Erika Mitchell's Blog, page 23

Eroding in the Right Direction

I think often of what comes next for me. What the rest of my life will look like when my focus can shift from diapers and laundry and meal prep. It’s not because I crave escape (though some armchair psychologists might say that’s what my writing is), it’s mostly so I don’t lose myself to the thousands of little demands of life with two young children. I think stay at home motherhood is a lot like being a coastal California cliff side. Life crashes against you day in and day out, shaping and eroding you a bit at a time, until you’re a thing of beauty that looks much different than how you started.

Still, I’d like to make sure I’m eroding in the right direction. I don’t want to end up with grown children and no earthly idea of who I am or what I want from my life, because as long as each day can seem, I’m all too aware of how fleeting this phase is. There will come a day (Lord willing) that my kids will be independent and won’t hang on my pant legs any more and I’d like very much to ensure that phase of my life doesn’t freak me the heck out.

On Sunday, I was struck with a sudden craving to play my clarinet so I dusted the old girl off and made my way through some scales. I need new reeds and my chops are so weak I made it about fifteen minutes and had to stop, but it felt really good. Especially when Wes brought his acoustic guitar down and we made up some songs together. He’s always encouraging me to be a musician. We have this discussion often, about how he’s a musician who is original and creative and capable of making new music, and how I’m just a trained monkey who knows how to play the notes she sees. I’m a better sight-reader than he is, though, so I guess I have that.

Once I got the cobwebs cleared out of that part of my brain, playing music felt just right. Different, but similar enough to how I feel when I write that I can couch the two loves in the same sentence without feeling too weird about it. I think that whatever I end up doing in the next phase of my life (when I have no marketable job skills because I’ve been out of the workforce for twenty years) is going to have to involve music. And writing, of course.

Maybe I can be an author by day and a member of an amateur symphony by night. Or I could go back to school to realize my adolescent dream of becoming a music teacher, and spend my free time writing thriller books that make the parents of my students nervous because they’re somewhat violent.

It feels good to think about these things. My day dreams remind me that this is not going to be the sum total of my existence, that there are miles upon miles of life to be lived beyond the day to day demands of my current occupation (loving and teaching my two tiny humans).  As for how to get there, I can’t really say yet. I suppose it’ll depend on what happens between now and the future.

I’ll just keep writing where and when I can, playing where and when I can, and hope that what comes next contains more of the same.

Surgery is an Expensive Way to Get Drunk

For the record: Wes’s company did not win the big fancy award. They remain finalists, however, which qualifies them as cooler than 98.1% of the other companies in the world. In my humble opinion.

As for me, I’ve had an interesting week. My surgery on Thursday went well; meniscus was removed, I was drugged, I ate lots of soup. I have to say, getting anesthesia is way more fun than I thought it would be. I thought I’d go to sleep and wake up groggy and disoriented.

Instead, I got a shot through my IV that made me feel instantly drunk. Then, my anesthesiologist told me he’d send me on a trip and asked where I wanted to go. I giddily replied, “Hawaii!” and then it was Goodnight, Erika. Hello, Hawaii.

I dreamed I was on a beach in Hawaii, sipping a Mai Tai from a lounge chair. When I woke up in recovery, I still felt drunk (from what I thought was the Mai Tai but was, instead, just the residual effects of the anesthesia). I thought everything was HILARIOUS. I giggled at everything, I smiled, everyone and everything was my very best friend.

Then I got home and found out that my Mom had baked me homemade bread and made me chicken soup from scratch. I ate a whole bunch, laughed some more, and then went to bed. Sleeping on painkillers is a pain, by the way. Like bungee jumping into sleep only to be yanked back from it a dozen times a night.

I survived, however, and the only evidence of my foray into the OR is a trio of black marks surrounding my knee. Oh, and a gimp that makes me look like the Hunchback of the Suburbs.

Deep Breaths and a Well Charged Cell Phone

My husband is in San Francisco right now. Right at this second, he and his company‘s CEO are presenting their technology at the CloudBeat 2013 Innovation Showdown to a room full of experts and investors. If they win the showdown, it’ll completely change our life and the future of their company.

So, you know, no big deal.

So what am I doing? I’m sitting on the couch typing while my children sleep upstairs. It’s so weird to think that my husband is hundreds of miles away, doing what is arguably the most important presentation of his life, and I have no idea how it’s going. My ears are pricked up like an outsized Corgi’s, waiting for the phone to ring, but it probably won’t ring for a few hours because Wes will be caught up in a whirlwind after the presentation and then the award ceremony shortly after.

Hours. Hours I’ll have to wait, wondering and conjuring every sort of outlandish outcome in my overly imaginative brain.

It’s not that I don’t have other stuff to do. I entered my book, Blood Money, in a contest today and I’m revising my newest book (since I haven’t touched it since April). My parents will be here tomorrow and I have surgery on Thursday. Believe me, there’s plenty to occupy my mind and yet all I can think about is Wes, standing on a stage while his friend (the company’s CEO) delivers the speech I helped write.

Are you tired of thinking about it yet? I could keep typing about it but I suppose I should go back to my revisions and stop fixating out loud on my blog.

Deep breaths are called for here. Deep breaths and a well charged cell phone.

The Week Erika’s Head Exploded Like an Overripe Melon

This week is going to be the end of me, the absolute end of me. Not only do I have the last few scraps of work to do to get my friend Ben’s book proofed and out the door in time for the book launch party next month, I have a baby shower to throw on Saturday, my son may or may not be starting preschool in a couple weeks, Wes is traveling for business for a few days, and I have surgery next week.

Oh! And my back went out today while I was buying supplies for the baby shower and now I can barely move. Ex.Cru.Cia.Ting.

There’s something wrong with me, though, because man sakes alive I do love being busy. I love it when my brain is buzzing and working at high efficiency and I can delegate and prioritize and plan and scheme. Wes asked me why I keep signing on to take on more and more responsibilities and I think it’s because it makes me feel like I’m still using my brain and being helpful to people.

I mean, I know I’m helpful to my kids, but sometimes I like to use my brain for something other than coordinating appointments and sandwiches. And no, planning a baby shower and (maybe?) getting my kid ready for preschool certainly isn’t on a par with neuro surgery, but hey. We all have our strengths. I’m gonna go put a bunch of adorable baby shower favors together, which requires something akin to the dexterity of a surgeon, no?

This week might just be a little too much of a good thing, though. Especially with this crippling back pain. I would dearly love to know which Indian burial ground I parked over that has resulted in me sporting a big old health issues bull’s eye on my back. Between the gimp knee and bad back, I don’t know which malady is plaguing me more.

Oh yes, that’s right. Both of them. They’re both driving me crazy.

Wish me luck as I plunge once more into the breach. If it helps, you can picture me wielding baby shower decorations and school district forms like some kind of strange, stay at home viking. It actually helps me a little too. Huh. Rar?

More Powerful Than Pundits

Much has been made of Miley Cyrus’s recent train wreck of a performance at the VMA’s Sunday night. Head shaking, name calling, open letters admonishing the youth not to follow in these footsteps.

What I can’t help but wonder is, how can everyone who participates in this circus not know that they’re part of the problem? My bet is, she had little to do with the choreography and was instructed to behave as such by someone who stood to make money from the boost in attention and ratings. You know someone has to be making money off all the replays, which in a sense means Miley’s performance was a raging success.

The only way to discourage kids and teens not to behave in such a manner (and when I say, “such a manner” I’m also referring to the behavior of almost everyone on reality television as well) is to refuse to pay attention to it. Don’t click on articles about it, don’t watch videos about it, don’t talk about it. My guess is celebrities will stop the nonsense as soon as it stops being lucrative.

I don’t think the chin wagging and open letters accomplish anything, really. All kids and teens will see is how much attention people are paying to this kind of behavior, and realize that this is the kind of thing that gets noticed. Nobody is praising the celebrities who graduate with honors from Ivy League schools, but for the girl in a plastic bikini? Endless coverage.

Imagine how amazing it would have been if, instead of sitting there and squirming uncomfortably in their seats, everyone in the auditorium just stood up and left. If the next day, there wasn’t any mention of the lewd dancing. If Miley woke up after compromising her morals and realized no one cared. If she saw instead that celebrities were being commended for acts of philanthropy.

Wouldn’t that send a more powerful message than anything any pundit could ever say?

Crowd Sourcing My Coiffure

A sign in the lobby of a business I frequent informed me of a discount available to me since I’m a customer there. The discount applies to a local salon, 50% off cut and color plus complimentary wine during the appointment.

Pretty tempting, no?

What I can’t figure out, though, is whether the discount is worth the risk. I have a stylist I love, but he’s not cheap. His salon is in Bellevue, a 30 minute drive, and this salon is in Issaquah, which is 15 minutes from my house.

Hmmm. What to do? I need a haircut and my color touched up, and saving money is always nice, but there could be untold consequences.

Care to weigh in?

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Feeling Not So Chum-y

The writers conference I went to last month was a lot of fun for me, maybe more so than the conference I went to way back in 2011 when I pitched my book to Champagne Books. It was kind of nice being at a writers conference without anything to sell, to just be there to learn and enjoy.

I have to say, going to a writers conference with a book to pitch is what I imagine going on a blind date is like. There’s the exhilaration of hoping your hopes, the squirming uncertainty of rejection, the conflict of simultaneously dreading the moment to come but also wishing it were already over.

I’ll fully admit, I had no idea what I was doing at my first writers conference. I knew I’d be pitching my book, but spent precisely no time beforehand researching how to pitch. For crying out loud, I wrote my pitch on the back of a conference program during my fifteen minute lunch break!

Somehow, despite all odds, my publisher saw something of value in my story and ended up publishing it two years later. Amazing.

I just can’t help but compare the two experiences, the 2011 conference and the 2013 one. I was pretty nervous two years ago, soaking in every single thing I learned like I was going to fail the Be a Real Writer class if I didn’t memorize everything I heard. I sought out every single agent and publisher there, pitching them all while doing my best not to pass out from nerves.

Last month, however, was more like a vacation. I was relaxed, curious, introduced myself to other people but without any specific agenda. It was interesting to watch the writers who were there to pitch, though. They were easy to spot: Their eyes raked over my name badge, noted the absence of, “PUBLISHER” or, “EDITOR” and then lost interest. If an agent or publisher outed him or herself, it was like chum in the water at a starving shark convention.

I wonder whether I’ll be able to affect that same calm enjoyment next year when, Lord willing, I’ll have something to pitch. I’d like to avoid joining the fray, as it were, but know myself well enough to know that might not be possible.

We’ll see. Maybe someone I met last month will remember me next time and ask me if I have something to pitch to them. Ha! Right! And maybe I won’t get jet lag and I’ll weigh 160 pounds.

A girl can dream, so I may as well dream big.

Last Gasp of Summer

I bounded outside early this morning and froze as soon as my garage door finished opening. There was something in the air, a crispness, an edge, that told me one thing unequivocally: Fall is coming.

Isn’t it funny how there’s this distinct shift in the air at the end of summer? You get so used to walking outside into that oppressive wall of heat and then one day it’s gone, replaced by something refreshing that still feels like an ending. I always think summer is going to last forever, that the outdoor adventures and beautiful weather will never end. I end up surprised by fall every darn time.

Bainbridge Victory!

Let’s take a break from me complaining about my knee, hmm?

I had the pleasure of doing a book signing yesterday and it was so much fun it’s a wonder to me that more people don’t make up excuses to sign their names on stuff. A friend of mine is in good with the co-owner of the Eagle Harbor Book Company, a fantastic little book store on Bainbridge Island here in Washington.

Accessible by ferry, (side note: The nice thing about taking the ferry in WA is you never know what you’ll see next. I saw five teenagers on their way back from HempFest cradling bongs in a startling variety of colors and shapes) the island is a quaint little destination with fantastic little restaurants and shops tucked neatly away on either side of the main street. The book store was exactly the way a book store should be: Clean, well lit, organized, and colorful.

In addition to my friends and family who attended, there were three people at the signing who I’d never met before. Three strangers! For a nobody author, that’s a pretty big deal.

I even did my first reading! How I’ve managed to do six book signings with never a single reading is beyond me. Considering I had no voice a few days ago, I think it’s a wonder I was even able to speak at all!

It was a great day. I feel really lucky that I have so many friends and family who are willing to come to my events. I wonder how many would come to a book signing in Hawaii…

My next scheduled appearance is at a teen writers group in January, I’ll be speaking about creating realistic fiction. I’m so excited!

Meniscus for the Loss

So my friends, the verdict is in: I have a pretty bad torn meniscus in my left knee as well as some bonus cartilage damage and bone irritation at the base of my femur. Surgery is the next stop, followed by likely arthritis and woe in that knee in my 40′s.

Yay?

On the plus side, I might just attempt to blog while on pain meds. That bound to be a good time, right?