First Day of School

By Stacy Johnson

Dear Diary,

The kids went back to school today. I was so excited for this day to come, I even planned a more delicious than normal Sunday dinner in anticipation of this day. The BBQ ribs, baked potatoes and green salad were a hit but the most delicious part of it was the watermelon, honeydew and canteloupe salad. We ate enough to satisfy an army, that fruit was so sweet and juicy; it was the perfect summer dinner.

When I awoke this morning earlier than my alarm clock, I was delighted to have a few minutes to myself. I answered some e-mails, paid some bills and gave each child already awake a huge hug. I woke up everyone else for scriptures and nobody fussed or argued. We discussed our chapter and had our morning prayer all together as a family for the first time in many years since we no longer have early morning seminary to contend with (waking at 5am for scriptures was just out of the question back then).

I snapped first day of school photos of the kids, got the babies dressed and ready for the day, worked on some of my booster club responsibilities, did some editing for a friend, had "preschool" with the babies, showered, took the missionaries to the library, ran an errand to WalMart and enjoyed lunch made by my fabulous daughter Marly the 18 year old while catching up on returning some phone calls.

I was so glad I got all of that done so I could sit down and blog right after lunch but then the large amount of fresh fruit came back to haunt the three year old who has been potty trained for 6 months...

Will write more next time I catch up on laundry.

Love, Stacy

Writing Is My Job

Cindy R. Williams

Writing IS a real job.

This statement doesn't seem to make sense to civilians --civilians being those who don't have the writing gene. Those that haven't been bitten by some kind of bug that contaminates brains and turns everyday normal people into alien beings known as writers.

I'm frustrated with others and myself about my writing.

Have you had any of the following things happen to you?

Sitting in my room at my small corner desk, flying on the back of one of my dragons, one of my almost grown children enters my room and says, "Mom, since your not doing anything, can you _____? (fill in the blank.)

How about this scenario: I'm in a writing frenzy. The words are flowing out in a most wonderful way . . . when the phone rings. Do I answer it? I'll just check the number to make sure it's not one of my kids or hubby. They could be in trouble. No, it's not one of their numbers. Oh, I better answer it. It could be important.

"Hello."

"Hi Cindy. Are you busy?"

"Um who is this?"

"It's Bonnie, silly girl."

"Uh . . . Bonnie who?" It amazes me when people don't identify themselves on the phone, aside from family and close friends.

"Bonnie _______." She sounds quite annoyed at this point and I think, how would I know your voice? I see you at Church, but I've only spoken to you once or twice on the phone in the past five years.

"Oh hi. Yes, I'm busy trying to finish a scene I'm writing." I take a stab at showing myself and my writing some respect.

"Oh, that's nice. Listen, I'm at work. I know you don't work and since you're home, I need you to run over to my house and get the key to the Church from under my front mat and return it to the RS President. I forgot to do it and she may need it."

Thoughts run through my mind like, can't you return it after work tonight? Can't you call the RS President and let her know the key is under your mat if she needs it today? I'm happy to help others, but this doesn't sound like an emergency that has to be done right this minute so I answer, "Sure, I would be happy to after I finish this scene." At least I'm trying to act like a real writer and balance helping others.

"On no. I want you to do it now. That way she won't be inconvenienced. She's awfully busy you know."

At this point, I give up. I don't have the back bone to assert that I am also busy, that "writing" IS my work, and that I will be "off work" in an hour and would be more than happy to take care of it then.

A writing teacher once cautioned me to treat writing like a job. Set my hours and stick to it. If I worked in an office for a boss, I certainly wouldn't cheat on my hours, take personal calls, surf the internet, change the wash, vacuum, weed, do the dishes, re-arrange the furniture or any number of things that I'm temped to do as I write. She suggested that it's important to have enough discipline and respect for myself to treat my writing like a professional. If I believe in myself, others will follow.

I read Stephen Kings book on writing. He goes to his desk early in the morning to work on his WIP, then eats lunch, often takes a short nap, then edits and does other things related to writing until around 5 PM. He works at his writing everyday. It's his job.

Now as I write this, I realize, shame on me. Writing is IMPORTANT and I have not acted like a professional.

10 notes to self:
1. It is up to me set my writing hours and be disciplined.
2. I need to take control of those things I can and not get worked up by the things I can't so that I don't become bitter.
3. It is up to me to explain to my family what writing means to me. To let them know I need two hours a day for my writing which means I'm there for them 22/7. Unless they have broken an arm or sprouted tentacles, please don't disturb me during my writing time. Then STICK to this myself. It will probably take a few times of asking them to wait until my writing time is over, but they will soon realize I am serious about my writing.
4. Go the to library or even Starbucks for my two hour write time. (By the way, Starbucks has a divine vanilla bean, , zero coffee, zero caffeine, frappuccino.)
5. Ask family and friends not to call during writing time.
6. Then stop answering the phone during writing time.
7. Choose to not check emails during writing time.
8. Choose to leave house and yard work alone for those two hours.
9. Focus on my writing and be my own best boss and work hard for two hours.
10. Take a break on Sunday's.

I'll let you know in a couple of weeks how it's going, that is after my two hours a day writing is done.

Stratos-fear

By Beckie Carlson

I took my daughter to a concert last night. It was not her first, darn her grandmother..... She took her to see the Trans Siberian Orchestra last fall. That was cool...I guess, but this was real rock and roll last night!
Okay, maybe it wasn't Rock and Roll in the Rolling Stone or Aerosmith way of thinking, but it was a big deal. We saw Bruno Mars. Many of you may know who that is. I am a bit embarrassed to say I didn't really know until last night. I mean, I had heard his name, heard his music, possibly even seen his picture, but I had never put all those clues together.
I remember when I was a teenager, I 'KNEW' my bands. I knew all their songs, all their lyrics, and every dimple on their shaggy headed faces. Okay, maybe I wasn't that obsessed as a teenager, but I did have my closet doors plastered with teen 'rock star' pictures for a time. Duran Duran, Thompson Twins, Depeche Mode....yeah, I was a teen in the 80's. Good times. Good memories. Good songs. I don't remember having to sensor the lyrics of my favorite songs before I let my mom listen to them. Heck, I didn't know what half the songs were even about back then. The 80's was a time of confusion in a lot of ways. Did those song writers even know what they were talking about? Or were they all high on glue and white out fumes? One has to wonder....
Last night, I felt like I touched the sky at the concert. I was really high. Before you think I started smoking funny things, let me explain a bit. My daughter's friend had the idea of going to this concert as a mommy-daughter kind of date. They picked the seats and we paid our share. I had never been to a concert at this arena so, I didn't have a clue what I was seeing when I clicked on those tiny little circles on the 'map.' The good news is we were able to get away from the massive crowds and find our seats in peace. The 'bad' news was that our seats were on the second to highest row in the arena. I don't know exactly how many rows of seats there were, but I'm thinking it was close to 80,000. Yes, I would bet our row was somewhere around 78-79,000. It was in the 20 floor for sure. My nose started to bleed as we made our way up the last flight of stairs before we reached our floor. By the time we reached our seats, I was being hefted over the back of a bouncer. They had to strap us into our seats to keep us from falling to our deaths. We signed a waiver naming the stage crew as our next of kin and left our car keys in a bowl at the end of the row.
Okay none of that really happened, but it felt like it should have. I seriously felt like I was going to burst into a storm cloud. I was smashed between feeling the vastness of the fall below me and the crushing of the ceiling only a few feet above my head. It was a crazy feeling
The music was pretty good. I decided I liked Elli Goulding pretty well and that Mr. Mars had a slightly less extreme Prince complex in regards to his male-ness. They walked the line with a few of the songs, but I can't help but enjoy watching musicians have a great time on stage. They were dressed classy, smiling, laughing, dancing like pros, and really good at what they did.
The people that go to concerts are interesting. There were all types there last night. People with shaved heads, mohawks, bowler hats, and Dechanel bangs. There were old people,  kids, teenagers, and the ageless people that annoy us all. Some people dressed up with their sequins and feathers, while others had they pajamas on minus the bunny feet.  I guess that is the thing about music. We all enjoy it our own way.
I especially enjoyed seeing the myriad of shoes on the women. Now I know where to wear all those amazing prop shoes I see! They are way too uncomfortable and high to actually walk any distance in, but they are apparently perfect for sitting in a rock concert. I think I need to go shopping. I am going to a Train concert next week...I need my prop shoes! Cause I said so!

Nothing Tastes As Good As . . . What You Can’t Eat When You’re On a Diet

By Susan Knight

 As I got up to leave my Weight Watcher’s meeting, the Leader called out, “And remember . . . nothin’ tastes as good as . . .?”

“. . . Thin Fills!” the attendees answered with enthusiasm.

I noticed the other women nodding to each other with big smiles on their faces. They obviously had been here before and knew what the Leader was talking about. This was my third week—and I only lost one pound, so I admonished myself I shouldn’t be thinking about Thin Fills or any other mouth-watering morsel of food that wasn’t a vegetable or zero points.

On my way out I perused the shelves of Weight Watchers booklets, scales and point counters, eyed boxes of other goodies, but I couldn’t find the intriguing Thin Fills.

“You’re on a diet,” I reminded myself. “You don’t need any Thin Fills no matter how good they must be.” But I was so hungry, I obsessed about this new food.

Since the Leader was busy talking to others, I decided to look it up online when I got home. Maybe I could get the delectable dessert in a normal grocery store. I walked to my car picturing the yummy Thin Fills in my mind. “I wonder if they’re like Oreos® with a thin layer of creamy white goodness sandwiched between two, crisp, chocolate cookies.”

Then, I thought, “Maybe they’re like those Pepperidge Farm® cookies with a thin layer of dark chocolate in the middle of light, melt-in-your-mouth, sugar wafers. Oh, or like Thin Mints!" I got excited.

By this time I was starving. I had gone to the meeting straight from work. Luckily I was only a mile from home. I suppressed the urge to stop at any of the many fast food restaurants in my path, but I couldn’t get the notion of Thin Fills out of my mind.

“They must be made by Weight Watchers,” I reasoned aloud. “I wonder how many points they are . . .”

At a stop light, I had the “Duh!” slap-your-forehead moment.

“Wait a minute,” I said to myself. “This is Utah! People don’t use diphthongs.”

I went over the saying in my mind, then substituted for Utah speak. I felt so silly. I hung my head on the steering wheel.

But now the saying made perfect sense.

 

So . . . salad, anyone? Because nothing tastes as good as . . .