Are you familiar with the transition of having known someone intimately who slowly becomes someone you once knew? I suppose it's happened to all of us, whether with a friend, lover,or sibling. It's a curious thing to me right now because I am experiencing it with multiple people. Some of these changing relationships are painful, others not so much, but they point to one thing for certain; I am the common denominator. These transitions are unfolding because of things I've said and/or decisions I've made. Make no mistake about that. I am the cause and I don't claim to be a victim. There is a weight to that realization, which is at times, an uncomfortable burden. At others, I don't feel it much at all. No surprise, I like it better when I don't feel it.

I've known people - mostly women - who get to a point in their lives where they just seem to stop caring about what others think or what others expect of them. If it doesn't feel good, they don't do it and they are without apology. They stop trying to please everyone else and begin to start doing what makes them happy. I have arrived at that particular station. It took forty-eight years, but I'm here.

I don't think it's uncommon for women my age to become aware that they've lost themselves (or parts of themselves) along the way. While trying to be the best parent, spouse, sibling, employee, etc, some of us get a little lost.

Before you get your panties in a bunch, I'm not saying that I've stopped loving my family or wanting them to be happy. Calm yourself. I still plan to take care of my babies as best I can, but I will no longer do things I don't like doing. (Again, relax. I'll still go to work and pay my bills. Try to follow along.).....  I'm a pretty happy-go-lucky person. I love to laugh and be silly and feed people. However, I've been known to attend functions that I dreaded just because it was expected of me. I've spent hours upon hours with people that I truly don't enjoy being with because they are happiness vampires (they live to suck the joy out of life) - because they invited me for dinner and I felt obligated to join. I don't plan to be rude or unkind to anyone, but if I don't want to do it, I won't. If it doesn't feel good, I'm no longer going to engage.

Does that sound selfish? Oh well. Color me as you see fit.

Will there be meetings I'd rather skip, but have to attend? Of course. Will I be able to avoid the grocery store forever? No.

Try to keep up.

I'm not talking about things like laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping. I'm talking about not allowing people to manipulate me through guilt or a sense of obligation. I speak to not pretending that everything is rosy if, in fact, it sucks sweaty moose balls. I'm referring to ending relationships - however intimate they may be - with people who don't treat me with the respect and love I need. Seems obvious, right? It sounds easier to do that it actually is because our "jobs" (expectations as a spouse/parent/child/employee) dictate a lot of what we do.

What does this mean? Who the hell knows. I feel like I should be performing a Monty Python skit to better articulate what I'm trying to say.

A Bumpy Ride?

I recently commented that my life seems to be paralleling the lives of at least one of the fictitious characters in my latest book. While it may sound intriguing to some of you on that side of the fence, it's down-right frightening at times from over here. I'm not searching for sympathy, just capturing my thoughts. If you've gleaned nothing from reading my blog (how presumptuous I can be...as if you read this crap), you'll have probably figured out that putting my thoughts "on paper" is one of the only ways to clear my mind and allow me to focus on the things that require me to be present. (Like being a parent and doing my job.)  This blog kept me sane for quite some time and then I didn't post for a year. You do the math.

Having provided that background, I can - with a decent amount of certainty - assure you that I'm not insane, although one never really knows for sure...let's take into account my childhood. Oh shit. Perhaps I AM a nutter. Well, there's no helping me now.

Very recently, I altered the way I'm living; quite drastically. Life is about trade-offs. (Well, it's about more than that, of course. There's pizza and beer and Sean Connery, but I'm focusing on trade offs for now.) If you want this, then you have to forego that. It's pretty straightforward, really.

Recent decisions about what I'm willing to live with and what I'm not will no doubt become my defining moments for this decade.

What happens next is really up to me, isn't it? Whoa. That's a powerful realization. Buckle up, kids. We might be in for a bumpy ride.

I'm baaacckkkkk

It's been a year since my last post. A year. Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. You get the idea. It's been a long, damn time.

Before I launch into a Christmas card-like essay and what's been going on (complete with pictures of children, pets, and vacations to bore you), I'll suggest that you take a moment and consider where you were/what you were doing last spring. What's transpired in your life since then? Have there been major hurdles and/or changes? No doubt, there have been. It's what the experts call living life. Trust me. I once read about it on Facebook.

I'll spare you the drama and details, because let's face it, who wants to listen to that crap anyway? Instead, I'll share a thunderbolt-to-the-head moment that occurred to me just this afternoon. You may recall that I've written a third book. I'm still in the editing process (does that ever end?) while searching for an agent. Stop rolling your eyes. It could happen. Stranger things do. Each and every day.

As I sat at my laptop rewriting a sentence that felt clunky, I was punched in the face by a realization that escaped me until that moment. (You can't use this kind of language when you're a Victim Advocate or work in a Domestic Abuse Shelter, but since I'm home, I'm going for it.) The book that I began two years ago about fictional people living their crazy lives in the Keys is now a mirror reflection of my life in many ways. No kidding. It was mind-blowing and nothing less when that realization hit. Many of the things that I'd "made up" have actually taken place/are unfolding in my own life. The parallels are unsettling and yet compelling.

Perhaps I should change the ending before it's too late?

I Never Knew

During a conversation in which I did all of the listening and none of the talking (common in this neighborhood), an older woman scoffed at the idea of blogging. She said it was "stupid" and "a waste of time". I managed to squeeze in a few words and asked why she thought so.

"What's there to write about? What does she think she has to say that anyone cares about, anyway?"

That's when it hit me.

I don't blog for others. I blog for me. (I can be selfish that way.)

I never thought about it until my kind and wonderful neighbor sparked the notion. I don't blog because I actually think anyone out there reads what I write - although we all found out that in fact they do when malicious co-workers who live on drama share your blog with the college president, didn't we? Which reminds me, I saw the little twit at a festival last weekend and had a surprising emotional reaction. Rather than wanting to split her lip, I felt sorry for her. She's still trapped in that world of unappreciative, condescending bureaucrats, sucking the very life from her worthless,black soul while I'm happily writing and tooling around in me wee boat. Karma will get you every time.

Back to my point; I don't post because I think you're on the edge of your seat about my most recent thought. (Although I don't know why you wouldn't be.) I blog because...well, because I want to. If I don't get this stuff out of my head then it rumbles around in there and takes up space that could be used for other things.

What things? I don't know, Stop interrupting. This is my blog.

I didn't bother to try to enlighten my neighbor regarding my realization. It would have been lost on her. Besides, she was already onto another topic. I think she was belittling someone's teenage daughter for not being athletic. A heart of gold, that one has. Actually, I should sincerely thank her some day; she's given me so much material for my writing...and now she's enlightened me about why I blog!

While I Wait

While I try to find project to keep me occupied while I search for a literary agent, I stumbled upon what I believe is a great idea. I'll write a cook book! Why the hell not, right? The world could never have enough cook books. I read them the way other people read novels. Why not make my own?

The tricky part is what specifically to focus on? My first thought was trying to recreate favorite recipes from my travels, but I'm not exactly a globe-trotter. I don't think the result would be global enough to appeal. Then I considered knock-off recipes of my favorite restaurant dishes, but that's been done and done ad nauseam, plus I don't really like to go out to eat. I'd rather cook at home.

Then it hit me. Why not a cook book dedicated to CHEESE? Wait, it gets better.

Lightening struck and I thought, how about a book packed only with BEER recipes? Wait for it.

How about a book that celebrates all things BEER AND CHEESE?!? Hallelujah, that's it.

Stop shaking your head. Beer and cheese are what make this crazy world go 'round. Copernicus knew this to be true and now you do as well.

Feel free to make suggestions, submit recipes or pictures, or scoff. It shall be a glorious book the likes of which have never been imagined. OOOOOOO!!! How about scratch and sniffs?!?! Imagine a scratch and sniff picture of a steaming loaf of hot bread made with beer and Irish cheddar....

I've got work to do!

Got It Covered

I found a photo on Pinterest  (damn that thing for sucking me in) that feels like the perfect cover for Keys Disease. Of course, there are reasons why I can't just pluck a photo off the net and create a book cover; there are rights and there's money to be paid and yadda yadda yadda. However, I'm going to share that photo, giving full credit to those who deserve it. I don't know who they are, but...

Let It Be Known, I did not take this photo and am not claiming any rights to it whatsoever, so help me God, Amen.

Are you ready to see it?

Isn't it great?!?

The main character limps into town in a VW bus just like this...it's perfect. Just perfect.

Feel free to share your thoughts. Does this photo make you think "road trip" or "paradise, here I come"? As I've mentioned, I won't be able to use this exact photo, but I'd like to find something similar. If you think you have want I need, lay it on me, friends! We'll work something out...maybe we'll barter, maybe I'll pay you in shells, maybe in rum. Maybe I'll lend you Dougie for a week.

It's Done!

My third book, Keys Disease, is finally done. Kaput. Finito. It's a wrap.

Whew. Now comes the daunting and stressful task of finding a literary agent to sell it to a publisher. That's something I didn't do with the first two, but am tackling this go round. It's a game of patience and those of you who know me well are probably harrumphing at the notion. Patience isn't something I have in abundance. I used it all up when my kids were young. What I have left gets sucked up by the whack-job neighborhood in which we live. However, I'll have to dig deep and find more because I'm gonna need it.

It could be a year or more before anything happens.

I'll wait while you read that again.

Yep, a year.

You know what happens during the waiting period, right? Self doubt. Discouragement. Distress. But guess what? I plan to keep dark thoughts out of my head. I won't let the ticking of the clock make me second guess the book's merits. It's not going to be remembered as a classic piece of literary fiction, but then again, that's not my goal. My goal is a little less lofty, but only a little. I wanna sell a gizzillion of them, make some readers happy, and publish another dump truck-full between now and when my ashes are scattered near the base of Minard Castle in Annascual, Ireland.

Until last night, I'd been struggling with what to label the book's genre. Labels are so damn important in the publishing world. Just calling it "fiction" isn't good enough. There's classical, contemporary, literary, women's, historical, science, horror, etc. You get the idea. The one that is least impressive to my ears is "Other", but it seemed to be the best fit. My round novel didn't fit neatly into any of the square holes of genres. But a friend suggested another. One I'd never heard of. Perhaps she made it up. I don't care. It works. Are you ready?

South Florida Sleaze.

Voila! It fits Keys Disease like a glove. Done and done. I'll take it.