The End of an Era

Well this will teach me to procrastinate. Western Union stopped sending telegrams on January 27th. I'm so bummed! I've always wanted to send a telegram, and now I'll never have the chance.

Three down...

So today marks the beginning of my fourth decade of life. I couldn't sleep last night after I fed Abby, and as I laid there staring at the ceiling I started thinking about how much has changed since my 20th birthday. Ten years ago today I was a sophomore at the U of I, dating the guy I thought I'd marry, looking forward to a year abroad in Scotland, addicted to an online roleplaying game, and expecting to be a teacher after I graduated. When I went home to visit my parents, I went to Arlington Heights, a suburb outside Chicago. I didn't have a car, I didn't own a house, I didn't have a job, I most definitely didn't have a baby. I slept on the bottom bunk of a 10 by 10 foot dorm room and did my homework on the floor while watching "Friends" and "ER." I think I had my birthday dinner at the Bombay Bicycle Club. Or maybe that was my 19th birthday. I can't remember.

I had my life very well planned out. (Silly, silly me.) I was going to graduate, get married, get a job as a teacher, and most likely have my first baby by 23 and my second a few years later. We'd live somewhere in the Chicago suburbs, have a house with a big yard, and...that was it. That was the dream I had for my life.

And God, I'm sure, was laughing at me.

Fast-forward ten years, and has any of that happened as I expected? Not at all. Instead, God rained down blessings far greater than any I could have anticipated or even hoped for. When the dreams I had 10 years go started to fall apart and fade away, I was so sad, so frustrated--I had put so much effort and time into building those dreams! How could they just crumble like that? I knew there were obviously lots of other wonderful things that could happen to me, but I wanted the wonderful things I'd come up with--because I of course knew what was best for me, right?

A gorgeous baby at 30, a home in California, a husband more perfect than I could ever have hoped for, and a career as a writer--not the life I planned but definitely a better one. The last ten years have brought with them a lot of unexpected change, a lot of unexpected opportunities, and some of the best and worst experiences of my life. Looking forward to the next 10 years makes me wonder what else God has in store...

"Not in my town."

Have you ever found out something was happening close to your home that absolutely disgusted you? I had that experience today. Lisa Samson had a link to Protest4.com , the website for an organization devoted to ended human sex trafficking, and I decided to check out the link. One of the articles listed was about the 12 US cities that are hubs for child trafficking--and one of them was Anaheim, CA. Yes, the home of Disneyland, the Happiest Place on Earth, and a city less than half an hour away from me that I'm in all the time. I couldn't believe that such a small city (compared to the other cities on the list, like LA and San Francisco and Las Vegas) with so much wealth could harbor such a dirty secret. It makes me ill.

So I'm doing something about it. Their "Get Involved!" page said they needed volunteers, and listed "writers" among the types of people they're looking for. I wrote them and am just waiting to hear what I can do, besides driving up there and grabbing off the street every lone girl I see.

One of the other things that really got to me was a quote from the mother of one of these girls:

"You sit down and talk to your kids about drugs, but you never talk to your kids about the possibility of prostitution," she said. "It's just not part of your world."

Does it scare anyone else to think that we need to be talking to our children (note it says CHILDREN, not GIRLS) about not becoming a prostitute? How on earth do you even start that conversation???

I'm not going to think about that right now. Instead, I'm going to start brainstorming a novel that touches on this topic. The more attention we draw to this travesty, the better.

Ah-ha!

I feel exonerated! These books all had less than 50% chance of being a bestseller:
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn--10.2%
The Cae for Christ--35.9%
White Oleander--41.4%
The Bridges of Madison county--35.9%
Tuesdays With Morrie--45.6%
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone--45.6%
The Da Vinci Code--39.5%
Pet cemetery--35.9%

So I think I'm probably okay, don't you think?

Well no wonder.

The Lulu Titlescorer tells you how likely your book's title is to make it a bestseller. Turns out Worlds Collide only had a 10.2% chance--no wonder it hasn't sold into royalty yet! Unfortunately I am not that good at picking titles, apparently, since Violette Between only has a 14.6% chance. Hm. At least I know where to go now to test drive my titles before making my final decision. (And yeah, yeah, I know it's all in fun...but I'm still going to run some bestseller titles through it to see how well they score. Just in case.)

The whole truth...sort of

Have you seen all the buzz about James Frey's book, "A Million Little Pieces?" Apparently he wrote his memoirs and took some creative license with a few of the rather important facts. Now there's a debate raging about the necessity of truth in memoirs--and frankly, the very fact that there's a debate at all shows us just how badly society is crumbling--with one side saying that memoirs fall under the genre umbrella of non-fiction and should therefore be all truth, and the other side saying that a little embellishment is really no big deal when the majority of the story is true to real life.

I'm getting ready to start my first non-fiction work, and not far behind it is my own memoir attempt. The first work will be about other people, and I don't foresee having a problem sticking to the facts with that one. But I have to admit that, while I don't condone what he did, I can certainly understand where Frey was coming from. When I think about some of the things I'll have to admit in order to stay true to my life, I get a little worried. Do I really want to admit to it all? Do I really want to give complete strangers an unflinching full-frontal view of my shortcomings, my stupidity, my immaturity? And what about other people whose lives figure into my story--is it fair to expose them as well? I guess I could give them the option of being shielded with the whole "Names have been changed to protect the innocent" concept.

And then what about the not-so-exciting facts, the mundane parts of the story that would be a lot more interesting with a few twists and exaggerations? Part of me thinks my story is way too lame for anyone to consider riveting reading--will I be able to withstand the temptation to give into hyperbole? Not much, just a few instances here or there that wouldn't have any bearing on the bulk of the story. Because, really, can you expect a fiction writer to refrain from fiction ALL the time?

Obviously the answer is yes, you can, and you should. And obviously I'm not going to let myself give into that temptation--I can't even blame a few embellishments here and there on a fuzzy memory because I actually wrote every night in a diary during the year abroad that I'll be chronicling. But I can guarantee I'll be wincing as I write and really wishing that truth was a gray as some people would like it to be.

Michael Frey's deception was wrong, minor thought it might be--but I can definitely understand why he did it.

A little preoccupied at the moment...

It may be awhile before I post regularly again on this blog--we had our baby last week and I'm a bit wrapped up in staring in wonder at my daughter. :) Check out my baby blog for all the details and the cutest pictures ever. :)

-Alison

Because I'm Bored Out Of My Mind At The Moment

More quizzes! Gotta love 'em. I took these at blogthings.com.

You Are a Losing Lottery Ticket!

Full of hope and promise. But in the end, a cheap letdown.

What Crappy Christmas Gift Are You?

You Passed 8th Grade Science

Congratulations, you got 8/8 correct!

Could You Pass 8th Grade Science?

You Are

A Franken Pumpkin Face You would make a good deformed pumpkin.

What's Your Pumpkin Face?

Your Personality Profile

You are dependable, popular, and observant. Deep and thoughtful, you are prone to moodiness. In fact, your emotions tend to influence everything you do. You are unique, creative, and expressive. You don't mind waving your freak flag every once and a while. And lucky for you, most people find your weird ways charming!

The World's Shortest Personality Test

Chronicles of Narnia

Dan and I went to see Narnia today--one of the 5 movies we swore we'd see before the baby came, and actually, the first one we've seen. I loved it! I've read that book so many times--I used to read the series to my kids after lunch back when I taught, and I really thought they did a great job of capturing the essence of the story. And man, that White Witch is creepy! (But with a VERY cool wardrobe--her dresses rock.) Next on the list: Memoirs of a Giesha (loved the book), Harry Potter (since I've seen the others I figure I might as well keep up with the series), Walk the Line (because I really like Reese Witherspoon and it looks pretty good), and Pride & Prejudice (because I love the story and Kiera Knightly). Dan wants to see Fun with Dick and Jane, but I'm not a big Jim Carrey fan, and it just doesn't look that interesting to me. But hey, who am I kidding, we're not going to have time to see these movies because I'm going to have a baby soon. Really, really soon. Right??? I said, RIGHT?!?! Please, please, someone promise me I'm going to have this baby soon....

Where do you get your ideas?

When I tell people I'm a writer, I inveitably get asked how I come up with my story ideas. The joke of it is that my ridiculously overactive imagination needs very little to get going, and last night is an excellent example.

I woke up at 2:40 and had just been laying there when my cell phone rang. The readout said "Private number" which usually means my parents or one of my few friends with a private listing. I quickly pick up and say hello, and am met with...well, not exactly silence, because there was plenty of noise, but it's the kind of noise you hear on the phone when the person you're talking to puts down the receiver, shuffles it from one hand to another, etc. After saying hello about 4 times and getting no response, I hung up, and the plot-growing questions began.

-Who was this person? Obviously someone who had me on either speed dial or redial, which means someone I know was up at 2:55,holding their phone, and apparently oblivious to the fact that they were pressing the call button.

-Why were they carrying a phone around? Typically you don't haul a house phone around just for the heck of it. (I'm assuming it's a house phone because I don't think you can block cell phone numbers from showing up on caller ID or have them listed as private.) So they're either waiting for an important call (at 3 in the morning?!) or cleaning up the house (at 3 in the morning?!).

-Why are they up at 3 in the morning? I can honestly think of only two people who call me regularly and have a private listing: my parents and the Cummings. Now, while it's possible that one of my parents was up in the middle of the night, it doesn't make sense to me that they'd be dragging the phone around with them, because half the time they can't find the thing in the first place, and second of all, at 3 in the morning, I can asure you my parents are not cleaning the house. Having a little snack, maybe; watching some TV because they can't sleep, possibly. But not cleaning. So it must be the Cummings. But they have two kids--one is 6 months and the other is 2.5 years--and when you've got kids that small you're only giving up sleep because one of them is sick or you're feeding the baby--and again, you're not playing with the phone.

Now, I'm in the middle of sorting through all these questions when the phone rings again. I answer and hear nothing but that shuffling sound--and then a toilet flushing. This brings us to a whole new set of questions!

-Why do they have a phone in their bathroom? Neither my parents or the Cummings have a phone actually installed in there, meaning they brought the cordless in. But why?

-Again, why are you up at 3 in the morning? If you're just up to use the bathroom, which is completely normal, then you wouldn't be holding the phone at the same time. Which means you're up for something else. But what? And why?

"Why," to me, is the most important question when writing a story. It helps you to investigate nooks and crannies of the action that you might have left alone otherwise, and uncovers the motivation of even the most minor of characters. Without action and motivation, you don't have much of a story. The character hates her husband--why? Because he belittles her in front of her friends--why? Because he secretly fears her superior intelligence--why? just keep asking the question and you get to all sorts of interesting new places which ultimately serve to give your story believability and depth.

Seconds later the phone rings again. By now I have silenced the ringer because the sound is too jarring to take in the dead of night, but the thing vibrates on the table, making a whole new weird noise to be bothered by. I wrap it in the sofa's armrest cover to muffle the sound and start listening to my hypnobirthing on my iPod in an attempt to go back to sleep, but when it rings five minutes later the vibrating can be heard through the calming voice of the hypnobirth lady, and I finally turn the blasted thing off. But can I sleep? Nooooo. Because these blasted questions are pinballing around my cranium and I'm desperate for answers. (I'm also extremely nosy and really, really want to know who it is.)

But, despite the fact that I never got any answers, and probably never will, I do have to admit I've got all sorts of interesting story starters to play with next time I need a plot:

-A woman sits at her kitchen table, wrapped in her robe and the darkness of night, clutching her cordless phone with such strength that her knuckles are white. The only light in the room eminates from the television, which she's turned up to drown out the silence that terrifies her so. Why is she awake? Why is she afraid? And why is she clutching the phone so hard that she accidentally presses the redial button--without realizing it--and why is she alone when her husband is sleeping peacefully in the room down the hall?

-A man frantically races around his house, cleaning as thought Martha Stewart herself were coming to critique him. He's wired on Red Bull and a little speed, and he keeps picking things up and forgetting to put them down again. One of them, the cordless phone, remains in his hand as he gulps another Red Bull and then relieves himself in the bathroom. Why is he cleaning in the middle of the night? Why is he so frantic about it? Why did he take the speed? And why is he so distracted that he keeps holding onto things instead of putting them away like he intends to?

-A toddler sits in his mother's lap, clutching his bottle and blankie. Mom fell asleep trying to get him back to sleep, and now he's not only wide awake, but bored. He slips from her lap and abandons the bottle once he hits the floor and crawls out of the room. He finds himself in the living room, which is lit by the nightlight in the corner, and his eyes are attracted to the glint of something on the couch. Pulling himself upright, he grabs for the shiny thing and begins to gum it with all his toddler might. The object--a cordless phone--suddenly beeps and begins to ring, which causes no end of delight for the child. Suddenly a voice, sounding both far away and right next to him, says, "Hello?" He stops chewing and stares, trying to determine where this person is. 'Hello?" He realizes the object is talking to him, but then it stops, so he chews again in the hopes it will resume. Why was the phone left off the cradle all night? Why is the mother so tired that she fell that deeply asleep? Why isn't the baby afraid of the dark?

Are these scenarios going to provide me with the action for an entire book? No, not necessarily, but they're the beginnings, the stepping stones that you hop on to get to the giant plot rock on which you can build your story. And it's all thanks to someone I apparently know who called me at least 5 times last night without even knowing it.

Why?!?!?!

Who doesn't have 5 minutes?

I googled myself last night because I was bored off my butt, and found my way to this awesome company called DearReader.com. Their goal: to get people reading! They have a bunch of online book clubs (fiction, non-fiction, business, "Good News" (a.k.a. the Christian fiction club), etc.) and you sign up for the one(s) you want to be on. Then, every week, they choose a new book, and every day that week you get a 5 minute installment to read. By the end of the week you've read the first 2-3 chapters of the book and can decide if you want to go get it and finish it. Then, the next Monday, they start a new book. How cool is that? And just guess what book they're using the week of Feb. 6 for the Good News club? "Worlds Collide!" Woohoo! How cool is that? They also have online discussion forums for each book, and apparently authors sometimes make an appearance, so I may pop on over there and, if nothing else, spy a bit. :) Dan thinks I'm a masochist for wanting to go read what people are saying, but frankly, I'm too nosy not to. And I've had enough positive feedback at this point that I think I can let disappointing comments roll off my back. At least, I think so. Guess we'll see in February!

Hark, the next door neighbors sing...

I just thought of something they don't do out here in California at Christmas. No one goes caroling. I guess I can't blame them, really--caroling in shorts and a t-shirt doesn't really have that Christmas feel to it. When you don't have a reason to wrap your hands around a steraming mug of hot chocolate at the end of the outing, there's really no point in going out in the first place. But wow--talk about missing out on a great tradition! Caroling was one of my favorite Christmas activities. :(

Happy Thanksgiving!

Somehow it's already Thanksgiving. Not sure how that happened; I seem to have lost a month or two in there somewhere. But anyway, Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends! And to those few international readers...um...may this Thursday be especially happy for you. :) Dan and I are going to his parents' place in Ventura for the traditional Morrow famly smorgasboard. They're not big turkey and stuffing folks (one of their few flaws) and their SOP for Thanksgiving has always been to eat the food you're most thankful for. Everyone puts in their "order" for one dish they'd like to have, and then we just do a big buffet. I'm making Grasshopper Legs for dessert--crunchy Chinese noodles stirred into a melted mixture of butterscotch chips and peanut butter, and then frozen in clusters on waxed paper. OH MY HEAVENS they're yummy. Not sure what to request for dinner, though; I'm thinking the same thing I did last year, which was crabmeat buns. I think Dan requested a particular pizza last year, and his Dad did steak...I think...anyway, it makes for an interesting collection of food, I must say. :)

Any other unconventional Thanksgiving traditions out there?

-Alison

The Thing about Dying Is...

Not the most uplifting topic for a Tuesday morning, I know, but my friend Katie posted this on her blog and asked people to post a comment on her site finishing that sentence. Last night as I danced with insomnia, I thought about how I might complete it, and I realized that it would make an awfully long comment, so I decided to post about it instead.

The thing about dying is...

it's not natural.

Now, I know we're always saying, "Circle of life," and "dust to dust" and "everyone has their time," and while all that is true, I believe there's still a part of us that rails against it because we know, deep in our souls, that it's not supposed to be this way. We were not created for death; death is like an ill-fitting after-market accessory. God created us to be eternal, the way He is, to dwell with Him forever in the Garden, chatting face-to face with him. But because of the Fall--that first sin, that first exertion of human will--death was, in essence, born.

I've been thinking a lot about death lately. Sounds morbid, I know, but for some reason this impending birth has caused me to reflect on the imminence of death. Two years ago this holiday season my paternal grandmother, Meama, died from liver cancer. Dan's grandmother, Gwen, is in the throes of dementia and is frail as a whisper. The 8-year-old son of a friend's friend needs a bone marrow transplant, but is so weak from his need for it that he can't get it. And when I pray every morning for our child, for his/her health, life, and relationship with God, I find myself typing with the most fervancy about his/her lifespan, and I work myself nearly into a panic thinking about what it would be like to lose our baby "before his/her time." But the truth is, as long as I'm still alive, his/her death will always be too early. I know the Bible tells us that our days are numbered, that God knows when we will all perish, but just because He knows doesn't make it any easier--in a way, it makes it worse. Can't He let me in on it, so I can either relax or be sure to make the most of every single second?

And then, because it's the Christmas season, I think about Mary, about her giving birth to a baby that she knew would be the Savior of the world, and wonder when it was she finally realized her child would have to die. Talk about the most unnatural of deaths: Perfection Incarnate--flawless, sinless--being exposed to the most imperfect of human experiences: death. How did she handle it? How would I have handled it? Only by the grace of God, I am sure. There's nothing that strong in me, to see my child every day and know that someday he would be tortured and killed in such a brutal way for a mountain of sin that he had nothing to do with.

The thing about dying is, it's not natural. How I long for the day when death will be defeated, when Christ will return and our frail human bodies replaced with the flawless ones our souls were always meant to inhabit. I pray with the fierce selfishness of a mother that the time will come before my child is faced with its inevitability.

Oh yeah...

I kinda forgot this stage of editing: the copy edits. Here I was, all thinkin' I was done and wouldn't have to read this thing ever again, and then a package shows up on my doorstep and there is my manuscript. Again. Needing to be read. Again.

Now, technically, I could blow it off. The copy editors will email me with their questions, and there are proofreaders going through it at the same time checking for spelling and grammar, so really I don't have to go through it if I don't want to. They're professionals, right? They'll catch everything that needs catching.

But can I really just pitch the thing into the recycling bin and leave it to them to find it all? No. I can't. Much as I'd like to, I'm way too much of a control freak. So I will, again, read this blasted manuscript and scour it for typos and inconsistencies. And then, when they send it back a second time to make sure I'm cool with all the changes and we haven't missed anything, I will, again, read it and scour it and groan about the story and how I should have done this differenly or phrased that this way instead of that way, and I'll generally berate myself for thinking that I could write, and I'll grudgingly give it my stamp of approval, and THEN I won't have to read it again.

Of course, then I'll have reviews to read instead.

*shudder*

Tag--I'm IT, apparently...

Visited my friend Katie's blog and discovered I'd been "tagged"--so here are my 20 random facts--although, truly, I can't think of 20 things that would be even partially interesting:

1. I can write backwards, in cursive, and very legibly, too.
2. I used to babysit Chicago Bear Mike Singltary's kids at church.
3. I almost died at birth from some undiagnosed mysery illness, and had to stay in the NICU for almost a week.
4. I met my husband on eHarmony.com.
5. I've been in a number of eHarmony.com commercials due to #4.
6. I lived in Scotland for a year.
7. I can touch my nose with my tongue.
8. I became part of the nightly entertainment on a Royal Caribbean Alaskan cruise--one of the bars had a "piano man" who would play requests but then also let you sing along if you wanted (kinda like live karaoke). I developed a following and sang for two straight hours one night thanks to all the requests I got.
9. I have a postcard collection.
10. I have broken my left wrist three times. (Consequently, I am left-handed. Made homework really hard.)
11. My first word as a toddler was "agua" thanks to bilingual "Sesame Street."
12. Before I knew how to talk, I would hum while eating. Those who know me well know this is a habit I've yet to break.
13. I had a boyfriend at age 6. (Travis Johnson, where are you?)
14. My family moved to Missouri on my sixth birthday, and moved back to Illinois on my eighth birthday. (My parents tried to prevent years of therapy by postponing their move to California by a day so they wouldn't be moving yet again on my birthday.)
15. I wrote a novel in junior high.
16. I only lost 8 of my teeth naturally as a kid; the rest had to be pulled becuase the roots were wrapped around my jaw bone.
17. I once used someone else's ID to get into a bar when I was underage (just to go dancing, I swear!) and the bouncer busted me because he knew the girl whose ID I used. (He still let me in, though--it was a 18-and-up bar and you got handstamped if you could drink, so he didn't stamp me and made me promise not to try to drink. Like he had to worry; I just about ran home in tears when I realized I'd be found out.)
18. I was one of 5 white girls in a 200-voice black gospel choir in college.
19. I was addicted (in the real sense of addiction) to an online role-playing game in college.
20. Two of my toes are fused together halfway up.

Sheesh! It took me like, an hour and a half to think of all those. (Well, while also watching the Colorado-Texas hockey game.) I'm so boring. Anyway, the following people are now tagged (although who knows if they'll know it--I'm not even sure who all reads this blog!). I don't know enough people with blogs, so rather tha listing 5 I'll list 3:

Meg (Pants Central--link on the right)
Cheryl (Cheryl's journal--link on the right)
Rebecca (babyknapp.blogspot.com)

Go for it, ladies!

I'm a FLYGirl!

No, no, I'm not referencing "In Living Color;" I'm referring to the best website I've ever come across: FLYLady.com. I've always been one of those pack-rat, clutter-ruled people whose room (or house) was never clean, even after I'd "cleaned" it. As FlyLady puts it, I was ruled by CHAOS (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome) because my place was always a disaster. Lots of procrastinating, lots of mess, lots of "hot spots" (those places in your home where clutter seems to accumulate the fastest because it's a handy place to put stuff until you've decided what to do with it, which you never actually do). But last weekend I was at a women's retreat with our church, and at dinner one night someone mentioned this website and how wonderful it was. When I got home I popped on over there, and I was an instant fan. It's full of quick and easy fifteen minute tasks like the 27 Fling Boogie (grab a bag, go around the house and throw out 27 things, then immediately put the bag in the trash), Zone cleaning (every week they target a different zone of the house, and you only work on it about 15 minutes a day--this week is the front entrance and front living space), and also has morning, afternoon, and evening routines already mapped out for you to help you keep track of things like meal prep and laundry. Throughout the day you get email reminders about the next task for the day, so if you're like me and you live on your email, you never have an excuse for forgetting what needed to be done for the day.

One of the best features of the site, especially at this time of year, is her Holiday Cruise Program. Her approach: pretend you're going on a cruise Dec. 1 and you have to have all your holiday stuff done by then. Every day she sends out another task like "get all your gift-wrapping tools together and put them in one place" or "write down the dishes you'll need to make for holiday get togethers" (again, nice bite-sized tasks that take short amounts of time, not your entire afternoon) and if you follow along with them, you're ready to go as of the beginning of December! Seeing as our December is going to be rather crazy and unpredictable, this is totally helping me to make sure that month is relaxed from the get-go.

I'm off to take my shower and start my morning routine (before attending baby shower #8 of the year). For once I'm actually looking forward to cleaning!

Dream a Little Dream of Me

I had another gun-related dream this weekend. That makes something like four or five gun-dreams I've had since getting pregnant. Try as I might, I can't seem to think of any connection between babies and guns, so I'm not quite sure where my subconscious is trying to go with this.

Upon waking, however, I realized that in all the dreams I've had since being pregnant, I've never looked pregnant in any of them--in fact, save one, I've never been pregnant in any of them. Given the fact that I've been "showing" since the end of the first trimester, you'd think this new self-image would have seeped into the nether regions of my brain by now, but apparently not. It makes me wonder just what our subconscious pulls from when piecing together an image of ourselves for use in our dreams. Is it based on what you looked like for the majority of your life? On what you wish you looked like? How drastic of a change needs to occur to your body before your true self is mirrored in your dreams? It seems at first blush like a fairly unimportant concept to research, but I think there are ties there to some really interesting issues regarding our self-image. We all know that the way we see ourselves is rarely the way others see us; people who suffer from eating disorders and see themselves as overweight when they're really skin and bones is a prime, albeit extreme, example.

So, out of curiosity, how true to reality is the dream version of you? Has it ever changed? What triggered the change and how long did it take for your subconscious to make it? Ah, psychology--it's such a fascination to me. Wish I knew more about it...

Well said.

For anyone who a) thinks they want to be a writer, or b) think writers are some kind of extra-special people, please go read this awesome post. If I had an office, this would be framed and on the wall.

Done!

The edits are in, and novel #2 is officially complete! I can't believe how early in the fall we finished; I really thought it would end up taking closer to December to get it all done. What a relief! Now I can concentrate on doing all those things I've been neglecting because I felt bad not working on my book.

It's been raining here for two full days--it's wonderful. It's so nice and cool now! Dan was laughing at me last night, because when we left Bible study and were walking to our car I kept saying, "It feels so nice out here!" and six months ago I would have been complaining about how cold it was. Heck, all last night he had the down comforter pulled up and I just had the sheet. Weird! I've never been warm-blooded before.

Dan and I both adore the rain. We've lit a fire the last two nights and turned the lights down, and it's so yummy listening to the rain outside and the occasional grumble of thunder. I never thought I'd say it, but it's true: I get tired of the endless blue skies and sunshine. Half of the year we hardly have weather, it's just the same thing over and over. Clouds are a novelty to me now because we have them so rarely. And after all the hotter-than-normal days we've had lately, the cool rain and wind has been delicious!

The only problem is that all my maternity stuff is summer stuff. I have a pair of jeans, a pair of overalls, a pair of sweatpants, and four long-sleeved shirts. That's it! Time to shop again. Someone around here needs to start a maternity consignment store!