Erika Mitchell's Blog, page 32

New Guest Post on The Word Place!

Judy Nickles of The Word Place fame was gracious enough to lend me some space on her blog to share the most important thing I’ve learned about writing so far. I had a lot of fun writing the post, and if you have some spare time I’d love it if you went and checked it out here.

It’s all about writing because you like it and not caring whether anyone will ever like it or read it because the joy’s in the pursuit. It’s not terribly deep, but it’s my hope that it’ll be encouraging to anyone who might be on the fence about writing.

Time Warp

As of today, I am thirty weeks pregnant. Three quarters of the way done being pregnant for the last time. Close enough to the finish line to hear the cheering but still too far away to see the banners flapping in the breeze.

Suddenly, everything seems to be moving at warp speed. Maybe I’m slowing down, or maybe life just really is rocketing along regardless of how I feel about it, but it all seems to be happening so fast.

It seems like we just potty trained Aidan, but then I look at the calendar and realize he’s been potty trained for a month. I keep thinking I have tons of midwife appointments to go until July, but then I realize it’s MAY and that means JUNE IS COMING and I don’t need my knuckles to tell me which month comes after that.

When I got pregnant, July 11 seemed forever away. It is simply amazing to me that it’s May already, because that means soon it’ll be Mother’s Day. And then it’ll be my birthday. And then it’ll be Memorial Day weekend. And then it’ll be June, which means I’ll be able to tell people I’m due next month.

And I really will be. Oh my gosh.

Brand New Procrastinator

I’m discovering something almost all authors have known for almost all time: It is WAY more fun to procrastinate when you’re working against a deadline. A deadline is a surefire way to guarantee that all those tasks you’ve been putting off forever seem really tantalizing.

Example:

Erika’s Inner Monologue: I really should start working on my back cover copy so I can turn that marketing sheet in to my publisher.

Oh, but look how dusty the dining table looks. I should polish it.

You know what would be more fun, though? Getting that back cover copy written. Then you’ll have all the time in the world to polish all the furniture you want.

Yeah, but that table really is pretty dusty. This’ll just take a second…

One hour later…

Hooray! The entire house is cleaned top to bottom. Oh, I’m so tired though. My poor pregnant body feels like someone pummeled it with a meat tenderizer. I better go take a nap. I’ll get to that back cover copy tomorrow…

End scene.

This is so weird for me, I’ve never been a procrastinator. Ever. In school, I was that kid who finished essays the day after they were assigned so I wouldn’t have to stress out over them in the future. I’ve always been all about Making Future Erika’s Life Easier but now that I’ve got a publishing contract…Well, Future Erika seems to always have a better grasp of what’s going on and I keep thinking maybe I should just wait for her to get on it.

Preposterous. Because you know why? Future Erika’s just gonna keep being more pregnant than me. I should really give her a break. And maybe go admire my freshly polished table one more time.

Contract-ing Universe

I can’t believe I haven’t blogged about this yet. Maybe it’s a testament to how much it rocked my world that I haven’t even managed to put fingers to keyboard here in well over a week (though if you “Like” me on Facebook, you’ll always have updates first. Just sayin’…)

Anyway, enough coyness! On Monday of last week, I heard back from one of the publishers I’d met at the PNWA Writer’s Conference last year. I opened the email without any trepidation whatsoever, fully convinced it’d be a standard rejection letter I could chalk up to paying my dues.

Which is why I had to read the email three times before I understood what she was saying. She wanted to publish my book Enemy Accountant. Like, actually publish it. As in, here’s a publishing contract, I’ll put you in touch with your editor.

It really did feel like my universe shrank in that moment. There was only this amazing, unbelievable email and the blood I could hear rushing around past my ears. Bunches of phone calls with loved ones later and I believed it a tiny bit more, but it really didn’t sink in until I signed the contract and sent it back a week later.

So, barring some unforeseen circumstance, I’ll be an officially official published author in February of next year. Yes, I know, I published PWNED which technically makes me a published author, but this is different. There were no contracts with PWNED. No professional editors. It was just me and whatever friends were willing to read and critique it for me, plus an amazing graphic designer who did me a favor, plus the handful of early supporters and readers who were kind enough to give my work a chance.

This will be different in some ways. Cover design, title, and layout are all out of my hands. I’ll still be primarily responsible for the marketing and footwork in getting the book out there, but I’ll be able to say the book was published, that I stand with the full support of my publisher who read my work and thought it was worth sharing.

This is going to be a wild ride, and I’m so glad to be on it with all of you who have encouraged me, supported me, bought and read and reviewed my writing. You guys are the best, and I can’t wait to share Enemy Accountant (title likely to be changed) with you soon!

No More Drama, No More No More Drama Drama

I was drifting off to sleep this afternoon when a poem started writing itself in my head. In typical drifting-off-to-sleep-brilliance, I knew for a fact that this poem was ABSOLUTELY FREAKING BRILLIANT. So brilliant that surely it would be etched in my mind when I woke up, so I succumbed to sleep without any worry for its safety.

Of course it wasn't there when I woke up.

Truthfully, it probably wasn't very good. I know it had the word "run" in it interspersed at periodic intervals. It was all very black turtleneck and beret, sipping espresso by candlelight. There may even have been an allegory in there somewhere. I know for a fact that it had nothing to do with pillows, which is odd because that's what I was surrounded by at the time.

In other news, I'm supremely grateful that Easter is behind us. For some reason, this year's Easter was the cherry on top of an exceedingly stressful sundae and I've been anxiously looking forward to it as the culmination of the last crop of nerve-wracking crap I'll have to deal with for awhile. Not that Easter was nerve-wracking crap. Well, parts of it were, but that's not Jesus's fault.

It's not even worth going into all the things that are making my blood pressure rise, because they probably wouldn't vex you like they do me. Suffice it to say, I'm hoping (pleading for, really) smooth sailing until July, when Baby Girl will join our family and then everything will go kablooey again.

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This is as far as I was able to write before Aidan woke up and needed something from me. Then, the next day was Tuesday and I took my car in for repairs only to find out the repairs would cost more than the car was worth. SO we hightailed it to a Honda dealership and ended up driving a brand new Odyssey home.

How's THAT for no more stressful crap?

My life's like an extremely mundane thriller show. "Will the housewife end up with a new minivan? Stay tuned for next week's thrilling episode, The Odyssey Osyssey."

Apples and Trees

My mother's most common complaint about me when I was growing up was how difficult it was to teach me anything involving physical skills. Diving into pools, tying my shoes, catching a ball, it was all nigh impossible to teach me. She'd watch me do bellyflop after bellyflop, let the ball smack me right in the face, and fiddle about with the laces and wonder what in the world was wrong with her teaching.

Then, one day, I'd just get it. Out of nowhere. One day bellyflops, the next day perfect dives.

Well, it turns out my son got a lot more from me than just my hair. After a weekend of potty training, it turns out he's wired in much the same way.

I studied and researched potty training, determined to attack it with a PLAN. Aidan took one look at my plan and said, "No thank you very much."

Frustrated to the point of tears (because of my failure to do it right, not his) I put him down for his nap and sat down for a good, hard cry. Ten minutes later Aidan was asking to get up, and a minute later he was using the potty like he'd been doing it all his life.

I have absolutely no idea how that happened. I can't take credit for it, I don't even understand it, but it sure made a happy ending out of what was turning into a pretty dismal day.

It's a good reminder to stay humble about the whole parenting thing. Sometimes your kid is awesome because of how you're raising him, and sometimes he's awesome because you got the heck out of his way.

The Last Big Push

Things have been hectic here lately. I seem incapable of stopping myself from scheduling a million things to do each week, which makes perfect sense when you think about how very pregnant I am and how very little energy I have for such grand endeavors.

Nevertheless, the pregnancy hormones will not be ignored. I am swept along on the tide of their demands, crossing items off my to-do lists with one hand while I stifle yawns with the other.

I think we're nearing the end, though. The two last big looming items on my Big List Of Stuff That Needs to Get Done Before Little Girl Gets Here In July are:

Set up her nursery. All the decor has been ordered and is sitting in her room, it just needs to be set up and arranged. I'd like to wait just a litttttle bit longer to do this, because I want to give Aidan time to forget how much he loved his crib before I set it back up again.
Potty train Aidan. Oh yes, this is happening. I waffled about whether or not to do this before Little Girl gets here, but I figure he's ready for the skill and this will be the last time for a long time I'll have this much time to devote to giving him one-on-one attention.

The potty training is happening on Sunday. I've read this book to prepare, taken notes, assembled supplies, and prepped Aidan. Now, all we need is the weekend. It's so cool to think we'll be done with diapers soon! At least, done with diapers for the next three months or so. It's funny. I'm super busy, but with trivial, inconsequential stuff no one really cares about. I talk about my day with Wes and I bore myself, and yet I'm so busy I feel like I should be infinitely more interesting.Maybe when everything is done and I'm finally finished setting Little Girl's nursery up and Aidan's potty trained and I've finished scouring the house I'll be interesting…Nah. I reckon by then the weather will be nice again so I'll probably just be at the park with my son.

This is Your Brain on Pregnancy

I used to be a dependable, reliable person. I used to be the kind of person who could sit down on Saturday, write out a menu for the week, and then faithfully procure the necessary ingredients for said menu at the store.

And then I got pregnant. And had a baby. And then that baby turned into a toddler. And then I got pregnant again.

Now all that's left of that stalwart groceries-procuring menu warrior is an exhausted-looking woman shuffling her way through the aisles pushing a cart laden with fruit and maybe some cheese.

For the second time in less than a week, I've neglected to include a crucial ingredient on my grocery list. Last week I forgot to buy heavy whipping cream to make a recipe titled…Wait for it….Creamy Chicken with Mushrooms. I bought the chicken and mushrooms, but left out the cream.

Where did I think the cream was going to come from? Who knows!

Then this week I forgot to add pasta sauce to my list. What recipe is going to suffer for this lapse? Spaghetti. I have ground beef, an onion, and noodles. What don't I have? Spaghetti sauce!

What is the point of spaghetti night without pasta sauce? None. There isn't one.

I mean, at least I haven't filled the garage with bubbles or anything. Still, it'd sure be swell to avoid extraneous trips to the grocery store to purchase key ingredients my brain magically erased.

It'd also be nice to be able to see my feet or get off the couch without grunting, but that's just asking for way too much at this point.

Of a Truck and a Toddler

Mondays are a very special day here at Casa de Mitchell. Aidan, who almost never wakes up with a case of the Mondays, springs from his bed every Monday eagerly awaiting the fleet of trucks that will soon invade our neighborhood and abscond with our garbage.

It never seems to get less exciting for him, either. These big blue trucks come rumbling up the block laden with refuse and apparently that is the height of thrilling excitement for a two year old little boy. Wes comes careening down the stairs screaming, "Trucks! TRUCKS!" and then whisks Aidan away to the upstairs window with the best view of the street. There, they stand and watch the truck first go up the street, then back down. It's an important rite around here.

The weather was nice this morning so I decided to bundle myself and my tiny human so we could go truck hunting. Aidan's tiny shoes hit the pavement and we struck out, eager to hear the rumble of big engines.

As luck would have it, the recycling truck was right around the corner and we were off! Aidan chased that truck around our block twice, little arms flailed out to either side for balance as he ran to keep up.

Every time the truck driver came within sight, the driver honked the truck's big horn, smiling and waving to my little son, who stood in abject wonder of the great behemoth with the benevolent driver.

That truck driver really endeared himself to me. There's just something so unnecessarily nice about a stranger who takes the time to brighten your kid's day. That guy doesn't know Aidan, but he still had a smile and a wave to spare my truck-besotten son, and that means a lot to me.

Apathy is kind of a state-sponsored sport here in good ol' Washington, which makes voluntary caring both noteworthy and appreciated, I think.

Fun With Future Baby: Week 22

I feel kind of bad. I was reading over my pregnancy archives from Aidan's pregnancy and they're so much longer and full of my observations about what it felt like to be pregnant. My observations from this pregnancy have been lackluster so far, in my opinion.

To be fair, I was warned this would happen. With all the busyness of running a household and chasing a toddler around, I simply have less time to reflect on what Little Girl's doing in there.

There's no denying she's a mellower kid than her brother, though. She does her fair share of wiggles, but they're so much gentler than Aidan's ever were. I'm optimistic that this means she'll be a cuddler, or at least hopefully the kind of baby who won't mind napping. Not like her brother, who thinks naps are a personal affront and wants nothing to do with them.

It's difficult to be pregnant while mothering a toddler. I'm tired a lot, sore a lot, and short on patience more than I'd like to admit. I'm just not at my best. It's rough.

Not helping this is the fact that Aidan's in a difficult place in his sweet young life. Defiant, stubborn, and exploratory, he's more likely to leap first and ask questions later. I love that about him, but I also definitely wish he'd take it easy on me a bit more.

I keep trying to explain to him that Baby Sister's in my belly, and soon she'll come out and play with him, but he doesn't care. If I ask him where the baby is, he continues to point to himself.

I'm trying to wean him off being held and carried everywhere, so hopefully that won't come as too much of a shock when Little Girl's here. I do, however, think it's going to be rough when he realizes I can't cater to his every whim immediately when there's a whole new set of needs to address. I think we're in for a lot of tantrums.

Regardless, I can't wait for my daughter to get here. I can't wait to snuffle her head and kiss her chubby little cheeks and hold her in my arms. My boobs feel like they're already sore and filled with milk, and I'm actually excited to breastfeed again.

My insomnia seems to have let us this week THANK GOODNESS and my appetite is ferocious. My belly is plagued by twinges of round ligament pain and I can't really tie my shoes anymore, plus I get out of breath just from walking around the block or going up the stairs, but it's ok. It's all in service to Little Girl, and the nice thing about your second pregnancy is you know the great reward that comes at the end of it all.