New Settings

You know that moment where you look at your table and the bills are stacked up, or your kids (or dogs) won't stop making noise. Your head starts to swell, it becomes difficult to breathe...and your only thought is, "I gotta get out of here."

Sometimes all you need is a large meadow of snow
Perhaps some hot chocolate

First you try to buy some new gear, shoes, a new pretty pen, and it works for a couple of days. Then you befriend the local cashier at your bank or grocery store. But when that's not quite cutting it and you feel smothered, there's one more trick. Finding a new setting.

I live in a gingerbread house

I moved in early in February and have been here for about a month. It's not evil roommates making me anxious, it's the fact that I have way too much stuff. Boxes are all over the house. BUT overall, the place is nice. The only downfall is that there's not a yard for Baxter to play in so I've been trying to take him running or for long walks as much as possible. I've also taken some displays from work and turned them into bookshelves (will post pictures soon), so it's helping with the clutter.

Bottom line is, if you get to the point you can't breathe or even hear your thoughts anymore, take your new fancy pen, your new fancy friend, and try somewhere new. Perhaps a coffee shop, a McDonald's, anywhere that has wifi, you pick. But let yourself breathe, it's okay to need some time away.

Happy Friday.

"You're Going To Get Murdered"

Sad isn't it?
But, at least I'm saving $40/month

As my previous blog suggests, before I went off adventuring, I told everyone I was going to Boston via a train, and that I'd be there from THIS time to THIS time, and I'd be on time for work Thursday. Their response? "You're going to get murdered. We need to find someone to cover your shift."

The morning of, I found my comfy yet sensible shoes, and drove to close up my storage unit (sad, I've had it for two years), and then waited at the train station where I realized, I really suck at public transportation and I forgot to pack myself snacks.

I was tired when I got on the train. I needed to pee. But I sat next to a kind stranger who was in law school (I told her about my author-ness, and my public speaking-ness, in case some day I need a lawyer), and she offered to escort me to my mysterious twitter friend. I told her I'd be fine, and tried to stay awake. When I got to the point of wanting to gnaw my arm off, I ate some cough drops to tide me over until I could get food.

Soon, we arrived in Boston. I said goodbye to the kind stranger, and ventured off, potentially ready to get murdered, potentially ready for a fun day. Either way, I was holding my breath and trying to keep an open mind because I had no idea what I was in store for.

I looked through the crowd before I figured out that I really only knew what her hair looked like, not her face. (In her profile picture, she's looking to the side.)

Liz (left) me (right) standing
on the Holocaust Memorial

Then some sketchy woman kept walking beside me. But when I looked again, she had blond hair, like in a profile picture, so finally, I said, "Are you Liz?" And she said, "Yes," and is no longer sketchy. I actually hugged her in a greeting (and you all know how I feel about hugs, don't you?)  From there, we went to Dunkin Dounuts and I was given an egg and sausage sandwich and an peppermint iced latte, which was mostly delicious. And then the fun began!

The nice thing about meeting someone who is as indecisive as you is that your adventure turns into a "Hey, this looks cool, let's go here!" adventure. We saw the Holocaust Memorial (heartbreaking, truly. If you haven't seen this, you ought to) and a woman who was preserving the engraved stones. We saw street performers spin on their heads and do a flip over about four people. We walked through a large mall (just to keep warm!) and tried to stop in the Boston Library (except they closed early because the following day was Thanksgiving). After that, we walked past a Barnes and Noble, so of course we went in (and she bought a book, while I gushed about authors I've met in real life, and the ones I follow on Twitter, and how some day, we'll be able to see my book there). Then we had some time to kill and sat at a Starbucks while I trusted strangers to keep an eye on my $800 cell phone (which I did NOT pay $800 for, but only a penny). And then...

We went to the Mother Church.

Not sure if I was allowed to take a picture, but I sure did

We were only able to stay for a little while, but it was fun. Definitely different than the Catholic church I was brought up in, but it was a nice reminder that I need to freshen up on religions I'm not a part of. After that, we took a bus to a restaurant where I met her friends (and they weren't murderers either!) and we had a wonderful meal.

By the time we finished eating (and I talked A LOT), we had to pretty much run to the store (Baxter needed food...we'd run out that morning) and then literally ran to the train where I sat beside a lovely handsome boy who is about to become a certified teacher (so of course I told him I write, and I do presentations). We watched Casino Royal and used my ear buds and apologized about ear wax. It really was a lovely day, with a lovely end.

The moral of this adventure is sometimes, it can be dangerous to meet strangers from the internet. But sometimes, it can be an epic day of adventure. If you do decide to go out, please, please, please be safe!

My new friend, Liz, and myself :)

A Beautiful Beginning

If you're here for GUTGAA, that post is HERE. If you're here because I no longer live with wifi and have to mosey down to the Young Adult section of the local library and schedule posts, well, welcome. You've found me (and I have a day off).

Last night, I was laying in bed with this monster:

Best. Cuddle-Buddy. Ever.

And I got to thinking. I blog about Baxter a lot. He even has his own page. But I've never told you guys our story. So, that's what this post is about. The magical day I met my best friend, who would save my life five years later...

Just Starting Out

When I met him, I didn’t mean to fall in love. I didn’t mean to take him home. My mom had driven me to Wal Mart to buy last minute stuff for my travels to Las Vegas. The following day, at the age of 18, I would board my first plane and travel across the country. I would be there, with my sisters, waiting the eldest’s wedding.

As we pulled in, I saw the sign that screamed Puppies and begged her to stop. "Mom! Mom! Can we play with the puppies?!"
“When we’re done shopping,” she said, probably rolling her eyes.

I nodded my head; we were here on a mission.
We shopped quickly, buying new socks, and random crap I probably didn’t actually need. When we were finished, as promised, she drove the car over to the small island with a minimal amount of grass and single tree then cement all around.

“You can’t take one home with you,” she warned.

I looked at her, appalled by her thought. “Dude, I know. I’m leaving for Vegas tomorrow.”

When we got out of the car, I took in the fence in the grass and the adorable swarm of brown puppies inside the barricade. I needed to be in there, to have them chewing on me, rather than on each other.

Close to six years later.
Some things don't change...

Skipping over to them, I found the owner of the balls of fluff. “Can I play with them?”

She let me into the fence, and I promptly plopped myself down, yelling out, “Puppies, come to me!”

Rather than coming to me, they ran the opposite direction, afraid of the 5’2” blond girl yelling at them with her arms outstretched.

They all ran, and my heart sunk. They all ran, that is, except for one who was bumped backward as his brothers and sisters fled.

His paws were bigger than his body, just like his siblings, and as he made his way to me, he stumbled a bit more before promptly crawling into my lap, making himself comfortable, and falling asleep as I stroked the fur on his small body.
The Twilight books call it imprinting, that moment where you see something/someone you love, and your heart swells and you know if you don't somehow meld your life with theirs, there's no point for you to even exist anymore. Dog usually do this, wolves especially. Not humans. But that's what that moment was like for me. I didn't want a puppy; I had anger problems, grew up in an abusive household, watched my mother beat her dog(s). Would I do the same thing?

“Mom?” I asked in an almost desperate voice as the all of ten pound puppy lay sleeping on me.

“Stephanie,” (real name, family members refuse to call me Lynn(e)) she scolded, well aware of what was happening.

“How much do you want for them?” I asked the owner, unable to tear my eyes away from the fuzzy mass on me.

“We’re asking $20,” the owner said.

I did the math and figured out that I was broke. As was is, Jacci, the sister who was getting married, paid for half of my plane ticket to get me to Vegas. “Would you be willing to take $15? I’m leaving for Vegas tomorrow...” 

Within a minute, the money was in her hand, and the puppy was in the car. Mom and I made our way back into the Wal Mart to buy the essentials; puppy food, a leash, and a collar, which was neon orange.

I left the unnamed puppy with my mother when I left for Vegas. I was terrified that he’d be dead by the time I got home. She didn’t have the best track record care taking anything; animals, plants, children. I moved out when I was sixteen or so. It took her three days before she started calling around to figure out where I was. Her recent dog winced at any hint of movement that was a bit too fast.

In Vegas
Laura is hugging the bear, then Jacci (the bride) and Tammy are
at the bottom, I'm on the other side, and Justin (the groom)
is standing.

“You did what?” my sister, Laura, yelled when I'd arrived in Vegas.

“I got a puppy!” I told her. 

“Steph, (see family note again) that is the worst decision, ever! You’re leaving for college, in what? Four months? What are you going to do with him then?”

She was always the voice of reason. Where was she at the Wal Mart parking lot?

I responded the way I usually respond to her when I fail to think things through, “I’ll figure it out when the time comes.”

But after the wedding, and an extra day stranding in Atlanta, Georgia, I forgot such worries. I had a puppy to play with!

Upon my return home, I was pissed to find that my small puppy, was somehow smaller. His stomach, plump less than a week ago, now looked emaciated. I knew it, my mother had forgotten to feed him.

Immediately I took him to the veterinarian’s, where I was told he’d gotten worms. Still, it was my mother’s fault, because everything that goes wrong is always her fault.

The first night, I used a small cat carrier to try to kennel train him. Instead, after an hour of howling, I opened the gate that had been keeping him inside. Afraid to step in poo in the morning, I closed the door to my mother’s bedroom. (The room she hadn’t slept in in close to a month now.)

Just as quickly as the howling had stopped, it started again. I let the annoying little ball of fluff into the bedroom, assuming that at least here, the poo and pee spots would be contained. The whining momentarily stopped, only to start once more.

“What do you want?” I screamed at the terrified little guy.

He looked at me and whined again. 

With nothing else to do, I scooped him up and placed him on the bed with me. The whining stopped for the night as he snuggled next to me and fell asleep.

In the morning, I woke up to several pee spots on the bed.

“This is not going to work,” I scolded him.

He looked at me before trying to bound over, large paws causing him to topple over. I laughed, and we started our life together. 

We three Schmidt's

Getting published is a lot like getting a puppy. You go into the fenced in area, and throw out your arms saying, "Agents! Come to me!" and 90% of them flee. A few will approach hesitantly before running, but the one that crawls into your lap and falls asleep, that may be the best agent for you. (Okay, but if he/she really crawls in your lap and falls asleep, there may be an issue. Hopefully you get what I'm trying to say here.) There may be some peeing on the bed, some howling (you know, editorial stuff) but in the end, they may be the best friend you'll have for years to come.

Happy Puppy Picking :)

Goodbyes

The hardest thing in my life is saying goodbye to people. I never used to have a problem with it until my friends started dying; cancer, car accidents...etc. It was then that I started learning how fragile we are, how when we say goodbye, it might really be the last time.

Now, when a visit is short, it's much easier to say goodbye. But when I spend nearly a week with people, I fall in love; with them, with the place, with their family, with...happiness. When you visit a place where you're loved, there is nothing, NOTHING like it. People are constantly happy to see you, to play with you, to watch a movie, to just be there.

But soon, too soon, you have to leave. There's a second where we hug, and it's like every fiber of my being latches on to them, tries to tie me to them, and when we separate, it's like being cut by glass. It hurts, I want it to stop, but it has to keep going.

This is an awful photo, sorry. But this was me saying goodbye yesterday. I love these people.

I put a lot of these situations in my novels because I experience them regularly. Each one hurts, it doesn't matter if it's the same person I'm leaving over and over and over, it still hurts each time I say goodbye. When I was younger, I never experienced this. I never experienced happiness, love. Now that I'm old enough to understand and appreciate these things....

I hate goodbyes.
I love hellos.

Sanity and Writing

This is going to be a short one today, but something I've been thinking about a lot.

How many of you consider yourselves sane? I mean, like...really sane?

I've been wondering for awhile; are all writers a little...off?

I have a friend who constantly tells me that I'm crazy (or some variation thereof), and then recovers to say "But you're a writer...it's to be expected."

What are your thoughts?