What is playing on the iPod? Gotta be Somebody - Nickelback
I absolutely love and adore Nickelback. A lot of my iPod selections are due to Kroeger and the gang. If you have the chance to see them live, do anything short of selling a child to go see them.
Anyhoo - I have had the opportunity to read A LOT in the past year. As part of learning my genre a little better, I have spent a considerable amount of time reading romances. One of the first bonafide novels I read as a teenager was Salem's Lot. Scared the hell out of me but started a love affair with the paranormal. My friend Tanisia found out I read it and with wide eyes, declared to me and everyone around that I absolutely had to read Interview with the Vampire. She brought it to me the next day and the day after that, I actually had a fever and was in bed for the next two days. I grabbed Anne Rice's book and settled in for a small crushie poo on Lestat.
In keeping with my love of the paranormal, 98% of what I have read in my investigative pursuits has been paranormal romance. I have five authors who could literally write a book on the value of dryer lint and I would be first in line to buy it. JR Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Kresley Cole, Gena Showalter and, last but very damned well certainly not least, Jeaniene Frost.
I wrote an earlier blog on this so bear with me while I repeat myself, but JR Ward's Black Dagger Brotherhood collection is droolworthy. If I met up with someone that even remotely resembled Wrath or Vishous on the street, I would probably swallow my own tongue. Day-amm. Not only are the men, um, hot but the women are awesome. Beth or Bella could have my back any day. Love those two. Not crazy about Jane, don't know why but I have never been able to buy into her. Anyway, I digress.
Sherrilyn Kenyon's Dark Hunter series has a character who goes in my top five favorites of all time. I am not a strictly romance reader. I read intellectual material as well, thank you very much (and I put that in strictly as a disclaimer for all you sucky naysayers out there). Acheron the character and Acheron the book are fantastic. Love, love, love them all, although my favorite happens to be an uptight Roman general named Valerius.
Gena Showalter has the Lords of the Underworld and the Atlantis series. Hmm.....let me write on Kresley for a moment and then I shall elaborate further.
Kresley Cole has the Immortals after Dark. You can tell a bit about a person just by their writing styles. Showalter and Cole have to be, undeniably, a couple of riots to be around. Sarcastic, smart assed, funny as hell. I would love to be on that beach in Belize that Mari was on throwing back a whiskey with these two. Not only are they going to keep you wanting more, they will make you laugh your ass off. They would fit in perfectly with me and my girls, especially if Kresley could manage to get hold of a couple of MacRieves to bring with her. Yum...
Speaking of MacRieves, the woman managed, for two books, to turn a vampire girl into a lykae fan. That speaks volumes.
Okay, now for my girl Jeaniene. I love a strong female protagonist. Establishing her badassedness can cause me to turn a page or close the book, simple as that. Allow me to introduce Catherine Crawfield, Cat to her friends, Kitten to Bones. What a heroine! She keeps me in stitches. Love her! And the men in the books? Good Lord. You have the drop dead gorgeous types (Hello Bones, Spade, Mencheres), but you have dripping sex appeal (Vlad anyone?). Vlad had me at hello. He helps Cat escape from a situation that could have been very awkward for her and on the way out, he yells "Run Forrest, Run!" I literally was wiping tears from my eyes crying with laughter after reading one of the Cat/Bones books. Jeaniene is another one of those writers I would want at the party sitting back and kicking it with the girls and discussing the different men in the room and how they compare. Platinum blond, Egyptian, British accents, pyrokinetics, you know, the usual.
Wow, I just finished my second blog for the day. Not only that, I have sent two queries. I must sign off now and pat myself on the back. Until next time!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Last Three Days of Normal (copied from my Facebook page)
What is playing on the iPod? Knockin' on Heaven's Door - Guns N Roses
I wrote this on Sunday night while feeling a bit emotional at the very thought of my first born turning into a teenager. We have been butting heads quite a bit lately and I sat and thought a bit about the evolution of my child. From the day in the car when he kicked me in perfect time with the beat of Hell by Squirrel Nut Zippers, to watching him walk away from me into his kindergarten classroom, to watching him use his Christmas money to buy cologne, to listening to his voice deepen, the evolution is coming a hell of a lot quicker than I am comfortable with. Still, I have no choice and if I did, I would not dare hamper him. One day, I want him to be able to smile on the experience of growing up with me as a mother and be thankful for the tough love, smile at the laughs and be thankful for the values. I can only hope I am laying the foundation for him to be able to do all of those things. So, without further wait, here is my note about my first born, Carson.
Sunday, January 24, 2010 and I am enjoying the last three days of not being the mother of a teenager. I get to pretend that I am still the mother of that little baby that caused me to talk more to God in five months than I did for the ten years prior to becoming pregnant. I am going to still be the person on the gurney looking into the eyes of that precious new infant as he was being handed off to Dr. McConville while Paul and I checked nervously for any signs of Down's syndrome that had both of us scared witless for five months.
For a few moments sitting in this chair, laptop on lap (duh), I get to pretend that my oldest son is in his crib, clutching his blanket, in fetal position with his little blonde curls mopped on his head. I will pretend his biggest concern will be whether or not I put juice or milk in his sippy cup and whether he will be spoon fed oatmeal or given Cheerios in his high chair.
For the last three days of his preteen life, I get to pretend that I still have my hands on my belly, begging God to let him be healthy and begging him to be tolerant with me as I learn to be his mother and he learns to deal with the world he will soon be thrust into.
For these last 75 or so hours, I can pretend that his biggest booboo will be when he is trying to learn to walk or trying to ride his bike without training wheels, not at the hands of some girl who will hold his self esteem in her unwitting hands.
I can pretend all day long, but at the end of the day, my son will be a teenager Thursday and there is not one damned thing I can do to keep him from growing up and getting hurt.
In the last two weeks, we have found out that Carson is dyslexic. In addition, I have discovered that my son was bullied at East Lee last year. As a mother, NOT pulling into that parking lot and announcing to the entire seventh grade body that they are a bunch of mean assed bullies who need to reconsider the destructive consequences of their actions, or worse, calling the parents and letting them know the effects of their children's callousness is very tempting, but I know I would just be acting out on my frustrations and not doing Carson any good. It was not the entire 7th grade after all and there are some really cool 7th graders, the parents of whom are among my friends. Carson still has friends at East. But now, I have to come to terms that the days of being able to protect my child from everything ended the day I had the c-section almost 13 years ago.
I can not protect him. I can only hope that the foundations that have been established for him are enough to guide him and protect him from rash decisions. I can hope that the friendships he has made are the kind like I have with friends that will be with him for years after graduation. I can pray that he has the love of God with him all days and that the foundations we have given him are not only established in principle but grounded in faith.
There is a saying I found a couple of years ago that I have been thinking about a lot lately. The two most important things you can give your child are roots and wings. The wings are showing themselves lately, much to my dismay. When we brought Carson home, I wanted him to be able to sleep through the night, to be able to hold his bottle, to be able to talk to tell me what he wanted, to be able to walk and now, I have all of that and more. My son is almost a teenager and in five short years, he will be a legal adult. In five short years, I am going to have to trust that those wings are strong enough to maintain whatever flight he chooses and the roots are deep enough that the wings will lead him back home whenever he needs it.
Most of all, I have to convince myself that I can do all of this. There is a part of me that is excited to see what his future holds, but there is an even bigger part of me that wants my little one back. I don't want to let him go yet and that time is getting here quicker than I am comfortable with.
So, what I will do is thank God for the amazing opportunity to be the mother of this precious creature. For all the back talking, eye rolling, etc., etc., that he does, he also gives me the biggest smiles I have ever known. I just finished my second book (woohoo) and nothing that I will ever accomplish professionally touches what the 13 years of being Carson's mother has done. Granted, I will, no doubt, be consulting a stylist for a color consult before long (and why I have not had to do that yet is beyond me) because the child WILL be giving me grays soon.
And, if all else fails, I will give him the mother's curse. Everyone say it with me...
May God give you one just like you.
No doubt, I will do that. But I will also hug him and be thankful for every single second I have with him.
I wrote this on Sunday night while feeling a bit emotional at the very thought of my first born turning into a teenager. We have been butting heads quite a bit lately and I sat and thought a bit about the evolution of my child. From the day in the car when he kicked me in perfect time with the beat of Hell by Squirrel Nut Zippers, to watching him walk away from me into his kindergarten classroom, to watching him use his Christmas money to buy cologne, to listening to his voice deepen, the evolution is coming a hell of a lot quicker than I am comfortable with. Still, I have no choice and if I did, I would not dare hamper him. One day, I want him to be able to smile on the experience of growing up with me as a mother and be thankful for the tough love, smile at the laughs and be thankful for the values. I can only hope I am laying the foundation for him to be able to do all of those things. So, without further wait, here is my note about my first born, Carson.
Sunday, January 24, 2010 and I am enjoying the last three days of not being the mother of a teenager. I get to pretend that I am still the mother of that little baby that caused me to talk more to God in five months than I did for the ten years prior to becoming pregnant. I am going to still be the person on the gurney looking into the eyes of that precious new infant as he was being handed off to Dr. McConville while Paul and I checked nervously for any signs of Down's syndrome that had both of us scared witless for five months.
For a few moments sitting in this chair, laptop on lap (duh), I get to pretend that my oldest son is in his crib, clutching his blanket, in fetal position with his little blonde curls mopped on his head. I will pretend his biggest concern will be whether or not I put juice or milk in his sippy cup and whether he will be spoon fed oatmeal or given Cheerios in his high chair.
For the last three days of his preteen life, I get to pretend that I still have my hands on my belly, begging God to let him be healthy and begging him to be tolerant with me as I learn to be his mother and he learns to deal with the world he will soon be thrust into.
For these last 75 or so hours, I can pretend that his biggest booboo will be when he is trying to learn to walk or trying to ride his bike without training wheels, not at the hands of some girl who will hold his self esteem in her unwitting hands.
I can pretend all day long, but at the end of the day, my son will be a teenager Thursday and there is not one damned thing I can do to keep him from growing up and getting hurt.
In the last two weeks, we have found out that Carson is dyslexic. In addition, I have discovered that my son was bullied at East Lee last year. As a mother, NOT pulling into that parking lot and announcing to the entire seventh grade body that they are a bunch of mean assed bullies who need to reconsider the destructive consequences of their actions, or worse, calling the parents and letting them know the effects of their children's callousness is very tempting, but I know I would just be acting out on my frustrations and not doing Carson any good. It was not the entire 7th grade after all and there are some really cool 7th graders, the parents of whom are among my friends. Carson still has friends at East. But now, I have to come to terms that the days of being able to protect my child from everything ended the day I had the c-section almost 13 years ago.
I can not protect him. I can only hope that the foundations that have been established for him are enough to guide him and protect him from rash decisions. I can hope that the friendships he has made are the kind like I have with friends that will be with him for years after graduation. I can pray that he has the love of God with him all days and that the foundations we have given him are not only established in principle but grounded in faith.
There is a saying I found a couple of years ago that I have been thinking about a lot lately. The two most important things you can give your child are roots and wings. The wings are showing themselves lately, much to my dismay. When we brought Carson home, I wanted him to be able to sleep through the night, to be able to hold his bottle, to be able to talk to tell me what he wanted, to be able to walk and now, I have all of that and more. My son is almost a teenager and in five short years, he will be a legal adult. In five short years, I am going to have to trust that those wings are strong enough to maintain whatever flight he chooses and the roots are deep enough that the wings will lead him back home whenever he needs it.
Most of all, I have to convince myself that I can do all of this. There is a part of me that is excited to see what his future holds, but there is an even bigger part of me that wants my little one back. I don't want to let him go yet and that time is getting here quicker than I am comfortable with.
So, what I will do is thank God for the amazing opportunity to be the mother of this precious creature. For all the back talking, eye rolling, etc., etc., that he does, he also gives me the biggest smiles I have ever known. I just finished my second book (woohoo) and nothing that I will ever accomplish professionally touches what the 13 years of being Carson's mother has done. Granted, I will, no doubt, be consulting a stylist for a color consult before long (and why I have not had to do that yet is beyond me) because the child WILL be giving me grays soon.
And, if all else fails, I will give him the mother's curse. Everyone say it with me...
May God give you one just like you.
No doubt, I will do that. But I will also hug him and be thankful for every single second I have with him.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Duke as a Family Member, Not a Patient
What is playing on the iPod? Not Meant to Be by Theory of a Deadman
Friday, January 8, 2010 brought a whole new dynamic to my house. My husband had a cardiac catheterization at Duke. He has an extensive family history of premature cardiac disease and his general practitioner felt that a work up was necessary. This led to a treadmill stress test (aka Cardiolite stress test) which showed a possible abnormality. Thus, the catheterization.
Thankfully, the results were pretty good. There was a 20% blockage in one artery but truthfully, with his family history, I expected worse.
I took a writer's vantage point of the day and observed a lot. I people watched. There are many aspects of worrying, which you get to see in the cardiac ward. Some people hug and cuddle. Others smile reassuringly at their loved ones. Some sulk. Others sit and do not even try to hide the worry.
Then there are the smart asses, myself included.
Deciding that the hubby needed humor because he had paled to a light cotton ball shade, I turned into a Comedy Central act.
The IV had been set up and speaking purely from experience, I said "Hey, the hard part is over. Now they can put the happy juice in there and it's a cakewalk."
The nurse came in to shave him. To put it nicely, the access area for a cardiac cath is typically femoral, near the personal areas in other words. The hubby, despite thoughts to the contrary, turned a lighter shade of pale. I said "her hand looks a little shaky, do you want me to do this?" The nurse did not laugh but the hubby did. I accomplished my goal.
The guys come in to roll the hubby to the cath lab. We were walking and they told me I needed to tell him bye. I leaned over and said "after this is over with, I can tell the kids that we were all wrong. You do have a heart." He laughed again. Thank God he gets me because some people would not get my humor. After all, sarcasm is my preferred medium and being a champion smart ass is my mission in life.
The wait was okay and that is all part of being somewhere that you feel comfortable. Duke is one of the top hospitals in the country and it felt like we made the right decision choosing the Heart Center there. Had we been at the first place that was recommended to us, I would have been on pins and needles. Trust me, I have been on both sides of that fence and the wait for the family member is worse than being on the table. If you are on the table, at least you are knocked out, not able to think about all the things that could happen.
The hubby was back in his room in record time. He has the small, afore-mentioned blockage. His cardiologist came in and was explaining everything to us, including the need to stop smoking, to start exercise and to eat right. He eventually asked if we had any questions. Of course I did.
"Yeah, can you please explain to my husband that pork fat is not a separate food group?"
I even chuckled at that one.
The clock ticks on and it has been a very long day. Get your check ups, go for your annual physicals and take care of yourself. Quit smoking. Exercise and eat right.
Until next time.
Friday, January 8, 2010 brought a whole new dynamic to my house. My husband had a cardiac catheterization at Duke. He has an extensive family history of premature cardiac disease and his general practitioner felt that a work up was necessary. This led to a treadmill stress test (aka Cardiolite stress test) which showed a possible abnormality. Thus, the catheterization.
Thankfully, the results were pretty good. There was a 20% blockage in one artery but truthfully, with his family history, I expected worse.
I took a writer's vantage point of the day and observed a lot. I people watched. There are many aspects of worrying, which you get to see in the cardiac ward. Some people hug and cuddle. Others smile reassuringly at their loved ones. Some sulk. Others sit and do not even try to hide the worry.
Then there are the smart asses, myself included.
Deciding that the hubby needed humor because he had paled to a light cotton ball shade, I turned into a Comedy Central act.
The IV had been set up and speaking purely from experience, I said "Hey, the hard part is over. Now they can put the happy juice in there and it's a cakewalk."
The nurse came in to shave him. To put it nicely, the access area for a cardiac cath is typically femoral, near the personal areas in other words. The hubby, despite thoughts to the contrary, turned a lighter shade of pale. I said "her hand looks a little shaky, do you want me to do this?" The nurse did not laugh but the hubby did. I accomplished my goal.
The guys come in to roll the hubby to the cath lab. We were walking and they told me I needed to tell him bye. I leaned over and said "after this is over with, I can tell the kids that we were all wrong. You do have a heart." He laughed again. Thank God he gets me because some people would not get my humor. After all, sarcasm is my preferred medium and being a champion smart ass is my mission in life.
The wait was okay and that is all part of being somewhere that you feel comfortable. Duke is one of the top hospitals in the country and it felt like we made the right decision choosing the Heart Center there. Had we been at the first place that was recommended to us, I would have been on pins and needles. Trust me, I have been on both sides of that fence and the wait for the family member is worse than being on the table. If you are on the table, at least you are knocked out, not able to think about all the things that could happen.
The hubby was back in his room in record time. He has the small, afore-mentioned blockage. His cardiologist came in and was explaining everything to us, including the need to stop smoking, to start exercise and to eat right. He eventually asked if we had any questions. Of course I did.
"Yeah, can you please explain to my husband that pork fat is not a separate food group?"
I even chuckled at that one.
The clock ticks on and it has been a very long day. Get your check ups, go for your annual physicals and take care of yourself. Quit smoking. Exercise and eat right.
Until next time.
Friday, January 1, 2010
January 1, 2010
What is playing on the iPod? Lying from You by Linkin Park
I would love to say that I have come up with something so profound and prophetic that I had to move heaven and earth to blog about. Nope. Nothing other than the significance of being a fresh start got my fingers gliding over these particular keys tonight.
On a personal level, it has been a hell of a week. I have been to Duke, twice (again, not for a basketball game, thank you very damned much) and the news is pretty cool. Everything is stable, LFTs still low. Whew. Picture my hand wiping across my forehead.
Prayers get answered everyday.
Ahhh, the song just switched over to Freaky Girl from Shaggy. That song makes me want to get up and dance.
Blog first, then dance.
There is an old superstition that what we do the first day of the year foretells what we will be doing the rest of the year. I read, spent time with family, blasted my iPod, drank copious amounts of java and wrote, not in that order.
Hey, I blogged too - woohoo!
If 2010 is going to get spent that way, it should be a pretty good year.
Have a great one! Until next time.
I would love to say that I have come up with something so profound and prophetic that I had to move heaven and earth to blog about. Nope. Nothing other than the significance of being a fresh start got my fingers gliding over these particular keys tonight.
On a personal level, it has been a hell of a week. I have been to Duke, twice (again, not for a basketball game, thank you very damned much) and the news is pretty cool. Everything is stable, LFTs still low. Whew. Picture my hand wiping across my forehead.
Prayers get answered everyday.
Ahhh, the song just switched over to Freaky Girl from Shaggy. That song makes me want to get up and dance.
Blog first, then dance.
There is an old superstition that what we do the first day of the year foretells what we will be doing the rest of the year. I read, spent time with family, blasted my iPod, drank copious amounts of java and wrote, not in that order.
Hey, I blogged too - woohoo!
If 2010 is going to get spent that way, it should be a pretty good year.
Have a great one! Until next time.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Snuggies, Video Games and Channing Tatum
What is playing on the iPod? Absolutely nothing because I am watching GI Joe with my kids.
Merry Christmas everyone! I have been sitting here in the midst of the testosterone fest that is my home this morning and contemplating gifts.
First of all, I, er, Santa bought Snuggies for my kids. Snuggies. I am thinking that if I type it over and over, it will get easier to reconcile myself to the fact that my children actually wanted backwards robes for Christmas. Nope, I still can not do it. They are 8 and 12 and wanted these things.
On the upside, they look like some sort of backwards, zen-type straight jackets so I suppose in a pinch and with some duct tape...
Never mind. Okay, lets just get past the Snuggies.
I was so sure of myself when I, er, Santa put the Nerf Dart Tag Strikefire set under the tree. I was certain that package would be ripped open and Nerf bullets would soon be grazing my head (which would be perfectly fine as long as none landed in my coffee - then we would have a problem). The boys have been up for two hours and the Strikefire is still in the box. New Super Mario Brothers Wii has been opened, played, argued over and put back in the box.
At present, Duke and the boys are in the air trying to get the weaponized airheads back from Cobra Commander and Destro, my sons are Snuggie bound and eating stocking candy and I am waiting for Channing Tatum's shirt to come back off, resting comfortably between cup of coffee number two and three.
I wish you all a wonderful and safe Christmas and I hope everyone remembers the Christ in Christmas.
Until next time.
Merry Christmas everyone! I have been sitting here in the midst of the testosterone fest that is my home this morning and contemplating gifts.
First of all, I, er, Santa bought Snuggies for my kids. Snuggies. I am thinking that if I type it over and over, it will get easier to reconcile myself to the fact that my children actually wanted backwards robes for Christmas. Nope, I still can not do it. They are 8 and 12 and wanted these things.
On the upside, they look like some sort of backwards, zen-type straight jackets so I suppose in a pinch and with some duct tape...
Never mind. Okay, lets just get past the Snuggies.
I was so sure of myself when I, er, Santa put the Nerf Dart Tag Strikefire set under the tree. I was certain that package would be ripped open and Nerf bullets would soon be grazing my head (which would be perfectly fine as long as none landed in my coffee - then we would have a problem). The boys have been up for two hours and the Strikefire is still in the box. New Super Mario Brothers Wii has been opened, played, argued over and put back in the box.
At present, Duke and the boys are in the air trying to get the weaponized airheads back from Cobra Commander and Destro, my sons are Snuggie bound and eating stocking candy and I am waiting for Channing Tatum's shirt to come back off, resting comfortably between cup of coffee number two and three.
I wish you all a wonderful and safe Christmas and I hope everyone remembers the Christ in Christmas.
Until next time.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
What is playing on the iPod? Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon
Musical side note - seeing Kings of Leon live was one of the highlights of 2009 for me. We went on my birthday and took my children (yeah, I know, generally a bad idea). However, my 8-year-old stood among the biggest partiers, holding his arms up and yelling the lyrics to the songs along with the best of them. I wish I could have got it on film. Only By the Night, the whole album, is on my iPod.
I have read a great deal of material on advice from published authors on how to become published yourself and how to improve your craft while waiting to do so. One author said to write 1000 words at day at least. Those 1000 words may suck, but write them nonetheless. That is a pretty good goal because 1000 words equals four pages. If the work is quality, four pages is not a bad amount of work.
It is now Christmas vacation time at the Blackburn house. My husband has two and a half weeks off and the children have the same amount in different intervals. Roughly translated, that means at least four weeks I will not have the house to myself. Not to sound selfish, but there is only so much the iPod will tune out. Put three extra people in the house yelling, arguing, being boisterous and that does not bode well for putting my thoughts and story lines on the screen.
Needless to say, there is a lot of late night and early morning typing going on.
I love my family and I love having the honor of watching my children grow up. However, being a wife and mother has driven home the importance of me time. If you spend every waking moment being a caretaker of others and not having any time for yourself, then it takes a toll. My personal me time comes in front of a computer or with a book in my hands. Right now, me time is in short supply.
At this moment, it is 10:33 pm and I am waiting for the last holdout, my husband, to go to bed so I may enjoy a silent couple of hours or so in front of the computer before I go to sleep.
I see a ray of light and a quiet computer. Until next time.
Musical side note - seeing Kings of Leon live was one of the highlights of 2009 for me. We went on my birthday and took my children (yeah, I know, generally a bad idea). However, my 8-year-old stood among the biggest partiers, holding his arms up and yelling the lyrics to the songs along with the best of them. I wish I could have got it on film. Only By the Night, the whole album, is on my iPod.
I have read a great deal of material on advice from published authors on how to become published yourself and how to improve your craft while waiting to do so. One author said to write 1000 words at day at least. Those 1000 words may suck, but write them nonetheless. That is a pretty good goal because 1000 words equals four pages. If the work is quality, four pages is not a bad amount of work.
It is now Christmas vacation time at the Blackburn house. My husband has two and a half weeks off and the children have the same amount in different intervals. Roughly translated, that means at least four weeks I will not have the house to myself. Not to sound selfish, but there is only so much the iPod will tune out. Put three extra people in the house yelling, arguing, being boisterous and that does not bode well for putting my thoughts and story lines on the screen.
Needless to say, there is a lot of late night and early morning typing going on.
I love my family and I love having the honor of watching my children grow up. However, being a wife and mother has driven home the importance of me time. If you spend every waking moment being a caretaker of others and not having any time for yourself, then it takes a toll. My personal me time comes in front of a computer or with a book in my hands. Right now, me time is in short supply.
At this moment, it is 10:33 pm and I am waiting for the last holdout, my husband, to go to bed so I may enjoy a silent couple of hours or so in front of the computer before I go to sleep.
I see a ray of light and a quiet computer. Until next time.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Bruises and More Research
What is playing on the iPod? Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin
Let me get this out of the way before I start on the topic I originally intended. My oldest child has an appointment at Duke today. This morning, I was in the bathroom with both children and I pulled my shirt sleeve up. My last entry, I commented on the warning from the phlebotomist before she went in my forearm about how the blood would pool under the skin and I needed to apply pressure. Four days later and I have a pretty sizable, deep purple bruise.
Logan saw my arm this morning and said "Mama! What happened?"
"Oh, that is where I had blood drawn last week." That comment was innocent enough. No big trauma, just a simple blood draw. Until I heard the gasp.
Carson looked at my arm like a deer caught in the headlights. That was not one of my brighter moments. I tried to cover quickly, explaining that this was a special circumstance, sticks in the bend of the elbow (antecubital) do not bruise like that. Carson still looked like he wanted to throw up.
At least this psychological trauma did not involve anything Joan Crawford-ish (wire hangers!) or any "Luke, I am your father" revelations.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I have been researching lately. Book two is at a point where the details have to be researched to make sure there is factual basis for what I have written. For instance, I have discovered that as long as the cells used are adult and not embryonic, the Catholic church generally has no problem with stem cell research. I know the different types of and treatment for pneumothorax. I know types of spiritual entities and what makes them different. That particular search got a little hairy. Some sites I pulled up made me want to dunk my computer in holy water.
I still have some research left to do and roughly five unfinished chapters and then the real work begins. Editing. I continually do this along the way. Whenever I pull my files up, I always read what I wrote last and correct errors and do my rewording, etc. What this basically means is that I see a finish line, I have the baton in my hand and I am running like hell.
So at 9:11 on December 15, I am going to go refill the coffee, do some tweaking on Rebecca and hope like a son of a bitch that I did not scar my child too badly this morning.
Until next time.
Let me get this out of the way before I start on the topic I originally intended. My oldest child has an appointment at Duke today. This morning, I was in the bathroom with both children and I pulled my shirt sleeve up. My last entry, I commented on the warning from the phlebotomist before she went in my forearm about how the blood would pool under the skin and I needed to apply pressure. Four days later and I have a pretty sizable, deep purple bruise.
Logan saw my arm this morning and said "Mama! What happened?"
"Oh, that is where I had blood drawn last week." That comment was innocent enough. No big trauma, just a simple blood draw. Until I heard the gasp.
Carson looked at my arm like a deer caught in the headlights. That was not one of my brighter moments. I tried to cover quickly, explaining that this was a special circumstance, sticks in the bend of the elbow (antecubital) do not bruise like that. Carson still looked like he wanted to throw up.
At least this psychological trauma did not involve anything Joan Crawford-ish (wire hangers!) or any "Luke, I am your father" revelations.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I have been researching lately. Book two is at a point where the details have to be researched to make sure there is factual basis for what I have written. For instance, I have discovered that as long as the cells used are adult and not embryonic, the Catholic church generally has no problem with stem cell research. I know the different types of and treatment for pneumothorax. I know types of spiritual entities and what makes them different. That particular search got a little hairy. Some sites I pulled up made me want to dunk my computer in holy water.
I still have some research left to do and roughly five unfinished chapters and then the real work begins. Editing. I continually do this along the way. Whenever I pull my files up, I always read what I wrote last and correct errors and do my rewording, etc. What this basically means is that I see a finish line, I have the baton in my hand and I am running like hell.
So at 9:11 on December 15, I am going to go refill the coffee, do some tweaking on Rebecca and hope like a son of a bitch that I did not scar my child too badly this morning.
Until next time.
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