didn't notice me. Though I'm sure they must have been used to it. EVERYONE was staring.

Lucky for me, I had a distraction. It wasn't the kind of thing that would have distracted most people. It was a small twist of irony, in fact. Another - much more normal - man was crossing the same street, in the opposite direction. In his hand, he held a copy of a book. (One of these days, I hope to be able to write a post about how it was MY book he held, but no - not today.) But it was the book that caught my attention.

It was a copy of the book Nauvoo, Kingdom on the Mississippi. I've had a copy of that very book on my desk for the last couple months. I was supposed to be reading it, researching for my novel that takes place in modern day as well as old Nauvoo. Supposed to being the key word. It's a library book, and every time it comes close to being due, I just click on the renew button, and I'm good to go.

When I saw this guy with my book, it made me curious. What was he doing with it? Why was he reading it? How did he like it? Was he reading for work or for pleasure? I'm technically supposed to be reading for pleasure. I've chosen to be a writer. I've chosen to write this particular book. I even like to learn about history. So why can't I make myself read it!

A couple of days ago, I got an all too familiar email from the library, once again telling me the book was approaching it's due date. I once again went to the website and clicked on the renew button, promising myself I really would read it this time. If some random man walking down the street is reading it, surely I can too.

The problem was, I'd renewed it one too many times. It's due this Friday, and I have to take it back to the library, or I'll start building a fine. I know I could take it back, and then re-check it out again. Maybe that's what I'll end up doing. But I'm hoping that the pending due date will be motivation enough to bare down and do the stink'n research! (Honestly, you'd think someone was twisting my arm to get me to write this book!)

Optimistic Mondays – First Pants, then Shoes!

A few years ago my office had a "Far Side" calendar. To the left, I found a cute little "reenactment" of my favorite cartoon.

It always made me laugh. Now, I still laugh, but it's more of a reminder. Things need to be done in order. First we have to get out of bed, and then we tackle our day. Once we're up and about, we need to set priorities, and follow the order.

We have to learn to play the piano before we can perform a concert.

We have to learn the rules of writing, before we will be published.

We have to take time to really get to know someone, before we can count them among our dearest friends.

How embarrassing it is to jump ahead of things, putting our shoes on first, and entirely forget about our pants. I've done it before. Figuratively, of course! I wouldn't recommend it.

Happy Monday!

Optimistic Mondays – New Diet Plan

I'm stealing this from a signature line I saw on an email. It makes me laugh every time I read it, and I hope it brings a smile to your face too.

Wheat for man. D&C 89:17

Chocolate for woman. M&M 24:7

Words to live by!

Happy Monday.

Am I the last to know?

I couple of months ago I posted about the 5K race I ran. I failed to mention the education I received while at that event. There I stood with all the other racers. We were standing by the start line. Some of us were still stretching, trying to warm up our muscles. Others were just standing around talking to friends and racing companions. There were people of all ages. Men, Women, boys and girls. Some were serious about the race, others were pulling a wagon with a small child in it. But all of them had one thing in common. I'd been standing around for about

20 minutes, watching everyone, listening to conversations, and observing. It was then that

noticed it. Everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE had on ankle socks. Some were barely visible above the tennis shoe line. Others were not visible at all. When I first noticed it, I was surprised. I looked around some more. Everyone! I walked to the other side of the crowd.

Every one!

Everyone but me, that is. My next emotion was that of embarrassment. I was the only one there with socks showing above my ankles. I thought, "seriously? How can that be?" I looked some more, looking for the one other person in the crowd that was apparently as un-informed as me. There was none. I thought that maybe I should fold my socks down, as far as they would go, to try to blend in more. But then again, I didn't want to bring attention to my un-stylish ways. I tried to forget about it, and act like I hadn't noticed. But I couldn't help it. I was the ONLY

ONE! But you know what? My socks didn't effect the outcome of the race. I still ran, and didn't come in last due to the excess weight around my ankles!

Here's me.

Here's Everyone Else!

A few days later, I mentioned this observation to a friend. She will remain nameless (you know who you are), but here was her reply: "Ya, it's been that way for a while now." The next day I went out and bought some ankle socks!

So I pose the question: Am I the last to know? And just in case there are a few other people out there still wearing tube style socks with their tennis shoes, let me offer you some advice. Apparently, it's not the thing to do. I never realized that I could be out of style when it came to my socks, but I learned differently. I guess the saying "Better late than never" applies here.