Editor, Writer,
Pen Enthusiast.
Random quote of the day...
The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.
- Anaïs Nin
Cross Your Fingers, Please!
Today I mailed out some very serious hopes and dreams, by snail mail and electronically.
Snail Mail: After a final read and polish on Sweet Tea for Frankenstein, I’ve mailed it to the Delacorte contest for a first young adult novel. This really seems like a long shot, but I also know that I’ve worked with professional editors on my final product and have integrated some agent suggestions as well. So that should give me at least a fighting chance. Also, they definitely don’t choose a winner every year so that makes me think maybe a ton of people don’t enter this contest. In any case, the winner gets a book contract. With Random House. Pretty much a dream come true.
Electronically: I ran across a job listing this morning that looked absolutely perfect. Completely. It’s for a good publisher, working with children’s imprints, doing work that I have just the right qualifications for. I keep seeing good listings and getting my hopes up, only to not get any sort of contact. I’m really wishing and hoping and praying for this one…it would be in New York so that would require some other things to work out, too. But wow, if everything did work out? WOW! 
Also: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM! (and Aunt Jackie!)
P.S. I am a freelance editor and writer in the Inland Empire. (How was that, Matt?) 
Nightmares (Dreams, Part 2)
Part 2 of dream analysis…nightmares. For someone who pretty much stays away from scary movies, I sure have a lot of nightmares. The most recent one involved me walking into a 7-story Starbucks with underground floors (the wave of the future, I’m sure) with Jeremy, only I wanted to be by myself, so I went into the elevator and rode it to the bottom floor. Instead of a coffee shop, it was the set-up for a haunted house. The place was completely deserted, but it made me really uncomfortable.
Instead of getting back on the elevator, I chose to try and find a way out of the haunted house. I ran and ran…past spooky dark places and over broken floors with nothing but gaping darkness underneath. The faster I ran the more frantic I felt, and the more I fell down. I started to feel like I wasn’t alone, but it wasn’t people I sensed. It was creatures. There was nowhere to hide and now I was lost and exposed. I remember wondering distantly in the dream if anyone would come look for me, and if they would even know where to find me in the first place. I guess that’s what I get for wanting to be alone! I found a small staircase in the middle of a wide expanse of darkness, and I curled up on it. There was a glowing Exit sign above me, but no door.
All I can make of this is that it’s maybe a reflection of feeling lost and scared in life, worrying that if I don’t run fast enough I’ll fall through the cracks and disappear. Maybe wondering if I’ve wandered so far from “me” that nobody even knows where to look anymore to find me. And the door-less exit? Could be false alarms at progress or things seeming like they’ll get better, only to end up the same.
Characters at the Gym
That was fun–you guys miss childhood, too! Good to know I’m not the only one who grew up and became kinda disillusioned with fast food and candy and tv.
And now…people I see on a regular basis at the 24-Hour Fatness (fitness) by my house:
Smelly Dude: There’s a really large guy who always wears Hawaiian shirts, and all I ever see him do is walk around, and sometimes park himself at the machine which causes the least amount of working out in the entire place: you know the one…where you sit down and pedal your arms around. Also, this guy smells. He smells so bad that there is a 20-foot range of smell around him, like with Linus from Peanuts with the smell lines.
Barbie and Barbie Jr.: Some of the girls I see at the gym are normal and are there to actually exercise. Other girls I see are wearing heavy make-up and skimpy attire (even by gym standards). I don’t mind this, except when these girls congregate in groups on the machines I need to use, and just chat with each other. They kinda remind me of a large paperweight that somebody gives you and you put it on your desk, but everytime you reach for your stapler THERE’S THAT PAPERWEIGHT and it’s big and in your way, and you just end up shoving it into a desk drawer.
Muscle Man and Friends: I like to go to the gym in the daytime to avoid Muscle Man and Friends. I’m pretty sure these guys actually live at the gym full-time, like with a cot at night, even. They have many ridiculous tattoos, block walkways, talk loudly with other muscle men about their muscles, and every once in a while grunt loudly while picking up a barbell for show. Just so they don’t forget why they’re there.
You’re-Wasting-My-Time, Inc.
The kiddos who work at the gym are their own brand of crazy, as well. When we come in there are never less than 4 of them up front flirting with each other, and it usually takes awhile for them to notice that we’re there. If any of them are on the phone, it takes an additional 30 seconds at least. Then, if they need to hand you any paperwork, their mondo acrylics complicate matters and you’re on board for another minute and a half. I loooooove Victorville!