Erika Mitchell's Blog, page 35

Rent Wars

When Wes and I decided to jump ship from home ownership to renters, we knew we were taking a bit of a gamble. Home ownership is as permanent as you can get, really, where renting a home makes your living arrangement subject to the whims of your landlord.

Still, knowing the risk, we decided to give it a whirl. We knew we'd be paying far less in rent than we'd ever be able to pay for the mortgage of a comparable house, plus, renting has a lot of appeal.

For example, repairs. When the heat exchanger on our furnace broke and it was a $1200 repair, guess who didn't have to pay for it! And when the motor seal on the garbage disposal broke and the disposal had to be replaced? Guess who was really happy to not have to pony up the funds to do so!

I'll admit, it's lovely not having to pay for that stuff. We get to live in a house that's gorgeous, in a neighborhood we love, and we don't have to worry about any of the headaches that accompany that privilege.

Equity? Whatever. Roof maintenance? Meh. HOA dues? Not my problem.

The only fly in the lovely rental ointment is our lease renewal. Our lease is up in January and we've been discussing lease renewal with our landlord for a couple months. He made it no secret that he wanted to charge us more in rent per month, but had yet to land on a definitive number.

Until Wednesday. When he sent us an email saying he wanted to charge us a lot more per month. Like, an 18% increase on our existing rent. Too much!

Wes came to our rescue and talked our landlord down to a rent we can all agree on. It's still more than we've been paying, but not such an increase that it makes me choke on my Cheerios.

So, all's well. For another year. When we might well have to do this whole rigamarole all over again.

Still, when I think about paying for maintenance crap, I still think renting is awesome. And when I think about not having to move for another year? I like it even more!

On My Recent Reticence

Longtime readers of my blog may have noticed I'm a bit more reticent about writing about my family life than I've ever been before. Back when Aidan was born, this could even have been considered a Mommy Blog for the overwhelming majority of posts that were focused on what my experience of motherhood was like.

And now, those posts are gone. Well, not gone per se but hidden. Private. They're still stored on my blog, and I read them often, but I've decided to scale back on my self disclosure a bit. And it's all my book's fault.

When PWNED got published, I had to start working on my marketing months ahead of time. I knew my blog would be part of what publishing industry people call my "platform" and I had to give some serious thought to what was disclosed there.

If the book did well, and I was optimistic it would, my site had the potential of having hundreds of new visitors, many of whom I'd never met. I had to ask myself, how much did I want to share with total strangers?

I think this is a decision every blogger needs to make: How much to disclose, and about what. For example, I will happily share an embarrassing story about myself, but probably wouldn't if it happened to my husband.

The funny thing is, I always knew there were people reading my blog whom I'd never met personally, but that never bothered me because I'm a tiny little blog in a vast sea of blogs and I was pretty sure no one cared all that much.

Now, though, strangers are visiting my blog (hello, there!) to find out more about me as a writer, and it's my job to determine how much about my life they're entitled to know.

So, I hid a lot of posts. About 200, in fact. In the grand scheme of 700 posts they probably won't be missed. Unless you know what you're looking for.

I just didn't want Aidan to grow up someday resenting me for making it public knowledge that he did X, Y, or Z when he was growing up. I want him to make his own decision about how much of his life, if anything, he shares with the Internet.

So that's why I'm a lot more reticent about my family now than I've made a habit of being in the past. It probably makes for less mommy-centric reading, and if that's why you were reading this blog in the first place I apologize, but it's what I felt was in my family's best interest.

Now I just have to figure out what else I have that's worth saying. How about that recent major sporting event?

The Huge Project Reveal

Hey, don't think about an elephant.

…

You're thinking about an elephant, aren't you?

This admittedly silly exercise is what the last three weeks have been like for me, because I have something on my mind that's been looming rather large in there, but I haven't been able to talk about it because…I make my own rules, and I told myself not to talk about it yet.

But now, the veil of silence, the cone of secrecy, and the gag order of reticence have all been lifted so I can reveal…

My gigantic project. Remember the project I wrote about a few weeks back, the one I blamed for my quitting NaNoWriMo a measly nine days in? Well, I'm finally ready to tell you what that project is.

It has webbed fingers and toes (that won't be webbed for long), a teeny little tail (for a few more days, anyway), two hemispheres' worth of brains, eyes, a nose, a mouth, and a strong heartbeat. It's about the size of a gummy bear right now, but by July 11 it'll be big enough to fill out newborn-sized pajamas quite nicely.

My project (or second baby, I guess he/she could be called) has been taking up most of my free time with resting and naps lately. The instant I got that positive pregnancy test, I knew I wasn't going to finish my NaNo novel by the end of the month. I've been around the first trimester block before, I know exactly how exhausted I get when I'm hauling around a tiny little embryo.

This little person hasn't disappointed, either. Even though this pregnancy has been pretty easy so far (as easy as the first trimester ever is) I'm still so tired most of the time I feel like I'm walking around with a mild concussion.

Aidan is, for his part, oblivious. I tried to explain that there was a little sibling in my tummy, but then he just lifted up his own shirt so he could poke his bellybutton and afterwards moved on to play with something else.

It's so hard for me to write interesting posts when my mind is fixated on something I can't talk about, so I'm pretty relieved to have my big news out in the open now.

My elephant, as it were, that I'm finally allowed to think about.

I suppose that leaves me seven months or so to write what I hope are interesting posts until I have a newborn and a toddler to wrangle and I wonder why I ever thought wrangling one child was a difficult task.

Toddler Magnets

I really should have taken a picture of my Christmas tree before Aidan got to it. Here, let me paint you a textual picture:

A 7.5 foot tall Wesley pine tree, lush and full and dark green forever because it's fake but the fakeitude is only obvious if you get too close to it. Looping across the width of the tree are strands of colored lights, glowing bright (but not too bright, because they're not LEDs) in tandem with strands of silver and gold garland beads.

Dangling off the ends of the branches are red, silver, and white ornaments festooned with silver and gold glitter. Poking through these ornaments are family and heirloom ornaments, every one of which has a story, and for some extra flavor there are red and white candy canes here, there, and everywhere.

At the top, there's a beautiful white star that lights up and shows off the gold swirls that are painted onto it.

This was before. It looked nice, really nice if I do say so.

And then Aidan got to it.

Now, the garlands are diagonal and uneven, the ornaments are grouped in weird places, and the lights are no longer strung straight but are, rather, pulled into random loops by tiny toddler fists.

I got sick of policing my freaking tree, so this morning I moved all the ornaments and garlands up high enough to keep them beyond Aidan's reach. The tree looks half-finished, but it's better than constantly telling Aidan not to touch the shiny, pretty things we placed so cruelly at eye level.

Even when we had a puppy, I can say with perfect certainty that Christmas has never been such a pain. My goodness, Christmas decorations are toddler magnets! And none of them are durable enough to be played with by my wrecking ball of a child.

I mean, unless I got rubber ornaments I doubt any decorations would be strong enough to withstand Aidan's loving attention.

I look forward to future Christmases when my children are big enough to help me decorate the tree and are old enough to look with their eyes. While I understand Aidan's pathos to experience Christmas, I wonder how many ornaments will survive it…

A Night At The Opera

I'm glad today's finally the 28th of November, because it means I can finally tell you about the opera Wes took me to see on October 28th.

You see, I had pretty pictures on my camera after the opera, but I only download pictures to my computer about once a month, so the pictures stayed there long after they were relevant. I didn't really want to write a post about going to the opera without including a picture, so I waited.

And then a week passed.

And then two weeks passed.

When three weeks had passed and my pictures were finally on my computer but too old to be any good to me, I decided to just wait a month and call it good.

So, that's what I did. Or, rather, what I am doing.

Let me take you back. At the beginning of October, Wes said to me, out of the blue, "Anticipation."

"Uh, what?" was my response.

He repeated himself, without any explanation save telling me he had a surprise for me but wouldn't tell me what it was.

He really should have known better.

Picture a fly trapped in a jar. Ok, now give that fly a sugar high. And a full bladder that he's unwilling to relieve in the confines of the jar.

That was me. I was FREAKING OUT trying to figure out what the surprise was. I LOVE surprises in that I hate them. I like surprises so long as I know what they are. All Wes would tell me was that he was planning a special evening for us, but that was it.

INFURIATING.

After three days of literally losing sleep over the whole thing, I gave up. I decided to try acting like an adult and just let me husband surprise me. Which was, of course, when he decided to relent and tell me.

He bought us opera tickets. To go see Carmen.

Carmen by Georges Bizet is my all-time favorite opera. It's a dark story but my GOODNESS the music is incredible. I could listen to the music all day every day and if you have the right woman playing Carmen? PERFECTION.

Going to see it live has been on my bucket list for years. Wes, knowing that, heard that the Seattle Opera would be performing it and scooped up tickets for the show, with which he then surprised me.

He had the whole evening planned. First? Dinner at Benihana (I saw the restaurant on Mad Men and wanted to try it).

(Those are sampler glasses of Sake, for the record. Not photographic proof of how wasted I got. I didn't get wasted.)

Next stop? The opera!

My sister in law straightened my hair for me, which is why I look like an entirely different person. I wore really high heels and a classic little black dress and I painted my nails and looked Oh So Stylish.

Though in Seattle you almost shouldn't bother because no matter how classic your styling may be, odds are pretty good you'll get seated next to some smart-aleck drama student who came to the opera dressed as a frigging bird. True story.

In sum, the opera was absolutely transcendent. The music was flawless, the acting and singing superb, and it was everything I'd always dreamed it would be. A night well worth waiting for.

The Promise of Christmas

Friday is Christmas decorations day!!! I'm sure my focus should be on Thanksgiving and all, but I can't seem to get jazzed about turkey because FRIDAY IS CHRISTMAS DECORATION DAY!!!

Wes and I were strolling through Target yesterday and it took every scrap of self-discipline I had not to buy ALL THE THINGS.

Ornaments, tinsel, Christmas lights. They're all amazing and they all belong in my house! Right now!

The reason I love Christmas decorations so much is that I'm not normally very big on decorating my house. My house looks nice (in my opinion, at least) but decor is pretty low on my list of priorities.

Except on Christmas.

On Christmas, we have a tree, and trimmings, and lights, and sparkly things, and there's color everywhere! Everywhere!

This probably doesn't seem like a big deal to you, but here in Seattle it gets dark at 4 pm during the winter and you start feeling like maybe there isn't any color left in the whole world. Like the world is swamped with shades of darkness and shadow, swabbed with a patina of frost.

But at Christmas? The frost is pretty. And the cold outside makes the Christmas lights shine brighter. And the world is all glitter, and gold, and firesides, and treats, and it's all just the nicest way to celebrate Jesus, in my opinion.

So that's why this week I'm all about Friday. Because turkey is awesome and all, but it's nowhere near sparkly enough.

Book Giveaway!

I thought I'd start this lovely Wednesday by letting all of you know there's a giveaway going on over at my friend Brooke's blog. She's giving away a free book, and all you have to do to win it is leave a comment.

The cherry on the top of this free sundae? She's giving away a copy of my book.

For the low, low price of one desultory little comment you can win a copy of PWNED for your very own reading enjoyment!

In so doing, you will not only be supporting an emerging author, you will also be actively engaging in Certifiably Awesome Behavior.

So go! Hit up Brooke's blog! Leave a comment! Heck, leave ten! I sincerely hope the book I'll be shipping out at the end of next week has your name on it.

National Novel Writing (Quitter) Month

Frick. My camera is all the way upstairs and I keep sitting down at my laptop and thinking, "This post could really use a picture" and then my camera is still upstairs because I was probably thinking about laundry or something when I walked downstairs last time when what I should have thinking about was what the heck I was supposed to remember!

And that? Is just about how my day has been going. Just one big brain cloud that follows me around wherever I go.

It's not my fault, really. This has already been an incredible month, and it's only half over. It started out with a project that I thought would preclude me from doing NaNoWriMo. Then, I finished that project early and started NaNo two days late. I was coasting along, really gaining momentum when BAM! ANOTHER PROJECT, this one even bigger than the first one and with little to no warning.

To add stress to projects, I hosted Thanksgiving at my house last weekend for my side of the family. Just me, a 19 lb turkey, 14 hungry mouths, and a small mountain of bread dough. It went really well (and by really well I mean the food was all hot and finished at the same time, everyone had enough to eat, and everyone got along) but I think I only sat down twice the whole evening.

In the midst of this maelstrom of cholesterol, my poor NaNo novel has been sitting on my hard drive, abandoned and stuck at a perpetual 14,843 words. I had finally caught up to where my word count was supposed to be when I got derailed by my GIGANTIC PROJECT.

I haven't touched it in a week. As prolific as I can sometimes be, I doubt that even I can finish NaNo with a nine day deficit. It's okay, this novel will get finished in December maybe. Or January. Heck, let's go crazy and say maybe even February!

In the meantime, I'll be over in the corner trying to console myself that I'm not a failure just because I didn't finish NaNo this year. And yes, "console myself" is just code for eating chocolate. Talk therapy is cool and all, but chocolate is way cheaper.

Zombie Sandwiches

I should know better than to go into NaNoWriMo thinking I know what I'm going to write about. I should really know better than to do a whole bunch of research on said book idea beforehand.

Why?

Because novels are squirrely. At least, mine are. They start out as one thing, then do an abrupt about-face that leaves me trailing after them holding scraps of now-useless research asking, "WHY?!?!?!?!"

Characters I think will turn out to be a big deal excuse themselves from relevance, throw-away side characters extract themselves from the woodwork and steal the show. It's a silly business, writing a book. For all the good plotting does me, I might as well just wing it and stop wasting my time on preemptive research.

When I started typing novel #3 on November 3 (I know, two days late. Whatever will I do if I don't finish?!) I had every intention of writing about a ballerina jewelry thief. I had the story all laid out, I was excited about it, I even had the first line all typed out in my head.

Wanna read that first line? Here:

She arched one impossibly long arm over her head, bowing it over her outstretched leg like a taut branch supporting the weight of a bird. A tiny chorus of pops and crackles from behind her as the muscles in her back warmed up, stretched, remembered their soreness from yesterday's class.

But then…I couldn't get past this paragraph. I tried changing point of view, I tried starting somewhere else. Nothing. Writer's block. Muy no bueno.

So, I started writing about something else. I had no idea where it was going, I was just writing for the kicks of it. And then I started meeting this entirely new character. And thought maybe this could be that zombie apocalypse novel I've always wanted to write.

And, Heaven help me, I think it just might be. Wes and I combined our considerable imaginations and came up with an entirely new (to us, anyway) kind of zombie, and now I'm 9,951 words into a book I have trouble not writing because it's so dang fun.

I'm still behind on my word count. By the end of day seven I should technically be at 11,669 words, and in order to pull that off I'd have to write an additional 1,700 words today to cap off the 1,400 I already wrote this morning.

So, I might not catch up today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after that.

Who knows? By the time I catch up the novel may have changed again, morphing from a zombie apocalyse book into some kind of heartwarming tale of redemption and kindness and cracker sandwiches.

Stay tuned.

…Anyone Hear That?

It's the sound of NaNoWriMo. Calling to me from the piles of dead leaves outside, whistling around the clouds that slouch fat with rain above my lawn.

It's November 3. And all my projects are done, way ahead of schedule. Dare I start NaNoWriMo late? Do I have the stones to thumb my nose at the prospect of failure and just toss my hat in the ring for the funsies of it?

HECK. YES.

I could fail. It's possible, and maybe even likely. Instead of 30 days to write a novel, now I have 28. I'm like February over here.

Still, I can't stop feeling angry whenever I see people hunched over laptops in coffee shops, writing what I'm sure are thousands of words of novels I want to read.

Screw prudence! I'm doing it. 50,000 words, I'm coming for you.