The latest Affairs. . .

When life gets in the way . . . or is it me?


When life gets in the way . . . or is it me?


I’m sure this never happens to you. It happens to me all the time. I have these good intentions and, somehow, they fall by the wayside. Vanish. Poof. Never happen. New Year’s Resolutions. Promises to myself. Vows to my guy — I will go on a diet. I will lose these 20 pounds that you made me gain by liking my cooking.

They just don’t get done. (But, it’s not my fault. He made me cook. I was force fed.)

My intention with this blog began last winter. It was suggested I needed a “platform” online. I’m working with an editor on a manuscript I’ve written. Don’t go thinking I’ve been solicited by a publishing house and they’ve offered their editor to polish up my work.

I am an unknown, unpaid, wanna-be-author. I’ve had a few— very few, maybe 6 or 7— pieces published in my life by people who didn’t know me or care a fig about me. They thought my work was sufficient for their publications.  Which meant that those who got paid for their writing weren’t interested in free work.

I finished the first draft of my story one spring. A few months later, I joined a writers’ workshop and began editing that first draft. A year later, I attended a small seminar on prose and met an editor. We’ve become friends and she’s now my editor. I pay her to tell me where commas go. To tell me this sentence could have been written better by a five-year-old. To tell me it’s a brandy snifter–not sniffer. When do you italicize, when do you not? When do you use double quotes? Or single quotes? Did you know there are Oxford commas, as well as, plain old commas? It’s not overly important which you use . . . but you must be consistent.

I’m consistent. I consistently change my mind.

I made good grades in high school and junior college English. Which covered the same material, if I remember. I understood English. There are only 26 letters. Math? Numbers go forever. Pi? I’m a Pi baby. Born on 3.14.

I’ve learned I knew nothing about the rules in English.

She’s taught me a lot. A lot more than I’ve paid her for.

And one of the things she suggested was a blog. When we’re finished editing this manuscript . . . which is on its last leg of edits . . . I will begin querying literary agents for representation to publishing houses. As I understand, one of the first things a literary agent will do is Google my name. They must have something to find. Something that will tell them I’m a relatively intelligent, marketable writer.

Not my secret: that I’m Suzie Homemaker sitting on her sofa hoping she can write.

Hence, the blog.

My goal was three posts a week. I got that from a how-to-blog site. That was okay the first few months. It was spring and the flowers were blooming. I was home a lot, had all these ideas, and life was calm. I wrote posts two or three months in advance. This was easy. I could do this.

Then, life happened.

We tried to help a homeless kid. You can read about that  Joe with Duke at gym  HERE . We had an illness and death in our family. We unexpectedly lost both of our pets.

And read that Penny being sweet HERE .

Then, I went back to work and was gone from home 4-5 days at a time.

Some things that happened were terrible. Others were just time consuming. With all that was happening, I no longer had posts ready several months in advance.

I read an online article about authors’ blogs. You should post once or twice a month. I was now maybe two weeks out. I could do once or twice a month!

I’m still working on the manuscript. I’m still working at my little airline. And all of the other things that crop up in a family. Good things, but still, I’m slowly getting behind.

And it’s winter. What can you do in the winter that’s really fun?

Which is why, when I grow up, I want to be a published author living at the beach. A warm beach.

Now, we’ve decided we should move. We have to add finding a house, packing, and moving to the mix.

(BTW? Those are Oxford commas in the above sentence.)

We live in an old house. Truly old. 1900 old. Hardwood floors. Wide baseboards. High ceilings. Plaster walls. Everything tilts. It’s been a good fit for us. At this point in life, we tilt a bit ourselves. Part of the problem is our neighborhood. On a good day, it’s eclectic. On a not-so-good day, it’s the ghetto. We’re having more not-so-good days than good days.

We’d like to find something with character that needs work. We’d like to make it our own.

And now, I’m about 12 hours ahead of post time on my blog.

I’m on a trip for my day job. I’m sitting in a hotel in Allentown/Bethlehem, PA. It’s 10 degrees outside. Bright, sunny, and white with a foot of snow. These people have snow plows and the streets are clear. If it was like this at home, you wouldn’t see us driving for a month.

It’s so cold my breath freezes in my throat.

I will be home tonight. If you know of a shack with potential, let me know.

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