Monthly Archives: November 2011


Today I was supposed to finish the 500 things on my to-do list. 

Today I was going to edit wonderfulness right into my novel-in-progress.

Today I was going to kick the funk, make my house sparkle and do wonderful, glorious things.

And then I woke up crying. 

Why?  Probably because I’m a female who needs more sleep, more nutrition, more exercise and probably much less sitting at a laptop.  Probably because I hate winter and winter hates me.  Probably just because.

I wrote a post, published it, and then deleted it.

I started to paint, and quit.

I tried, I was gonna, I had high hopes and I got absolutely nothing done.

It is just one of THOSE kind of days

I even tried to drown myself in caramel and whipped cream, topped with coffee.  Nope.  Nada.  Nothing.

Later I might bribe myself with dark chocolate and French vanilla coffee, after the minions have gone to bed.  After all, funks can’t last forever, right? 

Nevermind the tasks that face me tomorrow.  Nevermind the missing confidence and motivation.  Nevermind it all.

I can and I will.  Soon.  Real soon. 

Maybe today just needs to be yesterday… or something like that.


Things You Didn’t Need to Know About Me

If you were here yesterday then you know all about my issue with Shriveled Apple Brains

It’s a real problem, and I do believe the only treatment is an IV of straight up espresso and two weeks vacation at the Bolongo Bay Resort in St.Thomas.  But my husband had to remind me that I am not yet famous, and that flying to the Virgin Islands is not a real option at this time.  Humph.

So yesterday as I’m running around with applesauce leaking out of my ears a dear friend, and excellent blogger, (go visit her awesomeness and some other awesome writers at This N That, That N This) nominated me for a Kathyrn Ingrid Creativity Award… I thinkI know she nominated me for something awesome, I’m just not sure what exactly I’m supposed to call it.  I blame the apple brains. 

Anywho, there are requirements that go along with such an honor, many requirements.  I don’t mind a single one, but to be all different and to hide my shriveled brains I’m going to break them all up, and make this the longest acceptance speech in the whole entire bloggersphere. 

Careful there, I can feel your excitement all the way over here.  You almost spilt my coffee.

Here we go…

List Seven Random Facts About Yourself:

1)I am a professional Dog Trainer.  Professional as in I have a $20.000 student loan wrapped around my throat, and I spent six months up to my eyeballs in dogs and everything that comes with them.  I’ve trained them all from poodles to military dogs.  And I’ve only been bitten badly one time, by my husbands dog.  <- I keep photos of the incident just in case.

2)I have a split personality and her name is Martha.  I love getting down and dirty with sticks, yarn and hot glue, and I can’t function if I don’t have at least 10 projects going on at one time. 

3) I live in the middle of nowhere, and that’s the way I like it, most days, except when I need a good real coffee, then I hate it.  Real coffee is a 45 minute drive away.  (I’m still waiting for a coffee shop to appear under my Christmas tree).  But living in the middle of nowhere allows me to get my alter-wanna-be-ego of Caroline Ingalls out. 

4) At my house you will find 3 dogs, 2 cats, 1 goat, 4 chickens, 2 budgies (birds), and a random number of fish.  That’s not counting the creatures that reside here without our permission, Copper Heads, Turkey, Deer, Coyotes, Strays, Stray horses (yes really), A BEAR and of course the Moosen Goosen.

5) In case you can’t tell I’m an ubber conservative christian.  Sometimes I stray off task and go onto long rants and blurbs on my beloved politics and faith, BUT I have a strong belief of not pushing these on anyone.  It only makes sense, and it’s outlined heavily in my bible… I do not and will not judge, and I will not and do not bash.  Period.  But I will always have my strong opinions.

6) I despise winter.  There’s not one single part of winter that I enjoy.  I hate snow, I hate ice, I hate cold, I hate long dark days.  I HATE it.  I love 80* days, and sweating under the sun, it’s the only way to live.  But my husband still thinks that one day he’ll get me to move to his former hometown, in Minnesota.  Ha.  He swears that winter is fun up there… but for some reason he’s only taken me there in the SUMMER.  I’m no fool.

7) In college I studied Mass Communications, Photography, Political Science, Bio-Medical Ethical Sciences and Dog Training.  I left college to pursue a wild dream of Equestrian Sciences.  One of these days I’ll go back and get an actual degree so I can pursue my true passion of being the President of the United States of America.  Because who wouldn’t love a President who rides around on horseback, while having their dog fetch them a beer, while taking photographs and advertising about them to people in dire medical situations.  Makes perfect sense to me.

If you’re still here reading, come back tomorrow when I get all smooshy wooshy about the next step to this award.  ❤


Shriveled Apple Head

My brain is dried up.

All shriveled like an old banana peel, or one of them hideous shriveled apples that are cut to look like an old woman’s face.  That’s me, shriveled apple head.

I suppose I can blame the massive amounts of pain-killers that I’ve been taking to relieve my nasty TMJ problems, or the countless hours of the bebe pulling me to the Christmas tree saying, “Ook, ook, ook, wowwwww, pirty, Ook!”, or maybe because I was one of those that had to go shopping Friday morning at 12 am… 

(Dear Santa, Emily wants a Starbucks under her tree)

I tried to work, I really did.  50 billion times I sat down at my computer, all with good intentions.  But my husband won’t buy me an electric fence to rope around my corner in the dining room and the bebe kept trying to steal my coffee, and the boy kept trying to smoosh play dough on my lap, and and and…

Did I mention that all three of our car batteries died on Thanksgiving?  I mean dead-dead, no worky no more.  Thank you Wal-Mart for being open, I don’t care what anyone says!

And back to the point.  I want to hear from YOU today.  What do you do when your brain turns into a rotten apple?  Do you have secret non-fail blogging prompts?  Or do you slip away into a non-blogging coma and eat a bag of chocolates?  And last but not least, How do you make the time, especially if you have young ones in your home?



This week signals the beginning of a war in my home.

Soon you’ll see it, the helmets strapped on, the bullet proof vests tightened securely, the boots laced and the weapons drawn.  Through the holiday music you can hear the battle cries of war, the alarms blaring, screaming out their warnings to all who venture near.  The children, the children will be hiding in fear.

What can be so brutal?  What could cause so much damage?

The Christmas Tree.

Vintage colored drawing of a family bringing home a Christmas tree.

Stop Laughing

My taste in Christmas decorations revolve around simplicity, the outdoors, pure whites, greens and reds, you know, stuff Martha herself would drool over.  Elegant pinecones, fresh greens, hand knit stockings, quilts, white lights and candles.  AND  NO GLITTER.

My husband, well he prefers bright flashing lights that send an epileptic person into a coma, tinsel, friggen tinsel everywhere, with glittery garland and clashing colors and oh my gosh I think strawberry shortcake and her gang just threw up all over that tree.

*takes a deep breath*

I despise everything he likes for a tree and he despises good taste.

Peace treaties and compromises never work.  We’ve tried giving and taking, non-flahing colored lights, flashing white lights, little hideous garland, and shiny ornaments, but both of us always detest the end results.  Last year we had two trees, one for me and one for him…  the problem is that my tree still had all the war wounds from over the years and the budget went to buying his sparkly, glittering nonsense stuff for his new tree.  And I still has the flashing tree of nightmares in MY HOME!  And I’m home everyday, all day, with that tree… it really drives a purist insane.

But none of that matters this year, not one single bit.  For we have a new enemy to battle with.  She is going to be cunning I tell you, with her short little, fast body…  We’ll be lucky if either tree survives her invasions, let alone be able to put one single ornament up. 

But this chick is prepared, I bought a fence (one fence, enough for one single tree) for my tree *evil laugh*. 

All is fair in love and war baby.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

Look Ma, I’m Really Working!

It has begun.  Editing.  Real editing.  Actually taking a jumble of words and doing my best to twist them into something that makes sense, something that flows, something that will sell.

Holy Crap, what have I gotten myself into?!

Have you ever tried to do this?  Writing for someone to actually read your words?  I mean, beyond blogging, for someone who’s all official and has a title of “Agent” or “Editor” or “Publisher”?  Writing for the sole purpose of having those twisted, jumbled words to sit on a shelf with your name on the cover… a real shelf, like one at a bookstore?! 

Maybe it’s just me.

Writing for a friendly event like National Novel Writing Month has nothing on writing to publish.  With NaNo you’re just out there having fun, making up stuff, mashing your fingers on the keyboard, knowing that maybe two people will ever read any of it, if that. 

This, this is a whole new ball game folks.

And maybe I’m a dork, I’m okay with that.

But I’m all nervous, all most shaky, a little bit excited, a little bit scared.  The whole thing is just different when you’re trying to do it for real.  I can’t imagine how it will be when it’s time to send out the queries, or if I even actually ever get a bite on it.  Yikes!  I might need a jumbo supply of xanax if I ever get that far.

I just had to get that out, so you all can think I’m really crazy.  Real blog post, with real purpose and points are under works, I promise!  Thanks for dropping in!

Who Put the Doubt in My Coffee?

I’m having doubts this morning.

Today I told myself that I would officially begin my edits.  Afterall, it’s very hard to publish a book that hasn’t been edited, or worked on besides the 30 days it took to write it.  Unless you’re some genius, brilliant, perfect writer… and I’m not, so I NEED edits.

But I’m not feeling it.  Perhaps it’s burnout from NaNoWriMo, I dunno. 

I’m still worried about if it’s worth my time.  Not writing in general, I’m ready for that journey, but what if the book itself is a flop?  I know it needs a lot of work, a lot of smoothing out, deleting and filling in the blanks… but what if there’s no hope for the plot? 

I suppose I won’t know until I get to work on it. 

But I still have no motivation today.  And I know that if I don’t make myself work on it, I’ll never work on it.  Ask all four of my novels sitting in the back of my computer’s memory. 

I’d personally rather wait for some brilliant writer to stumble on my blog, and then demand to read everything I ever wrote and then tell me exactly what to do.  (I’ll make you lots of coffee and ice cream if you’re out there… please!)  But I doubt that will be happening, and rambling on here is not going to help. 

How do you find inspiration?  How do you deal with a lack of motivation?  Do you give yourself deadlines?  Do you want to move into my house and be a drill Sargent for me?

Just Keep the Coffee Coming

Mornings have potential. 

Like if the rest of the world, aka my minions, my animals, my hubble, didn’t wake up until I flipped some magical switch to signal to the world that I have finally had enough coffee, peace and quiet and perhaps a nap too. 

I lack such a switch, and instead my mornings go like this: I wake up and tip-toe around making coffee and smuggling chocolate.  I sit down, and stare at a loading computer screen until my eyes decide to somewhat wake up.  And then mid cup of coffee a great idea will hit me, so I curse at my interwebs for loading all too slowly and begin to mash out my award-winning thoughts onto the screen.  Then the fates giggle and destroy any thought process I had.   It will all start with a minion waking from their peaceful sleep.  And then there are noises, loud crashes, toilets flushing away my peace and quiet, alerting the dogs that it’s time to remind me that they too can be loud and demanding, which wakes the other minion, which wakes the hubble, whom decides food is needed and steals my coffee, which breaks any single chance of me remembering what my great award-winning idea was.

I could be famous if mornings were on my side.

Or if I figured out how to turn xanax into a gas and feed it through our air vents. (not that I would ever do that)

The End.


~Being You~

This is probably redundant.  And you probably do not need a reminder, but I do daily.  So now you’re stuck with my own reminder.  Ha.

I get trapped often by the interwebs world.

“Hi, My name is Emily, and I compare myself to other bloggers/writers.”  There, I said it.

I have my moments when I read a blog written by a mom of 8 perfect kids with the perfect house with white picket fences and Better Homes and Garden rooms and gardens, the perfect husband who fights super villans at night, makes uber bucks and builds beautiful barns and bathrooms on the weekend, she does perfect crafts and sells them on etsy, she runs a church on Sundays, has two kids who are Doctors that can cure every disease while working in a hut in Africa, she cooks better than everyone on tv, has a doctorate, and just wrote her 5th best-selling book.  

I hate her, and she makes me hate me. 

The self-pity then spins you into reaching for things that just aren’t you.  You strive to be just like someone else and lie to yourself the whole damn time.  You hide your own talents to be more, to be better, to be perfect.  And all you do is perfect your own flaws.  And then you break down.  And then the hate sizzles, bubbles and boils over. 

And you find your self drowning in coffee at your keyboard, looking for someone else to tell you how to be a better you.  Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

Maybe it’s just me.

I doubt it.

The problem is that in emulating someone else you hide your own talents. 

I’ve been blogging, journaling and “writing” for years.  I’ve had a few supporters who repeatedly suggest that I push the envelope, that I have something there and that I’m missing out on a oppurtunity.  Naturally I didn’t get it, and tried to do what I thought they were telling me… I tried to do what others did.  I tried a homemaking type of blog… FLOP.  Okay so then I tried focussing on politics… FLOP.  Fine, how about witty stuff… FLOP.  Well, I must just be a complete failure then because that’s what the masses of blogging queens do!  Those supporters MUST be idiots.  THEY LIED!

But because I never learned, I tried to dip my toes into E-Books.  I thought I was being all smart and stuff and picked the topic of Dog Training, something I know tons about.  feverishly I typed away.  Then I shared it with a few close people.  FLIP, FLOP, FLIPPITY FLOP.  What the HELL!?! 

Oh and then, then my husband really ticked me off, “This reads too much like a story, a novel.  This isn’t your thing.”  Like it’s my fault if he doesn’t get the flow.  *insert 3 bottles of a wine induced pity party*  And he wrapped it up with something along the lines of how I should write cards for Hallmark.  I might have programmed a few lawyers’ phone numbers into my phone that night.  That was NOT what I wanted to hear.

Why is it so hard to find my niche out there when there are millions of people succeeding so well at it?!

Probably because I am not them, and I had my mind-set on following their footsteps, instead of my own.

It’s difficult, having dreams similar to those around you.  Seeing them succeed, seeing them doing what you want to do.  Logically you think you have to do it like them, because it worked for them.  That must be the one and only path to happiness and success!

It only brings self-pity and hatred.

And the first step to recovery is to stop perfecting your flaws.  And to do that you have to discover your talents.  PS.  You have to discover them, they can’t be pointed out.  I don’t know why that is, but for some reason you can’t own something that someone else gives you, you just never trust it.  At least that’s the case for me.

But how do own your talents?  How do you accept them without thinking you’re full of it, without thinking that you’re patting your own back over a huge pile of crap?  I haven’t quite figured that one out yet.

Then a friend asked me a very tricky question, I wanted to poke her in the eye with a stale cheeto for being so hokey, but there’s a lot of depth in what she asked.  Paraphrasing she asked,

Give yourself one compliment about your writing.

Immediately I thought, “Hell she’s going to laugh at whatever I come up with.  She’s sooooo going to judge me on this one!  Who am I to compliment myself!?!”

So pressed with time and the threat of her reaching through my computer screen to choke me I quickly scanned my mind for those times I actually felt “successful” at what I loved to do.  The answer flooded my mind, “Emotions”.

My writing is emotional.  Wait, do you feel it?  There it is, peeking out of the depths of self loathing… I might have a knack at making my readers feel emotions.  Maybe, I don’t want to get too carried away.

And you know what?  As I sit here this morning, writing a novel of a post, it’s easy to connect the dots, and I’m not afraid to give my self a tiny pat on the back.  My talent is not writing witty blogs, and that’s okay.  I have a talent for telling a story.  I have a knack for going on and on in great length to get my emotions out.  And there’s actually people out there who feel a connection in what I have to say.  And I’m not afraid to own it.

I’m pretty sure that that’s what my husband ment when he suggested Hallmark as a career.  It wasn’t an insult, it was his way of saying “you might suck at writing how-to’s and such, but you really do have something with this mushy crap you write, but I’m a man and can’t say it that way.” 

And it’s probably why my other blog that’s all from nights of spilling out emotions on a touchy subject has gotten remarkable response and views, while my others get zilch. 

And it just might be what people have been trying to tell me all along.

And I could be wrong about it all. 

But that’s not the point. 

The point is putting yourself out there without the goal of someone else’s success.  The point is to find your own talents and to own them, to accept them.  To know who you are, and to not blur the lines.  Don’t be afraid of encouraging yourself without worrying what others will think. 

Life happens in between the edits.




Removing the Safety Net

There’s safety in writing

There’s security in being able to hide away in all of the little dark corners of my mind with just me, my thoughts and my coffee.  Hashing out my past in imaginary ways, defeating the demons that once held me down, all in the minutes of nap time. 

There’s a lot of safety in going no further than NaNoWriMo attempts.  There’s no pressure to share, no pressure to be perfect, no pressure to work any harder than you have to.  I get the words out, then pack them away.

I began writing my “stories” the minute I learned to write.  Crazy, far-fetched, fictions that took me away from the pressures of never fitting in.  I learned that I could make my self popular, I could get attention, I could be far away from the meanness of life by just putting a pen to the paper. 

But it seemed as though there was always something, someone better.  And being that I lack competitiveness, I would pack my thoughts away and tell myself that I would never be good enough to go anywhere with it.

Yup, I’m one of “those” kind of people.  Hell, it took me a year to realize that I do have some talent, and just because blogging doesn’t come naturally to me does not mean I lack all skill in writing.  It means I’m not one of those witty bloggers… and that’s it.  Duh.

So anyway, back to the safety net, I’m ready to burn it.  Yup, for real this time.    *takes a deep breath* 

I’m setting deadlines and goals, like normal people do, and I’m going to take the plunge.  30 minutes everyday devoted to nothing more than editing and writing.  I’m going to actually tell people I’m doing this, add some accountability to it, allow my self to want it and the such.  Yup.  Right after I finish highlighting things in my seed catalog for next year’s garden and finish knitting that blanket, THEN I’ll try to get all down to business.

Wish me luck!


~Moments of Thanks~

Quite honestly I have been out of words since I wrapped up this year’s NaNoWriMo challenge.  So when my friend trapped me into reading her blog that ended with a question, I decided to hijack the whole thing and make it into today’s post.  You can check out what she said here.

She asked,  So now my question is, can you name a few things you’re grateful for?  Things/People/Thoughts you can bring up on a dark day of yours that will do you some cheering up?  Pipe in people? 

But she also yelled at us to STFU in her title… confuses me she does.  *snort*  But I’m going to give it a shot anyway…

I’m thankful, grateful for those moments.  You know the ones, the moments that make your eyes pop wide open, and make your heart melt into putty.  Those are the ones.  Moments that for no reason change everything in your world, until you get too busy and you let go of them.

Moments when you’re broken down, crying to the skies, when the sun breaks through the clouds and once again you can stand up, still sad, but better. 

The moments when you look at your children and they just give you that look back.  That look that says you’re doing things right, and that they will forever love you no matter what.

Those moments when the world stops, and you feel deeply loved.  Even when you know that person always loves you, but every once in a while they reconfirmed it, without doing a single thing.

I’m thankful for those quiet moments I get outside, alone, lost in my own thoughts.  Where my mind quiets and rests.

And there’s the times when a friend pops out of nowhere and calls, or writes, or sends a card, always when you needed it the most, always when you thought you were alone, always without knowing how much you needed it.

I’m grateful for those times when your heart is finally at peace and you realize that even if you lost every material possession that you owned and that things would still be okay.  It’s when you realize things are nothing more than that, things. 

I find thanks in those moments that make no sense.  Those times when you’re hurt, abandoned, lost.  In those moments is when you find your true faith, your true heart, your true self.  Those are the times that we learn, grow and change.  That is when we’re shaped and molded. 


So how about you?