Before I was published, I had so much fun writing.  It was the excitement of it all, the hope for a contract, the endless possibilities of what could happen if I applied myself.  The sky was the limit, the options boundless.

Submitting and actually getting into the biz can be a sobering experience.  What you thought was a perfect manuscript is returned to you with thousands of red marks from your editor.  You finally get your first honest feedback about your story that isn’t endless praise from friends and family.  And sometimes, those reviewers, especially the snarky ones, can really hurt a blossoming author.  Well, her feelings, anyway.  It’s a hard lesson to learn, to disconnect your personal feelings about your creation from the review.

But once you get accepted at a publishing house, you again feel invincible, and you write more and more.

Until, that is, writing begins to feel like a chore.

At some point, after a few years of promotion and chats and public appearances, your writing feels more like a job and less like a hobby.  You do a lot of work that doesn’t necessarily involve WRITING.  Promotion is a necessary evil to sell books, and no one is going to do it for you (unless you throw money at a publicist).

But there’s the rub.  Unless you’ve got goo-gobs of books and a massive following, you aren’t going to make much money in ePublishing.  But those popular authors did much more than promote their asses off, they wrote kick-ass stories.

Endless promotion, minimal $$ for maximum effort, and tiring appearances where nobody shows is quite wearing on an author.  Believe me, I know.  After I had my baby Sophie, I seriously asked myself The Question.

Do I want to continue to be an author?

I had one more book contracted (KINDRED).  I’d promised my fans a fourth book to the BEAST series.  But after that?  Was it worth it anymore?  I couldn’t find time to write.  One of my daughters is struggling in school, so I had to rethink how to teach her.  On top of it all was a newborn baby.  A messy house.  Endless ironing.  Writing was just another “chore”.

But where had that spark gone?  Where was the excitement?  The almost “It’s Christmas Morning!” mentality?  When did I lose that along the way and become a jaded, cynical author?

When I examined my true feelings behind my writing, I realized that must be why I couldn’t write a word for MONTHS.  I was tired of promotion.  Tired of piddly royalty checks.  Tired of booksignings where I’m signing books for fellow authors at the signing with me.  Where were these elusive “readers”?  Sure, authors are avid readers too, I should have been thankful.  But I wasn’t.

My pride had gotten in the way, you see.  I felt I “deserved” more.

Once I had that epiphany, I realized why I wasn’t writing.  Why I no longer had the passion.  I’d allowed my pride to get in the way of my imagination, thus blocking my muse from writing anything more than a blog post, a text, or a tweet.  THIS is the reason certain authors turn into Divas.  The mentality that the world owes them for writing their stories.

Oh my Gawd, was I turning into a DIVA?!?  Not exactly, but I guess I was on that path.  So I knocked some sense into myself.

For my entire life, I’ve written stories for my own entertainment.  They were my means of escape, of traveling to exotic locales, of meeting new, exciting people.  Being in control of what happens to my characters was thrilling for me, because I knew no matter what I threw at them, they’d eventually have a happily ever after.  The emotion and the angst, THAT’S what I loved the most, not the promotion, not the appearances, not even the royalties.  If you’re good enough, your story can transcend all that material bullshit (pardon my French).

When I realized that wisdom, I let go of my pride and allowed my muse to go where she would, without inhibitions, without expectations.  Since I’ve “released” her, I’ve written two stories, finished one that had been eluding me for two years, and started another, of which I’m already fast on my way to page 100, and this all within a SIX WEEK timeframe.  For those keeping score, that’s two novellas, one short story, and one full-length novel.  I’ve scheduled in my writing time during the day, after chores and school, between 3pm and dinnertime.  Nowadays, I get frustrated when I’ve got to stop my train of thought to feed the family.  I’m constantly plotting, bouncing ideas off my crit partner (Donica Covey) and finally getting into that groove I used to be in when the “world” was new.

Writing is fun again.  Why?  Because it isn’t about the hype, the fame, the money, or the entitlement.  It’s about the STORY, something Samhain Publishing* knew all along. 

~~Becka

*”It’s All About The Story” is Samhain’s company motto. 

Five years ago, I wasn’t published, but I’d submitted a novel for publication at a small, online Inspirational publisher, By Grace Publishing (who is now defunct).  In October of 2004, I signed my very first contract, and by January of 2005, I was a published author.

Why am I telling you this?

Because I’d just had a distressing thought.  Five years ago, I had a goal, and that goal was to be with New York by now.  Everyone has those “in five years” hopes, and mine was to be with a New York publisher.  Well, here I am, still rockin’ the small publishers, not that there’s anything wrong with that.  I’ve made a name for myself, that much is true.  I’ve confused people by writing both mainstream and Inspies (back in the day).  I’ve since stopped writing those tender romances, and focused more on fantasy, westerns, and paranormals.

I have a fairly good reader base, at least, a few people beyond my immediate family.  I think most of my friends know I write books, but only a handful of my friends have read any of my books, and even then, none of them are avid fans.  Would I like them to be?  Well, sure, I suppose.  Perhaps that’s why I never talk about my writing much, because everyone I know in real life doesn’t have any more than a passing interest in what I do.

But I’m not here to cry you a river.  I’m reflecting on my five year goal, the one that hasn’t come to fruition.  So, I find myself taking stock, and asking myself what I really want with regards to writing.  I WANT to be with New York.  I WANT to KNOW my books are in stores without “hoping” I’ll randomly run into them if I’m lucky.  I want to get paid an equal compensation for the work I fricken’ put into this process.

However, does being a successful New York author jive with being a full-time mom and homeschooler of five children?  Can one woman “do it all?”

I have no idea.  But I have made a decision.  In TWENTY years from now, much less five, I don’t want to look back on my life and think, woulda, shoulda, coulda.  I don’t ever want to pass on a dream I’ve had for most of my life simply because it’s hard work, time consuming, or a little scary.  If I try and I fail, well, at least I gave it a go and I can give this small press thing all the attention I can throw at it.

Therefore, I’ve decided my next full length novel will be going to New York.  I’ll probably be sending it to an agent, as I want to write the way *I* write and see if they can fit it somewhere, rather than trying to adhere to a specific publishing house’s rules.  This process is going to take awhile, as it takes a few weeks for an agent to respond to a query, then it takes a few more weeks after they request a partial, then a few MORE weeks IF they request the full manuscript.  From there, they shop it around, which takes more weeks, and once it’s sold, it can take months before it’s actually published.  This is going to be a long process.

I’m going to give it a good two years.  I can write a book, submit it, and find out about publication within that time frame.  In FIVE years, I want to have more than one book in New York.

And in that TWENTY year scenario I mentioned above, I want to be able to look back and be thankful I decided to finally kick my ass in gear and get the lead out.  No  more excuses.  I’m ready for the big leagues.  Bring it on.

~~Becka

Yes, folks, if you’ve come here within the last like… month & 1/2, you’ve no doubt noticed the ugly dead space where my scrolly pics used to be.  For some reason, our webhost refreshed our info, but not those pics.  They’re still somewhere out there in cyberspace, but my DH needs to help me retrieve them to put them back.

Of course, I’ve poked him a couple of times already, so any further poking could be construed as “nagging”, and therefore would result in grumpy hubby.  LOL  They’ll come back when they come back, I suppose.  But I’m totally aware of the problem, so don’t worry.

I’ve never really “liked” this template much, but it worked in a pinch.  I might just see if I like something else.  I know what I have in mind, but I just need to find something that would work.  Ah well.  At least you can still find my books if you poke around here enough. 

~~Becka

I don’t know what it is with me, folks.  But just a few years ago, things were different.  I used to love the sage spectrum of green, and searched for earthy tones in my every day items, from clothing to purses to make-up, you name it.  But something happened to me that has made me stop and think for a moment, and ponder just what the heck changed.

I’m talking, of course, about my favorite color.

Ask me a few years ago, I would have said sage-y green, as I’ve stated above.  It’d been my favorite color for YEARS, since I was in school, at least.  But now, my color of choice is……wait for it…..

….pink.

Oh yeah, I know.  Honestly I do.

I remember going to my grandmother’s funeral and feeling guilty over a thought I had.  My mother had made mention the flowers were gorgeous because grandma’s favorite color was pink.  I thought to myself, “Eww.  Sorry, Grandma, but eww.”  Maybe it was the pink polyester pants she always wore that turned me off to the idea of pink, who knows.  But whatever the reason, I just remember that thought.

Now, a handful of years later, an evolution has occured.  Some kind of chemical imbalance has intoxicated my brain, because what I used to despise I now adore.  What once was forbidden is now sacred.

I love hot pink, cotton candy pink, light pink, dark pink, and even the lavender-y pink.  I go out of my way to find everything in pink now.  It sickens me, yet I still perservere.  To date, I have a pink purse, pink fleece jacket from Land’s End, pink gloves and hat (also from Land’s End to match the jacket), pink-lined wallet, a pink poncho, pink shirts, pink socks, pink nail polish, just ordered some pink make-up (very light pink with lavender tones as shadows), and find myself looking longingly at pink sapphire jewelry.  I’m almost to the point of asking the guy who makes my coffee at Dutch Brothers to give me the pink fricken’ straw.

I. Have. A. Problem.

What is the deal?  Seriously I have no clue.  A few years ago at my grandma’s funeral, I did have my three oldest girls, but even then I wasn’t into the pink.  Not even when we painted their room to be all perfectly princess-y.

You know what it is?  I think it was Sophie.  My love for all things pink evolved throughout my pregnancy with her.  She gave me….   Pink Pregnancy Poisoning.  I don’t think there’s a cure.  I haven’t been pregnant for months, yet my passion for pink persists.  (What is with all the alliteration?? *Okay, so I DID bust out the online Thesaurus, I admit.)

Now I do have to say I’m not a total pink whore.  No, there are some shades that are still of the devil.  Like that awful peachy pink.  Or neon pink.  (Neon pink and hot pink are not the same color, although they do walk a fine line – I like it bright but not loud – make sense?)

If I had to pick my favorite shade, I’d probably say the cotton candy pink which is a lighter shade than say throwing together some red and white.  But honestly, folks, it has become an obsession.  I’ve noticed it, my friends are starting to notice it, and my girls think it’s the most awesome thing Mommy loves “their color”.

Every time I look at something I literally have the thought, “Oh, that would be better with a splash of pink.”  I kid you not, I’ve thought about all kinds of fashion accessories from earrings to shoes.  Doesn’t have to be ALL pink, but just a bit.  A hint or a small part.  Maybe to bring something whimsical to it.  Heck, even this website has pink everywhere! 

I’m drowning in pink, folks.  And I don’t wanna be saved!

~~Becka, whose second favorite color is a light lavender

What happened to the sage-y green?!?

Waxing religious, folks, FYI.  Move along if you don’t want to hear it.

~*~*~

“Can God create a rock so heavy, He cannot lift it?”

I’m sure somewhere in your wanderings, you’ve heard this question before and even wondered how to answer it.  Athiests like to ask this question to trip up believers, as it’s a circular argument.  Either answer you give has a negative outcome.  If God *is* so powerful to create a rock so heavy He cannot lift it, then how can He be “God” if He cannot lift it?  And if it’s impossible for God to make a rock He cannot lift, then how can He be God if nothing is impossible for Him?

But the question itself is flawed.

From the outset, the question assumes God is governed by time and space.  If God IS God, then logic concludes He created time and space, yes?  Therefore He exists outside of time and space, and outside the realms of the question.

There’s a few things we know about God, or at least, a few things the Bible tells us about Him.  He is Spirit.  He is in three persons.  He is omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent.  This means He knows all, He is everywhere, and He is all powerful.  This makes sense, as a creator would know the ins and outs of his creation.  God is able to manipulate His creation, He knows everything about it, and is everywhere at every time.

Now, to even put God in the “human box” is flawed.  We, as humans, cannot fathom having three personalities in one Being.  We cannot fathom being everywhere at once, because we are physical, we are not Spirit.  And obviously, we don’t know everything.

While we were made in His image, He is not made in ours.  That means we are like Him, not the other way around.

So, within time and space, God could make a rock any size He wants; it would still be contained within time and space, and therefore, He would be able to manipulate it however He saw fit.  This does not violate the question and does not trap you with the “how could God create something bigger than Himself?” argument.

I believe that in the same way we cannot wrap our minds around the “three persons/omniscient/Spirit” aspects of God, we also cannot fathom God’s “size”.  Because He’s Spirit, He doesn’t have a physical body, aside from Jesus Christ.  This size issue is *still* measuring God by the time and space yardstick.  He is not a being like us, therefore, He cannot be measured in the same way we are.

So this question falls short of disproving God or His powers.  The question itself is in a box, if you will.

I suppose it’s possible God could create a rock outside of time and space.  However, “so heavy He couldn’t lift it” assumes gravity, and gravity is physics and physics is within the realms of time and space.  Once you begin putting “stipulations” on the question, then it becomes grasping at straws at that point, doesn’t it?

“Well, God is God, therefore He could create gravity outside of time and space…”

“To make a rock that big He’d have to create it outside of His creation…”

“To create it outside of His creation would have to be in another dimension…”

“But if He created it, it WOULD be a part of His creation, therefore He could manipulate it…”

When it breaks down into these crazy “but,but,but” stipulations, the question becomes absurd in and of itself.  It’s designed to trip up believers.  However, if you take the time to think about it, the question can also trip up the athiests.

Just a random pondering for the day.

~~Becka

If you’ve heard the phrase above, the title to this post, but don’t know where it comes from, here is the classic scene from Spinal Tap that will familiarize you with this particular piece of pop culture.

You see, I’ve posted this funny vid because I’ve been complaining lately. Complaining about my pain level ever since Sophie dropped. Sure, I’ve had to waddle around, but it’s just been within the past couple of days that my pain level has gone “up to 11″.

Usually in my OB visits, they ask me if I’m having any pain and I’ve been telling them my pelvic pain is about an 8 at it’s worst, which is usually at night. When I get up to go to the bathroom or roll over in bed it’s the worst. But during the day, it’s more annoying than anything, probably a 4 or 5.

Well, Thursday, I went in to the doctor for my twice-weekly baby monitor check-up (where they hook me up to the monitor that records baby’s heartbeat for about 20 minutes) and my regular doc wasn’t in, she was at a conference in Las Vegas. Okay, my appointment was with another doctor, but SHE was out due to one of her own patients who’d gone into labor that day. So I was seen by yet another doctor, who seemed to be swamped with everyone else’s patients that day. Instead of 20 min. on the monitor, I think I spent closer to 40. But, I understood, so I didn’t complain.

She goes to help me up, and I don’t get up some weird way, I’m not flailing about, she holds on to me, but still, I feel this sharp-ass pain in my belly, like almost bringing me to tears. But, the baby seems fine, she’s still rolling around in there, all seems well. Maybe I’d just squished something.

Ever since then, my pelvic pain has been almost unbearable. Sitting down, I’m completely fine. But the moment I stand up, my entire right side screams at me. My right hip feels like it’s threatening to dislocate whenever I walk. Just lifting my legs is excruciating, whether it’s climbing a staircase or getting into a car. Moving my leg from the gas to the brake is also painful. Hence, the 11 rating of which I spoke.

Of course I hobble around all day today, even going to our local Freddy’s because I desperately needed some things at the store. By the time I get home, I’m in serious pain. By this time, it’s about a quarter to 5pm on Friday evening, but I still decide to call the doc just in case she might be there. Nope, everyone’s gone home except for the poor lady stuck answering the phones. She suggests scheduling an appointment with the doc on Monday and if my pain gets worse, to go to the Urgent Care or the ER.

Well, I already HAVE an appointment on Monday at 10:15am due to my monitor tests, but my doc always told me to call if I had concerns… Guess that doesn’t include almost 5pm on Friday evenings. Dammit.

So, it seems as if I have to wait out the weekend and take things easy until I can go in and see the doc on Monday. Monday is also the date of my final ultrasound. Perhaps they can figure out if the baby has an arm or a shoulder wedged into my pelvis along with her GIANT FREAKIN’ NOGGIN!!! lol

DH doesn’t believe me when I say she’s enormous in there. “You say that with every one,” he poo-poos. I dunno. I think I’ve got an elephant growing in there. Iii-yii-yii.

~~Becka

Well, here I am, 35 weeks pregnant. If I don’t go into labor on my own this month, my OB is going to induce me by January 3rd. My due date isn’t until Jan. 10th, but due to my diabetes, the longer the fetus is inside me, the higher the risk of fetal demise. She mentioned the fact I take medication to control my blood sugar has something to do with it. Anyhow, the point is, I’m not going to be allowed to get to my due date, much less go beyond it.

However, that still doesn’t comfort me.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m older now (It’s been almost 6 years since my last pregnancy) or because I’ve simply “forgotten” what it was like. But holy moly, this is getting old.

DH says I complain during every pregnancy, and he’s right. But I don’t remember being quite this miserable. Sure, I had my fair share of aches and pains. In fact, my son’s pregnancy was, perhaps, one of my hardest, considering he was Sunny Side Up. (If you don’t know what that means, Google the term for babies.)

Also, my pregnancy with my second daughter was hard as well, considering I’d gotten pregnant a mere 5 months after I’d given birth to baby #1. I don’t think my body had fully “recovered” from the first.

But now, with this baby, I have mad ligament pain. Getting up from lying down or even sitting is a major chore, and even then, I can only “limp-waddle” to get to where I need to go. I can feel my lower back and hips “popping” when I walk sometimes, no doubt my pelvis getting ready for business. It’s almost impossible to lie on my back, even though it is simultaneously THE most comfortable AND the most uncomfortable position I can lie in. For my body, it takes away the stress of a hunched-over back and evens out my hips. But for the baby, it’s like placing a watermelon on my belly. She literally sits on some nerve in there, making the left half of my face and scalp numb. Weird, eh? Not to mention the pressure she exerts on my colon. Not fun times, my friend.

I’m currently measuring 36 cm from pelvis to the top of my uterus, and I’m going in for my final ultrasound on December 15th. It will measure the baby’s size to make sure I don’t have Baby Kong in there. The doc seems to think she’ll be normal weight seen as how my sugars have been doing good (aside from the occasional lapse when I eat rice or tortillas lol).

But Ho-lee-crap, she feels like a 15 pounder. I know in reality, she’s probably 5 *maybe* 6-ish pounds right now, but wow, it feels like she’s the size of Simone! (my petite 7 year old).

Braxton Hicks are getting stronger now, and in fact, it’s just pissing me off when they stop. LOL I’ll have one, then look at the clock hopefully wondering if labor is actually beginning! But alas, no such luck. I really don’t want to give birth to a preemie, but at this point, I’m ready to trade those sleepless nights for these aches and pains. It’s seriously so draining, that I’m constantly exhausted.

DH says, “Oh, you say this every time.” Perhaps I do. But I don’t think the man appreciates just how uncomfortable it is to carry this bowling ball in my gutsky day after day…

~~Becka

DH and I decided to go out to the Dollar Tree tonight to buy new ornaments for our Christmas tree.  Yes, we’re on a budget since DH lost his job, so we can’t (or shouldn’t) buy the uber-expensive nice Christmas ornaments.  Believe it or not, Dollar Tree had some decent stuff.  In fact, I’ll probably go back when it’s time to fill up on stocking stuffers.

Okay, so yesterday, I decided to go to KFC to pick up dinner for the fam. As I’m leaving, DH gives me a grin and tells me to pick up some wood while I’m out, as he wanted to start a fire. With all the camping we’ve done this year, we depleted our wood supply. *SIGH* All right, I’ll go, but only because I need to get dog food, too.

So I get to Safeway, and notice a minivan with the driver door wide open, lights on, nobody’s home. I didn’t think much of it, I thought perhaps the owner was scrounging for something and I just couldn’t see them. But it still raised a red flag for me. My daughter Simone and I go in, pick up the dog food and the wood, pay, then go back out to the car. As I’m loading up, I notice the van is still wide open with no one in it. I warred with my own conscience at that moment, because I was so very hungry, you see, but being somewhat of a goodie-two-shoes, I knew *I* would want to know if I accidentally left my car door open.

Oh yeah, the dentist. DH and I are actively trying to spend our flexible spending account for health related issues through his old work, because if we don’t use it by November 30th, we lose it.

So, we’ve been to the eye doctor, gotten new glasses for him, me, and our youngest daughter Simone. Now, it’s on to the dentist.

They called us out of the blue to schedule cleanings for us, so we decided to go. I knew I had some cavities which I neglected to take care of due to the hubbub of my pregnancy, and let’s face it, my own procrastination. Well, they wanted to EXTRACT my wisdom teeth! GAH! No, didn’t want to go through that while pregnant.

Come to find out, my dentist tells me after the age of 25, they don’t like to extract wisdom teeth unless they REALLY REALLY have to, because recovery time is so much longer and painful for us fogies. I have a couple of cavities in them, but she was confident she could fill them rather than pull them. She didn’t want me to be in agony with only a few weeks until baby bunting is born. Nice lady. We like this doc.

So, I schedule my first filling appointment for the very next day after my cleaning (which was today) and now my teefies hurt. Of course, that is to be expected with all the poking, proding, and **shudder** drilling they were doing. I have to go in next Tuesday to get the other side worked on, as well as a third appointment yet to be scheduled. ACK!

Not all of my fillings are for cavities, per se. Some of my teeth are cracked on the top, needing to be filled in lest they become top cavities or what have you. I dunno, I’m not a dentist. Thankfully, they break it all up so I don’t have to endure a marathon dental hell.

But it does mean all my appointments have to be close together in order to use up the flexible spending. And damn Thanksgiving for closing down the dentist! That third appointment I’ve got to make will likely be in December, meaning I’ll have to pay out of pocket for that one. But oh well. At least I’ll have all my dental crappola done once Sophie arrives, AND, I don’t have to have my wisdom teeth extracted!

The dentist did say they have to be diligently brushed more than the other teeth, since they’re against my actual jawbone and hard to get a brush back there (hence my cavities), but just because you have wisdom teeth doesn’t mean they have to come out. Truth be told, they’ve never bothered me. I had enough room in my mouth for them to come in without crowding my other teeth, and they came in straight. Other than filling them, I’ve had no problems. So yay! No horrific torture for me!

The dentist did keep telling me I didn’t “look” 8 months pregnant, which I’m still trying to decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing… I seem obviously pregnant to myself and to friends, and the dental assistants had no problem assessing the state of my pregnant-ness. Of course, the doctor didn’t see me STANDING, which could have been part of the problem. When I sit, I do resemble just a fat lady with a Buddha belly. LOL

Maybe I *should* take offense to that after all…

~~Becka