No News is Writer's Block Gary Gnu

Lately, I sit at my laptop and stare at a blank screen, often for up to an hour before finally closing the screen, resigned to another day without writing. For me, I can only write when I've been reading and reading regularly. It's been a few weeks since I've read with any sort of regularity, instead getting sucked into stupid online games or games on my iPad. Granted, some of the games are Boggle and Scrabble and Words With Friends, so they at least have a few redeeming qualities in that they make me use this puddle of mush that used to be a brain. But I admit most of the games are those mindless games like Farmville and Cafe World. So I'm taking a step back from the games. I'm not ready to delete them entirely, but I am limiting the time I waste on these. I planted no crops on my farm tonight.

This will be liberating I'm sure.

I've thought about doing a similar de-tox with my kids and television. Does anyone remember when they had the "TV Turn-Off Week?" I'm thinking I might have to tell the kids that there still is such a thing and just do it. It would be good for all of us. We would have to find other things to do! We might actually do all the things we always SAY we want to do but never seem to have "time" for.

But that's a little tangent that was not at all what I was trying to write about. I was trying to write about not writing. Before I started blogging (more than 4 years ago...wow!) I wrote in a journal. My writing there was spotty at best as well. Life got in the way of writing. Being a first-time mom was not conducive to writing. It was exhausting and, in hindsight, a little depressing, but also exciting. On a related note, being a new mom is not conducive to reading either, which, as I said before, for me is related to writing. If I don't read what others have written, I'm not inspired.

So I force myself to write, here, about not writing. It happens every year, at least twice, that I write about not writing. It's similar to my "every 3-4 years fall down the stairs" which, incidentally, I did on Friday night. (FYI, not so fun to have a big bruise on your right butt cheek.)

It's nice that I'm predictable.

To be inspired as a writer I also need to do. Just do. And it's not that I've been sitting at home doing nothing for weeks, but I haven't done anything I haven't done a million times before so I suppose that is the problem. However, the calendar is filling up, as it tends to do after a small lull (if we're lucky) so adventures (or misadventures...because we all know those make the best stories) await.

I hope.

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P.S. Anyone know the reference in the title?

Have a Royally Good Christmas

Last year for the first time I decorated a Christmas tree long before most think of doing so. I did it for Hiawatha Homes' annual Festival of Trees. Three of my friends and I made a tree filled with Candyland dreams .

This year I'll be decorating two trees. One with two of my friends and another with my husband and kids.

I actually really enjoy decorating the themed Christmas trees because our home Christmas tree is filled with a modge podge of decorations ranging from the first ornament I received from my grandmother as a baby to the latest ornament I bought for my kids on clearance at Target. These trees I decorate give me the chance to decorate a tree that is coordinated and unsentimental.

The kids go to see the trees and are immediately enraptured by the themes. Last year, M loved the Barbie tree for its pure pinkness. K loved the woodcarver's tree that had a barn at the base.

So this year the theme for the tree with my friends was "Have a Royally Good Christmas."

Here are the pics:

If you're in the area, please visit. It doesn't cost much to see the trees and the kids are usually quite impressed with the trees.

And we hope you have a Royally Good Christmas.

One tree done. One to go for the festival. I'll post those when it is done.

Words: A love story

I haven’t met very many books that I didn’t like. In fact, I can probably count them on one hand. I’m not sure if that makes me a book slut (non-discriminating, easy to please) or if I have low standards.

Well, actually, I think it’s just that I can appreciate the effort of the written word. The words were someone’s labor of love. It’s interesting to me that there continues to be endless combinations of words that weave unique tales.

The storylines could be similar, but never exactly the same. The words mingle together differently. They speak from different points of view. Just as each person’s life experience is unique, so is his or her method of storytelling.

I’ve mentioned before that I started writing my own novel. It’s at a stand-still right now. I’m not sure why. I have the whole plot in my head (and some written down) but I am having trouble getting the individual words to concoct the story the way it’s written in my mind.

I wonder if it has something to do with the seasons. Here in Minnesota, the winter weather gets old and has worn out its welcome long before it finally leaves us. When spring is finally peeking her head through the brown, dormant grass I feel energized. That is when I write most frequently and with the most ease.

Well, then and when I’m laying in bed trying to go to sleep. The words form especially well if I don’t have a pen or paper anywhere nearby . . . or if it’s three in the morning.

At those times when the words are flowing freely, I start to feel like a real writer. I feel like I’ve written something worth reading. I feel like I could write that novel, it could get published and people would actually pay money to read it.

Then I read what others have written, whether it be a book, magazine article or a blog post, and I wonder why I think I could possibly compete.

Yes, I know that if you don’t try you won’t accomplish anything. Putting yourself out there involves taking a risk. You will have many rejections before you gain acceptance. (Is that really always the case?)

Writing is personal. I’m actually a very private, mostly shy person. (Seems like many “writers” are.) But I find I can express myself easily through the written word. If I couldn’t write, somewhere, I wouldn’t be me. But I’m finding that if no one reads what I’ve written it doesn’t hold the same benefit for me. Personal journals are great, but they don’t give me the feedback that I crave.

I want other people to read my words.

There. I said it.

I want people to read my words and take away the same pleasure that I got last night when I almost finished reading A Thousand Splendid Suns. I want people to read my words and marvel at the way I’ve blended them into a symphony; an opus.

I want my spring to come early this year.

Jeff asks...I answer...

Jeff at View From the Cloud asked us to show him our hobbies so I thought I'd play along since I'm that kind of a girl I guess. Plus I thought I could butter him up enough that he would build me one of those arbors that he has THREE of at his house!

So, here are two of my not-very-unique hobbies:

Scrapbooking: I do this in spurts. I started when M was about one year old and have a HUGE album for her. K, not as huge. But I keep working at it. I figure if it becomes a chore instead of something I enjoy then that defeats the purpose so I try to not worry about how much I "need" to do to make the kids "equal." They just won't have the same amount of pages. That's life.

A sample:

A newer hobby for me is sewing. So far I've made M a winter hat, some bean bags for the kids, a blanket for K's Cars bed and these:


The curtains are reversible for when/if M decides purple is no longer her absolute favorite color...hopefully her next favorite will be pink!

This is the first shirt I've made. I'm about half-way finished with another one for her. (a sleeveless one this time.)

So there you have it. My uninteresting hobbies! (Well, two of them anyway!)