OMG! It's been a month?

I cannot believe that it has been that long. That means that it has been even longer since I actually read other people's blogs! That makes me very sad.

I am going to be honest with you. School sucks. I mean, it sucks like a lot. I want to be reading and writing and blogging but instead I am learning the in depth concepts behind being a librarian. Hate to tell you, but I really think that an MLIS is pointless. Yay for understanding the theory behind the job that I do every day but I get most of that from the job I do every day.

I have decided to use blogging as a reward. I'm just starting to get myself and my life back in order and for every item that I complete I am going to read a blog! I'm so excited that I can't stand it!

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I have not disappeared from the planet, though I am beginning to consider it as an alternative. lol.

I started classes three weeks ago and have done little else but homework since. I have, however, managed to work in a little writing nearly every day. You are not rid of me yet.

What I miss most is reading. Reading for fun and reading blogs. Sigh.

I'll be back someday!

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I have not disappeared from the planet, though I am beginning to consider it as an alternative. lol.

I started classes three weeks ago and have done little else but homework since. I have, however, managed to work in a little writing nearly every day. You are not rid of me yet.

What I miss most is reading. Reading for fun and reading blogs. Sigh.

I'll be back someday!

Holy Geez!

Well, I've started classes. This is not the first time that I have taken classes online. However, it is the first time I have taken a whole degree online, something I often tsk, tsk at. I guess that part of me is a traditionalist and I kind of think that going to class is part of getting degree. Online degrees don't count. I'll have to change that little part of my brain now. I am officially an online graduate student. I am officially graduate student. Geez.

The second thing that's really different about it is that librarians have to, by definition, keep on top of the technology trends. I don't think I am a major computer geek but I do know things but mostly because I have to use computers every day for work, etc. Anyway, the way that Wayne State has decided to deal with the out of classroom experience is by putting lectures online as videos on a website that allows them to track each student, whether they watched them, when they watched them, and if they watched them all of the way through. Having worked in a library for some eight years now, I have a hard time watching these things. Right now, I am listening to a lecture on how to keep up with technology and be innovative. You mean, there are people who don't read blogs? Someone doesn't have a Myspace? THERE ARE LIBRARIES WITHOUT WEBPAGES???? lol. In honor of my undergrad experience, I am painting my nails and writing.

But I did just get a mental punch in the stomach. I think that part of me has always thought that you got a degree, got a job, and did what you had to do to keep it. That's it. Part of the reason that I decided against teaching was that Michigan requires teachers to take so many credits in college courses every so many years. Apparently, the best way to keep your job in a library is by taking classes, reading blogs and magazines, and keeping on top of all of the latest trends inside and outside of the library. (That last one is something that I really suck at. I can barely keep on top of the kind of shoes I should be wearing and I love shoes. The music I listen to is older. The books I read are old. I am a classic kind of girl. That doesn't mean that I am against innovation, etc, but I do like things vintage.)

What gave me the punch was this: I have been using all of my extra energy outside of school and work to work on my writing. Now, working part time and going to school full time has left me with a decent amount of spare time. Nanowrimo helps, giving my one month when I can just write write write. Still school full time has generally given me hours where I have sat in a class and, well, wrote. After graduating, I started this blog. I edited a novel for the first time. I made a plan for writing, editing, and submitting. I made a plan for developing my web presence. However, when I have to work on work outside of work, how am I going to have time work on writing. NOT just writing but all of that other writing stuff!

How do people do all of this without going crazy??

You wouldn't believe my luck...

A couple of weeks ago, my car started acting funny. All of the men (Dad, Jas, and my brother) decided I needed new spark plugs and wires, the sooner the better. Jas cleaned my air filter and all was well. I planned on buying the new plugs and wires with this Friday's check. I also planned on betting an oil change for good measure. Until then, things were running smoothly...

I got in my car to go to work today and it didn't want to start. When I finally got it going, it said, "But I don't want to!" "Too bad..." And I took off down the road. A mile down the road, it stalled at the corner. I made my turn and went about another mile to turn around in the grocery store parking lot. I turned in, turned around, and died in the middle of the aisle. I started it. It died. I did this repeatedly with no luck. Finally, I called my daddy to bring me Mom's car.

Now, I got Mom's car. "Mustang Sally" is playing and mocking me. The car is on empty. My car had almost a full tank because I had used the last of my money to fill it. Okay, there is more money but I like to leave $100 in my checking at all times just in case I forget to write something in. Or a lot of somethings. I'm running late for work at this point. I decide to get gas closer to town. I stop at the last station before work because the low fuel light is on. They are getting new pumps and they don't have any gas...

I finally just gave up and went to work. I can't get into too much trouble at the library, right?

Teenage Rachael

In the interest of writing YA, I think that it is important to remember what it was like to be a teenager. What did you like? What did you do? What did you LOVE? And, what drove you nuts? So, here is a list about teenage Rachael.

1. Throughout high school, I lost about 60 lbs, taking me from "Fat Sweaty Betty" to "Freak B*tch" or just "Betty." I am serious. My guy friends called me these names.

2. I drove an '89 Firebird, sky blue and rust. I loved that car. LOVED it. I called her Venus and she was a tank. But, oddly enough, she would stall everytime I was at a certain corner. Never failed.

3. One of my favorite things to do was pick up my best friend, Missy, and our boyfriends, get in said Venus, and drive. We would go to the state game area or stop at the store and buy a Stewart's Cream Soda.

4. Another one of my favorite things to do was to go to teen night at the bowling alley. Only people 18 and under were allowed in. There was a DJ and for one price you could bowl all night. It originally went to 1 am but they eventually changed it to 12 because there were so many problems. IT was basically an excuse to act stupid, eat nachoes, hit on guys, and watch everyone smoke illegally. Good times.

5. I belonged to a group of friends that called themselves The Rejects. There was me, your friendly neighborhood goth, Janae, the jock, Sara, the shy but preppy girl, and Missy, the outsider. Missy was my best friend through most of high school and is now. I used to practically live at her house. We would go for five mile walks then eat frozen pizza and nachoes. Yum.

6. I dated about seven guys in high school. Most of them were disgusting and I will never forgive myself.

7. It used to drive me nuts, but my mom wouldn't allow me to spend hours on the phone long distance with my boyfriend. And she would pick up occasinally to make sure I was behaving.

8. I always behaved... on the phone. ;)

9. My favorite highschool bands? Hole, Garbage, Marilyn Manson, KoRn, Limp Bizkit, Nirvana, Foo Fighters, Oleander, Weezer, and Blink 182. I am not proud but sometimes I really do miss Fred Durst. And Manson was the hottest in the boob suit.

10. I am not kidding when I say that I spent a bulk of my first two years of high school wearing men's Kikwear jeans with 54" to 69" wide legs and super tight shirts. I was proud of my ever-improving body. When I was 16 I started wearing super tight jeans then I switched to all kinds of pants. Blue and black striped or plaid. I dyed my hair black and, for a little while, had purple or red or blue or green or pink bangs. I used to draw on my face with eye-liner. I would still do all of this if I could.

The only thing that could make me feel better this week...

My fiance, Jas (I give up on Pirate J), is an engineer. He works for a company that makes machines that measure stuff. I don't really understand it, to tell the truth. His work stories are long and boring and have words like "sphere" and "calibration" in them. I usually smile and nod to get through these things. Anyway, part of Jas's job is flying all over the country to install and fix machines. In the past month he has been to Palm Beach, Boston, and L.A. He's gone Monday through Friday almost every week.

Before Jas took this job last November, we had spent every day of our then over seven years together, well, together. Not everyday. But in those seven years we only spent about 14 days apart and most of those were for my job at the time, the bridal shop. For three days a year I was in Chicago buying stock for the following season. The other times we didn't see each other were because he went to Florida once to pick up his grandfather after his grandma passed away and because of snow. Though, I do remember sending my father out to pick him up once when there was a blizzard. Such is our relationship. I am practically an only child so I love having someone to play with. He makes me laugh. I love just being able to see him.

You'd think that this new career would have me feeling miserable but it really doesn't bother me. My father drove truck over the road when I was growing up, Monday through Friday, every week. My mother raised me, stayed at home with me. I have actually kind of enjoyed Jas being on the road. I don't have to shave my legs unless I plan on wearing a dress. He doesn't see just how lazy I have become. When I tell him, "I worked on my novel every day last week," he doesn't know that I only edited ten pages a day because that's all that I can handle. I did sell myself out last week when he noticed I had read three books and three magazines. Still, for a while, things were wonderful. He was gone all week, when we would have been too busy to really do anything anyways, and he came home on the weekend and spent time with me. We went to the movies and dinner and laid in bed and talked. It was great.

However, the problem became that everyone wanted Jas's time. One weekend he had to fix his mom's car, help his dad with the pigs, fix a friend's truck, and take me to dinner. By the end of the weekend, he had taken no time for himself.

Jason's hobby is restoring classic cars. He picked this up from my dad and they work on cars together. It's quite cute. Jason took this week off to work on his car. I understand, I really do. BUT, I am feeling a little neglected. I suggested that we go to the mall or a tourist town in the area and he yelled at me, "I am doing nothing but working on my car this weekend!" Well fine. I pretended he wasn't home for most of the week. Then I woke up today CRABBY. All I wanted was one day of his time. I make a point to ask as little of him as possible. Take me to dinner Friday nights. Maybe go to a party Saturday night. I try not to cut in on car time. But he shouldn't have to spend time with me. He should want to spend time with me. I exploded into tears.

It's been a rough week. I am lonely because I usually spend a half hour on the phone with him. Saturday we have a wedding that neither of us want to go to and Jason is making a big deal about because we could see 7 Mary 3 and Sponge in concert instead. On top of this, there was a hole in the dress I bought and I thought I was going to have to wear soemthing else. I tried on all of the appropriate dresses in my closet and NONE of them fit. I feel fat and ugly and stupid and friendless. I am beginning to feel a little crazy. Someone I care about broke my heart. Work is crazy busy. My car is in need of repairs. I am weepy and lonely and even a little clingy. I couldn't think of what would make me feel better.

Then it just happened.

A lady I work with, who we will call R, had a dream about me last night. We were in a restraunt or bar and I was with a really cute boy who was not Jason. Jason came in and looked very mopey and I said he just wasn't handling things too well. Another guy came in and all three of them got in a fight over me.

That just makes me feel grand. :)

When everything comes together...

I am a quilter. I love planning the quilt, thinking about it, but, while quilting, I complain nonstop about it. I hate measuring. I hate cutting. I hate sitting at the machine. I despise putting on borders, in fact think it is hell. So, what is it I like about quilting? What is it that makes me buy the fabric and plan the quilts and do all of that stuff I hate?

I love to see it come together.

I'm much the same about writing. While I love thinking about the story and how it comes together. I hate writing it, only because I spend the whole time thinking that I write like crap. I hate editing, it's like pulling teeth. But reading it back makes me feel the same way that finishing a quilt does...

Satisfied.

Names

I was thinking about names today. See, when I was in school there were two boys who had the exact same name. I think that it was even down to the middle name. We had to call them Tall Brian and Short Brian. In high school, Tall Brian was expelled. Short Brian slowly became Brian. There was another Rachael in my class, only she spelt it Rachel. Both of our last names started with "S," we sat next to eachother in every class we had together (alphabetical), and we both spent a bulk of our class time reading and writing in our journals instead of paying attention.

However, you never run into same names in books. I recognize that this would make books really confusing, having a bunch of Elizabeths in the same class, but it would also make them realistic. I recently read a book where the main character in a first person p.o.v. refered to every character by first and last names. I understand this. I think this is realiztic. BUt wouldn't be even more realistic if there was a Kristen Brown and Kristen Smith?

Things you may not know...

Did you know that it is actually possible to make your tongue peel if you eat too many Sweet Tarts? I wish I was lying.

Writing Space

I could not ask for better parents as a writer. Last June, my parents sat me down to have a heart to heart. They felt that I was wasting my "talent" and that I should really work hard on my writing because it "is marketable." I expressed my own problems with this. It's easy to say that I need to focus on my writing. However, my house is crazy. My parents run a business out of the bedroom next to mine. That means that my room is never quiet enough to write in. They also like to play this game called, "Let's Only Talk When We're in Seperate Rooms" which gets really annoying when you are trying to concentrate. Finally, any time I get into a really good swing, they order me to do something.

I love my parents and I don't mind helping out but that makes it really hard to "focus" on my "writing."

My awesome mother's solution? "Maybe we shuld get you a desk and put it down stairs." Now, I have to admit, I avoid said desk. The basement is usually very cold and it always smells like cat pee. The desk itself is massive and 90sesque. I have done my part to make it seem like home. I picked up a bottle of Fabreeze and some tea lights, that go in my cute little duck candle holders, for the smell. I put out the duck candle holders and a little witch candle holder. I have tried. But I'm not allowed to put out anything else because "people will see it."

The other day I went downstairs to play pool. I glanced over at the desk corner and sighed. My mother, who has taken to vending at Red Hat events, had piled hats and head bands on it. Under it was a huge box of stuff. I felt bad. I haven't done as much as I should.

This morning, I moved Mom's stuff and lit the tea lights. For a half hour, which was all that I could fit in before work, and I edited. It was actually pretty nice.

You know what they say: Butt+Chair

Life, Death, and Writing

My life, as of late, has been steeped in death. First, my uncle. Then, a boy who I knew from school. (That was a pretty touchy one, a suicide that left me sleepless.) After that, my best friend who is like a sister, her grandfather died. Then an aunt. When we got home from her memorial service last night, my Dad's cousin called. Another relative, I guess me second cousin, passed away last week.

Now, previously, I was having issues with death. You know, ISSUES. But all of this death has brought a lot of things to light. Actually, you know what has helped me the most? I kid you now, it was the Sci-Fi channel series Ghost Hunters. Anyway, all of this death has me thinking...

Previously, I was writing a book about a girl who died. It was a vital part of the story. That was how the story came to me. "This is about a girl who dies." But I ended up changing the whole thing aorund until it was a completely different story.

As an author, I think that it is important to face fears, even if it is just facing them in writing. So, I am going to write the book that was meant to be written. Thoughts?

A question of character....

Okay, this is a kind of personal post. (They all are, aren't they? I mean, I have a big mouth.)

I have a confession. I was the fat girl.

I started gaining weight when I was 8. Third grade was a horrible year in which I started at a new, larger school, had a witch for a teacher, and was informed that I was "special" because I was a slow reader. The term "special" still bothers me to this day.

The real problem was junior high. In junior high, at age twelve, I ballooned right up. I know, I know. "Baby fat," right? WRONG. A decent excuse would be that I was about to shoot up to super model heights and graduate from my training bra. The problem with this theory? I was and am a whopping 5'2" which looks incredibly charming in a size 20. I also graduated from my training bra when I was 7. In fourth grade, my chest was the talk of the class when a girl shouted at me to get my "big b**bs" out of her face. I heard about little else for a month.

That's right, but eighth grade, I was a size 20. By size 20 I mean that my 18's were digging so deep into my gut that it was uncomfortable to sit through class but I suffered rather than go up a size. I also mean that I used my period to get out of gym class every day. The worst part were my friends. I started junior high with a group of what I thought to be gorgeous, cool friends. Jenny, who had long shiney brown hair and arms and legs like sticks. Alicia, a gorgeous blonde with the body of a 16 year old, ditzy but adorable. Amanda, who was the star of every hallway show, pug nosed, skinny, and fun. They loved me. They loved me because I was the butt of their jokes. When I was sad that boys would not go out with me, they created a secret admirer for me. Only, they told everyone that they were the secret admirer.

I finally got a boyfriend, a chubby boy that I will refer to as J1. J1 and I spent hours on the phone together. We watched The Wizard of Oz while we talked 0nce. We sang along. He never kissed me and would not hold my hand at school, only when we were in the park or with our families. When he broke up with me, I learned that it was all a joke. One of our friends dared him to date me. Happily, he ended up actually liking me. Saddly, he dumped me because he was embarrassed to date the "fat girl."

I lost my first 15 lbs before nineth grade. I felt great about it. Losing weight, for me, was like watching success. Each pound I lost was a number I could count, was a change I could see. I dumped my crappy friends during eighth grade for another set of girls I sometimes hung out with. Sarah, skinny and blonde and quiet. Janae, the jock. Melissa, who read as much as I did and spent hours on the phone with me. They noticed how nice I was looking and always made sure that I felt cared for.

In high school, I began to notice. Boys came and went, I chased the ones that didn't want me and tolerated the ones that did. Every relationship was tainted with that first one, though. If I liked him enough to date him and he liked me enough to date me, it must be a joke. Who wants to be the fat girl? And the people who weren't friends with me didn't notice the change. They called me Jobba the Hut and teased that no one would go to the dances with me. I shrank. I shrank some more. By 16, I was down to 150 and a size 11. I was comfortable. I felt beautiful. I started dating J who didn't let me think that it was all a joke. I shrank some more. Jason noticed that something wasn't right and he talked to me about it. I shrank some more. I kept shrinking.

By the time I was 20, I was a size three. If you saw my family, you would know that I should never be a size three. I can't say how I got that small. All I can tell you is that people around me tell me it wasn't healthy. I stayed small for a very short time, maintaining it by drinking until I was sick on a regular basis. Now I am a healthy size 8/10. I work out 6 days a week for about an hour each day. I try to maintain a healthy diet (but fail constantly because I love food).

Why am I telling you this in a writing blog? I have noticed that weight is a very difficult subject for me to touch on in my writing. It is at the very core of my being, something I know all too well. I could write a killer YA about dealing with weight issues. But I won't. Most of my characters are effortlessly thin. Once I attempted a heavier character but I was afraid that I couldn't do it justice. I want to make a fat girl who is cool and fun, not the kind of fat girl I was.

Does anyone else have this problem? I don't want to present characters as toned down versions of myself...

Reasons I Hate Computers...

I have come to the conclusion that I hate computers, specifically lap tops.

When I bought my last laptop, I got it from Best Buy. I spent $1100 on it. I had $1150 available on my credit card. It was vital that I buy it because my last laptop needed a new motherboard which was only $500 but the exact same laptop was on sale for $500. Like any good Polish girl, I upgraded. Then, they told me that I had to purchase my own back up CD, which came with my last computer, for $200. I didn't buy it. I was insulted. I raved about it.

Last summer, a year after the purchase, my computer cleared itself. It was a nightmare. Lucky, I had a lot of stuff on disc or thumb drive because I don't have a printer for my laptop and i print stuff on my dad's computer. Still, I lost all of my Sim games and a large chunck of writing, as well as all of the songs I had purchased off iTunes. My cousin, a computer genius, made a new back up CD for my and fixed the computer.

Saturday I was having a horrible morning. I sobbed a lot. I decided to check my e-mail, see if anyone had sent me something to cheer me up. I turned on my computer. It was doing the same damn thing as last year....

So, here I am, without having anything new backed up. I've lost three years of MP3's. I've lost two half written novels. The only copy I have of the one I'm editting is a hard copy. The real heart ache came when I realized that I had lsot three years worth of my reading list. The novels are still in my head, only they are better. The books on that list, I may never see them again.

The lesson: Save everything to a thumb drive or two...

Where have I been?

The last time I wrote, I was heading off to a fantastically dreaded vacation with my future in laws...

1. The Vacation:
Actually, it was not that bad. J is pretty anti-person so we ended up spending a lot of time alone. Plus, I spent most of the vacation with a drink in hand. We swam in the ocean. We went on a dolphin cruise. One day all of us went into historic Savannah. I loved it. Savannah is amazing. We went on a trolly tour and even visited a house that had been on my most favorite show, Ghost Hunters. Then the vacation ended early.

2. The Funeral:
Tuesday, after the splendid dolphin cruise, I got a phone call from my brother. He started with, "You may not want to call mom for a few minutes. She's really upset." My first thought was that my father, who owns a trucking company and spends a bulk of his time under semis, dropped a truck on himself. Actually, it was my uncle.

I know that this is not the best way to break news like that but how else am I supposed to say it? He was working on a truck and it fell on him and ran him over and it was a terrible shock and a horrible thing to learn when you are so far away from all of your family. J was awesome. I mean, he let me cry and he said right away that we would be there for the funeral. He was even a pal barer (sp?). We left on Thursday instead on Saturday and drove from Hilton Head Island, SC to north of Detroit, MI in one day. THe funeral was horrible. I have never cried at a funeral before.

What makes it even harder is this: I have a huge extended family. My father is one of four. My mother is one of eight. Each of my mom's siblings have at least three children. My mother is about 22 years younger than her older siblings and grew up with my cousins. Randy, the uncle who died so suddenly, was the nearest to her in age and, well, nearness. Him and his wife went on vacations with my parents. They liked the same stuff. When I was little, they would drink and eat and play games at my kitchen table. It was terrible loss that my parents felt so harshly which made it even harder on me. There are some people that you should never have to see cry.

3. The Great Disaster:
The library I work at is now "circulation driven," which means that the books which circulate the most (fiction) have the largest room and the books that circulate the least (non-fiction) have the smaller room. Only, we have more non-fiction than fiction, which was pretty cramped in the smaller room to begin with.

Don't get me wrong, it looks very nice upstairs... if you don't know that we withdrew something like 3000 books to make it fit and it still doesn't. And what a nightmare the job was! We moved the complete non-fiction section no less than 4 times last week. This has been a display of complete incompitence. I often wonder why people make so much more than me and lack common sense.

4. Getting it Together
I celebrated another wonderful birthday with my wonderful friends and it has left me feeling a little more grown up. I am ready to step back into the driver seat and take on the things that need to be taken on.

Glad to be back. More writing junk soon.

Rachael on Snakes

Don't you hate snakes?

I'm not talking about your garden variety of snake here... I am talking about the big, pompous ones you work with.

"Snakes?" you may say. "Rachael, I don't work with any snakes." But, surely, you do. Snakes are the ones who sneak in and eat your lunch out of the fridge. Snakes are the ones who get the best coffee when they supply the worst. Snakes are the opnes who sneak in and take all of the extra hours, leaving you nearly broke and terribly bored.

I work part time. I think this must be obvious as I took two days last week and drove across the state. Currently, I work Monday and Thursday from 1-8. I used to work every Sunday as well but we close on Sundays for the summer. With just those hours, my bills are paid and I have about $100 a week. Living with Mommy and Daddy really does help. I usually put about 50 in my tank and 30 in my tummy, leaving me with 20 to do as I please. I buy a lot of second hand and clearance items. If I want something a little more expensive, I don't drive around on my days off and I don't eat steak. This works well for me.

And when there are extra hours, well, you had just better watch out! I put all of that extra money away or pay extra on my bills and sometimes I stock up on expensive alcohol. I had a big check right before I went to Frankenmuth with J last time, and I bought a bottle of my favorite wine which is a whopping $15/bottle. I love extra hours. It's not necessarily the money. I like feeling a little more professional, a little more needed, and a lot more stable. I like being able to take care of dinner for my friends. (The last time I won on Keno, Michigan's resident bar lottery, I put $40 on the table and told everyone to eat and drink). I like being comfortable, not just all right.

Something horrible has happened. Early in the year, when I was working incredible amounts of hours, I got sick. I got really sick. I had a fever of 103. I could not even stand to watch TV or read. I just slept. I had to call in. Unfortunately, I was pretty much the sub clerk and there was no one to cover me. (Everyone else is older and most of them were in Florida). IN such trying times, they promoted The Snake. The Snake worked under me before, when I was a page. They promoted him because he worked the front desk at the college library. However, this is a whole different ball game and he seems to hate the job. He makes patrons cry. He always leaves work for the next person. What's worse, he goes to our superviser everyday to ask for hours.

I refuse to do this. I think that it is rude and I think that I am above it.

What gets me is the The Snake always gets his way. There is nothing for it. I can try my best to outwit him and he still comes out on top. My new plan is to be classy me. F**k him. I need a shot. lol

Bookshelves and Boot Camp

I like to think that I got a lot done in my self-fashioned Writer's Boot Camp. Actually, I got a lot more done than I would have if I had stayed home and a lot more got done than I really expected. Still, I wish I would have done more.

What did I do in Rachael's Writer's Boot Camp?

Tuesday I waited for J in the room and played on the wireless internet. We went to Pizza Hut for dinner, went for a swim, and watched the Piston's game. Wednesday we went to breakfast then J went to work. I went for a swim then heard housekeeping coming up the hall and halled out to the nearest Target where I bought all kinds of useless stuff and hairdye (which is not useless). Went back to the room. It was not clean. I edited about 30 pages of YA1 when I heard housekeeping enter the room next to me. I packed up and went out for lunch but could not find anywhere to eat and ended up at a couple of thrift stores. I got lost in Muskegon but found a library and stopped to check it out. I finally found a BK about ten minutes away from the hotel. I went back to the room. It still was not clean. Frustrated, and out of money and things to do, I drove around for about a half hour then sat in the parking lot and edited. I went back to the room. It was clean. I changed my myspace page twice. J came home. We worked out then went to Pondrosa then watched meaningless TV.

You know, I had a great time. Even editing was fun. I hate to admit it but this was the first time that I have edited anything. Because I was terrified that it would suck. It doesn't. While I was reading, I was struck by how good the writing actually was. I noticed the kinks in the story right away and noted how to even them out. I liked it. I found myself with tears in my eyes and a grin on my face. I think this could be the one.

This morning, I did not want to leave. J didn't want me to leave. I could have just called in and stayed an extra day. I would have loved it. But I was responsible and made it across the state way too quickly. I am indifferent to going home. I don't even miss the cats that much. Don't tell them. They have claws...

I need some damn bookshelves.

Self Imposed Writer's Boot Camp

I am going to be taking off for a few days.

By taking off for a few days I mean that J is working in Michigan this week and is close enough for me to force myself upon his hotel room, wireless internet, pool, and TV.

Still, J will have to work. I know, I know. I have often tried to pursued him to skip work for me and he never does it. I have skipped work for him, of course. Rotten double standards. Lovely sick hours. Anywho...

I have decided that I will use my day at the hotel to force myself into editing and writing. Editing YA1 and writing YA2. It could be good for me, right? AND, it goes along with my goals for the week. (Except being frugal as gas is EXPENSIVE and I am driving across the state for no real reason except t hang out with my Honey.) In preperation, I skipped writing today and worked on a quilt I started something like 2 years ago.

Woohooo!

(P.S. Do brains explode? Mine kind of feels like it might.)

Pigs are a flyin'...

I got up Monday morning determined to change my life because I had been in such a rotten mood all weekend. I do this sometimes, just wake up and decide that everything must go...

First, I set an alarm for 7 AM, Monday through Friday. More hours in a day, more I can get done.

Second, I pledge to eat low fat and work out.

Third, I pledge to be frugal.

Fourth, I promised myself that I would write.

Fifth, I swore that I would finish up some of the random projects left half finished...

Monday was swell. Tuesday was peachy. Wednesday I got another cold and gave up. Damn cold.

The fact that I failed after Tuesday is not the point of this story at all. The point is that I did super well until I got super sick and that is super better than usual. So, this wekk I am going to try again, now that I can breath and don't have to take a nap every two hours.

Sometimes, it's kind of nice knowing that I can do it...

Past + Past + Past = Future?

There has been a lot of frustration lately on the home front and the work front and, since there is always frustration in the form of caddiness and gossip on the friend front and the boyfriend front, it is needless to say that I am frustrated.

For one, I can pretty much divide myself up into those four categories; Friends, boyfriends, work, and home. I feel utterly simplified by this.

Just received word from my real estate agent that the house we were waiting for some information on just went into pending. For someone else. Again. This is the third house we have lost because listing agents feel not need to return calls to my agent, even if she is the president of the county's realtors' association. I would think that real estate agents would have a little more class than that. I mean, when I mentioned to a mortgage guy that we were working with said agent, he began returning calls immediatly and saying things like, "Please let T know that I called you back!" At this point, I just want a house. That we have been trying so hard and finding so little is very frustrating. T's voice was shaking with anger on her voicemail. "Rachael, I have more bad news..."

It has been implied that I should seek a new agent, that she may not have our best interests in mind, but T has been in my family for years. She actually managed to convince a lady to gift my grandmother her house after discovering the Grandpa lost it in a poker bet in the 70's. (Sorry, Grams, if you are upset at me for sharing this story but it is so classing and all of the parties involved (with the exception of T) and dead.)

I just feel so stuck right now. J and I have been engaged for SIX YEARS. We have been house shopping for months, in a buyers market. There are no extra hours for me at work and no openings available even though I have a higher degree and am ready to move up. My ex-sister-in-law just had a baby and my ovaries are working double time, kicking me in time with my biological clock. The cats are gone all of the time because it is nice out and when they are home they are just balls of complete exhaustion and previously-alive-puke. My car is old. My wine is cheap. And something horrible just occured to me...

I want to do it alone.

I want to write my book. I want to get my degree. I want to buy my own house and decorate the whole damn thing in purple. And I want a kitten! That's right, a kitten.

Basically, all that this adds up to is that I have a lot of work and a lot of waiting to do. And since I have no patience and am lazy, I might just drink a bottle of wine tonight, bum style, and lean on my friends...

Spring has Sprung

I was sitting in the chair that I have claimed as my own, my nose in a book, waiting for lunchtime to roll around. Suddenly, I heard a sound. It was slightly familiar but I couldn't place it. Was my father working on something in the garage? Was there something flying overhead? Was there something driving past? I was so cunfused by this sound. I didn't know what it was but it made my heart feel a little lighter.

Then, it hit me.

I jumped up and dashed to the sliding door. Sure enough, that's what it was. The wind had picked up and that sound, like a thousand coins dropping from a slot machine, was actually leaves! I mean, I knew that there were leaves on the tree but not enough to rustle. It was such a long, cold winter that I found myself staring out the window thinking about the glorious sound of leaves. And now, I have them!

A few weeks ago, I bought a clearanced summer dress for $5. It was black and white and very skirtiliscious. When I got it home, I noticed that there were huge pockets on the skirt. What were these mysterious pockets for? I discovered only when a friend walked into a party with one of these contraptions on, a beer in each pocket. Suddenly, it all makes sense.

Too Cool for School!

I have decided to go back to school.

This happened sometime last week when I found out that they were interviewing people who were just starting their masters for a position that just became available. I would have started at a very nice salary but, alas, somebody wanted to take a little time off.

So, the plan is that I will return in the fall to Wayne State, which has just launched an online Library Science program. No driving to Detroit? I am in. The classes look simple. I'll be focusing in Children's Services.

If I tell enough people, I can't back out!

Where do all of the unwritten songs go???

I was sitting on my bed the other day, messing around with my guitar. I had just found this notebook full of poems, lyrics, and chord progressions from about two years ago. It was long enough for me to forget about it but short enough to remember some of the stuff in it. I came across this saying I was scribbling on everything at the time. "Sugar Stardust Suicide." It was a lyric. I played and played until the whole tune came back to me and sang and sang until the lyrics were improved. Then I found myself wondering, "Where do all of the unmarketable songs go? What happens when a band with a really good song breaks up?"

The same goes for books.

I may not know a lot about the publishing world as I am just an unpublished fledgling of a newb, but I know that luck plays just as much of a role in the business as talent. I can write my little heart out but, if I'm not lucky enough to be in the right place with the right manuscript at the right time, I will never be published. I know this, and I have yet to send a single inquiry.

What if The Best Book of All Time is sitting in someones rejection pile? I mean, I think that I would like to just look through those piles and see if something bites me. I know it would be pointless, that everything happens for a reason but I still think it would be incredibly entertaining.

In completely unrelated news, I've decided to go back to school. I'm hoping to attend Wayne State for the Library Science program in the fall, or maybe summer. I need to do a FAFSA and an app but I'm sure it's in the bag. I've also been informed that I must be a children's librarian and take over for the grand Mrs. C. (the current Queen o' Childrens'). I figure, if I tell everyone, I can't back out.

Today the circ desk, tomorrow the library!!!! Mwahaha!

Chaos Theory

Things don't feel right. I've been grappling with this sensation for about a month now. Something just isn't right. I am not happy. I did that thing where I just thought about it for a while, ran down a list of things in my life that could be wrong. Is it J that I am unhappy with? No. Is it my job? No. Is it my home life? No. Really, I just feel so dull and tired and vaguely out of place. I feel as if I have no control but there is also nothing to have control over.

The problem is that it is starting to turn me into this blob of nothingness. As I said, I am so tired. I sleep from 11 to 7 and sometimes take a two hour nap in the middle of the day. I feel like everything I write is horrible shit. I keep gaining weight. (My goal was to lose a pound a week until June this year, leaving me at a stunning 118. I have gained a pound a month. Do the math and you'll know that I am not fat, just not happy.) Exercise is a chore and, while a half hour was easy to do just a little over a month ago, twenty minutes feels like hell now. My room is a mess. My car is a mess. I hate all of my clothes, even a bulk of my shoes. I am just sick of everything.

My solution? Well, I am just going to have to put my big girl panties on and deal with it. Right? Isn't that all you can do. I'll just have to eat better and make myself work out. I'll have to push myself to read and write. I'll have to frequent the Goodwill (our amazing resale shop). And today I told J that my room will be spotless when he gets home on Thursday and, if not, he has my permission to pester me about it and mock me.

And I suggest you put your big girl panties on too.

Adventures in House Hunting

Let me tell you a little about the town I live in. Deisel trucks outnumber all other vehicles combined (excluding, possibly, tractors.) We have two bars, two gas stations, and one pizza place. In high school, there really was a day during "spirit week" called Farmer Day. On that day, everyone drove their tractors to school and wore flannel and overalls. I, on the other hand, borrowed my dad's black '53 Chevy pick-up and wore a black leather skirt, black and white stripped tights, a black cowboy hat, and knee high boots. I also carried a stuffed pig whose ears, nose, and eyebrows had been pierced.

And, do you want to know the truth? As much as I didn't fit into that picture, with my black/multi-colored hair and angry feminist rock, I love it here. I love being able to drive around on dirt roads and just look at the beautiful old farms. Besides, we have some pretty cemetaries here.

Now, Captain J and I are house shopping. J has an amazing job as an engineer but he is gone all week. It's actually lucky for me because I don't have to move to where his company is based, an hour away. Since I'm alone all week, J agreed that we can stay here, near my parents and, most importantly, my sister-friend M. I have painted the cabinents in M's kitchen (as well as cleaned out her closet in high school, three week old nachos and all) and she owes me a lifetime of manual labor. I want to see her son grow up and I want her to see my nonexistant children become masterminds. Mwahahah!

Today, another offer got turned down. Actually, this was the first house we managed to get an offer in on. We fell in love with the fourth house we looked at. It was HUGE and new and built right up against a river but the company that owned it stalled us until they accepted another offer. The second house we liked was a small, newly built ranch in the middle of nowhere but close to M's parents' house. We looked at it on a Saturday but, when we went to put an offer in on Monday, they had already gotten two more offers and accepted one. There was a lot that I liked about the last house, the one with the actual offer. It had daylight windows in the basement (finishing a basement is a must) and the kitchen was maple. There were closets everywhere. However, this is Michigan and the company wanted list price which is crazy.

The other day, I turned down a back road on a whim and came across a gorgeous house. It was an older ranch, foreclosure, needed a little work. Mom and I looked in all of the windows. When I got home, I looked it up. 2500 sq ft, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, completely remodeled kitchen, 7 acres. 7 acres! J wants a huge Great Dane and I want kids so that is perfect. And the best part? It is exactly in our price range. We are going to look at it tomorrow. Wish us luck.

The only problem? It's a town away. I'm having a hard time giving up my school district.

(I should also tell you why I am so into this school district. When M moved here in seventh grade, her parents researched the schools in three counties and picked ours!)

P.S. Ben Franklin is on Cobert???? Ben Franklin is a colonial HOTTIE!

Rachael 101: An Introduction

Because we haven't formerly been introduced, here are the imparative parts of me.

1. My name is Rachael Yvonne Smyczak. My varios alias' include Rachola, Chola, Choles, Svetlana, Rach, and Freak Bitch. I usually tell people to call my Rach or Rachael or whatever comes out first. Sometimes I am surprised by the people who actually call me Rachael.

2. I am 23. I graduated from North Branch High School in '02 and got my BA in English with a focus in Womens and Gender Studies at the University of Michigan in sunny Flint.

3. I have worked at the same library for nearly eight years. I started as a page when I was 16 and was promoted to Clerk when I was 20. I LOVE my job which is pretty much a customer service position. I remain at the front desk 99% of the time I am here and dodge people's anger with a smile.

4. I am in lovely with a lovely man who I shall only call Captain J. I decided on the name because I was looking at a romance novel called A Pirate of Her Own and remembered that one of J's ex-girlfriends used to call him Pirate J. But he is my captain, calmly steering me through the rough waters. We have been together just three months less than I have worked at the library.

5. I have three cats. September (aka Septypie) is the oldest. She is gray and stripped. She was a stray who just showed up as a kitten, put her paws on my dad's cowboy boots, and fell right into our hearts. Storm and Bear are sister and brother. Storm (aka Stormin Normin, Stormypie, and Sister Bear) is gray and white and likes to jump at any dirt spots on the wall. Earnest "Bear" Hemmingway (aka Bubba, Baby Bear, Bear Butt, Ernie) is literally my baby. When he comes in after being outside, he jumps up in my arms and gives me all kinds of love. He also enjoys sleeping in drawers and drinking from the bathroom faucet.

6. I still live with my parents. We are working on changing that. My parents are as crzy and me.

Has blogging really changed the way we read/write?

Yes! Yes 100%!

Let's start with reading. Last night I finished reading a book called Rumble in the Bayou by Jana DeLeon. It was a *gasp* romancy book. In other words, it wasn't anything that I would have picked out for myself. Guess what. . . I LOVED IT! I mean, the character development was lovely and it was humorous and the dirty parts were HOTT! I felt like I really knew the characters. I even rated it at 85% on my awesomeness scale. I was shocked because, like I said, I wouldn't have picked it out for myself. I picked it up because I read about it in a blog and I thought I would give it a chance. Monday I bought a book from the library's sale because I read about it on a blog and it was sitting there like kismet.

Any way that you manage to get your name out there as a writer is good, excpet maybe a memoir scandal. Even then, I have seen an author's books fly off the shelves purely because there was a scandal. I still wouldn't encourage it. One of my favorite books that I've read so far this year is Looking for Alaska by John Greene. I would never have heard about it if it weren't for the blogs I read.

How does it affect the way we write? I think that writing a blog increases two specific stylistic things. The first is that it encourages a more personal voice. I love to write in first person. I love to play with the things a character sees and doesn't see, as well as the lies that tend to pop out in sticky situations. Since blogging, I think that I have improved my voice a little because it has become much more personal. The second is that blogging encourages some humor in one's writing. No one wants to read a boring snoring blog but, add a little humor, and you've got 'em hooked. Like my dig on mempoirs above. Of course, I'm the only one who realized that was a joike, right? I'm working on it!

Let it rain. Let it pour.

Isn't it funny when you get into the zone? I mean, I hadn't written anything worth while since, um, NOVEMBER! Then, this morning, I sat down to work on something I had recently started and CLICK! I wanted to go for a walk but I literally couldn't pull my fingers from the keyboard. I had to eat lunch while I wrote and I could have cried when I had to leave for work. The zone, for me, is accompanied by this annoying voice that writes even when I cannot. My drive was full of me telling it to shut up for a bit, at least until I could get home.

Work has been a little trying lately. First of all, the warm weather makes me anxious to get outside. Secondly, I have managed to get myself in trouble twice this week! They were both honest mistakes and I tried to take the criticism in stride and use it to improve my work (Does this sound like writing?) but the person who has been critiquing me lacks that, um, kindness. It is one thing to say, "I noticed this. Could you work on that?" and another to say, "RACHAEL! You did this WRONG!" The worst part is that she is this way with everyone and I pretty much just have to deal with it.

But those are two very important things to learn when it comes to writing: How to give and receive criticism.

Spring!

It may just be the memory of a hellacious winter speaking, but I think that we do up nice weather a little more intensley here in Michigan than people in other states. When you only have three months of summer, you have to live those months to the fullest. I watch spring with a particular interest. I watch the changing temperatures, the arrival of the geese, and the buds forming on the trees.

Don't think that all of this watching makes me idle. No, it gives me the energy that winter drained out of me. I suddenly find myself feeling less like lying in bed, curled into a little ball and more like running a mile. Except, I don't run. Ever. lol.

In the past week, I have put an inner border on a quilt, started the outer border, and, oh yeah, WRITING! It feels like it has been so long since I did something productive with my mind but I am getting back into the swing of things.

And, you know, as much as I like to just sit around and do nothing, this really does feel good.

Bad Beginnings

Lately, I've been having a problem with beginnings.

Usually, the beginning is the best part of anything that I write. It gets a little sloppy in the middle. The ending is quick and sharp. Since I started seriously writing novels all of the way through, my general theory has been that my middle was my problem. I spent the most time on it because that was what needed the most work. I plowed through the beginning while I still had tons of steam and plowed through the ending when I got my second wind.

Like I said, this is not the case anymore. I have had two really good ideas for "serious" YA's. I set to work on the first one right away, ready to use up that creative energy that had been building behind the idea only to flop. 2000 words in and I hated it. I thought that I hadn't developed the characters enough in my head so I spent a day writing everything I knew about each character. That went well enough. I attempted writing again and FLOP. I hated it. I couldn't see how to get where I wanted from where I was.

Today, I spent a little time writing on my other idea, thinking this would go better. FLOP. Maybe I should keep writing then come back and fix it? Maybe I can write it then chop it up?

Does anyone else have a problem with bad beginnings? What is part of a story is easiest for you to write?

Rachael, Racheal, I've been thinking...

Of new and fantastic ways to procrastinate. My decision? A blog!

So, here's the thing, this blog will be about writing, books, and my day job at the library. I think that's a pretty well stream-lined blog, right? As long as it has something to do with these subjects, I will write about it.

I have been working on a little bit more serious of a YA as of late but the thing is that this novel uses a lot of personal pain. I have often heard that you should write what you know and I have been using this concept to write "something serious." The only problem is that writing like this is like picking at a scar.

Does writing from experience hurt this much for everyone?