Elise Manion's Blog, page 3
July 25, 2014
Weather, Work, Guilt and a New Pen Pal
This has been one crazy, emotional roller coaster of a week!
I enjoyed a weekend at Squaw Valley Resort in the Sierras for the 2014 Wanderlust Yoga Festival. This was completely out of my “wheel house”, as my husband likes to say. I met a lot of beautiful people (and a famous yogi or two), engaged in a fun “Dance Like No One Is Watching” class and took an adventurous trip up the tram to “High Camp”, which sits on top of the mountain and has spectacular views of the mountain range and Lake Tahoe. It took a bit of coaxing from my very Zen Cousin to get me on that tram but I was so glad she did. The views were ah-mazing.
Unfortunately, while we were up there, a thunderstorm began to brew. We could see it forming over the lake and the skies became dark. We made it back down to the resort and by 3:00 pm, my adventure was over. I headed back to Reno under gray skies but nothing too ugly to drive in, my windshield only caught a few drops. When I crossed the California border into Nevada, my iPhone began to blow up with an Emergency Alert. Glancing down, it said there was a dust storm and travel was not advised. The really bad weather was south of Reno, though, and I was headed northeast, so I was safe.
By Monday, I was on yet another high. The paperback proof for Jason’s Princess was delivered to my front door! Honestly, I was a little speechless. Up until last fall, I’d never even thought to write a book. I’d sat down one day and started messing around. The next thing I knew, I was enrolled in a creative writing class and THEN I challenged myself and participated in NaNoWriMo, which is a non-profit group out of Berkley, Ca. It stands for National Novel Writing Month, which occurs in November. The challenge is to write 50,000 words in the month of November. I made it to 45,000!
But I digress…..
After many phone calls, a visit from my best friend and a tear or two, the skies began to gray-up again. I didn’t think much about it because thunderstorms in northern Nevada are common in the summer months. I’ve always liked them because they occur when it’s super hot outside and the storms add moisture to the air, the thunder and lightening are pretty awesome and it’s a nice change of pace.
At 4:00 pm, the first tornado report went out over the airwaves. Let me just say that tornadic weather patterns are not common in Nevada. I’ve lived here since 1980 and I’ve never seen one. There have been the sporadic “possible funnel clouds” reported but I can’t remember one ever touching down and the reported possible funnels were NEVER in town or close to civilization.
So, when I turned on the TV and watched this thing develop in the eastern mountains RIGHT NEXT TO MY HOUSE, I was a little freaked out. Then that sucker appeared. As I was taking pictures outside on my front porch, my husband’s cell phone blew up with an Emergency Alert that said, “SEEK SHELTER NOW.”
This kind of thing happens in the midwest…. not THE WEST. Luckily, it continued north and no structures were damaged but it was exciting to say the least.
Tuesday morning I begrudgingly got up for work. I say begrudgingly because in the summer time I hate going to work… Hate. It. There’s no way to sugar coat it. But I don’t hate my job, let me be clear about that. My job is very simple: I am a receptionist at a small catholic parish. I greet people who walk in, answer the phone, produce the weekly bulletin that is handed out at Sunday Masses and I’m in charge of our website and social media. It’s not hard. Sometimes it’s actually fun. But if you looked up the definition of “dead end job” in Webster’s dictionary, you would see a picture of me (well, not Elise,… but my real life name. Yes, Elise is my writer’s name for those of you who don’t know me personally). It’s low-paying, if I were single I couldn’t survive on it. However, I AM thankful to have that low pay, and it also has the perk of reduced hours in the summer when nothing is going on. Believe me, there is nothing going on in the latter part of July and the first part of August. People are on vacation, out of town or just generally, out. So, it’s pretty boring. I’ve been there seven years, so I can do my job with my eyes closed.
So…. not wanting to wake up and not wanting to be bored, I might’ve been a little grumpy. Not too grumpy, as I’d just come off of a two-day high with the fun festival, crazy-ass weather and getting to hold my very own book in my hands.
But the last thing that I needed or expected was to be confronted by a grumpy-assed boss. (Yeah, he’ll probably read this so I’m not going to go into too much detail). The confrontation was dicey, I’ll admit it. He said some things, then I said some things, then he said some more things that I said we’d agree to disagree on; but in the end we worked it out and ended up laughing by the time I left his office. He shared his week-long vacation stories with me and gave me an awesome gift; a cedar bookmark that smells terrific and was the perfect gift! He visited Big Trees in northern California. And as of today, we are still laughing so that’s a good thing.
But this brings me to guilt; I want to write. I’m hoping this feeling is a summer thing, because I have proof that I can write and have a full-time job at the same time. I’ve been doing it. And let’s face it, starting a writing career with absolutely no guarantees that it will succeed is frightening. The problem I have is that I want to write, NEED to write but I don’t have the freaking time. So I have to make time. Which means other things are getting put off…. like family time.
I know I’ll work it out. But right now, I feel guilty for feeling the way I do.
By Tuesday afternoon, I was feeling the roller coaster stomach thing even though I was back on good terms with my boss. The whole guilt thing was setting in and I wanted to not think about it anymore. To make myself feel better, I got on Amazon to do some adjustments to my author page. To my surprise, someone had started a forum…on my page. At first, I couldn’t believe it and then I noticed the title: Errors and Plot Holes.
Uh oh.
A very nice gentleman from FREAKING ENGLAND had READ MY BOOK. My Silly Little Love Story had made it over the pond! How cool is that?!
Turns out, he actually LIKED the story but because I’m self-published and don’t have a clue what-the-hell-I’m-doing, it’s riddled with typos and other crap that I failed to catch when I edited my manuscript by myself.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
If you ever decide to write and publish, spend the money and get a proof reader, people. It’s worth it. And I plan on doing that for Jarod’s Heart, the second in the King Brothers Stories.
He very kindly gave a synopsis, said what he liked about my story and then meticulously wrote down every freaking typo he could find in the book! IT WAS TERRIFIC! He also left his contact information. He apologized for leaving my mistakes on Amazon and that I could erase it if I wanted to. But you know what? It’s my first “perfect stranger” review and I’m leaving it up for now. I’m not perfect and I want my readers to feel comfortable to tell me what they love and what they hate about my stories. Especially if it’s grammatical.
I left him a brief response on Amazon and then emailed him my sincere thanks for what he’d done. We have been emailing back and forth all week. Because he’s in England and I’m on the west coast of America, it’s an email a day due to the time difference.
I made a friend, a pen pal. And that’s the best part of this crazy roller coast week.
I enjoyed a weekend at Squaw Valley Resort in the Sierras for the 2014 Wanderlust Yoga Festival. This was completely out of my “wheel house”, as my husband likes to say. I met a lot of beautiful people (and a famous yogi or two), engaged in a fun “Dance Like No One Is Watching” class and took an adventurous trip up the tram to “High Camp”, which sits on top of the mountain and has spectacular views of the mountain range and Lake Tahoe. It took a bit of coaxing from my very Zen Cousin to get me on that tram but I was so glad she did. The views were ah-mazing.
Unfortunately, while we were up there, a thunderstorm began to brew. We could see it forming over the lake and the skies became dark. We made it back down to the resort and by 3:00 pm, my adventure was over. I headed back to Reno under gray skies but nothing too ugly to drive in, my windshield only caught a few drops. When I crossed the California border into Nevada, my iPhone began to blow up with an Emergency Alert. Glancing down, it said there was a dust storm and travel was not advised. The really bad weather was south of Reno, though, and I was headed northeast, so I was safe.
By Monday, I was on yet another high. The paperback proof for Jason’s Princess was delivered to my front door! Honestly, I was a little speechless. Up until last fall, I’d never even thought to write a book. I’d sat down one day and started messing around. The next thing I knew, I was enrolled in a creative writing class and THEN I challenged myself and participated in NaNoWriMo, which is a non-profit group out of Berkley, Ca. It stands for National Novel Writing Month, which occurs in November. The challenge is to write 50,000 words in the month of November. I made it to 45,000!
But I digress…..
After many phone calls, a visit from my best friend and a tear or two, the skies began to gray-up again. I didn’t think much about it because thunderstorms in northern Nevada are common in the summer months. I’ve always liked them because they occur when it’s super hot outside and the storms add moisture to the air, the thunder and lightening are pretty awesome and it’s a nice change of pace.
At 4:00 pm, the first tornado report went out over the airwaves. Let me just say that tornadic weather patterns are not common in Nevada. I’ve lived here since 1980 and I’ve never seen one. There have been the sporadic “possible funnel clouds” reported but I can’t remember one ever touching down and the reported possible funnels were NEVER in town or close to civilization.
So, when I turned on the TV and watched this thing develop in the eastern mountains RIGHT NEXT TO MY HOUSE, I was a little freaked out. Then that sucker appeared. As I was taking pictures outside on my front porch, my husband’s cell phone blew up with an Emergency Alert that said, “SEEK SHELTER NOW.”
This kind of thing happens in the midwest…. not THE WEST. Luckily, it continued north and no structures were damaged but it was exciting to say the least.
Tuesday morning I begrudgingly got up for work. I say begrudgingly because in the summer time I hate going to work… Hate. It. There’s no way to sugar coat it. But I don’t hate my job, let me be clear about that. My job is very simple: I am a receptionist at a small catholic parish. I greet people who walk in, answer the phone, produce the weekly bulletin that is handed out at Sunday Masses and I’m in charge of our website and social media. It’s not hard. Sometimes it’s actually fun. But if you looked up the definition of “dead end job” in Webster’s dictionary, you would see a picture of me (well, not Elise,… but my real life name. Yes, Elise is my writer’s name for those of you who don’t know me personally). It’s low-paying, if I were single I couldn’t survive on it. However, I AM thankful to have that low pay, and it also has the perk of reduced hours in the summer when nothing is going on. Believe me, there is nothing going on in the latter part of July and the first part of August. People are on vacation, out of town or just generally, out. So, it’s pretty boring. I’ve been there seven years, so I can do my job with my eyes closed.
So…. not wanting to wake up and not wanting to be bored, I might’ve been a little grumpy. Not too grumpy, as I’d just come off of a two-day high with the fun festival, crazy-ass weather and getting to hold my very own book in my hands.
But the last thing that I needed or expected was to be confronted by a grumpy-assed boss. (Yeah, he’ll probably read this so I’m not going to go into too much detail). The confrontation was dicey, I’ll admit it. He said some things, then I said some things, then he said some more things that I said we’d agree to disagree on; but in the end we worked it out and ended up laughing by the time I left his office. He shared his week-long vacation stories with me and gave me an awesome gift; a cedar bookmark that smells terrific and was the perfect gift! He visited Big Trees in northern California. And as of today, we are still laughing so that’s a good thing.
But this brings me to guilt; I want to write. I’m hoping this feeling is a summer thing, because I have proof that I can write and have a full-time job at the same time. I’ve been doing it. And let’s face it, starting a writing career with absolutely no guarantees that it will succeed is frightening. The problem I have is that I want to write, NEED to write but I don’t have the freaking time. So I have to make time. Which means other things are getting put off…. like family time.
I know I’ll work it out. But right now, I feel guilty for feeling the way I do.
By Tuesday afternoon, I was feeling the roller coaster stomach thing even though I was back on good terms with my boss. The whole guilt thing was setting in and I wanted to not think about it anymore. To make myself feel better, I got on Amazon to do some adjustments to my author page. To my surprise, someone had started a forum…on my page. At first, I couldn’t believe it and then I noticed the title: Errors and Plot Holes.
Uh oh.
A very nice gentleman from FREAKING ENGLAND had READ MY BOOK. My Silly Little Love Story had made it over the pond! How cool is that?!
Turns out, he actually LIKED the story but because I’m self-published and don’t have a clue what-the-hell-I’m-doing, it’s riddled with typos and other crap that I failed to catch when I edited my manuscript by myself.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
If you ever decide to write and publish, spend the money and get a proof reader, people. It’s worth it. And I plan on doing that for Jarod’s Heart, the second in the King Brothers Stories.
He very kindly gave a synopsis, said what he liked about my story and then meticulously wrote down every freaking typo he could find in the book! IT WAS TERRIFIC! He also left his contact information. He apologized for leaving my mistakes on Amazon and that I could erase it if I wanted to. But you know what? It’s my first “perfect stranger” review and I’m leaving it up for now. I’m not perfect and I want my readers to feel comfortable to tell me what they love and what they hate about my stories. Especially if it’s grammatical.
I left him a brief response on Amazon and then emailed him my sincere thanks for what he’d done. We have been emailing back and forth all week. Because he’s in England and I’m on the west coast of America, it’s an email a day due to the time difference.
I made a friend, a pen pal. And that’s the best part of this crazy roller coast week.
July 7, 2014
The Great BBQ Caper
Tuesday morning I received a call from my 17-year-old son on my cell phone while I was at my day job. (Yes, I still have a day job!)
Son: Mom, where is the mini bbq?
Me: It's in the garage, why?
Son: I need it for the JROTC Commander Summer BBQ. I can't find the little propane bottles.
Me: Honey, the mini bbq works off of coals.
Son: Oh. Well, that's ok. Blank (my son's best friend) is picking me up and we are headed to the marina to get things started.
Me: Ok. Love you.
Son: Love you too.
I'm lucky with my day job that, during the summer, I only work half days and was home by 1:30 pm. As I was putting dishes in the dishwasher, my son calls me again.
Son: Hey, we are headed home to put the BBQ away, then we are going to go play miniature golf.
Me: Cool.
Son: Can I have some money?
Me: of course. Love you!
Son: Love you too.
Fifteen minutes later I hear the garage door opening, so I go outside to say hello. My eyes go round and my mouth gapes open when I see what is in the back of the Best Friend's truck.
"YOU TOOK YOUR DAD'S GAS BBQ?!" I screech. (This thing is stainless steel and has six burners plus a searing plate.)
"Calm down, it's fine, Mom. Best Friend even replaced the propane tank," my son says, but he's grinning from ear to ear, the ornery dimple showing in his cheek.
"I promise I took really good care of it, Elise," Best Friend says.
And I can see that, yes, they have taken good care of it; Best Friend has it strapped into his truck bed with yellow moving straps that cinch up tight. Then he proceeds to let down the tailgate, put a custom ramp made for quads onto the tailgate, then layer the ramp with some wooden planks. He begins to unhook the BBQ.
"Are you two just going to let Best Friend do all the work?" I ask my son and the other friend who is with them.
"No, Mother. We let Best Friend do the technical stuff and we are the muscle."
So I close my eyes as my son and Friend Two muscle my husbands giant gas BBQ out of the back of the pick-up; the whole time they are reassuring me that they've been moving it all day long and it's fine. They promise to put it back exactly as they found it. I don't bother to hold my breath on that promise.
Finally, I say, "I'm not saying a word to your dad about this. We would both be in trouble."
My son, who has no fear, says, "What he doesn't know won't hurt us."
So that evening, I'm on pins and needles, but my poor husband has had to work late and he doesn't go out to the patio like he normally does, so we are safe for now.
The next evening, my son is with his friends. I am home alone. I'm working on my second book (Yes, the second in the King Brothers Stories... YAY!) when my husband walks through the door.
"Hey baby," he says and kisses me on the cheek.
"Hey yourself. How was your day?" He proceeds to tell me and we chat for a minute or two before he says....
"The wind has finally stopped. Do you mind if I go get some sun before we have dinner?"
I'm immediately on guard but I play it off. "Sure, honey. Let me know when you get hungry," and I continue to work on some rewrites, not making eye contact.
Two minutes later....
"Baby, do you know where my BBQ tongs are? I thought I washed them and put them on the counter but I can't find them."
I close my eyes and try to act cool, because in my head I'm screaming at my son for not putting the tongs back where they belong. "No honey, I'm sorry. I haven't seen them."
Another two minutes later....
"Ok, this is weird. I found my BBQ spatula in the bushes on the side of the house by the creek. How drunk was I Sunday?" he asks.
Now I can't contain my laugh. I realize that my son could never commit an international crime without being caught within the first 24 hours.
"That's weird," I giggle.
Then I hear this high pitched hiss, like air leaking from a tire, coming from the patio. I get up to investigate what other obvious clue my son has left my husband to find. My husband's head is underneath the BBQ where the propane tank is and I smell its stinky odor.
"Well, something is definitely wrong with this thing," he says. "Did our son say if he took the propane tank to the bbq yesterday?"
I panic. "I..I'm not sure." I explain as my fat fingers fly across my iPhone to text my son that he's an idiot.
Now my husband is standing at the sliding glass door with that look of frustration he only gets when he's figuring out that he's been played. "Get My Son on the phone right now."
Uh oh.
I dial and hand the phone to my husband. I immediately go back to my laptop and pretend to write something while listening to my husband's one-sided conversation....
"Hey, it's me. Did you take the propane tank from my bbq yesterday?" Pause.... "Because it's leaking propane everywhere, that's why....."
Another slight pause....
"YOU TOOK MY WHOLE BBQ?!"
I can actually hear my son on the other end yelling to get his point across, and explain what happened.
My husband finally says, "Dude. Why didn't you just ask me if you could take it? I would've let you. I don't really like this BBQ anyway."
I really, really love the men in my house. They are sooooo entertaining sometimes!
Son: Mom, where is the mini bbq?
Me: It's in the garage, why?
Son: I need it for the JROTC Commander Summer BBQ. I can't find the little propane bottles.
Me: Honey, the mini bbq works off of coals.
Son: Oh. Well, that's ok. Blank (my son's best friend) is picking me up and we are headed to the marina to get things started.
Me: Ok. Love you.
Son: Love you too.
I'm lucky with my day job that, during the summer, I only work half days and was home by 1:30 pm. As I was putting dishes in the dishwasher, my son calls me again.
Son: Hey, we are headed home to put the BBQ away, then we are going to go play miniature golf.
Me: Cool.
Son: Can I have some money?
Me: of course. Love you!
Son: Love you too.
Fifteen minutes later I hear the garage door opening, so I go outside to say hello. My eyes go round and my mouth gapes open when I see what is in the back of the Best Friend's truck.
"YOU TOOK YOUR DAD'S GAS BBQ?!" I screech. (This thing is stainless steel and has six burners plus a searing plate.)
"Calm down, it's fine, Mom. Best Friend even replaced the propane tank," my son says, but he's grinning from ear to ear, the ornery dimple showing in his cheek.
"I promise I took really good care of it, Elise," Best Friend says.
And I can see that, yes, they have taken good care of it; Best Friend has it strapped into his truck bed with yellow moving straps that cinch up tight. Then he proceeds to let down the tailgate, put a custom ramp made for quads onto the tailgate, then layer the ramp with some wooden planks. He begins to unhook the BBQ.
"Are you two just going to let Best Friend do all the work?" I ask my son and the other friend who is with them.
"No, Mother. We let Best Friend do the technical stuff and we are the muscle."
So I close my eyes as my son and Friend Two muscle my husbands giant gas BBQ out of the back of the pick-up; the whole time they are reassuring me that they've been moving it all day long and it's fine. They promise to put it back exactly as they found it. I don't bother to hold my breath on that promise.
Finally, I say, "I'm not saying a word to your dad about this. We would both be in trouble."
My son, who has no fear, says, "What he doesn't know won't hurt us."
So that evening, I'm on pins and needles, but my poor husband has had to work late and he doesn't go out to the patio like he normally does, so we are safe for now.
The next evening, my son is with his friends. I am home alone. I'm working on my second book (Yes, the second in the King Brothers Stories... YAY!) when my husband walks through the door.
"Hey baby," he says and kisses me on the cheek.
"Hey yourself. How was your day?" He proceeds to tell me and we chat for a minute or two before he says....
"The wind has finally stopped. Do you mind if I go get some sun before we have dinner?"
I'm immediately on guard but I play it off. "Sure, honey. Let me know when you get hungry," and I continue to work on some rewrites, not making eye contact.
Two minutes later....
"Baby, do you know where my BBQ tongs are? I thought I washed them and put them on the counter but I can't find them."
I close my eyes and try to act cool, because in my head I'm screaming at my son for not putting the tongs back where they belong. "No honey, I'm sorry. I haven't seen them."
Another two minutes later....
"Ok, this is weird. I found my BBQ spatula in the bushes on the side of the house by the creek. How drunk was I Sunday?" he asks.
Now I can't contain my laugh. I realize that my son could never commit an international crime without being caught within the first 24 hours.
"That's weird," I giggle.
Then I hear this high pitched hiss, like air leaking from a tire, coming from the patio. I get up to investigate what other obvious clue my son has left my husband to find. My husband's head is underneath the BBQ where the propane tank is and I smell its stinky odor.
"Well, something is definitely wrong with this thing," he says. "Did our son say if he took the propane tank to the bbq yesterday?"
I panic. "I..I'm not sure." I explain as my fat fingers fly across my iPhone to text my son that he's an idiot.
Now my husband is standing at the sliding glass door with that look of frustration he only gets when he's figuring out that he's been played. "Get My Son on the phone right now."
Uh oh.
I dial and hand the phone to my husband. I immediately go back to my laptop and pretend to write something while listening to my husband's one-sided conversation....
"Hey, it's me. Did you take the propane tank from my bbq yesterday?" Pause.... "Because it's leaking propane everywhere, that's why....."
Another slight pause....
"YOU TOOK MY WHOLE BBQ?!"
I can actually hear my son on the other end yelling to get his point across, and explain what happened.
My husband finally says, "Dude. Why didn't you just ask me if you could take it? I would've let you. I don't really like this BBQ anyway."
I really, really love the men in my house. They are sooooo entertaining sometimes!
