Yeah, Baby!

Sleepy Suzie...

Well, my daughter has a boyfriend again. They broke up for a while. Long story. But now he's back in our lives, and he was over here again last night until around 11:30. Which, of course, means our daughter couldn't fall asleep until 1:30 am. Oh, the thrill of young romance, texting all your friends, and Facebooking how your evening went. Then, of course, she was hungry. So she clanked around in the kitchen for a while. Do all 16-year-olds stay up this late?

I went online, checked Facebook for a while, goofed around talking politics with my friends who I knew would not answer my emails until the morning because, unlike me, they were sensible people. I googled someone I knew seven years ago. Watched an old episode of Mad About You (they're all old episodes by now). Then, just as I was headed to bed, my son woke up and climbed in beside me. It's as if he can't sleep once all is quiet. A little noise must comfort him enough to stay in his own bed. Once that's over, he stumbles across the hall and into mine. It never fails!

After a fretful few hours of sleep, most of it coverless and squashed, I heard my husband's alarm go off. It was 6 am and I had hardly slept. So now I sit in a quiet house amid sleeping children. It's 10 am and I can't fall back to sleep again.

Not a creative post, nor an enthusiastic one. But share my pain, will ya?

Critique group is tonight... Looks like that coffee's gonna hafta be caffeinated!

Yours -- consciousness raised or not,

Megan Elizabeth

Savvy Samantha...

I've been thinking a lot lately. (some of you are saying, "It's about time!") But seriously, I've been thinking about the election coming up in November and about the many people I have spoken to who are voting for Obama because he's black or, sadly, for McCain because he's not. That conversation only happened once, but it gave me the heebie jeebies! Not a close friend -- someone I barely knew, but still...

It finally occurred to me that these people are just not savvy enough to be voting. This conversation came up because I took my daughter to see the movie, The Duchess, yesterday. Women didn't have the vote during that time period, of course. But not many men did, either. They were selective in who they extended the freedom to vote to. Now that's not good, old-fashioned American freedom. But when I meet people who are voting for their candidate because he can dance well with Ellen on her talk show or because they think he's more "presidential" that bugs me! Have real, solid reasons to elect your candidates, people!

As for me, I have become Savvy Samantha. A friend of mine included me in a thread on his Facebook page that has led to well over 300 messages among a group of five people -- two solid Republicans, a Democrat, and Miss Independence (me). I've learned that Barack Obama has some pretty scary connections to Socialism, bordering Communism. I've also learned that McCain has an anger management problem and his former army buddy and POW in Vietnam is worried about him having his finger on the nuke button. I've learned that Barack Obama has received millions of dollars in donations from the very people who got us into the real estate crisis. I've also learned that he refused to vote yea on the Born Alive Act in Illinois, effectively assuring that any child born alive after an abortion will be smothered. Some have called him complicit in infanticide. Others have suggested that the people who say that are insulting him the worst way because he loves children and would never favor infanticide. A woman named Gianna Jessen, who survived a saline abortion 31 years ago disagrees with them. Thankfully, a nurse called 911 and she was rushed to a hospital for prenatal care.

I want to be savvy when it comes to my writing, too. I want to research the market, target my submissions so I don't waste an editor's time, revise my work so that it stands a fighting chance before I ever submit it, and perhaps most important, never give up! Savvy Sam will rise to the top of the slush pile because her manuscript is not in a brightly colored envelope with jingle bells dangling from it. Her cover letter is businesslike but still friendly, informative yet personable. Her queries are succinct because editors are as swamped with queries as they are slush. And one day, hopefully very soon, the creative creature within Savvy Samantha will have wrought a magnificent masterpiece (enough alliteration -- that could sink her chances altogether!)

Yours -- throughout each and every stage of the process,

Megan Elizabeth

Pitiful Pearl...

That's what my mother used to call me. And it suited me! I was determined to see the down side of every situation, to hide in shame when I did something embarrassing, to suffer when rejected.

And how many times will a writer be rejected before getting published?!?!?

Please don't answer that. My heart can't take it! But you see my point. I deleted a few posts below where I was either being Mopey Minnie or Pitiful Pearl. And now, I want to get down to it, write the right stories, send them to the right people, and if they're the stuff that dreams are made of, I'll get there.

I've been working on an article on John Quincy Adams this week. And now, it seems the Adams family is everywhere I look. (Ha! I saw you snap your fingers twice!) Our homeschool group had an essay on John Adams. John Adams will be the focus of an upcoming issue of Cobblestone Magazine (now don't you go and sub to them! It's my turn! My destiny, even!) I'm learning so much about this great man of dignity and courage that I'm really stoked about the possibility of getting this article published somewhere.

I think that's key to getting published, too. Being stoked about the subject you're writing about. How exciting would the article be if I didn't particularly find the subject interesting? And how much care would I take in writing it? Anything for money, right? Well, sadly, this biz generally doesn't pay big bucks. You'd better not be in it for the money, folks!

So I start my day with joyful anticipation... And a blank page before me -- the new leaf I've just turned over!

Yours -- when all you see is empty white space and when your page is filled with ink,

Megan Elizabeth

Because I love my husband soooo much...

20 years of pure bliss!

Megan Elizabeth

Sufficiently recovered...

I just received an email from Blue Mountain Arts asking for more poems for their greeting cards... They probably send these to everyone who's ever submitted to them, but I was tickled anyway. I'm going to write a few poems today and send them off. They snatched the first one I wrote right away for a test market, so maybe I stand a fighting chance of getting another one accepted!

And Mudskippers, I will get those critiques to you as soon as I can!

: )

Megan

Oy!

There comes a time in every woman's life when she's forced to face the inevitable fact that she's growing older. Every day. It happens to the best of us, and it's something we simply can't escape. We can approach it grudgingly and with massive amounts of glycolic acid or we can approach it with a lacksadaisical attitude -- laissez-faire and aloof and unshakeable. I am of the glycolic variety. I prefer to color my hair obsessively, tear off the outer layer of my face with Retin-A compounds, and apply massive amounts of creams and lotions and, after that, makeup, until I resemble a still somewhat wrinkled circus clown. Or maybe a cross between Phyllis Diller (definitely showing my age now) and Tammy Faye Baker.

Why am I telling you about this now?

I went to the grocery store the other day and as I was checking out, the clerk -- a young girl of about TWELVE -- asked if I qualified for the senior citizen discount.

I know.

You're stunned.

How could this have happened? I am only a mere 45 years old! I feel wiser than those young thirtysomethings. (and I remember the television show, Thirtysomething, too!) I wasn't wearing makeup and had been sorting through stuff for Goodwill so I must have looked a bit tired and grungy, but that's no excuse. I am affronted, first of all, that the store required her to ask people if they're old. And I'm doubly affronted that she thought she had to ask ME!

I went home and immediately colored my hair, put on makeup, and went out to a cookout with my husband, convinced no one there would want to talk to me, an elderly woman in a vast sea of youngsters. I ended up having a great conversation with someone who looked like she was about as used up by her kids as I am. None of the twentysomethings -- or even the thirtysomethings -- said a word to me, but that's okay. They'll BE me one day. And when that day comes, I will be there to reassure them that life does, indeed, continue. At least I hope I will be. Better go apply more creams and lotions and take some vitamins just in case!

: )

Megan Elizabeth

This is how obsessive I am...

As I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep last night, I kept thinking about the tense change in my post two blog entries down -- the one about the symphony. I knew about the tense shift as I was writing it, but I was in a hurry and didn't want to take the time to fix it. Plus, I thought the shift to present tense gave the story immediacy. But it began in past tense. So what was I thinking?

And the bigger question here is why do I have nothing better to do at night than ponder whether my friends are thinking poor tense thoughts about me as THEY fall asleep in their comfy, cozy beds? Now that's obsessive!

: )

Megan Elizabeth, who is soooooooooooo tense!

Dan Fogelberg on Regis and Kathy Lee

Never a Dull Moment

Last night, we went to Symphony in the Park for a lovely evening picnic on a hill, followed by the music of the Charlotte Symphony. We were particularly excited because it was going to be an evening of Broadway show tunes which we all love.

Despite the cloudy, overcast sky, we threw down our sleeping bags and ate our dinner in relative peace. We found ourselves seated beside a friend from my husband's job, which was delightful, and we were all set for a night to remember.

That's what it was, all right.

The thunderstorm started some time around the second song. But, undaunted, the symphony took cover and attempted to wait out the storm. Meanwhile, we opened our umbrella and began singing. Singing in the Rain, of course. My kids all know the song because it's from my favorite movie -- I'm a huge Gene Kelly fan. So, we sang it through once. Then our friends joined us. Then the tuba and trombone players joined in with the mezzo soprano who was supposed to sing later in the program.

So we're singing and swaying amid the darkening drizzle when all of a sudden my son Drew grabs the umbrella from my hand and walks out to the front sidewalk and begins to dance. Now remember, he has seen Singing in the Rain about seventy times in his short 14 years. He's not just dancing, he's twirling around like Gene Kelly. I have never seen this kid leap out of his shell like this, so I'm standing there in shocked disbelief when the song finishes and to our surprise, the entire crowd begins applauding him!

The symphony only managed one more song before a loud crack of thunder ended the concert, but we all were still so glad we came. It was definitely a night to remember!

Yours -- with all the dramatic flair of a childhood well-lived!

Megan Elizabeth