Graduation Day

And there was MUCH rejoicing. MUCH MUCH MUCH MUCHO rejoicing. We're talking heavenly choirs WITH the heavenly orchestra.
Oh yeah, it's big.
I don't know how many of you ever knew how trying this experience has been for me, and I won't go into any details because IT'S OVER!!!! and it doesn't really matter at this point, but it was been one of the most difficult things I have ever had to go through for a number of reasons. I had just failed my athletic training exam [a few times] and wasn't even sure what I was supposed to be doing with my life, but this seemed like a good option so I went with it. Needless to say, I have had some really interesting experiences with fellow students and teachers and other people that I came in contact with [if this were a private blog, you would know a WHOLE lot more...let's just say it was immediately evident that I weren't in Utah no more, Toto...]. I can safely say that I am so happy and relieved to be able to put all of this behind me and move on to my own career, which looks to be promising already.
To answer those questions that I know are burning in your minds:
1) No, we aren't wearing cap and gowns
2) No, we aren't marching to Pomp and Circumstance
3) Yes, it is in a hotel conference room
4) Yes, most of the graduates will be drunk before, during, and/or after the ceremony
5) Oh yeah, and some of the teachers, too
6) No, I am not going to graduation parties. I prefer to spend time with my own moderately sane family, thanks
7) State boards are in a week and a half in Columbus and should be really interesting, as I hear the program final I just took is harder
8) National Boards come sometime soon, I won't know until I actually get my application in, which I can't do until tomorrow
9) Yes, I am moving back to Lafayette, IN soon after state boards and living with my parents until I can afford a place of my own
10) No, you cannot have a free massage. Now that I'm done, you all must pay......
[If, however, you wish to pay in means other than US currency, we might be able to work out something...]

So, after I finish work today, I am GRADUATING....AGAIN! Hopefully, this is the last time, but I really cannot promise that at this point. I'll keep you all informed as things develop.

Oh, and assuming something rather hilarious or embarrassing or noteworthy or shocking happens tonight (which it might), you'll all hear about it, I promise. [Bites lip in apprehension] I really need to get out of this place. Toodles!

A swift kick in the pants

There is something so very grating and relieving [yes, quite at the same time] about someone shoving something into your face and then, after you've seen it, smacking you over the head with it. In my case, it was a few people from unexpected quarters. One was my sister, who never fails to listen to my tearful pathetic completely emotional breakdowns and then making me laugh about how pathetic my stupid emotional breakdown is, but only after she has expressed concern for my imgained situation and vowed to fix it herself. Who is the older sister? I forget more and more every day.
Then I watched a movie that I really REALLY wanted to see when it was in the theater, but I missed it, which really made me angry, as it was filmed in London the same time I was there. But, during my aforementioned pathetic and emotional breakdown, I bought it since it was just released. Last Chance Harvey. I watched it today and boy oh boy did I relate, in my own self-pitying way to Dustin Hoffman's character. But by the end of the movie, I found that I was quite a different character. I've always wanted to be Emma Thompson, and for the first time, I finally was. I saw myself in her in so many ways, and in all of the wrong ones. And I realized that my breakdown, which was brought on by NUMEROUS things, I'll have everyone know, was really just me forgetting that with all of the expectations and plans and worries and fears, I also have to live. I have forgotten to live.
Then there was the unexpected twist of hearing from some friends that literally would not let me be the pitiful excuse for a person I've tried to be. Bless you, friends, for slapping me with reason and belief and helping me to see the light again. What was the straw that broke the camel's back is now the layer of hay and bits covering the muddy patch that I step over on my way to other things.
And while I may have my pathetic breakdowns, as I surely will, I know that I will always have people to turn to who will buoy me up and help me to stand so that I can learn to walk again.
Now I have to go write to Emma Thompson, as I don't believe she follows this blog on a regular basis...

Hmmm...

Today I recieved the scores from a romance writing contest that I entered back in November in which I did not final. Looking at the scores now, I can see that I was not even close. Here's how it worked: I sent five partial manuscripts to the contest and one full manuscript, which would only be read if I finaled. Five judges would rate the partial [along with the synopsis] from 1 to 10, with 10 being 'totally amazing, ought to be published now' and 1 being 'why are you a writer, not good enough for toilet seat covers'. Now granted, the ratings are subjective according to the judge's taste, but in general, they are a standard to go by.
My scores: 2.5, 7, 5.5, 5.5, and 8.
What does that mean? No clue.
But here's my thing: I love this story. It's my second one and in my opinion, it was the best written one that I'd done. I actually thought that I might have a chance at this, but, silly Becky, nobody in today's world wants to read sentimental drivel that has no pointless fornication scene depicted in descriptive, unmistakeable terms. Why should you think that something so PG would be something people would like?
Well...because it is. For every five people that love the racey stuff, I seem to find one that doesn't. Too bad none of those people are the ones who can get me published, but whatever. I won't deny that it was a brutal crushing blow to see that 2.5 score. I thought there had been some mistake, that couldn't be MY book they were talking about on here. My book is funny and witty and makes you happy and something I am terribly proud of. Kubler Ross Stage of Grief 1: Denial. Check.
Then I thought all sorts of evil, mean, vicious thoughts about that judge who gave me that score. What does she know, she wouldn't know a good romance if it slapped her in the face with a 2 by 4. I didn't want her to read my book anyway. Stage of grief 2: Anger. Check.
Then I thought that she must have misunderstood it. Maybe I should contact the people at the contest and explain why I wrote the way I did, why it was so clean in such a dirty world, then surely she would get it. Stage 3: Bargaining. Got it. [this stage came and went really fast...]
Then I was depressed. I admit it. I cried. Course, I am a crier, so this isn't such a big deal. But I was really hurt. If I was this awful, why was I doing this? Nobody had wanted my manuscript before, why would they now? People want hotter and flashier, there's no place for clean, innocent, romantic fun. Stage 4: Depression. Oh yeah.
Still waiting to get to the next stage. It's Acceptance. Yeah...dunno if that will come for a bit. But I am starting to kick myself for caring so much about what that one judge thought. I mean, I couldn't TOTALLY suck if I got a 7 and an 8, right? Yeah, the 5.5s are kinda "well, it wasn't bad, but it wasn't Nora Roberts", but two people liked it. That's more than my average mentioned above, right? And the sad thing is that there are no comments attached with this report, so I have no idea WHY anyone thought the way they did. Maybe if I did then I could accept all of this easier. But who can I find to help me figure out what to do? I need someone who not only knows what they are talking about and can get me where I want to go, but they have to believe in me and in my stories. Dunno where I'll find one of those.
But for someone like me who is a hopeless romantic, I'm just left wondering what their idea of romance is if mine is just not good enough.

Ode to the Birthday Boy-Man

Twas on this day a mere 26 years ago [which I think is one score and six years....] that my big brother came into the world. He was a month early, the little booger, but he was certainly loud enough to be on time. So I've heard, at least. But from what we, the family historians, can gather, he was also a rather pleasant child. Why, even his own parents, years after the boy had left the house and moved onto living his own, upon seeing a family documentary were heard to say, "He was such a great kid."

And it is assumed his sisters will agree. Naturally, he was the perfect example. What do you do on a sunny day? Play catch, play roller hockey, run around the house until your legs collapse. What do you do when you are bored and watching television? Sit on top of the nearest sibling while jabbing a finger into their armpit. What do you do when a sibling annoys you? Take the waistband of their pants and stretch them to the top of their earlobes. Necessities of life that might not have ever been bestowed upon the poor girls.

But besides the necessities, there was also the little things that made life better. For instance, where is the best place to hide a beanie baby? Under the toilet seat. What is the best way to eat chocolate chip cookie dough? With your finger after Mom isn't looking. What is the very first word a baby should learn to say? Hiking, undoubtedly.

Honestly, where would this world be without little red shorts and ghostbuster guns and inane questions about cameras and wrestling in the front room and barf dip and YAHR and throwing nacho doritos onto perfectly good peanut butter sandwiches??? I myself am shuddering at the thought.

And now he is a man. (Well, not just now, he has been one for some time, but you get the point.) One with his own family, a wife and a child on the way...and another generation will learn what we have been blessed to: that youth is all in the mind, and fun is for all ages.

And in my vast experience, one is never too old for birthdays or too young to reminisce.

So, a happy blessed birthday to you, dear older brother who has given us so much. May your underwear always be clean and your sister never push you ever again.

Such a happy child...

He still won't share food willingly...

The famous Ghost Buster gun...his favorite.

Terrors of the cul-de-sac...

Favorite vacation ever.

Dad always said to be mature...too bad we never thought to listen.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHRIS! LOVE YOU LOTS!!!

And for those of you who do not understand this post, that will be your loss.

Ahh, Fridays....

Actually, Fridays aren't all that special anymore. I don't have school, it's true, but most days of the week I don't have school. And I say a very big prayer of thanks for that one.
But since I usually have something on Saturdays, it's really not a huge break. And if I don't have something on Saturday, chances are I am working. They didn't always schedule me for the weekends. In fact, they rarely did. But something must have happened in the inner cogworks of M******* Inc, because since February, every single Saturday that I have not requested off, they have me work. And not just my usual part time shift. It's always a huge flippin long shift at the most inconvenient time. For example, last week: I worked my usual MWF with Friday being an absurdly long 7 hour shift (typically, they don't schedule me for more than 6 as I am part time and working 3 days a week for 6 hours keeps me under 20) and then that Saturday they had me on from 10:30 t0 7. Yes, 10:30 am to 7 pm. At a craft store. 8 hours and 30 minutes. Oh, fine...it was only an 8 hour shift because I have to clock out for my 30 minute lunch. But besides that, it was the longest shift they could possibly give me. NO ONE can work more than 8 hours (managers excluded, they have no choice). Someone actually laughed at me. "You're coming in right from breakfast and you won't leave until after dinner!" Yes, haha, very funny....sorry, was that my hand getting in the way of your face? How rude, bad hand. It was the single longest day of my life, especially since I had only left that place 13 hours before coming in again.
Anyway, the point: Friday is just another day usually.
The only time it is actually FRIDAY is when I have my OVRWA meetings. Then it's PARTY DAY!!! because I know that I get to focus on writing that weekend. Ah, bliss...
Like tomorrow. I have a meeting with a certain editor from a certain publishing company and I, along with the rest of the chapter sign ups, get 3 minutes to pitch my novel to her and convince her that I am SOOOOOO work taking a chance on.
Am I nervous?
~
-
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Yes.

I am terrified.
So what am I going to do? I'm going upstairs to watch a movie to forget about it for 3 hours before I come back down here and FREAK OUT at Penelope (my laptop...yes, I named it. Don't judge me.) until I fall asleep at the desk and probably miss the appointment because I over slept.
Ahh, Fridays....