Category: Family

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No More Reading?

Take me now, Lucifer!

Fire and brimstone; ridiculous action movies; The Simpsons (both the tv show and the sisters); lazy lounging people; obesity; ignorance; the end of the world… Ok, you get the picture.

Yesterday I got a taste of boredom, YES, boredom. And it was awful. Please refer to my post on 10/16/10.

My son, Elliott, has a saying: “The best movies come from books, but the best books would make bad movies.” His theory is that the best literature is quiet, slow to reveal itself, and wholly absent of car chases.

I have a saying: “Read books.” But maybe I should amend it to: “Take care of your eyes so you can always read books.”

Yesterday, after working on my upcoming novel (The King Family) for five hours, I had my annual eye exam. (I still don’t need reading glasses. Thank you, Mom.) But they had to dilate my eyes, which left me unable to read for the rest of the afternoon. And, on top of that, there were NO good new movies out yesterday. (Surely you know by now we’re big movie buffs, my husband and I.) I was dumbstruck. Thank the digital gods that my husband had two episodes of Law & Order recorded for us to watch, otherwise who knows what we would have done… certainly nothing I could report here.

Perhaps the Boys Scouts said it best: “Be prepared; buy books on tape.”

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Vacationally Challenged

VACATIONALLY CHALLENGED
An Essay by Karolyn Sherwood

When my husband asked me, “How would you like to spend two months in paradise?”  I said, “Define ‘paradise.’”

It’s the second time around for both of us, married for six years now, and before I met him I didn’t think true love really existed. It does. However, when it comes to the perfect vacation, he likes to relax on a sandy beach; I like museums and theater and energy. Just the mention of remote villages, hot sun, and high tide makes me start looking around for sunscreen and Free Wireless Internet signs. And sympathy. Few people understand my reluctance to leave our home in the upper-Midwest for two of the coldest months on record for a villa in Costa Rica that overlooks the Pacific Ocean.

My husband is older and wiser and retired. Together we have seven children, ages 19 to 29; now official empty-nesters. With record snowfalls across the country, it is the perfect winter to get away. And, being a writer, I can, theoretically and according to The Dream, write from anywhere. Writers long for the day they can sit perched on a mountain top, overlooking the deep blue sea as I am doing now. So, one might ask, what’s the problem? Go, relax, enjoy!

The problem is I don’t want to relax. I’m a city girl with goals and an agenda. Scratching through each entry on my To Do list makes me happy. And what about family, friends, kids? I will not have access to my omnipresent iPhone, my ancillary brain. Even if we can Skype occasionally, it won’t be the same. Writing, reading, working out, watching the stock market, lunching with friends…. I love my life no matter what the temperature is outside my door. Now I’m supposed to find time to learn Spanish and explore a new country?

My husband has a different perspective on life. He turns sixty this year, a milestone he never thought he’d see. Twenty years ago he was diagnosed with a rare, congenital disease. In 1995, he quit working and eventually sold his company. Now, each day is a gift he opens at sunrise, never to be taken for granted. Not a day goes by that we don’t laugh. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t tell me how much he loves me. Going to a third-world country for two months is the least I can do for him.

I admit I’m a bit high-strung. (Play laugh track from kids here.) It’s not that I want to be high maintenance, I just like what I like. And I don’t know how to say, “Just cover the grays,” in Spanish. So in my extra-large suitcase, I’ve packed a few sundresses, shorts, t-shirts, swimsuits, and flip-flops. No heals, no Prada, no diamonds. Instead, I have a box of hair color, sixty days worth of vitamins, basic pharmaceutical supplies, face products (Please, no wrinkles!), and a full-size Pilates mat with five workout videos. Four thick novels, two Spanish phrasebooks, my iPod, camera, various chargers, and most importantly, my laptop, and I am prepared for paradise.

When we board the plane, it’s two degrees outside, twelve below with wind chill; ninety-five and sunny when we land. My husband stretches his body, soaking in the warmth. I break out in a cold sweat, panicked that I might have forgotten my clinical-strength deodorant. It’s late, I’m tired, and culture shock begins swirling through my body like venom. Just as we find our car, a lizard slithers by my feet, and I jump onto the hood. The look in his eyes says, “Ah, you’ve arrived.”

The first week is a sneak peak into my personal hell: sunburn, heat rash, dripping sweat, three showers a day, dusty winds blowing hot air through the house. Tarantulas, scorpions, geckos, monkeys, and vultures surround our villa, and a few rudely invite themselves inside. Carved into the steep cliffs, the streets are so rough they put the average roller-coaster to shame. My husband thinks it’s heaven.

By the third week, I learn to navigate the potholes and that the geckos that scamper through my bedroom, down the walls, and into our kitchen are really our friends; they eat bugs, I’m told. I try to smile so they don’t realize I am more afraid of them than they are of me, the Giant. I take tree-top tours and natural mud baths and devour juicy ceviche sprinkled with just-picked mango while watching salmon-colored sunsets.

After a month, I finally start to relax. Once, I actually fell asleep on the beach for almost ten minutes. My new challenge is remembering what day of the week it is. (If it weren’t for my pill box, I’d really be lost.) Thankfully, this is the twenty-first century and our villa has Internet access so I’ve been able to keep in touch and even accomplish a few goals. I’ve learned to focus like never before. “Efficient work, efficient relaxation” is my new motto, leaving me more time to spend with my happy husband.

And so we sit on our balcony, enjoying the evening breeze, drinking club soda, suddenly the final week of our stay. My husband is contemplating life. I’m not quite that far down on my To Do list yet, but the good news is, having the perfect marriage means I get to choose the next vacation.  Paris anyone?

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Man, I crack myself up!

Who, exactly, am I kidding when I say I’m going to blog more often about fathers, sons, and brothers?

Pretty soon I’m gonna get in trouble. Someone’s gonna tell me I need to take this whole writing thing a little more seriously, or else I’ll lose my blogging privileges. Ok, I tried, but I’m sorry, I can’t carry on a deep, serious, heavily researched blog about interactions of the human male. Just can’t do it.

Here is all we need to know about men:
They want sex.
They want their woman to respect them.
They want to be fed and cared for when they’re sick.
They want the one person with whom to share their secrets, the one who’ll tell them (repeatedly) they’re great, to never use their insecurities against them.
They want more sex.

And if you do all of the above, they’ll forgive a lot of little stuff, like shopping.

Can we move on now?

I have written two novels with a male protagonist, On A Midnight Street and The King Family. The best and only way I can prove that I know a little something about the male half of the human population, is to get published and let you be the judge from my novels. I promise you all, I’m working on that the best I can. I’m writing six days a week, editing out all the superfluous words, and when it’s sleek and shiny, I will submit my work to the appropriate agents. When the stars align, you’ll be able to find my books at your local Barnes & Noble.

Here’s the only secret most men will never share (don’t ask how I know this). They’re just as sensitive as us women, they just won’t admit it. So in case I’ve hurt anyone’s feelings, I’m truly sorry. “You’re great. Really, you’re the best. You’re so strong and smart and rich. I mean it! I can tell it’s true because you’re reading my blog.”

Fortunately, my husband really is the best, so this stuff is easy for me.

Ok, back to having fun! Stay tuned to see what ridiculous things I fixate on tomorrow.

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Honor and Onward

As I write this, I am anxiously awaiting two phone calls. My step-daughter is in the hospital in labor about to give birth to our first grandchild. That’s the good news. I am also preparing myself to hear sad news about a dear lady as she fights a malignant brain tumor. One birth and one death. The circle of life.

This wonderful woman is the mother of my closest childhood friend. She was nearly as important to me as my own mother during my formative years. As active as anyone I’ve ever known, she and her husband traveled the world over, and she could tell tales from each trip. A gardener, a cook, an intellectualist, a mother, she was marvelous at all she did. Now she’s fighting a battle she can’t win.

In my current novel, The King Family, one of my characters, a wise old woman named Rose, speaks to her nephew about grief as she counsels him over the loss of a loved one. “You will miss her your whole life, but you can’t miss your whole life because of her,” she tells him. “Honor and onward, that’s my motto.”

News of the horrendous earthquake and subsequent tsunami in Japan is everywhere today. I cannot fathom the loss and destruction the Japanese people are experiencing as I sit in my home and write. Many of them won’t be able to put their lives on hold to grieve for their loved ones. They have no choice but to rebuild their homes and businesses as they mourn the loss of husbands, wives, and children. They must push on even as they cry. Honor and onward.

Dave Matthews has a song, “Funny the Way It Is”, that talks about the ironies in life. One line says: Funny the way it is, not right or wrong/ On a soldier’s last breath, his baby’s being born. Not funny at all, if you think about it, but of course that’s the point. It’s the circle of life.

As I anticipate the birth of our newest family member, I am saddened by the impending loss of an amazing woman whom I was lucky to have known. I will honor her always, and move onward to love my grandchild the way she loved me.

Honor and onward.

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James Patterson, Save Me!

It’s easy to see how a writer can get distracted. “They” say that a writer dreams of the day he or she can escape to a mountain top to gaze over the ocean to write his/her masterpiece. Well, hello? Who among us could be plopped down in a foreign country and NOT want to explore a bit? It’s a different world here in Costa Rica, and there’s so much to see and do. Put me in a dark quiet room someplace boring! (I did not mention Des Moines.) (Jail wouldn’t be so bad if I had Internet access.)

I’ve been happily ensconced in my “office away from home” writing away. The first draft of my novel, The King Family, is now over 55,000 words (nearly 200 pages). On a good day, I write 1500 words, on a really good day I write maybe 2500. On a bad day, I take out most of those. At this rate, I could be finished with a strong first draft by the time we go home to friends, family, and freezing rain. (Please, no freezing rain in April!)

So what’s the problem? And why the hell would you ask James Patterson for help?
Excellent questions.

I have a good friend, Larassa Kabel. She’s my John Galt. Larassa is an extremely talented artist, one whom I formerly represented. (www.larassakabel.com) We usually meet once a month for coffee, and she alone can recharge me when I begin to flounder in my long trek toward “published author.” If only I were as good at writing as she is at painting! Anyway, she once told me that the really good inspirations we creative types get are the ones that you can’t get out of your head no matter what else is going on in life. That’s how an artist/writer knows what project to devote their precious time to. So, I have one of those.

Last June, my husband and I went to NYC to visit two of my sons, Ryan and Elliott. One night, a friend of Ryan’s joined us, Ariel. Ariel looks a lot like my son Ryan except for one distinction. I sat across the table from these young men and thought they looked like twins, with this one exception. I jotted a note to myself about my observation and thought ‘no big deal’. Ok, so that little note has become the idea that won’t leave my head! Those four words have germinated into a novel that begs to be written, complete with characters, names, places, crises, multiple crises. Now what am I supposed to do?! Whatever happened to writer’s block? I need to write faster! I need James Patterson to be my co-author!
(ooh,ooh, just kidding)

Anyway, that’s my life in a few sentences (450 words). That, and my husband and I just bought one way tickets to Panamá. We fully intend to come back, but…

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A Girl’s Gotta Eat (aka: There Goes My Last Excuse)

I’m not boring. Truly, I’m not. The problem for you faithful readers is that I’ve realized this is more than a diary. If you people with terribly busy lives who have deemed my blog important enough to squeeze in to your allotted 1,440 minutes per day remember, which I’m sure you do, I realized last Thanksgiving that REAL people are REALLY out there reading this. (Hi Chuck and Betty!)

Life ain’t always pretty, and I have to be careful about what I casually throw out there.

I mean, it’s not like I’ve been arrested or anything else humiliating, but come on, life is messy, and personal. Right? So, somedays, the really interesting days, when I’m aching to blog about Life’s Lessons, I don’t. Other days, okay, most days I probably am boring. The days when I sit at my computer, never breath fresh air unless I walk my dog (and that’s not very fresh), those are the days I create my best work, but it goes into my novels and you can’t share the excitement until my work is published. (Soon, I hope!)

But back to the subject at hand. My oldest son is 26-years old now. I don’t consider myself a great cook by any means, but for MORE THAN 26 YEARS, it’s been my “duty/job/responsibility” to cook dinner. I was married once for 15 years, single for 5, married again for 7 years now (Hi, honey!), and I’ve done almost all the cooking for those 26+ years. AND I DON’T EVEN LIKE TO COOK!

Some of you out there must think I’m crazy. I shoulda…. Yeah, well, I didn’t. Granted, my husband and I now eat out 2-3x/week (yea!) but the other 4 or 5 nights, I cook. I’ve always done it cuz I’ve always done it.

Well, this past New Year’s Eve, my husband and I were sitting at home having a nice, quiet, peaceful, non-drunken dinner (Scallops with caramel-orange sauce, asparagus, and quinoa), and we were talking about our goals for 2011. I said, no surprise here, that I wanted to write more and be published. I must have also mentioned something about the time I spend cooking… and know what my incredible husband said to me? He told me that I don’t have to cook. This was over a nice dinner; it’s not like I served him mac ‘n cheese or anything. I’ve kinda gotten good at this over the years. He said that as long as the two of us can sit and relax and talk, he doesn’t care where the food comes from (takeout anyone?) or even if it’s frozen pizza. Who knew?

I know, I know, there are MILLIONS of men and women out there right now screaming, Girl! Wake up! Why have you been cooking all these years if you didn’t want to! It’s about time!

So, I’m not boring, just slow. I cook because my family needs to eat. I can, therefore I do. Kinda like putting together the furniture for my youngest son’s first apartment last August. (kindly see the post dated Aug. 24, 2010)

HOWEVER, even after my husband said I don’t NEED to cook a nice meal, the following night, I made Braised Cardamon-Curry Lamb Stew with a hearty loaf of focaccia bread. Tonight was broiled beef tenderloin, roasted squash with brown sugar, and chipotle-spiced corn.

Turns out, I WANT to eat good food at home. I don’t want cereal for dinner.

There goes my last excuse for not writing more.

Now, what’s for dessert?

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No, No! Not December Again!

I’ve been writing now for just over three years. Not straight of course, I do eat, sleep, read and occasionally go to a movie or a party. This is my fourth December as a writer… funny how that works, but I digress.

With all the inherently good things that happen in December, there’s one thing I hate. I hardly get any time to write. I know, I know, it’s my own damn fault. I can’t say no. In addition to the aforementioned distractions, there’s Christmas shopping, 100 Christmas cards to send out, traveling to see family, holiday open houses, etc., etc., etc. My head is spinning with all I WANT to do, and things I NEED to do. Problem is, I confuse the two.

I am madly obsessed with writing. I’d like to be in a cave somewhere (as long as it has wireless internet service), and not come out for weeks. (Do they have caves in Costa Rica?) If I could hook up an IV for nutrients, I wouldn’t even stop to eat.

My people need me. Danny King, protagonist of Midnight Street and also The King Family, Lily Frances and Danny’s extended family…. They’re lost without me! And don’t forget Carl, Danny’s dog. Have you ever seen a cuter fuzz ball? I’m all they’ve got! Any time I’m not writing, these people start whispering my name and talking to me in the shower. Then my anxiety level starts to climb… I either need better time management skills or I need a doctor.

Okay, full disclosure: Yesterday I got an email from an agent in New York. She gave me some very good advice on my novel, Midnight Street, only she kept calling it Who Is Lily White?. (She obviously isn’t reading my blog.) (That title was SO last week.) Anyway, her advice, albeit buried deep in a rejection letter, sent me on a tail spin. What these agents don’t realize is that with every rejection letter, I get more and more determined to prove to them that I will become a famous, published author.

Anyway, I’ve got work to do. Please excuse me while I hook up my IV.

Hasta luego. (Practicando mi español para Costa Rica.)

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A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Wedding

Ok, finally, here’s the news I’ve been promising you:

I have a fan club.

What? Not what you were expecting? Well, it’s pretty darn swell if you ask me! This is as incredible as the first check I will get from my agent. Symbolically speaking, of course.

I write and I write and I write, usually on my manuscript for The King Family, occasionally on this blog, which until last Friday night, felt like a diary. Once in a while, one of my friends would mention they’d read a page or two, but that usually only happened the day after I paid the skywriters to blast it over Des Moines, or when I run an extensive radio campaign begging people to visit my web site. But Friday night, at the rehearsal dinner for my step-daughter’s wedding, I met two people, two wonderful, intelligent, beautiful people who READ MY BLOG all on their own! Seriously, they’ve read every entry. And memorized it. And they recited many passages. And they asked pertinent questions, about me and my family and my novels.

It was freaky in the most flattering way.

I have thus anointed Chuck and Betty Stewart, the new co-presidents of my fan club. Chuck and Betty are the aunt and uncle for my step-daughter’s new husband. (I don’t think this qualifies as nepotism.) If I repeated all the sweet, complimentary things they said to me about me and my writing, these words would turn as red as Chuck’s sweater because I’d be blushing so hard. And, you wouldn’t believe me anyway. Their comments were like my mom’s comments on steroids. I’m still trying to figure out if my husband paid them to show up and boost my ego… but after paying for his daughter’s wedding, I don’t think they would have gotten very much money out of him.

Sitting at my desk in my cozy writing studio in Des Moines, Iowa, it takes a lot of self-confidence to keep writing and writing even though I haven’t gotten paid one copper cent. Yet. The good news is, I LOVE writing, every part of it. I do this for myself. I know I’ll be published, it’s only a matter of time, but it sure does feel good to get the kind words of encouragement that Chuck and Betty showered on me.

I have recently received a few other bits of encouragement, but I’m afraid if I share them I’ll jinx myself. Let’s just say, I’m getting enough positive reinforcement to propel my forward motion. That, plus, my husband and I will be going back to Costa Rica after the new year for ten weeks. Last year, I thought it was going to be hell. Now I know, it’s heaven. I hope to finish The King Family while I’m there, maybe even start on The Blue-Eyed Twin, my next book! (I am SO excited for The Blue-Eyed Twin!)

To Chuck and Betty: Thank you again. The good news about being co-presidents of my fan club is there’s no work involved. The bad news is there’s also no salary.

To the rest of you: If you hope to be next year’s president, you’ve got some stiff competition!

Hasta luego!

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A World Without Books?!

Take me now, Lucifer!

Fire and brimstone, ridiculous action movies, The Simpsons (the tv show and the sisters), lazy lounging people, ignorance, the end of the world… Ok, you get the picture.

Yesterday I got a taste of boredom, YES, boredom. And it was awful. Please refer to my blog post on 10/16.

My son, Elliott, left, has a saying: “The best movies come from books, but the best books would make bad movies.” His theory is that the best literature is quiet, slow to reveal itself, and wholly absent of car chases.

I have a saying: “Read books.” But maybe I should amend it to: “Take care of your eyes so you can always read books.”

Yesterday, after working on my upcoming novel (Left On Blue) for five hours, I had my annual eye exam. (I still don’t need reading glasses. Thank you, mom.) But they had to dilate my eyes, which left me unable to read for the rest of the afternoon. And, on top of that, there were NO good new movies out yesterday. (Surely you know by now we’re big movie buffs, my husband and I.) I was dumbstruck. Thank the digital gods that my husband had two episodes of Law & Order recorded for us to watch, otherwise who knows what we would have done… certainly nothing I could report here.

Perhaps the Boys Scouts said it best: “Be prepared; buy books on tape.”

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Never Tell Me You’re Bored

Raising four boys, born less than six years apart, left very little time for boredom. At least for me. Every so often, one of my young sons would come to me with that pitiful whine, “Mommy, I’m bored.” I quickly constructed a response… “Good, because I need someone to sweep out the garage.” That cured their boredom! You’ve never seen kids run the other way so fast.

Bored? Are you kidding me? Who has time to be bored? As you know from my last blog entry, I have many obsessions. My biggest complaint in life (yes, I know this makes me one lucky lady) is that I don’t have enough hours in a day to tackle all the books/activities/obsessions in my life. I’ve realized that everyone of us on this planet has the same number of minutes each day, and miraculously, some people seem to get so damn much accomplished (Martha Stewart, I’m talking ’bout you), and others…well not so much. We ALL have time for what’s important to us, e.g. facebook, watching sitcoms, or writing a prize winning novel.

But now I have a new obsession: French cooking.

My husband took me to Paris for my 48th birthday (where I took the lousy photo of this beautiful Modigliani painting). We had a fabulous time, and ate the most delicious food. I’m not much of a cook, but I am newly inspired to give Soupe à l’Oignon Gratinée (French onion soup) a shot, and Ragout de Champignons (mushroom ragout), and Croque-Monsieur sandwiches, and Confit avec Pruneaux et Pommes (Duck confit with prunes and apples). I think you get the picture. How am I going to squeeze this in with writing my novel Left on Blue? Ah, there’s the rub.

Time management. That’s the answer.

And motivation!

Look at this guy, for example. Is he the greatest real-life character you’ve ever seen? I have no idea who he is, or what his life is like, or what he’s listening to, or what’s in his backpack. Does he speak French or English or maybe German? He was at a cafe where my husband and I stopped for lunch after touring the Louvre. This guy makes me want to write and write and write.

And, so, dear friends, I’m back to my novel. Looks like I’m going to have to sleep less (that’s Martha Stewart’s solution) to squeeze everything in. I hope my neighbors understand when I start caramelizing onions in the middle of the night.

I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.